Tag Archives: Inner Child Press International

“torn”

how can you even begin to understand
when all you ever saw was a callous-hearted photograph
of a savagely soul-emptied land
or grasp the devoted dedicated commitment of its people
to their justly attained long-labored traditions and customs
cradled within the tenderly nurtured gentle realm
of their age-old civilization?

how can you even begin to conceive
where these precious fellow-souls
gather the countless pieces of their insides
after witnessing the slaughter of their babies
or what happens to that infant-innocence
if it survives the annihilation of its elderly
long enough to avow that it will further survive?

why don’t you look around
can you really not see
the multitudes of suffering abound?

torn inside and out
you still just go about . . .

“Business as usual” rules, you say?
better yet, the passé overrules
any likely change in our busy-ness
and stays put on its mighty swing set
to carefreely sway its mundane existence away
from the highest high of a ceiling
to the deepest hole in the ground

© hülya n. yılmaz, June 31, 2018

This poem was my contribution to Palestine. A Conscious Poetic Offering, an anthology of global endeavors, compiled by Gail Weston Shazor, the Director of Anthologies at Inner Child Press International, soon to be published by Inner Child Press International. Nizar Sartawi, the Director of International Relations at Inner Child Press International -educator, poet, literary translator shown in the picture, has kindly translated the poems I have read on various occasions in or near Amman, Jordan into Arabic. My special thanks go in abundance to all these much-cherished individuals.

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[Photo Credit: William S. Peters Sr.]

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One Day Later . . . from Amman

To connect to the Internet has been somewhat of a challenge here, in Amman, where I am deliriously enjoying an incredible stay for about a month. So, my Wednesday post comes to you belated, dear reader. Bear with me not only as far as this delay but also when the content is concerned, as I am re-visiting a poem I have shared with you before. There is a difference this time, however, and that is where else I have presented this piece of my poetry: At the Jarash Festival of Culture and Arts in Jordan. In the future, I hope to write much more about my wonder-filled experiences in this gorgeous world region. For the time being, I will suffice to let you in on a secret only: My reading of the poem below on two different occasions has met a gracious acceptance, for which I was and continue to be most thankful. I have had the privilege to recite my poem first in Al-Karak, Jordan for The Jarash Festival of Culture and Arts and then, in Amman for the Orthodox Club. While I read “routines” in English, Nizar Sartawi, our incredible host in Amman, has in his beautiful voice read it in Arabic. Mr. Sartawi, educator, is a prolific poet in English and Arabic and a prominent literary translator. With this post, I am extending my heartfelt thanks not only to dearest Nizar but also to his graceful wife, Zulfa, both of who embraced us as their family in their gorgeous home in Amman. An eternal shout of “Sukran” to you, dearest Zulfa! An eternal “Sukran” to you, dearest Nizar! 

routines

i wake up to just another day
and am soon on my way to work
a school bus waits at the curbside
its hugs, ready for the bubbly children
a parent or a grandparent is always there
seeing their babies off to their safe returns

i think back and reminisce in peace
about my own child’s schooling ease . . .

children get born also
in other parts of our world of course!
children are cherished also
in other parts of our world of course!
children are loved also
in other parts of our world of course!

some struggle to stay alive
some can only try to struggle
death finds them when too young

though it does not routinely arrive
with the intent of a personal kill
they are often left behind
without a caring guardian

for the rest of their butchered lives
they await their pre-determined fate

the notoriously grim reaper has for long
been contracted by psychopaths after all
from in- as well as outside their nations of birth

in those dispensable long-forgotten geographies
a school bus might succeed in a lucky appearance
in “neutral” zones or at a “no dispute-border” for instance
as a rare sight for sure
a notable source of pride
but only until the moment
its door begins to open wide
either to gulp down tiny corpses
or to spit them out bone by bone

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, August 2, 2017

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[Photo Credit: William S. Peters Sr.]

