This page is dedicated to all poetry lovers around the world, and to Cengiz Toprak who loved playing cards, smoking pipe, painting pictures, carving marble, writing poems, and debating me on the deep questions of philosophy in his spare time.

A. Yavuz Oruç

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To Keziban from Dodurga -p. 10

I played hide and seek at four
under the table tops.
I went to women sessions in public baths
till I turned eight
to see how they remove hair from the crotches
of bride-age girls with sticky syrup.

I've discovered my virility
with foals in windmills
and gypsies in Florya*.
I made friends in whorehouses
and mansions
for twenty-five kurush and melting bricks.
I wandered from fair to fair
in tent theaters and with tombala players
I danced with women in topless bars
and ballrooms too.
Though drum beats always touch my heart,
I enjoyed arias in opera houses.

I began by cleaning finished goods
in Erenler copper factory.
Then I became a tombala player,
I sold slippers and smuggled fabrics on the streets
to track my green-eyed mistress.
I never sold a friend,
Yes;
I slept with a donkey, horse, and in jail
but never with what is left to my care.

I always regarded graves holy, and respected
callous hands, grandmothers, grandfathers.
I kissed bread with my childish hands
and my son's cold forehead at age 50.
I did not kiss hands at government doors.

In nineteen forty-six, I smuggled copper,
in nineteen fifties, heroin.
I worked in shops and construction
and built homes.
I carved marble, painted pictures, and built brick walls.
I raised cattle,
farmed lands, and even became a banker.
I lived life to the fullest,
learned to share my labor,
and to eat without snarling like animals
I lived in love with all of creation and humans.
I owned hotels, farms, and mansions,
but I did not have a home.
I left nothing to my children that I don't own,
other than my books, paintings, and sorrow.

After the deaths of my mother, son, and dog Berde,
I never had a friend
Perhaps, you, the dry rose in my books of youth,
in Bent Creek**,
the capital of Pashali
Keziban*** from Dodurga,
but I am not sure
if you are still alive.
________________________
*A beach in Istanbul.
**A public prostitute house in an old district of Ankara.
***A woman the poet used to visit at Bent Creek.

Passion for Fall - p. 14

It's raining frantically, child
the rain's crazy, you're crazy
flower sprouts with water in soil
child grows with play in love
play, child
in rainy weather, like crazy.
You are in pain, in yourself,
in hearts that beat with yours
broken into pieces, forgotten
your hands get dirty,
don't play, child.

You're in Istanbul
with its lights buzzing like a female viper
wrapped inside a black cloth
with its sea as in good dreams
you're in Istanbul
without minarets, seagulls, ships
and without passion
when Istanbul isn't in you.
A woman's voice rings in your ears
half drunk, half depressed
poplar trees are blowing over your head
go if you can
you're in Istanbul.
Shut your eyes against the water
that is fluttering on your feet
If you can shut your eyes
when fire is burning like crazy.

Human phycology is analyzed
like sodium chlorine.
Its synthesis is impossible.
No fire can melt the ice
surrounding the hopes.
After so long and once again
the truth rested its fist on your temple
not a single drop is left in your eyes
you can't cry.
In the hallways of the emergency room tonight,
the dead, draped in American cloth
like bites swallowed into full stomachs
cool, unagitated and pompous
taken to the morgue
without a next of kin.

Play as much as you can
play, child.
You're in Istanbul
somewhere near the sea.
When the sun set
with the kisses you offered to the darkness
the blue bead is broken.
In rainy weather, like crazy
play, child.
They say that one who does not know
how to die has no right to live.
Like an old refrain
muttered in tender lips
if you learned to die a thousand times
fluttering on the wings of every bird
and lived by loving the universe
your arms drop to the side motionless.

With its prostitutes, profiteers, believers
And with its history smelling streets
bonding the crowd together
its women, its fish, and bars
you're in Istanbul
when Istanbul isn't in you.
This is a dream,
it's raining frantically.
My crazy heart,
don't stop, just go.
Filled with hope, yearning, separation, and sorrow
departs from Haydarpasa*
each night at 20:30, the Meram express.

The stars over your head are small and large
The skullcap mountain will set foot on your fate.
Nostalgia clouds will surround your horizon.
If you must burn
it won't be for yearning
but for deception.
As Meram express departs from Haydarpasa
it's filled with hope, separation, and sorrow.
In the sleeper compartment, in Cabin 11
mind, heart, the dead brought from emergency
draped in American cloth, and I.
We were four, holding hands
The same song in our lips
Our hearts, slient and haughty like the skullcap mountain
I looked at the city that was not with me last time.
We thought of you together
And together, we got drunk
And took shelter in sleep
before we reached Izmit**.

