Category Archives: Poetry

“a heart’s burial”

it wasn’t meant to be
that much i do know
your print on my soul
will not reason though

atop the shards of my shell . . .

one may conclude i do move on
while without cease i continue to quest
for my long forgotten unrecognizable self
which only with you was always at its best

with no sign of relent
my trapped-in you-heart is set
on repeat rewind
rewind repeat . . .

outside my four chambers
i keep waiting for that evasive day
when i may feel warmth again
to succeed in putting it to its final rest

© hülya n. yılmaz, 8.20.2016

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Filed under Impulses, Poetry, Reflections

In my facelifted writing corner

hqdefault[Click for Image Credit]

 

missing you
not because of a need
or for a want

the yearning is different from before
neither acute nor painful only aware
that the mirage of you has its pillar no more 

these days
fairy tales
fail to impress me

still
i go on missing you
the version i was convinced i knew

in blunt terms

time hasn’t healed anything
though promised by many it would do so

how can it i now dare to ask
it lacks the essence of life after all
your new versions transpire as proof 

besides

who decided to soak heart-wrenching losses
in colors other than red anyway

 

© hülya n. yılmaz, 8.20.2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bir dreisprachiger poem-draft

böyle sevilmez

i loved

o mu

could not have

seven mahvetmez

thema durch war ich für ihn am ende

but also a few undefined times before

in klaren verhåltnissen zu leben

arzusuna geçti uzun senelerinkinin yerine

gene hiç uyarmadan sakince birdenbire

aber du unverbesserlicher ignorant

keep refusing against your will still

dich aus deiner herzenstiefe zu befreien

bu kadar da aşka muhtaç olur mu bir can

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

© hülya n. yılmaz, 4.12.2016

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Ageism

excessive now?

 

did one of them hit you in the heart again

do they already find you unnecessary

your shaky voice won’t let me be

 

with that beloved’s passing

last march had brought me my first regret

 

of having potted my roots here

 

my second followed today

 

when you almost apologized

for having lived this long

honoring your four siblings who died before you

adding how your youngest the only sister

still breathes together with her many grandchildren

whose longevity you then wished upon me

a faint hope for the women in our family

 

in all your ninety years

you grew up very little dad

loving but a self-centered man

high-maintenance

as the modern label goes

why did you have to catch up with it all

in one day

today

on the phone

 

i am not like them at all that you know

is that why you reassured me over and over

how well you are doing on your own all alone . . .

 

thirty years younger but i am unwell too many times

 

i also grew very little dad

loving but a self-centered one

perhaps not as high-maintenance

nonetheless a daughter of your essence

 

since the time our pillar collapsed

then much more recently

when you two fell apart

you have shifted to a deepness

 

he won’t come back he cannot

she however may return soon

it hasn’t been that long yet

 

why though are you in such hurry

with no fair warning in advance

but plenty of subtle goodbyes to me

 

are you telling yourself what i used to hear you say

“aloneness is reserved only for God”

please don’t you also rush while i’m so far away 

 

i agonize over your loneliness

how it befell upon you this late in life

did you really not hear me well when i asked . . .

 

they are merely a few blocks from you

yet choose not to be there

and you already stopped forgiving yourself

while you grant them forgiveness in abundance  

 

i just wish so very desperately

you wouldn’t have to hurt this much

that you could cease to grow up at once

 

and to forgive me for everything i couldn’t be for you

 

would you possibly throw in a sixty-year-long hug or two

© hülya n. yılmaz, 2.12.2016

≈ ≈ ≈

Like last week’s poem, also this one appeared as one of my three poetry contributions for the March 2016 issue of The Year of the Poet III, a monthly international anthology published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. and consists of poems by eighteen writers, with between two and three featured new poets each month.

 

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Before love, even death bows down

do you

fear death

i still do

that of my loved ones that is

 

when the heartbreak is too much to surpass

my memory box takes me by surprise

 

and i realize . . .

how even death bows down before love

 

© hülya n. yılmaz, 2.12.2016

≈ ≈ ≈

This poem appeared as one of my three poetry contributions for the March 2016 issue of The Year of the Poet III, a monthly international anthology published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. and consists of poems by eighteen writers, with between two and three featured new poets each month.

 

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A Trio of Landai

*smile, It Is 2010 and Spring

May the forked tongue bind their bloody hands,

And the womb birthing you all char them in their own fire.

                               § § §

O You, Honorable Grandfather-Husband!

You think a prayer cleanses your sins.

My cradle, barren yet long after your manhood burst!

                                § § §

Mama, Did You Turn Into Stone?

Why did you rip me off of your breasts?

Under his atrocious soil is where I now must rest.

