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> Bir Türk'ten Şiirler, İNGİLİZCE
HACI
mesaj 15 12 2005 - 02:36
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Oarsman

I work hard
To go backward
My past in the back of my head
Passes in front of me.
No mirrors
No helmsman
I can’t turn around my head
Like an owl.
But, I have the talent to be flown
Into unknown

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 15 12 2005 - 15:53
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Counter Point

One, two, three
Is the meaning
Four
Of my life is
Thirteen and a half
Maybe.
Coming back to the touching episodes
And in between life here, life there and life yonder
Words, symbols, and a whole lot of nonsense
Between food and discharge
Absorption and annihilation
Breathing and contemplating
Something touched me
As profound as Pi and
No less than the square root of
Minus one.
Searching, searching, searching
For what?

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 15 12 2005 - 19:49
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Seashells

Gulf

Sea
Shells
Sea
Shells

Beaten by the waves for millenniums
Now a crunchy white sand as far as eye can see
Alive once, crawling, feeding, reproducing
Then dead
Then crushed into pieces
Maybe the other way around
Yet beautiful and serene
Long after their death
Such beautify required so much death.

One
Sea shell

I take it home
This one is whole
Didn’t escape death
But escaped the beating
Alone it is not as mesmerizing as the white sand
It looks lonely
It wants to go to the beach
I feel its loneliness
I think it would rather be beaten to pieces than be lonely
I should return it to where it belongs

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 15 12 2005 - 21:36
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Safety

Breathing is safe
Breathing is the essence of
Peace and tranquility.
Writing about breathing is safe.

But, I was not born into
Safety.
I was born into danger.
I was born to die.

I was born to love.
I was born to breathe fire.
I am a safety hazard
Back to my breath.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 15 12 2005 - 23:15
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FACE IN MUSIC

She came to me
With daunting melody
Melancholy movements
Hugging silent pauses
Swirling counterpoint
In rhyming adagios
Of Albinoni.

Ineffable grace of a woman’s face
Unimagined beauty carved in memory
Rose from deep
Deep hollow mind,
To touch me.

Made me whole
Full beat of a heart
Before she left me.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 16 12 2005 - 03:37
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Completed Chore

One end fits the other
Everything is what is supposed to be
How long it took to worry
Search, plan, inquire and wait
Until the chore is complete

I say our chores make up our lives
And our lives are made up of a chore
A carefully planned, long and tedious affair
Ending with the greatest satisfaction of all.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 16 12 2005 - 17:23
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Meditation

All my troubles
Come to me
When I breathe softly.

My mind
Clear as night sky
I see each trouble
Like a star.

One rises
One sinks
One old, other new
So much to count
Yet,
My home star
Ah… my home star!

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 17 12 2005 - 16:16
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Manet’s Toreador

Dignity between life and its end
Here lies Manet’s toreador dead.
Equanimity of hips
Sharp turn to the left
A bull wants to mate.

A ritualistic test between the noble beast
Who inherited the earth,
And the clown who will perform
His final dance with death.

A muleta is thrown, the bull attacks the cape
Red passion is his girlfriend.
Cheated of desire by graceful movements
Steaming nose thrills, tail and horn
The bull will learn
Love unrequited.

Before absorbing what this lesson entails
One more finality will strike between his shoulder blades.
The muleta covering its shame
Right elbow rises sudden and swift
A penetrating deadly push is administered
With a long, thin, dark looking penis,
Into the sensibilities of the beast.

There is sensual imagery in all that
But, its meaning doesn’t change.
Every clown removes his black winged hat
To face the truth about himself.
Some die without finding it
But, the noble beast knows the best.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 01:47
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Civilization

Oil in hot pan, mustard seeds jumping,
Stir in chili with curry leaves to infuse the heat.
Onions, tomatoes and garlic,
Turmeric for color
Coriander leaves to seal the smell
That began all civilization until
Smell became passion
Taste became love
Color became war until
We ran out of Neem twigs
To clean our bloodstained teeth.

Vehbi T
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HACI
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 02:04
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ÖNEMLİ BİR HATIRLATMA...