The night,
with its light, darkness, and total glory,
had taken the earth into its arms
and was sliding through the window of Cabin 11
And telegraph poles!
"Do birds perch on telegraph lines?
Does everyone burn for love like me?"
They were written on the paper you gave me
on the day you were drunk.
I took out your picture.
From my heart to my heart, you wrote on the back.
Four of us could not share that heart
I searched it in my heart
without a trace until Eskisehir***.

I woke up from my dream with the sounds of salep sellers.
The train stopped.
The road split into two
The heart, mind, and the dead
were still fighting fiercely
to share what is left.
Where to, my devil heart, where?
The road split into two
The numbers grew larger like mountains
Twos became a four, fours became a thousand
and you shattered into a thousand pieces again.

From the nineteen forties
I recall a French idiom
"Exile is solitary everywhere".
If you can look at
tears smelling onion
with love, you are in love,
and the dead draped in American cloth
would engage in philosophy,
And would look at women like a meal on a plate,
In white and blue light,
the plain is covered with snow
And there it is, skullcap mountain
And then appeared Konya****.
I left the train alone.
Now the three dead
with the days we spent together
are all buried in Nalcaci semetary
The land of saints,
The city of joy,
Mevlana*****
If it's a sin to love the created
I've sinned million times.
I came to you
as I am.
_____________________________________
*An old central train station in Istanbul.
**A city in Northwest Turkey.
***A city in central Turkey.
****A cultural city in central Turkey.
*****A religious cult figure (whirling dervish) who's revered in Turkey.

Dodurgal? Keziban'a -p. 10

Dört yaşımda saklambac oynadım,
masa altlarında.
Kadınlar hamamina gittim sekiz yaşına kadar
görmek icin
apış aralarına ağda vuruluşunu
gelinlik kızların.

Değirmen önünde sıpalar,
Florya'da çingene kızlarıyla tanıdım erkekliği.
Yirmibeş kuruş ve kremit eritme pahasına
genel evlerde dostlarım oldu
köşklerde de.

Dolastim panayir panayir
cadir tiyatrolari ve tombalacilarla
alemlerde kadin oynattim
balolarda da.
Her ne kadar davul sesiyle titrese de yuregim
arya dinledim operalarda.

Once odun talasiyla mamul esya sildim
Erenler bakir fabrikasinda.
Sonra tombalaci oldum
sokaklarda terlik ve kacak kumas sattim,
yesil gozlu kirigimin izini bulmak icin.
Dost satmadim.
Dogrudur;
Essekle, atla yattigim ve de hapiste.
Asla emanetle yatmadim.

Kutsal saydim mezarlari
nasirli elleri, nineleri, dedeleri
optum cocuk ellerimle ekmegi
ve oglumun sogumus alnini elli yasinda.
devlet kapisinda el opmedim.

Bindokuzyuzkiraltilarda, bakir
bindokuzyuzellilerde afyon kacakciligi,
tezgahtarlik, amelelik yaptim.
Santiye sefligi de
muteahhitlik de
mermer oydum, resim cizdim, duvar ordum,
hayvancilik yaptim,
ciftcilikte bankerlikte.
Enine yasamayi ogrendim sureyi
paylasmayi ogrendim emegimi
ve hayvanlar gibi hirlamadan yemeyi.
Severek yasadim tum yaratilisi, insanlari.
Hanlarim, ciftligim, konaklarim oldu;
Evim olmadi.
Cocuklarima hicbirsey birakmadim, benim olmayan
kitaplarim, resimlerim ve acidan baska.

Anam, oglum ve kopegim Berde oleli
sevenim olmadi,
Bir de sen, gencligimin kitaplari arasinda
kurumus cicek
Bent deresinde
Pasalinin sermayesi
Dodurgali Keziban
sagmisin bilmiyorum.
________________________



 Guz Sevdasi -p. 14 

Yagmur yagiyor cocuk, delicesine
yagmur deli sen deli
suyla buyur cicek toprakta
cocuk sevgide oyunla
oyna cocuk
yagmurlu havalarda delicesine.
Acilar icindesin kendince
seninle atan yureklerde.
Kirilmis paramparca olmussun
unutulmussun
ellerin kirlenir oynama cocuk.

