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“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

 

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“…be a break from life…”

i want my poetry to

burn tears in your hearts
then bring them to the surface
before you decide you’d better cave in
to the pain and suffering etched ever so resiliently
in your past, present and future memories
when it’s time to have that wail explode
letting out that desperately patient standby “enough!”

i want my poetry to ease you then
into the arms of a selfless child-bearer
whose lullaby will tuck you in safely
under a snuggle-obsessed blanket-sleep
after having raised you from a darkest deep
together with the gentlest touch of other souls
which learned to utter only the tongue of love
their aura will entice you into a burial ground of ashes
where to lay to rest your ire and your innermost fears
to shed all your chains to be free of also the tears
which have been fiercely carved on earth
on its every hidden nook and cranny
since the birth of humanity

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to weld with steel
the vital holes on your pails so frail
for you to be on your steadfast way
to flood in the universe with no delay
its tamest of waters on nature’s path
will gather for you to help you cleanse
your self-unforgiving self foremost
but won’t let you once forget all else
which you may have cursed in wrath
they will amass for you serene drops of bliss
to bathe under each the bitter ghosts of your ills
chafing away your immense boulder’s mass
for a modest few little whiles at last

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to hold your hand
every time you must weather a storm
so that you know i too have been marred
the craftiest kind left me barren with all its might
hail rushed and wedded bloodcurdling thunders
lightening was only watching from afar at first
but then it exalted their union in a raucous roar
even snow flurries of my most loyal delight
showered the procession in a sliest twist

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to waft you in the end
inside a cloud that is mate to the mild zephyr
to undiscovered lands as well to the Seven Seas
to the faraway councils of breath-taking skies
to the communes on the many luminous moons
to the cometic homes of ancient curiosities
in pursuit of the suns of the Egyptians
of the Hindu the Chinese the Japanese
of the Greek the Aztec the African
of the Navajo the Inca the Inuit
of the Sumerian the Roman

even though i don’t sing of elation alone . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, 11.2.2016

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Gail Weston Shazor: I am afraid of heights. With you, I wouldn’t mind standing on top of a cliff. Because you instilled that much trust in me since the first time we met in the virtual world. That bright smile of yours I get to see whenever I drop in on our shared social media platforms, the love for life your every word reflects in each of your posts, all your comments and announcements, the genuine tone of attachment to the art of poetry in every segment of your poems and many other traits of you have given me such confidence in you long ago. No matter how rarely we communicate in this or that manner, a lifetime friend is what I saw and continue to see in you. But then again, I had the wonderful opportunity to read at least one of your books of poetry quite up close. Thank you, sweet Gail, for this memorable project, i want my Poetry to . . . a collection of the Voices of Many inspired by . . . Monte Smith. Yet another publication by Inner Child Press, Ltd. that tirelessly continues to take the lead in spreading the poetic word.

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Telepoem Booth in State College, PA ~ The First Year’s Collection ~ My Two Poems

“Congratulations!”

What do you think of incoming correspondences that start with this lovely C-word?

Over the years, I have received my share of the other kind: “We are sorry to inform you […]“. I don’t know about you but I most prefer the option on top…

To my delight, an email came into sight this past Wednesday with that C-word preceding its opening paragraph: “Five reviewers have sifted through 327 poems from 86 poets and would like to include the following poems that you submitted in the Telepoem Booth Collection.” The letter was from The Telepoem Booth Committee (I have tagged the name of each member). Assuming that I won’t miss the deadline to provide the committee with the recordings of my poems, they will be in the first year’s Telepoem Booth Collection. (Each contributing poet is offered professional readers but I am going to try it with my own voice first.) “The one in State College, location to be determined, will be the second in the nation (Telepoem Booth to Bring Poetry to Downtown State College)”.

My two poems below are the ones to be included in the State College Telepoem Booth Collection. They may seem familiar to you as I have posted them here before. Both have also appeared in The Year of the Poet, a monthly publication by Inner Child Press, Ltd. with the same titles: “Euterpe” and “inkpots” – which are, in my case, no formal titles but rather the initial verse):

Euterpe

i beg of you hear my plea
shield the natal passion
the first resolve to forget
the quest for the new breath
the now
the here

inspire
my desire
to define
the divine

rid me of yesteryear
free me from the self
watch my soul reject its cage
sate my shadow’s final plea
let it soar in its primal roar
see its essence prance in trance

help me shape the freshened day

~~~

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 20, 2015

inkpots

used to uncover the fading word

a second or more to gather the instant

to reminisce to reflect to feel to sense

to touch to hold the new breath

exhaling life at its worst

inhaling poetry

pre-natal

willed

pure

to surpass it all again and again

~~~

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 20, 2015

Related Links:
Telepoem Booth State College on Facebook
Philipsburg Journal

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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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missing the primal id

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i yearn to a burn for the original self

ache once again to come to life there

this time not for myself to torch my self

but for the waves to sear to death my sphere

to lull my cleansed eternal birth

upending the end to its final girth

as if to lay down to sleep the infant self

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~ This poem was one of my three contributions for the upcoming August 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

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…warring mentalities…

while dining with its kin and companions

the carcass-serving beast made a fatal mistake

it relied on its incurable lack of brain

hence it belittled you my peaceful child of love

concluding you will always remain infinitesimal

check mate

Lappetfaced_vulture

Photo Credit: Temple Illuminatus]

Together with two other poems, this one was published under the title of “pre-natal visions” in the July 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

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…begging your muse to…

Together with Demetrios Trifiatis – a dear friend in the written arts, I am currently working on a book of poetry, both of us having envisioned a world where peace will rule. Yes, we all have heard this wish, dream, desire, hope, expectation, or whatever we may end up calling it, many times before. Still, this caring soul and I can’t stop from at least making our own attempt to spread the word for the anti-thesis of hatred and what feeds it. While my co-author has composed poems well beyond our book’s capacity for the time being, my work is pending. More often than not I find myself searching for words for the overwhelming inspiration I have deep inside me. When I most recently caught myself in yet one other no-match-situation as far as my good will being frowned down upon my pen’s capacity, I went through most of my previous poems for help. The one I am sharing with you today has its poet pleading with the muse of poetry and music…enough said, I suppose?

25.Euterpe_auf_Brunnenwand(1857)-Friedrich_Ochs-Sanssouci-Mittlerer_Lustgarten_Steffen_Heilfort

[Image Credit: WIKIMEDIA COMMONS]

Euterpe

i beg of you hear my plea

shield the natal passion

the first resolve to forget

the quest for the new breath

the now

the here

inspire

my desire

to define

the divine

rid me of yesteryear

free me from the self

watch my soul reject its cage

sate my shadow’s final plea

let it soar in its primal roar

see its essence prance in trance

help me shape the freshened day

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 20, 2015

“Euterpe” was published in the April 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. Each month, this book consists of poem contributions made by nineteen authors, The Poetry Posse and featured poetry by others.

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