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“on a feel good road”

doing a mundane chore
taking out the garbage
the collection bin
several feet away
so it’s walking time

the sun brightens up its rays
bathes me under their glow
kisses me on my forehead
its scent on my bosom and nape
like my daily perfume

i am thus transported in time and space

Freud is said to have challenged:
“Where does a thought go
when it is forgotten?”

a thought
my thought
harboring right this second
innumerable memories
at the contact of one puff of the sun
could it be gone

not even at this mere blink of an eye
not inside my mind
not in my heart
as for my body
it is released to a bullet train
that detected by me alone
makes many a spellbinding stops

an enthralling land extends
and ramifies infinitely
before me
a festival of a sundry of flowers
petal to petal . . .
trees
multitudes of trees
olive pomegranate orange fig lemon mulberry
reddish-black and white
leaflet to leaflet . . .

the window in my private coach
seems at first to have been bolt shut
i get to open this forbidden one
down
all the way down
and take in
take all the way in
each and every one
of the sensory servings outside

it’s past lunch time
i feel hunger crawl into me
to the core of my starving soul
the morsels are aplenty and delicate
i discover a colossal plate
in a hidden arch of my compartment
tucked in by passengers of the many a past
to borrow it on and on then to make it last
i smile at my bountiful tray
i am content proud feel useful
the next traveler will indeed have
a sating manifold fertile sampler . . .

the virgin oil i extracted
from one olive tree my train had passed
helps me draw stick figures in my loan-dish
that the ones who journey after me
can liken to anything of their wish
there
there i am

O Dut Ağacının Üstünde
On Top of That Mulberry Tree

local boys around me
for i am a struggling tomboy
near my grandpa’s stately house
pants shorts or a skirt whatever i have on
i cannot remember or better yet
frankly don’t care a zilch about

my mom in her soft voice calls my name
it’s time to go inside

‘you are no longer a child my girl
and Sinop is a small place
we all must make grandpa proud
why don’t you play with the girls instead
and please only nearby and on the ground’

sitting around the dining table
we devour dishes and dishes of delicious food
some are just ordinary but others purely mom’s specialty
while all grown-ups sip strong coffee as is the habit
mom keeps busy
working patiently
on her most favorite fruit
that reddish-pink
semi-round thing

trying to entice me at least to taste it
by laughing behind a giggly riddle
that to me was then one of a kind
ÇARŞIDAN ALDIM BİR TANE,
EVE GELDİM BİN TANE
From the Bazaar, I bought only one
Came home and found a ton
while i am far from being enchanted
i ask in never-resting curiosity
‘O ne peki?’
What is it?
‘O bir nar, canım, nar!’
A pomegranate, my darling,
The answer is: pomegranate!

. . .

Nar Ağacım Benim
The Pomegranate Tree of Mine

whether one or a ton
THE pomegranate never left me stranded

early and formative school-bench years
showered me with a plentitude of exciting classes
the one on literary imagery
(i later understood correctly)
made my thirst for learning
as acute as my mom’s yearning
for that thing named pomegranate

then came the time of actual growing up
gifting me the privilege to specialize my studies
positive sciences on one road
humanities on the other . . .

a broad literary field of wondrous symbols
an era-identified compilation of Turkish writings
either originally conceived or mindfully adopted
were spread before my eager eyes ears and imagination
a tree of pomegranate the red shiny beads of a pomegranate
no longer were that foreign thing to me

my move out of the landscape of my birth
changed nothing in these later years
for i ran into it again
this time among the pages of a novel
where it was crying

a dear writer-friend of mine
knowing my late-bloomer-fascination
told me she strongly desired a translation
in my hands the same hands that just wouldn’t
just couldn’t let go off that pomegranate
besides
it was crying

joining my confused tears
on one random day at dusk . . .

