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Traduit par Yakup Yurt en français
French translated into English by Richard Vallance



 

The Worm’s In The Apple


The worm’s in the apple
Nibbling away at its juicy white
To discover its way
To Life’s core.
As it wiggles around
In its obscurity
Like a new-born,
It sucks on Nature’s
Salty juice.
In the magma of its own low-life
Lava overflows
Its egoism…
It falls asleep…
It wakes up
Nothing’s changed
It sticks, with the taste of it,
In Time’s core.
It weaves its mask, a spinning web,
And all the furrows it’s hollowed out
Wear it out…
It plays its sinuous games
In its one black eye…
As it winds its way all around
The Apple Green…
It sounds out the sun it sets
While it hides itself away…
Its essence is putrefied
By its stomach
Full of seeds, ashes to ashes,
Walls it’s built alone
Their stones must crumble one by one
Into dust…
Until at last, at last
It’s found out.




 

Every Time I Lift My Eyes

Every time I lift my eyes
Towards the sky…
The birds come in their flight to mind…

Festivities
Weddings cross my mind…
My hands seem
To be reaching out
For roses
Or even the honey of bees…

Every time I lift my eyes
Towards the sky…
The roses fade
And my eyes dissolve in my soul’s own tears. 


I keep a lookout for the past
in deserted streets…
Trailers, country
Rides cross my memory
My hands seem to want
To reach out
For a sunflower’s eye
Or even a willow’s bough…


 


Iskender


Iskender was a model
For telling time
And people…
You know, like gray night clouds
Through which moonlight filters.
Iskender was alone,
He had no one…
They had no love
In their hearts…
They used them to fan themselves
From the desert heat…
For fear of unmoving targets
They never
got to know
Iskender…
Ever since that day
I keep thinking about Iskender…
For them Iskender
Was merely a dream…
But inside of me he just kept growing…
Iskender was a model
For telling time
And people…
You know, like gray night clouds
Through which moonlight filters.



 

Becoming a Human Being


On planet Earth
There live many varied flowers
And beauteous things…

No human being should stay
Inside the narrow door…

In the course of a year
There are many varied months and seasons…

Every human being should love
colours and individuals…

Every human being should love
All countries, the nations
With their many varied languages
And their differing cultures,
Each of them bearing the fruits
Of its own riches…

We should not encourage
Racial discrimination
We should not set aside
Friendship and humanity…

We should sow love when we go to sleep
And harvest love when we rise at dawn
Every human being should love
The penniless and the powerless…


 



Those Were the Days

Once upon a time
I was seated under an oak
Doing a little homework.
Down came the sun through its branches
And on my books its rays fell
An awful hot wind was blowing
And afterwards as it passed
There came its illusions, their whites
Reaching out for my eyes
Beneath the oak tree
In the midst of the silence of the fields
I was refreshed by the sight
Of far away mountains
All snow-covered, so far away
My thoughts lay down, stretched out
Amidst the clover
And every single time the storks came in to land
I felt overjoyed and wept.


 


I’ve suffered quite enough

Like the pains in my back
December’s cold
Was like terrible pangs
In my dreams
Paris gets filtered
Through my poems,
Like strong tea
I’ve poured out my feelings
Into the night’s darkness
The Medusa
Has claimed half
My pain
Paintings in London
Fire the imagination
In Frankfurt the tongue’s wounds
Been snatched away by birds
I’ve been startled awake,
Assaulting myself
And in thirst
I’ve suffered quite enough.


 


Friend, You’re Not The Guilty One


Friend, you’re not the guilty one
The guilty ones are the evenings
See how they drag you down into this obscurity…
Trouble not yourself
Everyday’s “Love’s Labour Lost”
Vanishes away
Your eyes have learned
The meaning of love anyway
Learn how not to remember
Every point of suffering. 

Remember not those eyes, those eyes
Have gone and they’ve enticed you into smoky cafés
Don’t go and believe
your eyes, they’re just not
as sharp as they used to be
Friend, because you aren’t the guilty one,
The guilty ones are hopes
Leaving you to the shadows. 

So what’s the use of fussing
If they’ve never understood
The poems your own baggy eyes
Have forgotten?… 

You’re alone in an unknown beyond
Your eyes are alone as well…
You’re not guilty, friend
The guilty ones are hopes
Leaving you alone in darkness.


 


Brother, Garbage Sweeper

Brother, garbage sweeper,
Don’t sweep anyone’s hopes away
They’ve tossed into the streets…
Tears, you know,
Cannot smudge
Our Avenues…
Folks on the whole
Keep their regrets
All bottled up…
No you can’t guess
How they feel
When they don’t go outside…
Those garbage pails
You’ve emptied out for years
And years and years, are mute
Witness to your feelings…
So why allow anyone
Who thinks only of his stomach
To bother you?
Brother, garbage sweeper,
please don’t misunderstand
My words…
I never intended
To humiliate you ….
What’s the difference
Between us?…
Brother, garbage sweeper,
Don’t sweep anyone’s hopes away
They’ve tossed into the streets…
Tears, you know,
Cannot smear
Our Avenues…


 
* * *
Traduit par Yakup Yurt en français
French translated into English by F.J. Bergmann

The City Which Is Inside You


You live in your own inner city, which you bought in a silent auction.
You were again unable to cancel your debts.
Under your blackening eyelids you try to feel certain things.
Without noticing your withdrawal from self, you leave for distant parts
by using your ropes of thought like a ski-lift.
Your shudders increase as you touch the numberless elements.
In your screams at the moment when you feel the jolts from the echoes
of your words crossing the threshold of your thought,
you send birds fleeing before you. As you breathe, your roses wither.
In your moments of madness, crystals fall from your roof.
As your field of thought shrinks, your city expands. You exhaust yourself
from running down the streets and avenues.
As the lamps of your voltage machines alight upon your nights,
your humans robotize themselves.

The toads in your dirty waters frighten even the crocodiles.
Your inner journey makes you grow older.
Your internal cries amplify themselves.
You manifest difficulties with forty paws.
The auxiliary cells of your laboratories do not give you
the opportunity to live any pleasurable moments.
While the fear indicator inside you slackens you through
and through, you have not
even the possibility of speaking. With each movement of the clock,
the seasons rip themselves out of your heart.
Your solitude traverses your spirit without cease.

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