Vehbi T., Hacı değil.....

Hacı'nın yakın bir arkadaşı..

Onun değerli bir ozan olduğunu keşfettiği bir arkadaşı.. Ama kendisi değil..

Ne yazık ki şiirleri İngilizce.. Ben onları biriktirmeye çalışıyorum.. Kaybolmaları bir trajedi olurdu..
Belki ilerde İngilizce-Türkçe bir şiir kitabı yayınlarız..
Birlikte.......
Bunu ona henüz söylemedim bile..

HACI

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HACI
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 14:58
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A MAGNIFICENT TAIL

A magnificent tail
Cannot be taken for granted.
It is a burden to lick it.
It is a burden to lift it
Before you go.
And after?
To clean all twelve and a half inches of this exquisite fur
Color of rust blended in snow
And pay enough attention
To its every speck of rust and snow?
It is simply made to cover a whole lot more
Than what it is designed for.
Constipation no alternative
Too painful to hold, may have bloody outcome
Besides rust and red
Do not match.

It makes eating a chore
When you consider it all.

It is a bore to carry it
When everyone else so ill-equipped.
One can never be too perfect or too careful
With such a gift.
It is simply too big to hide and manage.
It makes a simple passage
Troublesome.
A complicated one
Impossible.
When you jump it pushes you back
When you dive
It is no help.
An unlucky gift of
Evolution
An unintelligent creation
To be praised
By intelligent men
Meddling with cat’s end.

Vehbi T.
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belgin
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 15:33
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"Ne yazık ki İngilizce" değil, "iyi ki ingilizce". Müthiş ve başarılı. Kutlarım!..
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HACI
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 15:59
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İki nedenden dolayı ben ne yazık dedim..
İlki, dil engeli nedeniyle okuyucuların çoğunun şiirlerdeki inceliği anlayamaması.. İkincisi onları Türkçe'ye çevirmenin mümkün olmaması..
Bir üçüncü neden de Türkçe değil, İngilizce literatürün zenginleşmesi..
Biz yazarın Türk olması ile övünüyoruz ama, bu yazar üne kavuşursa Amerikalıllar ona sahip çıkacaklardır. Çünkü arkadaş orada yaşıyor. Bizim İran'lı Mevlana'ya sahip çıktığımız gibi........

HACI
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belgin
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 16:15
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Haklısınız hacı.

Yurt dışında Türk Edebiyatı masterı yaptım. Türk edebiyatını ingilizce öğrendim denebilir. Sorunları biliyorum. İzlenecek yol, yazarın ilk adımda Türkiye'de tanınmasını sağlamak. Kendisi de "Amerikalılar" tarafından sahiplenilmek istemiyorsa!...

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HACI
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 16:46
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İlginç olarak kendisi İslam'ı pratik eden bir Müslüman'dır, Belgin kardeşim... Türklüğü ile övünür elbette. Şiire merakı yenidir. Sanırım belki biraz da ben onu bu konuda cesaretlendirdim. Son zamanlarda daha hevesli yazmaya başladı... Kendini İngilizce daha iyi ifade edebiliyor. Türkçesi de çok iyidir aslında ama, şiir dili olarak İngilizceyi yeğliyor. Bir Türk gibi düşünüp, algılayıp, İngilizce yazınca, ortaya çıkan şiirin tadı çok farklı olabiliyor. Ben İngilizce şiirleri pek sevmem.. Sevdiklerim de vardır elbette. Örneğin Emily Dickenson'u beğenirim. Vehbi'nin bazı şiirleri bana Dickenson'u anımsatıyor.
Almanya'da ve Fransa'da, ya da diğer Avrupa ülkelerinde yerel dille yazan Türk ozanlar vardır mutlaka.. Onlardan benim haberim yok.. Bazı ozanların arada bir Almanca bir terim kullandıklarını biliyorum. Ben de ender olarak İngilizce kelimeler kullanmışımdır. Hatta Türkçe bir şiirimin adı TWILIGHT ZONE dur.. Şiir bu tür eklemeleri götürüyor.. Arkadaşımın şiirlerini yayınlamaya devam edeceğim. İlgi gösterdiğiniz için teşekkürler..

