flour, water, salt, hands,
diligence, speed, energy,
hot plate: his food art
flour, water, salt, hands,
diligence, speed, energy,
hot plate: his food art
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
“We write to taste life twice,”
Anais Nin said.
I, not even once.
Drowned in unknowns,
expectations,
doubts,
hopes,
ills.
Black and white.
Self-pity left.
Grey appeared
amid a rainbow bouquet
donned in scents galore
in the arms of human laughter.
Joy overcame sorrow.
For now.
Filed under Poetry
female virginity
a tireless phobia
its purity
its lack as well
a timeless obsession
before
during
after
matrimony
intact or dissolved
an ageless restrain
oh, my sweet country of birth
when will you depossess
your menhood
conceive your women in whole
unveil their centuries-long wisdom?
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
Once again, I will meet a daily NaPoWriMo challenge, namely Day 18 by Cathy Evans – according to whom one is expected “to write a poem that begins and ends with the same word.” Before I venture into my poem, though, I want to take us all to Encyclopedia Britannica for a background information on in medias res,the literary technique of mention within the same prompt:
“( Latin: ‘in the midst of things’) in narrative technique, the recommended practice of beginning an epic or other fictional form by plunging into a crucial situation that is part of a related chain of events; the situation is an extension of previous events and will be developed in later action. The narrative then goes directly forward, and exposition of earlier events is supplied by flashbacks. The principle is based on the practice of Homer in the Iliad and the Odyssey. The Iliad, for example, begins dramatically with the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon during the Trojan War. The Latin poet and critic Horace has pointed out the immediate interest created by this opening in contrast to beginning the story ab ovo (‘from the egg)—i.e., from the birth of Achilles.”
great despair
professional dead-end
labor-rich occupation
health concerns-laden living
gravely limited means
private life, non-existing
The alternative?
His sole question.
You loved not once
but twice
yet both have gone their ways
your stronghold – your mother
no longer
father, remarried
brother, wedded
but you…
I worry.
He, on a pedestal
same with my brother
they would know, I resolved
forced the heart’s un-yearning aside
stayed on, and on, and on
until it broke
the rope that held me back
went where I had left it off
inhaled
exhaled
exhaled again
again
and again
lived
euphoria
on the path
of the spirit
the authentic one
freed yet once again
from pre-natal melancholy
in a vane attempt
to pre-empt
the persistence of
great despair
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
Today, I adapt to the prompt from day 6 on the NaPoWriMo challenge but it is day 17. Since all prompts are optional, I take this liberty with no feelings of guilt (!) Maureen Thorson describes the task as follows: “[…] This might seem like a bit of a downer, but I challenge you to write a valediction. This is a poem of farewell. Perhaps the most famous one is John Donne’s “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning”, which turns the act of saying good-bye into a very tender love poem. But your poem could say “good-bye” (and maybe good riddance!) to anything or anyone. A good-bye to winter might be in order, for example. Or good-bye to the week-old [E]aster eggs in your refrigerator. Light or serious, long or short, it’s up to you!”
As a semi-confident pessimist, my heart takes me to a serious goodbye, one I have dreaded severely during my daughter’s infant, toddler, formative, teenage years and even early twenties. For I had feared to leave her without a mother when she still needed one. Now that she is a young but very mature adult, I am able to shed those feelings of dread…
my mother, grieving over her own
believed I must leave before I arrived
my melancholy is meant to be
don’t you, *Bir Tanem, ever think thus!
I
grieved over her;
him, whom you know of;
myself, the once intact one;
my accidental life
them, who loved me so
yet migrated one by one
I
aching heart
I
burdened years
I
a *can torn from *canan
I
on eternal leave
had arrived this time
You
just don your prominent smile, Bir Tanem!
Let your beautiful self evade all ills!
Hold that delightful thrill in your eyes!
Life is stunning, as it is arduous.
Hurt is incredibly real but so is joy.
You
keep at your path through and through
don’t forget to taste others, too
demand from your crossroads – one or two
to not close you in with whomever!
