Self-explanatory . . . or, is it?
“Finished, finished, when it is completely finished, there is nothing to finish.”
Soen Nakagawa
Category Archives: Reflections
Finish This, Finish That . . .
Filed under Reflections
Wishing to Time-Travel
Ma’rib
i time-travel frequently
to far-away places and times
do not misunderstand!
it is so not because i cannot cope
with where i am when i am who i am
it is simply so by choice
we all have that button
at our fingertips
do we not?
this time
i left for Ma’rib
to partake of its much-anticipated fall
no!
no!
better yet:
to witness a bit its oft-quoted glory
it was the years between
. . .
(?)
surely
many a century
let’s estimate them to be
within the 8th century BC
and the 5th of AD
what matters is the fact
that i have indeed come back
to tell you a tiny story
all the way from its era of notable glory
look!
what you see
on the sand of its desert
at the bottom of its incredible Dam
are my footprints
marked forever on each
those fine particles between my toes
made a promise to me:
they will never give my ignorance away
if i were not to cancel my initial plans to stay
to which i replied in my heart’s tongue:
my spirit could not abandon them ever
for i had begun to fiercely shiver
in ecstasy so profound and prolific
that i could not help but compare
the touch of their excitingly hot stare
to my beloved King Solomon’s affair
with Sheba his Queen totally bare soul-wise
legendarily beautiful and well-dressed otherwise
that i had been admiring both
from afar long ago from there
where i am now and have always been
but then resurfaced
flooding along their insatiable hunger
(for the fresh blood of innocence that is)
the cold-blooded powers-to-be. . .
my time capsule rushed to bring me back
what –to my eternally aflame despair–
my ignorant grown-up-eyes did lack
was the growing notorious record
of my own era’s love for affairs of darkness
perhaps just perhaps
you would like to join me
my time capsule has reserved seats for many . . .
© hülya n. yılmaz, 1.20.2018
[This poem will appear in the February, 2018 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly international anthology published by Inner Child Press. The Year of the Poet has its regularly contributing poets from various parts of the world and features between three and four new poetry writers every month. Now in its fifth year, this book showcases -outside its monthly changing featured poets, the poetic works of fourteen “permanent” writers. The book’s 2018 offerings have been conceived to highlight a different civilization each month. Accordingly, it serves also as a collective educational undertaking to offer insight into various aspects of civilizations of the past and present.]
[Image enabled with the permission of the publisher, William S. Peters Sr., a prolific poet who by invitation has made personal appearances at numerous poetry festivals in a variety of countries -including Kosovo, Morocco, Tunisia, Macedonia, Jordan, Palestine. Several of his poetry books have been translated into different languages. William S. Peters Sr. is also widely known for his dedication, devotion and passion for humanitarian initiatives, all of which are presently in growing fruition. *Please note: The audio-interview used here is from three years ago and accordingly, the information delivered with it is not up-to-date.]
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
“The world [we] perceive […]”
Nisargadatta Maharaj asserts the following with regard to the mind and matter: “The world you perceive is made of consciousness; what you call matter is consciousness itself.”
What, I wonder, are your thoughts on this sentiment . . .
Filed under Reflections
. . .
When I ran into the following Adrienne Rich-quote, it was a time of self-awareness for me that seemed to be materializing at a quantum leap-speed at my being’s core level. Here I am today, with much having changed since then -to my amazement. And I wonder, what you make of this short profound statement . . .
“Until we find each other, we are alone.” ~ Adrienne Rich
Filed under Reflections
. . .
Filed under Reflections
. . .
no petting zoo
it was a strange encounter
a first-timer in my backyard
(“my” yard?
not in actuality
they were here
long before i settled in
without an ounce of humility)
unprepared this time …
(no fancy camera at hand
nor the skilled clicks of my phone)
thankfully
my eyes were opened wide
and i took the picture of the hawk
in its stately perching-pride
with my enchanted inside
its persistent presence
appeared close to mine
quite close i’d say
but it was intimated
not in the slightest
and I cannot say
that i was in my brightest
utterly sleepy at best …
the few-feet-long divide
was still a major delight
unlike “my” other little animals
that come and leave
as they ever so please
run or fly away at times
at a single wave of my hand
the hawk made a secure seat
out of a branch of a barren tree
right at the border of “my” land
amid many of others
that were dressed in dainty leaves
it then flew off …
close enough to the ground
seemingly showing off to me
what it was (and is) capable of …
i stayed on for a while
too long
for a cold mid-November-day
looking forward to its return
to its to-be-continued servings
of customized discoveries ahead
it did not come back …
it may have been so
for it probably did sense
how much i was taken aback
by its self-introduction of grace
besides
a living being like that
cannot be held in chains
it is after all
(and must thus remain)
as one of the freest avians …
so i turned to my good old
worn-out wind-chime
hanging downward on a hook
i wanted it to create a tune
the wind however
(contently in a deep nap)
simply refused to play along
i looked around
and saw that i had
(right at my fingertips)
a symphony of a collective sound …
“my” other wild birds
“my” leaps-happy squirrels
“my” big and small cotton-tails
“my” time-traveler chipmunks
had all gaily gathered
for an in-rehears-able
tap-dance routine
vying for my attention
about to show off once again
their daily acts of loyal affection
hülya n. yılmaz, 11.14.2017
Filed under Reflections
. . .