HACI
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HACI
mesaj 18 12 2005 - 17:27
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Depression on Friday Night

Darkness came.
And darkness had thousand colors.
It was not grey, beige, dark brown, mahogany, purple, mauve, charcoal and tan.
It was Black 1, Black 2, Black 3 and Black 1000.
I moved from Black 1 to Black 2 in search of Black 5.
Soon I was lost in blackness and lost count of which
Black I am in.
There is infinite of black in the mind and
I haven’t gone too far.
Just far enough.
Somebody asked me today what Allah thinks about Iraq.
I said I don’t care what Allah thinks.
I meant I don’t care what I think.
I am in the black heaven.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 19 12 2005 - 16:41
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Wax Myrtle

Ladies of the forest stand tall around me.
Pine, cypress and bamboo have dignity.
Live oak strolls like peacock.
Bald cypress has spurs.
Palms pose.
Bottlebrush spreads gracefully.
Jasmine has white stars that climb.
Little orange has symmetry.

My trunk does not go up
My roots don’t go down
Vertically.
My longest branch
Trails the earth.
My canopy is
Stringy.
Not a single part of me
Could be named in geometry.
Only the Spanish moss hanging
Down my limb
Aligns itself
With gravity.

Some say I am
Extraordinary!
Whatever people say about me,
I am a crooked little tree
Out of harmony
With the upwardly.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 19 12 2005 - 22:57
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My childhood

When I was a child,
Fear was tangible and
Love was taken for granted.

Poppies defined the color red and
Blood was revered.

Snakes warmed their blood in the heat of summer
Behind the ancient walls of Diyarbakır, and
Snow piled knee deep on the roof
In front of the attic where my grandmother killed the mice
With the iron tongues of our coal stove
In Erzurum.

When I was a child,
Mountains demanded respect and
Neighbors were always welcome.

We wore our galoshes to the Mosque in winter evenings and
Didn’t understand the prayers, but
Prostration was fun.

My hero was a doctor from the big city whose medicine
Delivered the intestinal parasite as big as a snake
From my 13-year old friend’s stomach
Into the soft earth behind the dilapidated four-walls of an abandoned home
Across our apartment building.

I too was freed from agony that day, but not from the nightmares
Of the snake and the ghost
Of my friend’s grandfather who died within the week.

Boy delivers his snake and the man delivers his soul.

When I was a child,
Gypsies brought their bears from the mountains to play on our street and
Sold a baby bear to the owner
Of our grocery store at the bottom of the stairs of
Our 5-story apartment building.

My mother’s period
Stained her skirt and I was bewildered by
The admonishment of my grandmother.

The blood was pure red and the snow was
Pure white.

When I was a child.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 20 12 2005 - 02:50
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ANNO NUEVO
Date with the 58-year old German nanny of my friend during her first week of her first visit to the USA

Romantic stories- a short marriage, bitter end,
An Italian Count, love in Turin.
A business associate, lover turned into lifetime friend.
A daughter left behind, seldom spoken of- ex husband lives with her.
No commitments, no attachments, never liked sex.
An independent woman getting old,
Still beautiful in the fierceness of her
Freedom like an elephant seal.

You climb a small hill to make yourself
Visible to males- an insignificant hill.
You expect to be approached from behind
Bitten in the heat of coupling
A big male sits on you, nothing’s visible
This is not a porno movie.
You open your mouth to sound a final
Cry of agony before you run away.
The male collapses on the sand
Genuflecting to an invisible God of copulation.

It didn’t take more than a minute to end
Millennia. Neither side enjoyed it.
It had to be done.

One month and three hundred pounds of weight are all a baby elephant seal gets
From her mother.
Before the mother disappears into the Great Ocean.

Quick sex, quick birth, waste no time raising kids
Elephant seals are big on freedom.

You, my dear, are not an elephant seal. Your memories
Of the two beautiful young boys of some else’s will be
Your reward of Freedom.


Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 20 12 2005 - 03:37
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A Cooking Day

A cooking day starts early
Not as early as a hiking day.
Herbs have to be found- basil, dill, oregano, mint
Expensive spices to be bought- where is marjoram?
8 D’anjou pears, poaching practice, Madras curry in peaches??
4 kinds of potatoes, cabernet, sherry, two kinds of vinegar
Crème Freche
After breakfast for two:
I cook potatoes with eggs, bagel on the side.
She cooks griddle cakes for me with bananas and raisins.
Butter, globs of expensive Plugra butter from Trader Joe’s
Sweet potato bisque, poached chicken with buerre ruegue
Steamed potatoes with 6 herbs
Poached pears in cabernet and sugar, vanilla, cinnamon
Topped with chocolate fondue.

I nip my finger again, prepared with band aid
Even before the blood appears.
Experience is always the best teacher.

A feast for somebody, but whom?
My daughter and I. She likes potatoes and chocolate topping best.
The bisque is supreme. But, no one to eat it with.
I am not hungry anymore.

Wash the dishes, organize the refrigerator, and label every container with the name of each Dish using a scotch tape with
A little note about what to eat it with and perhaps how- warm, cold, hot.

What are these labels for?
Every good deed must be labeled because there would not be a good deed without a label.

I have no complaints today.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 20 12 2005 - 15:44
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My little meditation group

Many breaths
One mind.
Many breaths
Calming minds down
To presence of Peace.
There is richness in Peace
That is never boring.
A straight spine
Down goes the breath
Down the Earth.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 20 12 2005 - 20:38
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To My Wife

All this movement
From moment to moment
To moment
Living in every movement
To achieve the goal
Of achieving so many goals
Satisfies none
But you.

Wind on the left
Wind on the right
Too close to the wind
Reach and run
We came full circle
To whom we are.
Me
In the Water
You go
Free.


Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 20 12 2005 - 23:33
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First night of Retreat in Cambridge

We exchange the same air
Both wise and unwise
Young and old fools.

Our practice to look at ourselves,
To see what the mirror wouldn’t reveal
Because our hearts are all broken.

What is this preoccupation with the heart
That compels us to polish it
Like a mirror?

It is enough to grind it
With sandpaper
To make out the fools that we are.

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 21 12 2005 - 17:22
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Second Night of Meditation in Cambridge

My Dream at 3am

We are driving down a narrow street in an SUV
The driver is a young man. I believe he is the son of a friend.
It looks like the road starts where there is a shopping center on the right hand side.
The road looks downhill, steep and narrow, not scary yet.
But, I can’t see the end because it makes a sharp curve
To the left.

The driver is driving very slowly, afraid to proceed.
I tell him to go very slowly. He stops.
I offer to drive the car for him if he can’t. I am sitting in the back.
The van is full of passengers; men, women and children.
The driver is scared. He is terrified. He makes a left turn.

And he is gone.

Our car starts moving without a driver.
I am surprised to see that it is able to make a left turn
Negotiating a sharp curve by itself as I taste the death in my mouth
It stays its course on the road.
But, once we complete the turn, the hill is %70 downhill and very long.
There is a massive, deep gore on the right.
We come dangerously close to the right.
The road is not paved.
The earth splits.
I experience sheer terror.
I think I will die. I think we shall all die.
I imagine the car tumbling and rolling down the cliff in flames.
But, the car continues down the hill as everyone is screaming.

Without a driver.

I don’t remember the rest

Vehbi T.
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HACI
mesaj 22 12 2005 - 02:34
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Of My Memory at 55


I used to know the Turkish national anthem,
And meters of its ancient Arabic poetry.
The names of Ottoman sultans,
Their heroic campaigns,
Silly defeats and cumbersome ends
Became fodder for my genius
I am not above intellectual sophistry.
All this having left me with an unfulfilled desire
To remember the last time
I had any intimacy.
I wish I did not take so much delight
Remembering the name of every temperate tree
Anonymously introduced to me.


Vehbi T.
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