Whether a mate or a lover,
make sure to only have a *dost beside you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Turkish words in translation:
Bir Tanem: My One and Only
can: life; soul
canan: the beloved
dost (in its original meaning): gender-neutral friend for life; bad-time friend
Filed under Poetry
are we exhausting
our existential limit
to cast more victims?
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
On this fifteenth day of the NaPoWriMo challenge, I am embracing (as I have done some other times) the “([…] totally optional) prompt! [… Namely,] to write a pantun Not a pantoum — though they are related. The pantun is a traditional Malay form, a style of which was later adapted into French and then English as the pantoum. A pantun consists of rhymed quatrains (abab), with 8-12 syllables per line. The first two lines of each quatrain aren’t meant to have a formal, logical link to the second two lines, although the two halves of each quatrain are supposed to have an imaginative or imagistic connection. […] The associative leap from the first couplet to the second allows for a great deal of surprise and also helps give the poems are very mysterious and lyrical quality.”
Tanam selasih di tengah padang,
Sudah bertangkai diurung semut,
Kita kasih orang tak sayang,
Halai-balai tempurung hanyut.
[The original example above has also been provided by NaPoWriMo]
I have liked the challenge this time so much that I tried to compose Pantun poems in the three languages I am familiar with. All three poems below are my original work: Not translations between the different languages but each holding its own content within the prescribed lyrical form.
A Pantun in Turkish (Love for a town)
ülkemin en alçakgönüllü köşesi
almış çoktan aklımı başımdan
denizinin coşkun gelesi gidesi
kucaklıyor anılarımı karşıdan
A Pantun in English
often advice is given on self-respect
what, though, are the selves’ conditions?
how can it be feasible to expect
that there exist “one fits all” admonitions?
A Pantun in German (Love for a person)
sie dachte, sie entstand aus liebe allein
alles aufzuopfern, dazu war sie bereit
er war vornehm, gebildet und sehr fein
jedoch ging es nicht weiter zu zweit
Filed under Reflections
*we ate our girl’s head
no cannibalistic act
parental failure
*Biz bu kızın başını yedik!” (Turkish) A loving tribute to a living child whose life quality may have been compromised on account of parental mistakes.
Filed under Poetry, Reflections
The Backyard Circus
a squirrel feeder
a small-bird-feeder
within a friendly distance
squirrels acrobat on, at, along the bird-turf
bunnies circle round and round beneath the squirrel food supplier
small birds peck on what’s left on the squirrel ground from before
a cardinal, too large for the bird feeder, dances with grace and hope for left-overs
crows, inching closer and closer, hope for yet another feeder
the chipmunk opts for a hiding spot
knows my decorative stones
mean peace
Filed under Poetry
“Today’s offering comes to us from Charles Bernstein’s list of poetry experiments. In particular, today I challenge you to ‘write a poem consisting entirely of things you’d like to say, but never would, to a parent, lover, sibling, child, teacher, roommate, best friend, mayor, president, corporate CEO, etc.’ Honesty is the best policy, after all, so get it off your chest!” (NaPoWriMo – About)
your mother was dying
you considered aborting
for fear of insufficient nourishing
at birth
your arms were embracing
from your lips, words of sadness
in a tiny bundle
underdeveloped
covered in body hair
no contest to your first-born
yet your love, all the same
when did the domination begin?
to wear this but not that
to use grace while stepping on a path
not to let the shoulder rise for a tote
head up,
relax neck,
one foot before the other
make them heed a tight distance
arms, not swinging back and forth
but rather in harmony with the rest
draw liner outside the lids, never mark the inside
mascara, only on occasion
no need to color the lips
the cheeks
but cover acne
with dark shade powder
multiple layers are desired
wear long hair uncaged
but not below the waist
no need to access the lack of height
Henna is a must
for it enhances
the beauty of olive skin.
He is the ever first
besides, too young
a bookish boy
an only child
his mother over-demands
his cousin over-reacts
his aunts, too modern
He, a dream come true!
In looks and in age –
No need to meet every day.
His mother…
His sister…
No, no! Not at all okay.