no petting zoo
it was a strange encounter
a first-timer in my backyard
“my” yard?
not in actuality
for they were here
long before i settled in
without an ounce of humility
and unprepared this time . . .
. . . no fancy camera at hand
nor the skilled clicks of my phone
thankfully
my eyes were opened wide
so i took the picture of the hawk
in its stately perching-pride
with my enchanted inside
its persistent presence
appeared close to mine
(quite close i’d say)
not in the slightest
was it intimated
and I cannot say
that i was in my brightest
utterly sleepy at best …
the few-feet-long divide
was still a major delight
unlike “my” other little animals
that come and leave
as they ever so please at times
it didn’t run or fly away
at a single wave of my hand
the hawk made a secure seat
out of a branch of a barren tree
right at the border of “my” land
amid many of others
that were dressed in dainty leaves
it then flew off …
close enough to the ground
seemingly showing off to me
what it was (and is) capable of …
i stayed on for a while
too long
for a cold mid-November-day
looking forward to its return
to its to-be-continued servings
of customized discoveries ahead
it did not come back …
it may have been so
for it probably did sense
how much i was taken aback
by its self-introduction of grace
besides
a living being like that
cannot be held in chains
it is after all
(and must thus remain)
as one of the freest avians …
so i turned to my good old
worn-out wind-chime
hanging downward on a hook
i wanted it to create a tune
the wind however
(contently in a deep nap)
simply refused to play along
i looked around
and saw that i had
(right at my fingertips at that)
a symphony of a collective sound …
“my” other wild birds
“my” leaps-happy squirrels
“my” big and small cotton-tails
“my” time-traveler chipmunks
had all gaily gathered
for an in-rehears-able
tap-dance routine
vying for my attention
about to show off once again
their daily acts of loyal affection
© hülya n. yılmaz, 11.14.2017
Filed under Reflections
“no longer the same one”
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
“like an eagle”
İstanbul dons a large number of majestic forts
those structures from many an ancient history
may today not appear as powerful anymore
but the debris alone suffice to astound
the willing eye through a peek
at the haunting view of the mighty Bosphorus
together with the influential breaths
that numerous civilizations of the past
have generously left in its depths
i have not been there in a long while
only in an empirical sense that is
frequent visits of my fertile imagination
have otherwise sated my hunger and thirst
my longing for the dead who were left behind
and my cravings for the impeccable times
each of which was re-lived in harmony
amid a painstakingly caring love
i borrowed an eagle’s eye on this special day
perched atop one of the bastions and began to sway
palaces teahouses trolleys Bazaars cafés fishermen
rare carpet, Kilim and antiquities-selling ambitious shops
yachts one of a kind-mosques the famed Dolmabahçe Sarai
freighters speed boats Hovercrafts scenic jogging paths
do not interest me in the least. The eagle’s eye is a loan
of refined delicacy. I refuse to waste it for the mundane . . .
on the bottom of the Bosphorus all of a sudden
underneath a recent undercurrent, oh so sullen!
amid seagrass . . .
. . . i spot my brass keychain
of four distinctive keys
my elephant still carries on,
towing them heroically
its movable pretty trunk
waves at me ecstatically
i lead us all . . .
. . . to the astonishing Sinopian coasts
to my breathtakingly serene flat-sanctuary
i discover to my demise . . .
. . . it is no longer there
only then do i recall my dream of this year
on the night of the 2nd month’s 14th
and
my loaner eye weeps
~ ~ ~
From my newest book of poetry: Aflame. Memoirs in Verse. Inner Child Press Ltd. (August 2, 2017)
Also available at inner child press are the following:
An Aegean Breeze of Peace, a book of poetry that I have co-authored with
Demetrios Trifiatis (October 12, 2015) and
Trance (December 12, 2013) ~ My trilingual poetry book with my own translations between English, German and Turkish
Filed under Reflections
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