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a poem-trilogy

In recent times, I have been experimenting with my poems as far as their thematic bond whenever a demand was in place. The year of 2018 alone has now seen my poetry in connection with one another. The latest example are my three poems below, all of which will appear in the July issue of the international anthology, The Year of the Poet made available in print to readers every month. This month’s focal civilization was “Oceania”, and the following poetic narrative is what dictated my contribution:

entitled, 1

does the name “Cook” James Cook
as in Captain James Cook that is
sound familiar to you
no, you say?
how can that be!
he has a monument in his name you see
for the monumental service he has done in 1774
he proudly did vandalize torture butcher and colonize
the natives of Vanuatu Islands of 500 BCE
whitened them ever so graciously with a new name
The New Hebrides . . .

you get it of course
there was nothing “new” about the host-land
up until that year ambushed it mercilessly
then . . . there were no more
the same as they were before

the white legacy

isn’t it just grand?

entitled, 2

Kudos to the British!
they worked also 19th century
to their advantage
they took home the bounty
yet once again

the poor unknowing Spanish!
a rushed glimpse of the Tuvalu islands
did not suffice to make them stay

Alas!

they thus failed to discover
the land’s richness in phosphate
mined by the islanders
profits fed-exed to the Commonwealth

entitled, 3

there once was an island called “Nauru”
1,400 people lived on it in peace
they spoke their native tongue
they had their native culture
phosphate was in abundance . . .

the year was 1843 then

45 years later

only 900 survived

together with their phosphate

their language and culture?
out the window they went . . .

© hülya n yılmaz, June 15, 2018

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

Related Links/Readings:

Vanuatu.History.People.Location
Tuvalu.Culture.History.People.Facts
Nauru.Land.People.Culture.Economy.Society.History

 

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*”instead of . . .”

i surprised him

the second he spotted me behind his mommy
his little darling body became a dance all by itself
his forever-smiling face made room for giggles
many many giggles

then joyous ‘come on, grandma!’s

hand in hand
eyes locked on mine
my little enormous sunshine!

‘you come to anne car’
ending in 1/3 of a question mark
with my yes already housed in his brightly shining heart

leaving his pre-school . . .
amid the two grown women’s chatter
as untainted as any voice can ever be:
“I love you, grandma!”

i love him so
his little sister too
that each of my exchanges with them
takes my breath away

and i think . . .
together we all get to breathe again
laughing
crying
eating
drinking
sleeping
celebrating
loving and being loved again

yet on the many other ends of our world
because of a few power-fed sick minds
and their equally loveless bribe-filled grinds
children die
die die die

and die again

*This poem was posted here once before. When I recently got to see my grandson and my granddaughter after a long period of time had passed, I could not help myself but re-visit that most memorable day.

From my newest book of poetry:
Aflame. Memoirs in Verse. Inner Child Press (August 2, 2017)
Available at inner child press
Also available at inner child press are the following:
Trance (December 12, 2013), my tri-lingual poetry book with my own translations between English, German and Turkish, and
An Aegean Breeze of Peace, a book of poetry that I have co-authored with
Demetrios Trifiatis (October 12, 2015)

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The 2017 Kosovo International Poetry Festival

PLEASE NOTE THE CORRECTIONS: My original post was incomplete with regard to the reference I made to the publishing enterprise of William S. Peters Sr., for, initially (1) I had missed providing an active link (added now), and (2) my titling was inadequate as the said enterprise has grown beyond the national boundaries, having become Inner Child Press International (corrected now). 

Good Sunday Dear Reader and Dear Visitor:

A few of my latest posts have not been of my own creative writings as those of you from whom I am fortunate enough to receive comments on my poetry know by now. Many upcoming posts (quotes, though meaningful to me) will follow suit for a while. I am in the midst of writing a book, which I am trying to complete before appearing at a highly exciting event between the 4th and 6th of September 2017: The Kosovo International Poetry Festival.

For this remarkable opportunity, I have two uniquely dear individuals to express my gratitude to -publicly this time: Fahredin Shehu, for inviting me to Rahovec, Kosovo where this multi-national celebration of poetry takes place. Dr. Shehu who has a large number of books in his publication record is the 2018 nominee for the Pulitzer Prize for Literature. He is also an established scholar, particularly in the fields of cultural and religious studies. In equal enthusiasm, I extend my appreciation to William S. Peters Sr., who has been an avid supporter and mentor within as well as beyond the perimeters of his publishing enterprise, Inner Child Press International -along with his steadily growing group of other authors also of my literary endeavors. Peters Sr. to whom belongs an extensive collection of his own written work was honored as Poet Laureate of the festival in 2015 where his contributions to literature, to society and to humanity at large were recognized with the prestigious Golden Grape Award at Rahovec, Kosovo.

I look forward to being back to my more personal and personable posts before too long, and to reconnecting with you once again through that wonderfully caring attention of yours. In the meantime, I wish you a memorable Sunday and far more beyond.

 

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