Istanbuldasin
isiklari, ugultusu
kara carsafa sarilmis disi bir yilan misali
dost ruyalara giren deniziyle
Istanbul'dasin
minaresiz, martisiz, gemisiz
ve sevgisiz
Istanbul sende degilken.
Bir kadin sesi cinliyor kulaklarinda
yari sarhos, yari bezgin
kavak yelleri estiriyor basinda
git gidebilirsen
Istanbul'dasin.
Yum gozlerini
ayaklarinda cirpinan sulara karsi
yumabilirsen
boylesine yanarken ates.

Sodyum klorur gibi analizi yapiliyor
insan psikolojisinin.
Sentezi mumkun degil.
Hicbir sicaklik eritemiyor
umutlari saran buzu
Nice sonra iste yine
yumrugu dayadi sakagina gercek.
Bir damla yas kalmadi gozlerinde verecek
aglayamazsin.
Bu gece acil servisin koridorunda
Amerikan bezine sarilmis olu
tok karinlara giden lokmalar gibi
sakin, telassiz ve gorkemli
morga goturuldu
kimsesi yokmus dediler sadece.

Oyna oynayabildigin kadar
oyna cocuk.
Istanbul'dasin
denize yakin bir yerlerde.
Gun bittiginde
karanliga sundugun opucuklerle
kirildi mavi boncuk.
Yagmurlu havalarda delicesine
oyna cocuk.
Yasamaya hakki yokmus
olmeyi bilmeyenin
Korpe dudaklarda rastgele mirildanan
eski bir nakarat gibi
ucan her kusun kanadinda cirpinarak
bin kere ogrenmissen olmeyi
ve severek yasamizsan evreni
iki yana duser kalir kollarin.

Fahiseleri vurgunculari, muminleriyle
Ve tum kalabaligi birbirine baglayan
tarih kokulu sokaklariyla
kadini, baligi, meyhaneleriyle
Istanbul'dasin.
Istanbul sende degilken.
Bir hayal bu
yagmur yagiyor delicesine
haydi gel gonlum
durma git.
Umut, ozlem, ayrilik, tasa yuklu
her aksam 20:30'da kalkiyor
Haydarpasa'dan Meram Expresi.

Basinda ucusan yildizlar buyuklu kucuklu.
Bahtina mekan kuracak takkeli dag.
Saracak ufkunu hasret bulutlari
Yanman gerekirse
ozleme degil
aldanmisliga yanacaksin.
Meram expresi kalkarken Haydarpasa'dan
umut, ayrilik, tasa yuklu.
yataklinin onbir nolu kabininde
akil, duygu ve acil servisten getirilen
Amerikan bezine sarili olu ve ben.
Dort kisiydik elele
dudaklarimizda ayni turku
takkeli dag gibi magrur ve suskun yuregimiz.
Son bir kere baktim benimle olmayan sehre.
Birlikte dusunduk seni
Ve birlikte sarhos olup
sigindik uykuya Izmit'e gelmeden once.

Gece
isigi, karanligi ve butun hasmetiyle dunyayi
almis koynuna
onbir nolu kabinin camlarindan kayiyordu.
Ve telgraf direkleri.
Telgrafin tellerine kuslarmi konar?
Herkes sevdigine boylemi yanar?
Sarhos oldugun gun,
bana verdigin kagitta yazili bunlar.
Fotografini cikardim.
Canimdan canima diyorsun arkasinda.
Biz dort kisi paylasamadik o cani
Ben de aradim kendimce
bulamadim Eskisehir'e varana dek.

Salepcilerin sesiyle uyandim hayallerden.
Tren durdu.
Ikiye ayrildi yol
Gonul ve akil ve olu
Hala kiyasiya kavga ediyordu
paylasabilmek icin kalani.
Nereye deli gonul nereye?
Ikiye ayrildi yol.
Daglarca buyudu sayilar.
Ikiler dort oldu, dortler bin
Ve sen bin parca oldun yeniden.

Bindokuzyuzkirklardan,
Fransizca bir metni animsadim
"Surgun her yerde yalnizdir"
Sogan kokan gozyaslarina
severek bakabiliyorsan
asik olmussun,
ve felsefe yapacaktir,
Amerikan bezine sarili olu.
Ve tabakta yemek gibi bakacaktir kadina,
Beyaz, mavi isiklar icinde
karla kapli ova
gorundu takkeli dag
gorundu Konya.
Tek basima indim trenden.
Simdi uc olu
seninle oldugum gunlerle birlikte
Nalcaci mezarligina gomulu.
Erenler yurdu,
gulen sehir,
Mevlana.
Gunahsa sevmek yaratilani
milyonkere gunahkarim ben.
Iste oldugum gibi
geldim sana.

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