Tag Archives: The Year of the Poet V

“Pachacuti”

an Inca Emperor takes the throne
Pachacuti is his name
his rule becomes a legacy
and attains a sizeable fame
for its unrivaled magnitude
as South America’s rarity

modern cultural history
traces the Inca back to the 12th century

AD, that is
in the Andes of southeastern Peru
looking from a frozen space in a distance . . .

Manco Capac,
the son of the Inca’s supposed creator,
was journeyed by his father, the Sun God Inti
down to Earth

12 million people of a large diversity,
comprising 100 different sets of ethnicity
made up Tawantinsuyu, the Inca state
thus claim the sources of history . . .

using their intellect effectively

helped them survive

a vast amount of misery

they were helpless however
in the face of the worst kind of agony
people in power had waited long enough
time had already passed by too fast
and had traveled away way too far
for them to establish methodically
an all-inclusive tyranny

there is much more to narrate about the Inca
a huge number of encyclopedias is on e-call
what matters to me though lies beneath the shell
that which i will unearth with vigor oh yes i shall
in fact it is nothing new that i choose to seek
to dare to unbury discoveries is not for the meek
let us go on to play our convenient hide-and-seek

powers-to-be?

today?

no way!

be that as it may
some of us are here to stay
and will turn over the stones for sure
to unravel the treasures of this mystery
then, powers-to-be will be no more
have no dismay!

© hülya n. yılmaz, August 20, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the September issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“in search of . . .”

in search of

a few meaningful lines
all along while Clio whines
Calliope is nowhere to be seen
as for Erato Melpomene and Polyhymnia
they are getting dressed right before my eyes
in a frantic vengeance and joy i have not foreseen

all i had requested were a few leads
to embark on my quest to find the Lupita
i suspect i am suffering from severe jitters
as i am capable of only counting my fingers
while each compiles in a pile countless beads
i’m afraid i am going to drown in this Chlorophyta

perhaps just perhaps though
i will find what i think i am looking for
would you please bear with me while i search
until a reasonably coherent finding does emerge?

Eureka!

i did
i did find it!
i indeed found an encyclopedia
ever so proud of their voluminous bit
its makers unanimously call it “Britannica”
i can never keep on a pedestal any colonialist

my jottings clearly announce so don’t you think
as for my effort to rise as a weighty conversationalist
i truly hold not one single hope for your “Hallelujah!”
but please join me at least in my jump to a “Hurrah”
i am after all finishing up the task at hand no easy feat
otherwise i would have to throw a never-before-seen fit

© hülya n. yılmaz, July 20, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the August issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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on Oceania

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
and 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 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 14, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the July issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

 

 

 

 

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“a secret life story”

a secret life story

seriously?

it’s impossible for our live-records to stay unknown
even long after our skeletons’ offspring has outgrown
their offspring’s sketches donning the ruins of the land
there will always be a soul to give our grim tale a hand

has it not been so throughout the timeline of humanity
when will we begin to see this nightmare in full clarity
what more does it take to note the accomplished wrongs
why vow to look faraway while they parade in throngs

seriously?

what kind of a delete-button did in your testimonies
you surely had some rational and trustworthy cronies
it cannot be that so little of you has been left behind
or was prenatally the multitude of your bands twined

you were after all the inhabitants of Southwest-U.S.A.
also of Mexico in its North and synchronized i daresay
what you achieved between 10,000 and 40,000 years
some of us would submit to just to forsake our sad tears

© hülya n. yılmaz, May 14, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the June issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“nomads”

so, very little is known about your lives
is the professional claim in our times
the so-called “modern-day” jest
won’t be as stingy about us i suspect
we surely must self-glorify in retrospect

i don’t doubt what’s said about you today
when i look at our conditions in dismay
the continent you were “among the first”
to inhabitate is yelped to be the only greatest
just when i darn the nth rave then comes the latest

your surviving ancestors may 9,000 years later
discover or make for this laughing stock a grater
for it direly needs the ultimate fine-tuning of all times
our predicament should after all not stay as a secret
maybe they can distill this pickle oh so terribly acrid

you were a wandering and gathering lot i heard
we on the other hand are an incessantly scattering herd
you clothed yourselves with the skin of your hunt
and eaten plants to stay alive while we go the other way
we are the meals and nature are soon to meet its d-day

© hülya n. yılmaz, May 14, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the June issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“inventions, discoveries and donations”

inventions

too many of us are offended
become demoralized and uneasy
when we are reminded of “the other”
of “its” masteries, in particular
while we keep on indulging
in “its” stellar gifts to “the self”

dissatisfaction

impatience
dejection

blame the aware few . . .

why stir up history
as it was written
as it is taught
for “the self”
by “the self”

why pull the brakes ever
of our speeding time-shuttle
to acknowledge “the other” at last
with “its” long-overdue recognition
contemplating thus our own human blood

God forbid!

if we so did . . .

we then might realize
for a passing moment at least
how abundantly the “self” benefited
for centuries not for a mere several years
from “the other” and “its” still-shedding labor-tears . . .

discoveries

our lives would not have been the same
had the “other” not invented or discovered
nor had left intact for the misuse by “the self”
“its” surname bleeding still
taken from “its” sweat and blood
together with all else that to this day does remain

donations

un-written . . .

yes

the subject is Sumerians
of Ancient Mesopotamia
“the cradle of civilization”

how often do we come across
the oft-cited term to belong
to a lobbying cultural entity
as if it were for it to own

no surprises there!

another always seems to bear
the highest octave to raise
so it gets the praise
our history books bear witness

yet those writes
suffer from a mono-lithic lens
thus we reserve the honor
for one or the other
as long as it is not

by no means!

“the other”

furthermore

we cheer from the sidelines
turning into a music buff of some sort

though we know
deep down we know

blame the aware few . . .

why alter a make-belief
a working bed-time story
with all its esteemed fake glory

the invention of
Agriculture
intact with its Plow
and System of Irrigation
the Wheel
the Chariot
the Sailboat
the System of Time
the Concept of Astrology
as well as that of Astronomy
the Map
Mathematics
Urbanization
the Cuneiform
the First Form of Writing

yes

the First Form of Writing

but . . .

our history books
continue to claim
Nay! Oh, nay!
The Sumerians?
Of Ancient Mesopotamia?
The Cradle of Civilization?
Nay!
No way!

. . .

feel free to fill in the blanks
with names that are yet to make the ranks
out of the abyss of intentional omission
for their past and present donation
after all should that not be our mission

unless of course we seek our due commission

blame the aware few . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, April 18, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the May issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“Indian People Are Still Here”

“Indian people are still here,”
Otis Halfmoon of the Nez Percѐ tribe maintains
and adds: “We are not going away. It is time that
The newcomers to this country started paying
Proper respect to the elder status of the first nations.”

Chief Joseph: “Every animal knows more than you do. White men have too many chiefs. Learn how to talk, Then learn how to teach.”

a nation whose population
marked its intent to live in peace
yet was forced to dress in war-wear
for the U.S. government
began to shoo it away
way down below
onto reservations

in the words of the reservation doctor
he died of a broken heart
his countless appeals
to federal authorities
had after all
failed

“I am tired of fighting . . . from where
The sun now stands. I will fight no more”,
uttered by In-mut-too-yah-lat-lat,
“Thunder coming up over the land from the water”,
Or, “Chief Joseph” as he now is known to us,
the still proudly ignorant populace
that erodes more of his land
night by each dark night
day by each darker day

let us recall the times when we have died . . .
a death by a broken heart

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 18, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the April issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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