Kısır Topraktaki Dut
The Mulberry on Barren Soil

high snow covered every bit of dirt
we had peaked the season of winter
sedated by a lifetime lifelong meal
leftovers looking back at me
from my borrowed plate
from my tray of loan

it wasn’t a cardinal’s chest
i could have sworn
a mulberry it was
a reddish-black one
from my little girl-tree
shared way back then
with a few Sinopian lads
before joining my beloveds
before watching that reddish-pink thing unfold
olive pomegranate orange lemon fig mulberry
yes yes oh yes mulberry the reddish-black kind
it was hanging on the leafiest twig
on the branch of my one summer-old tree

as if to wait for me to notice it
before falling onto a softest cushion of snow
like i on that day’s end and many times before
had wished to be falling into my mother’s arms
for lately i have been craving them so . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz (4.20.2017)

Uzak Geçmiş.jpg.opt100x100o0,-6s100x112

In memoriam to my mother whose birthday was in May, who also died in May -on the 7th, the day when her late brother was born.

~ ~ ~

This poem will appear in the May 2017 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly anthology featuring the poetry of nationally- and internationally-based writers and published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

Thank you dear Bill, William S. Peters Sr. for the inspiration to my poem’s title.

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…self-centered…

My dear visitors,

I hope you won’t find me overly self-centered for sharing with you this time a high moment in my life when my creative writing is concerned: My Trance, a collection of poems in English, German and Turkish has found its voice! Both highly accomplished poets, William S. Peters Sr. and Janet P. Caldwell of Inner Child Press – the remarkable publishing enterprise I have written to you about a while ago – have given a life to my tri-lingual poetry.  You know you had them, at least a few, right?  Those mind-boggling moments of euphoria?  I have been in such state since early afternoon yesterday, when I found out my book of poems is really in print now.  What I have fantasized often since middle school has become a reality.  Simply because the two professionals of Inner Child Press, ltd. listened to my poetic stories of three different cultural conceptualizations and corresponding life experiences with much care and love, giving me the life-time opportunity of a three-fold literary voice.  The picture below shows you the cover, “Le’nfant” – an original artwork by the artist and poet Siddartha Beth Pierce . An excerpt from my prose, then,  follows on the right – a small segment of the framework within which I provide my readers the transnational context behind my poems:

TRANCE Cover Front Final

 

My poems tell you about a life passed by me, at the same time – with their mere appearance in this book, they announce to you and me a life I decided to live.  Whether their construct is in English, German or Turkish, I strongly hope you will recognize your own stories in them.  However, I wish you will mostly relate to the poems of rejoice and not need to seek solace in those where I mirror countless moments of deep sadness.

 

 

I hope you will find it in your heart to join me in a celebration of not only my high moment but those I wish for all of us to come our ways in one form or another.  Then, as always, I wish you the best in everything and look forward to your visit next Sunday.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After posting for this morning, I have discovered the following remarkable words by a fellow-poet – whom I fondly call a son (whom I never met).  Since this is my day of self-promotion (smiles…), I will go ahead and share with you his insight in to my Trance:

TRANCE

Hülya N. Yılmaz, in this soulful poetry collection of hers displays high level of intellectualism that will keep a reader digging incessantly in order to fully explore the richness of her eloquent expression.

As a reader, I had to connect my soul to her writings in order to extract the undiluted message Hulya has for the world.

Written in three dominant languages; Tukish, German and English…Hulya achieves what many will term impossible as she unites and creates a unique blend with these three languages without a depreciation in the appreciation of her profound expressions.

I cannot help but further continue to address Hulya N. Yilmaz as a literary mother whom I need to associate myself with so as to graduate to the level of excellence where mediocrity is shamed.

My heart is endeared to this awesome collection (Trance), and my love for the writer is strengthened beyond breakage…I have no choice but to address her as “mein Schatz” ( You care to know the meaning of these strange words? Go get the book)
Book available via link: http://www.innerchildpress.com/hülya-n-yilmaz.php

~Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

Related Links:

Siddartha Beth Pierce

Hülya N. Yılmaz

Facebook Site for Trance

Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom on Facebook

The Light Bearer – Poetry Book by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

The Light Bearer by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom – Book Review by Celestial Wisdom

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