© hülya n. yılmaz, 3.12.2016

≈ ≈ ≈

*The first folk couplet – a Landay (defining also a short poisonous snake in Pashto), is a tribute to a teenage Afghani poet who died soon after setting herself on fire in protest of her severe beatings by her brothers. Her crimes? To fall in love, to seek education through other women’s poetry, to write her own poems and to read them on a hotline for girls. Mirman Baheer, a women’s literary group that, in addition to offering other services for Afghanistan’s female population, ran the radio program. This young frequent caller whose poetic word was of promising extent was much adored. The news of her burning would reach her circle in the spring of 2010 from a hospital through a phone call by the teenager herself. Her on-air persona was Rahila Muskasmile in Pashto.

This Landai Trio appeared as my poetry contribution in the April 2016 issue of The Year of the Poet III, a monthly international anthology published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. and consists of poems by eighteen writers, with between two and three new featured poets each month.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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. . . an attempt at escapism . . .

on my half-hour sanity break
right before the daily grind dims my faint light
in desperate need for an outlet of ease
emotions run high
way too high

only that one Turkish TV series will do
as melodramatic as an audio-visual lift can be
the camera follows the tear-clad remorse-bathed 
magnetizing tragedy-filled episodes 
one after another

still among the living 
the loved and loving ones 
refresh the ground of the rashly poured soil 
a water bin waits by their side for its turn 
while they ask for forgiveness over and over
 
all hopes abandoned

yet again and again
wishing against all odds
a worldly sign to pay them a visit 
they will crowd each of the graveyards

to hear a 
forgive me 
resonate inside their own . . . 


hülya n. yılmaz, March 28.2016
A post-mortem dedication to 
Dr. Mahmut Oğuz Ergün (5.7.1931-3.28.2015),
my larger-than-life uncle - my last beloved 
on my mother's side of the family

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. . .eating food with no flavor

she had moved to the shallow waters

as she no longer dared to care for depth

a jet ski then appeared from nowhere   

not heeding her transparent fragility

it drove over her petite stature with speed

razored her surrounding waves one by one

her limbs were now violently taken apart . . .

piece by piece she began to fall into the sky

flew and flew on the wings of her freezing tears

higher and higher into the vast stagnant open sea

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

© hülya n. yılmaz, 3.13.2016

nature--sad-tree-munir-alawi[1]

 [Free Online Image]

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For all who become a burden to some at old age . . .

excessive now?

did one of them hit you in the heart again

do they already find you unnecessary

your shaky voice won’t let me be

 

with that beloved’s passing

last march had brought me my first regret

 

of having potted my roots here

 

my second followed today

 

when you almost apologized

for having lived this long

honoring your four siblings who died before you

adding how your youngest the only sister

still breathes together with her many grandchildren

whose longevity you then wished upon me

a faint hope for the women in our family

 

in all your ninety years

you grew up very little dad

loving but a self-centered man

high-maintenance

as the modern label goes

why did you have to catch up with it all

in one day

today

on the phone

 

i am not like them at all that you know

is that why you reassured me over and over

how well you are doing on your own all alone . . .

 

thirty years younger but i am unwell too many times

 

i also grew very little dad

loving but a self-centered one

perhaps not as high-maintenance

nonetheless a daughter of your essence

 

since the time our pillar collapsed

then much more recently

when you two fell apart

you have shifted to a deepness

 

he won’t come back he cannot

she however may return soon

it hasn’t been that long yet

 

why though are you in such hurry

with no fair warning in advance

but plenty of subtle goodbyes to me

 

are you telling yourself what i used to hear you say

“aloneness is reserved only for God”

please don’t you also rush while i’m so far away 

 

i agonize over your loneliness

how it befell upon you this late in life

did you really not hear me well when i asked . . .

 

they are merely a few blocks from you

yet choose not to be there

and you already stopped forgiving yourself

while you grant them forgiveness in abundance  

 

i just wish so very desperately

you wouldn’t have to hurt this much

that you could cease to grow up at once

 

and to forgive me for everything i couldn’t be for you

 

would you possibly throw in a sixty-year-long hug or two

hülya n. yılmaz, 2.14.2016

The poem above is one of the three I have submitted for the March 2016 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly anthology – now in its third year, published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. I am only one of the seventeen poetry contributors from the U.S. and other world countries committed to make this publication possible. Each month, also the works of three non-Poetry Posse authors are featured. All volumes are available for purchase at The Year of the Poet

IMG_0088

Photo Credit: Self

Geographic Location: Ankara, Turkey

Place: In front of the flat where I have lived from childhood to the age of 24

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no need for a reminder

i wrote to you again the other day

missing you like water after a fast

you were larger than life i find time and again

feeling lost in the mundane daily grind

unable to see humor in my inability to last

it is not a special day for you

no anniversary has thus been assigned

no prompts delivered my way

i am in no need for one

for you haven’t made it to my memory box

and you never can or will

as only the forgotten are housed in mine

~ Candayıma, to my late uncle (September 28, 2015)

 

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