the seven fine arts and i
a painter – unsuccessful
a sculpturist – clueless
an architect – only a wannabe
an artist of music – no chance
a dancer – failed after the beginnings
poetry and literature . . .
daring to try them out at least
*”the seven fine arts and i” is one of the three Ekphrastic poems I have contributed for the September 2021 issue of The Year of the Poet published by Inner Child Press, AKA Inner Child Press International.
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
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
~ ~ ~
An Aegean Breeze of Peace, a book of poetry that I have co-authored with
Demetrios Trifiatis (October 12, 2015) and
Filed under 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 . . .
~ ~ ~
Last week, I had shared with you a poem I was considering to submit as one of my three contributions to The Year of the Poet – a monthly anthology of international sustenance published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. (and thanks to the encouragement I received from you, I have sent my “afloat” to its destination). You are invited to my “picnic on a rainbow” today, the second of the three poems I have submitted this month to address the theme of summer. Imagine what you will get to see next Sunday . . .
the new day is breaking
sleepily it seeps through my bedroom window
then stretches on my bed rests on by my side
i brew tea
dried rosehip
(my no-longer-a secret-addiction)
and inhale both aromas
taking my time
my companion is in no hurry either
then i spot a snowflake
it travels in through the screen
begins to tap dance
on the tip of my nose
its pals end up on the tip of my tongue
they feel the same as before
long before i had orphaned the i in me
how i would insist on keeping them
from melting inside my mouth
so i could taste their delicate crystals
my favorite season was not winter back then
long ago though it has won me over
but summer arrived anew
again
it always does
the more the merrier
folklore dictates me to say . . .
alright then i reply
after all progressive holiday parties are hip
and under our noses often enough
why not throw one for the seasons and me
bury your hatchets everyone
we’ll all have a picnic on a rainbow
the new day is also coming along
i’ll bring my collection of snowflakes
one of you will gather the autumn leaves
the other one will be responsible to bring in grass
nothing but freshly-cut
what a lovely blanket they would all make
after we eat drink and dance
we’ll tell funny stories of yore
then we’ll ride on a sleigh of beach
and out of fright the tidal waves will screech
© hülya n. yılmaz, 6.17.2016
![rainbow-wallpaper-1[1]](https://dolunaylaben.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/rainbow-wallpaper-11.jpg)
Filed under Reflections
atop the gentle ripples
of today’s calm Black Sea
on the edge of that picturesque town
of my insatiable yearning
my face kisses the burnt-orange sun
a push-over wave pats me on my shoulders
(our new neighbor must be on the go
with his sailboat again)
i shoo away my childhood fear of jelly fish
in their territory am i now after all
the largest ones i ever saw
live right here i believe
always bloating over
the small skinny hands of the same little boys
(or so i still trick myself to think)
beach-combing free-spirits
tossing those pulsating bells back and forth
their version of volleyball
they are overly active now
it looks like the entire medusa population
gathered around the lads
i’m safe i’m safe yes i am . . .
no
oh no
it can’t be . . .
don’t you whirl around my feet
what are you doing under my lilo
eek
double eek
triple eek
. . .
moooom!
mooooooooom!
© hülya n. yılmaz, 6.18.2016
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While my decision is not yet firm, I may submit this poem as one of my three contributions to The Year of the Poet, a monthly anthology of international dynamics, published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.
![the-girl-at-jellyfish-lake-by13277[1]](https://dolunaylaben.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/the-girl-at-jellyfish-lake-by132771.jpg)
Filed under Reflections
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.
Filed under Poetry
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.
Filed under Poetry
*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 Muska – smile 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.
Filed under Poetry
A devoted supporter of peace and healing for humanity at large, Inner Child Press, Ltd has accepted submissions of poetry on the subject toward its third World Healing World Peace anthology. The new volume will be published in April 2016 for the National Poetry Month. The 2012 and 2014 volumes are available at the publisher’s website (given above) and at Amazon.com. A large number of writers made a commitment in the creation of this poetry anthology to voice their experiences, views, hopes and suggestions for continued deliberation on this critical matter of human life everywhere. Simply because:
“The planet does not need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of all kinds.” ~ The Dalai Lama
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Filed under Reflections
in contagious passion of all our unlived
we kept writing each other again and again
from you i had learned the love for a man
this time anew you tried as hard as back then
but my pain lasted beyond your reach to soothe
i digged out that poem’s title
its remaining verses came along
Can Dündar had lined up your fear for me
i must have worried you beyond my capacity
for musalla taşı* was a most somber thought for my after
© hülya n. yılmaz, February 16, 2015
* A stone platform on which the dead body is placed with its closed coffin to receive a final goodbye along with a specific prayer– a core element for Muslim burial ceremonies. The body is then carried in its coffin to the burial site to be lowered and covered with fresh soil inside a plain white cloth – without the coffin.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The poem above is one of my three contributions to the March 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.
Filed under Reflections
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