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4-I missed you!
personals []
poetry

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by Gunsel DJEMAL [Djemagu ]

2009-09-15 | |


in the middle of the sea
gliding in emptiness
i stopped and looked from remoteness
your eyes inside their green/
the waves were in a terrible mess
foams twinkled
and turned into one white moon
from your face reflected to mine
suddenly gale breaks out
in whispers, in a whisper
the sea was ripped from its place
by the winds of your hair
i have come passing over the horizon
to extinguish the foams in my hands
and the gale should go back
open your arms and embrace
let us mix into the phosphorescence
to get rid of our loneliness
my darling
i missed you!

Poezi nga Atila Elustun /Perkthyer anglisht nga Gunsel Diemal



1-When beloved proceeds into grey green journey

Who knows in forty six years?
How many forty six
My eyes touched lightly to your shores Istanbul.

How many fort six steaming
Welcomed Bostanci station
With the rails symphony
Until Haydarpasa station

How many times do the people
Had to repeat the same journey
Rushing.

When there is a time for departure
What was the hurry?
Steep tea; buying the morning cracknel
And to enjoying a cigarette.

Instead of travelling
On the deck of Baris Mancho’s
Steam ships how many forty six…
Without breathing bolted down
every time/The morsel greedy sea-gulls

When journeying into grey blue
The quayside hand of the gunnels
Greeted the Kiz Kulesi
Fishing children at Sarayburnu
How many forty six in forty six years
Had to postpone my longing for
Arrack and fish at Galata Bridge.

Where I can set a self indulgent
Small table with arrack at Karakoy wharf
Without waiting to doc throwing
People jumping to the shore
Pell-mell scattering to the right and left
Out of breathe on the high pavement
To Beyoglu
Where is this hurry
Instead of taking a break
Appetizer at the Cicek Pasaj
Furthermore if you had met a friend
Why not let the memories
To accompany music
What is this hurry…?

Poem by: Atilla Elustun Bostanci 17/2/2009
Translation by: Gunsel Djemal

2-There isn 't a centre of love

“fear and be wrathful of the wine
because it is badly red”
Attilaİlhan

tonight the wine is badly red
i have wrapped the stars into my tobacco
rainbow in its smoke
i am aged she is fresh
is it because of that?

i don’t understand anything from what i am drinking

there are droppings of a thousand fragments of steam, on my table
one of which is…my love
the moss tastes like fish green like Bogaz
i am questioning my past, in the pages of dream
is it because of that?

i don’t understand anything from what I am drinking
my heart is rear, one dark horse
wired phosphorescence in his mane
stars, sea and the moon
on her lips, sorrowful one rosebud

can not keep-up
is it because of that?

tonight the wine is badly red
i don’t understand anything from what i am drinking.

Poem by: Atilla Elüstün 30.12.2002/2004 - İstanbul
Translation by: Günsel Djemal - 19/2/2009 - London

3-Melancholy Has Awaken Istanbul



- I -

with its black rebellious hair
eyes are laden
like one beautiful woman
the moon is looking from the hilltop
the sea has collected her glints
and towed away
verses are poem.

- II -

melancholy has awaken İstanbul i have asked the day.
she has hold back.
hurt/hangover tears are flowing from the
seven crested hills
the sea is sobbing
sorrowful sea-gulls are dancing semah like the whirling dervishes
the wind is in ache intensely on her skin...

- III –

if the trees are the gills of the world
the mountains are the rebels to the sky
the seas and the lakes are the written poems
knelt on her skirts
have a look at twilight time from the top
of the clouds and observe...
and stand on the arable fields look at the earth.


Poem by: Atilla Elüstün 09.04.2009 Bostancı-İstanbul
Translation by: Günsel Djemal - London

Betül Dünder



Betül Dünder was born in 1975 in Istanbul. She is a graduate of Anadolu University and has worked as an actress and theatre director for many years. Her first poem was published in Varlik literature magazine and her first collection Ayna Yorgunlugu (Mirror Weariness) was published in 2006.



Betul Dunder lindi nw vitin 1975 në Stamboll, Turqi

Unhappy grove

My native loneliness made me say what I said
I let lots of my loves go away
while becoming an eternal weariness
my heart. the rocky place of my tongue

what a joy it is to start the day
with my mother's hands on the photo
she reminds once more: don't forget to sing a song !
This I know well, for me, the seas are to drown in
I was always rescued, thanks to my native loneliness
I have so many names to offend the children

my heart! even the ambulances try to make way for you



Translated into English by Tozan ALKAN

they sold butter and black cabbage,
bought salt and kerosene, the eight women
by the same fountain, in red waistcloth
took off their mocassins and socks,
put away them in the baskets
without grumbling about their way of life,
they remained mute until their sons and men passed away
those mountains and constant back pains
were only for them and the axes with moldy handles
leaning up against the door belonged to their hands
the eight women disaapeared towards the mountains
the women found themselves in ignorance



Translated into English by İlyas Tunç

White Swords

There are no eyes on their faces
they speak in a large, brave and cool way
their voices run after
so many white swords
they stand in front of papers, mirrors and tables
first, they kill their dogs
to gather something, to weep for it
then, with a blond barking at their mouths
they look into the wells.
for their husbands who stay in hospitals, in cancer wards
then,with an oleander bough in their mouth
they go to bed with the devil and wake up with god
their groins are sweaty and their foreheads cold
There are no eyes on their faces



Translated into English by Tozan Alkan

COMUNICATO STAMPA



* * *



Prestigioso riconoscimento per “Il Foglio volante”



L’International Writers and Artists Association (Associazione Internazionale Scrittori e Artisti) di Toledo (Ohio - USA), Presidente la scrittrice Teresinka Pereira, ha assegnato ad Amerigo Iannacone un attestato con cui riconosce “Il Foglio volante - La Flugfolio”, come migliore periodico letterario e culturale per il 2008, in quanto rispondente ai principi e agli scopi dell’Associazione.

Nato nel gennaio 1986 a Venafro per iniziativa dello stesso Iannacone, “Il Foglio volante” è entrato nel suo XXIV anno di vita. “Mensile letterario e di cultura varia”, come recita il sottotitolo, il periodico è particolarmente attento, oltre che alla poesia e alla letteratura, alla linguistica e all’interlinguistica e dà spazio a testi poetici provenienti dai cinque continenti. Non a caso testata e sottotitolo sono bilingui, in italiano e in esperanto: “La Flugfolio - Monata literatura kaj kultura gazeto”.

Graficamente sobrio, “Il Foglio volante” è sempre uscito regolarmente e ha ospitato nel corso degli anni numerosissime firme, spesso illustri, come Evgenij Evtuscenko, Peter Russel, Massimo Grillandi, Carlos Vitale, Elio Migliorini e tanti altri.

LULE SHAMETI



1.Paddock of heart



As an antibiotic

I cut out sadness

Birds invite me

inside the paddock of heart

And sadness don’t know

over iohich tree to fly

In which nest to enter

And there is no more cruel cracking of heart.

3. Come down the dusk



Oh, sun!

Do not hide in the dusk

le me spin

the soul.

The night

I am in love with light

the moon

the stars

To the dark nights I will

light the fire

the dark will writhe, will cover.

Kujtimet që ziejnë



Pas kemi lënë

një pjesë të bukur të jetës,

pjesën e rinisë së pjekur

plot aromë,

Kujtimet do të na presin heshtur,

kujtimet që ziejnë mall dhe dëshirë

brenda shpirtit tonë.!