sinnlos die tränen
wenn eiskalt viele seelen
die menschheit schläft tief
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 1.17.2018
Free Translation (self):
senseless the tears
if ice-cold the many souls
humanity is in a deep sleep
sinnlos die tränen
wenn eiskalt viele seelen
die menschheit schläft tief
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 1.17.2018
Free Translation (self):
senseless the tears
if ice-cold the many souls
humanity is in a deep sleep
December 17 was the last date when I had posted on my blog . . . I have truly missed being here . . . so, here I am with the first entry of 2018 (Happy New Year, by the by) . . . my three poems that will appear in the January, 2018 issue of The Year of the Poet V, an anthology published by the globe-reaching Inner Child Press (monthly poetry offerings of the Poetry Posse and between 3-4 featured new poets). Entering 2018 strong in its 5th year, this publication will provide the reader with insights into a different cultural entity across the world in each of its issues. January’s focus was Aksum.
what i knew would simply not do
Ethiopia
the early Christian era
but Red Sea ruler?
~ ~ ~
empires surely rise
and
as we live it every day today
they also fall
out of history’s authentic tracks, that is
for only white men get to etch make-believe memories
in acid on the indestructible fabric of lies to come
together, of course, with co-travelers –their women
who in the footsteps of
their 19th century Orientalist counterparts
first become enchanted
(or better yet drunken)
by the foreign “object” of their own fantasies
but then upon their return to their home countries
adhere themselves in perfected loyalty to
painting, writing or chanting
pieces of fascinating stories
all of which serve to mesmerize
the self-appointed ”Subject”
of highest esteem in its collective existence
the “other” is doomed . . .
doomed beyond erasure
far beyond the abyss
of eternity
history’s selective books
again and again, as our times evidence anew,
mount permanently
those powers of self-erected “superior” thrones
in their self-designated importance
for generations and more and more generations to come
on self-constructed paper reserved for mass readings
however fast their seats’ physical capacity
may outgrow their miniscule competence
failing to make room for their incurable ignorance . . .
The Aksum Kingdom too is doomed
doomed to remain as “the inferior other”
not to be ever revered for
what it had in fact been, was and will be
namely, a domain of notable accomplishment
among our current world’s celebrated civilizations
worthy of equally noble presentations
as well as proud representations
it is doomed instead
if only this empire had not been discovered
to be an achievement of blacks
created as a “promised land for uprooted Africans”
if only this empire had not been revived
for its utterly memorable existence
through the efforts of enslaved
18th century black preachers
amid us
in the good old United States . . .
~ ~ ~
what is to be your mark?
Aksum’s origin
is not to be traced back to
Semitic kingdoms
Filed under Poetry
please do not tell me anymore
how to cross my sitting legs in a skirt
to hide well under my pants the private fabric
in what age-order to serve guests our coffee
what to do with the crumbs on the dining table
(no hand swipes on to my palms!)
not to laugh heartily in public
to wait for my turn in speaking up anywhere
. . .
my instincts had no trouble
accommodating the required obvious
catering to the needs and wants
other than my own
while i knew deep inside
that you all meant well
carrying me through life with your love
i am of old age now
and i have had enough
still conflicting no harm to anyone
holding not even an ounce of ill will
in any of my body’s cells
or inside the pure chambers of my heart
i am forevermore
as gentle as ever before
toward those
who had no business in mine
or continue to think they have the right
i have had my bountiful share
of personal sacrifices
for self-prolonging decades
and then some more beyond
. . .
i am of old age now
and i have had enough
please do not judge me anymore
for actions that i have not undertaken
nor for the spirit-lifting deeds
i was (and will always be)
happy to carry out
without inhibitions
with no hesitancy
through
with
and in love
love for one
love for all
a few chunks of real life
are awaiting me
as these days i find
in sweetest delight
i will not cease
to care about you
nor to eternally treasure you
in fact i would do so with my utmost might
whenever i am invited that is . . .
will you just please
try not to turn
my humbled joy and happiness
into a nonsense plight
© hülya n. yılmaz, 12.6.2017
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
curses to that sea
she is idyllic
oh yes
but ever so merciless
why do lullabies not rise instead
for angel-breaths like Aylan Kurdi
who had a mere three-year-span
to be loved in tenderness . . .
~ ~ ~
oh, you dear little angel
with gorgeous hope-eyes
robbed from you abruptly, cruelly
your mother, your father, or perhaps, both at once
were taken away from you
by murders that instantly froze your blood
a bitter cold, grueling hunger pangs and
an unending thirst are now your steady companions
war mongers’ obsession to kill is real!
i crave to take you inside from the cold,
back to your times of parental safety
i crave to feed you
i crave to soothe your thirst
i crave to cradle you
to a slumber of ultimate peace
where you can remain as pure as
each of your dreams of innocence
i crave to fetch once more
that over-flowing mother-milk of mine
which fed millions like you before,
nurturing back to life
tiny broken frames and
shattered hearts
i crave to fly with you
into my glorious yesteryear,
where every soul was tucked in safely,
existing and living freely
for now,
just sleep, my nameless little angel
so that the foul smell of the dying
does not taint the delightful scent of your tenderness
my death-free love is on its way
it will rush to you along my gazelle-like gait
to mend your receiving blanket
with a carnage-safe shield
my broken heart will then self-mend
and my wailing soul will self-mute
the metamorphosis will soon be complete
sleep, my nameless little angel,
sleep alongside my dreams of peace . . .
hülya n. yılmaz, 10.20.2017
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
babam canbabam güzel babacığım
o komşu apartmanlara destan kahkahan
kulaklarımda taptaze
oysa ki kaç yıl oldu
sana özgü o şaklamayı son kez duyalı
(aramızdaki son seneni saymayı reddediyorum)
ya takunyandan inşa ettiğin
yemek masamız altı
halımız üstü taban-tabana-kulen?
nasıl güldürürdük seni
televizyonu açmaya gider havalarında
gururla ayaklarına taktığın Alman yapımı terliğine
neredeyse halı altından
attığımız saygı sevgi yüklü çelmelerle . . .
June 14, 2017
birth: female
date: irrelevant
place: somewhere
euphorias
aspirations
blossomings
imaginations
commitments
daily duties
obligations
yearnings
cravings
loves
growth chart: within the norm
head circumference: average height male-equal
self-growth: out for starvation
necessary losses!
hey you
female
eat
eat up yourself
fill identity’s void
necessary losses!
cheat
cheat on your self
repeat
rewind
repeat
necessary losses!
conform
you’d better conform
to your relations and your nations
it’s all about
subjugations
necessary losses!
maturity rate: off the charts
biological aging: per nature’s request
self-confidence: enough to value risks
becoming the woman-self: priceless!
© hülya n. yılmaz, 6.1.2017
Filed under Impulses, Poetry, Reflections
the privilege of worrying over matters of life
too many on Earth haven’t even heard of
let alone
having ever had a turn
at the luxury of taking them for granted
i have been thinking of those
with utmost attention these days
you have probably guessed one or two
or sensed what has possibly been on my mind
believe me you are not in any riddle-like thrall
i just am convinced
convinced strongly indeed
that none of us need a new news feed
about this world we call ours after all
© hülya n. yılmaz, 5.22.2017
Filed under Poetry, Reflections