ne çare ilk kar
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 1.17.2018
Free Translation (self):
Alas! The first snow
does not even take notice
of the children’s blood
babam canbabam güzel babacığım
o komşu apartmanlara destan kahkahan
oysa ki kaç yıl oldu
sana özgü o şaklamayı son kez duyalı
(aramızdaki son seneni saymayı reddediyorum)
ya takunyandan inşa ettiğin
yemek masamız altı
halımız üstü taban-tabana-kulen?
nasıl güldürürdük seni
televizyonu açmaya gider havalarında
gururla ayaklarına taktığın Alman yapımı terliğine
neredeyse halı altından
attığımız saygı sevgi yüklü çelmelerle . . .
June 14, 2017
Hoffnung ist ein gutes Frühstück, aber ein schlechtes Abendbrot. *** von Francis Bacon
(The image is copyrighted by Lis.) The Francis Bacon quote in own (colloquial) English and Turkish translations:
Hope makes a good breakfast but it is lousy as dinner.
Umuttan iyi bir kahvaltı olur. Fakat akşam yemeği olarak beş para etmez.
~ ~ ~
sözün bittiği yer…
wenn worte* versagen…
when words fail…
~ ~ ~
gene çocuklar aciz
gene çocuklar yetişkin acılar içinde
oysa ki çocuklar hep gülmeli
onları biz istemedik mi . . .
children are helpless again
children in adult-size suffering again
children however must smile always
must be able to smile
aren’t we after all who wanted them . . .
could not have
thema durch war ich für ihn am ende
but also a few undefined times before
in klaren verhåltnissen zu leben
arzusuna geçti uzun senelerinkinin yerine
gene hiç uyarmadan sakince birdenbire
aber du unverbesserlicher ignorant
keep refusing against your will still
dich aus deiner herzenstiefe zu befreien
bu kadar da aşka muhtaç olur mu bir can
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
© hülya n. yılmaz, 4.12.2016
You would all believe me, if I told you he is far more beautiful than this picture does him justice, wouldn’t you? Yes! This image is of my grandson’s. His unintended pose here is utmost precious to me because the shoulder on which he has fallen asleep like an angel of my childhood fantasies happens to be mine. I remember having frozen my daughter right on the spot with my smile of who knows how many thousands of volt. My shoulder has been in this position many times before – in fact, my photo here is an older one when my tiny love had just made it to his two months (he is three-and-a half months old in his photo here). With my lucky charm’s shapely head, chubby cheeks, button nose, mother’s mouth and heavenly breath for me to inhale and never let go from inside me. And, those tiny hands with their father’s fingers – just recently freed from their sharp-nail-repellent baby mittens (his grooming kit is very difficult for his mom to near him with…)! Closing and opening at his dreams’ will to let me know I am there with him. In flesh and blood.
Then, I get to go home. Alone. Days go by fast with demanding work. The nights should follow suit. For, a teacher’s duties multiply outside the classroom to occupy all evenings, weekends and holidays. I end up doing some more work. But, I get distracted (affordably so, of course) and have the urge to write. About many issues of and angles on our existences. The night when my poem below came to me was exceptionally intense in some personal longing and recollection of a recent loss (to life). I had already started mourning over my self without having exited my lifespan yet…On account of “things” not having been possible for me to materialize, nor to hope for, feeling out of time, and other similar harsh realizations. Being made foremost of emotions, my typing took me to an experience of angst. Not for myself, though, but rather only for the afterward. The ultimate innocence, a fully submissive display of trust, the purest and most unconditional love and eyeful of whole body excitement my grand baby was giving me as a priceless gift began to overwhelm me. It was, as if I had just realized what had happened: I, indeed, was the grandmother of a miracle baby boy. Moreover, with him becoming acutely aware of and visibly happy about the wordless interaction between us. Melancholy hit me. The outcome was the following short verse in my native tongue…(an English translation of it is right beneath the original):
eskimiş kalıbıma konup duran inanılmaz bir güzellik nefesinde
yol yorgunu soldakine en karşılıksız masum sevgi gözlerinde
hani cennetten derler ya, işte öylesine kökten gülüşlerinde
korkum sadece benden sonra göreceklerine
i am thinking of death
an indescribable beauty in his breath touching on and off my worn out frame
the most unconditional purest love in his eyes for the trek-weary one on my left
you know how they say: of heaven? such original depth in his smiles
my sole fear
what will he be dealt with
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I wish you all thoughts on and plans for life alone and look forward to your visit next Sunday!