LALE MULDUR

STAR

a babylonian water goddess perhaps she is...turquoise...mutable. ..
white seashell woman...with her seven stars and her astral twin...
Linga Sarira...before she started to offer the elixir of life
how many iris years have thus passed...a black and white butterfly
is her soul...she reads the alphabet of the river's passing...aqua...
floods and vapors long to return to their sources...
the rainbow bridge sketches the promise of a new era...
a star the synthesis of water and fire... far away...
farther away... dies out...to shine...
tiger and mercury...from a celestial channel...
from a celestial channel... will learn faith...will learn...
Renaissance.. .essence...sens... sens...

a black and white butterfly taps on her window. hullabaloo.
a bird flying diagonally.
birds whose courses cannot be foreseen.
in scattered helixes heading somewhere.
two submarines.
cool fearsome and indifferent .
uncanny leaden shadows. shade-marked attributes .
it's not the year for the emergence and appearance of attributes.
it's the year for the emergence of their shadows.
two submarines.' leaden shadows . lead .
the frightening analysis of black and white . lead .
a soldier carrying herbal roots .
a girl seeking water crying .


between two clouds . two islands . convergencies .
convergencies between . between the convergencies
mirror conversations . in amazement and horror .
those brought face to face . half opening
DOOR-ETERNITY
seagulls of elegance swallowed stones Like weeping angels. turn .
ing slowly around themselves .passing through walls .
like fish dragged sluggishly out of water .
like fragile seagulls turned to stone we are crying night after night .

I know now who the albinos are .
and that they don't cry .
to write to erase to destroy to create I was born . or so I think .
poles and twins .unite . d not yet .
does this scare you .
and yet scripts are being e .r.a .s .e .d . books destroyed .
if I now told you something that's been said over and over .
like everything is one .
you'd laugh at me .
this does not scare me .

mirror-like crags show shadows of flying birds .
the summits are covered with clouds .
probably rain is falling somewhere above .
the last birds fly crosswise .
I know you are t(H)ere . waiting for me (H) .
the tune you send me from (O)rissa .
this hot breath .
hits me and retums to Him ...H...two...O
these...the things that could happen between us...
they form a single definite line . a
c
r
o
s
w i s e flight.
a flight that could terrify .
I know this and T fear...

Translated by Mutlu Alkan


Blue Hair
I saw you emerge from a wave
and walk away with your blue hair
holding an amphora. I saw you enter Catalhuyuk
in front of you twin leopards.
what were you looking for I don't know.
your hands trembling unable to light your cigarette.
onto a silver tray candle-wax dripped.
I knew I would never be able to approach you
as my compass was showing
south-southeast. thus a deep summer went by
nothing happened to bring us
together. at night onto a silver tray
candle-wax dripped. I saw you emerge from a wave
and walk away. dragonflies were settling
in your blue hair.

you have said nothing I know.
I did say something. but what did I say.
you just walked past with
a cat. sometimes that feeling
stays with me. it has been so long
since we have met. soon Azra will be
arriving. we will sit-down and
drink tea. I will light candles and
my art nouveau lamp. the medication
is affecting me badly. sometimes
I talk too much to everyone
sometimes not at all. sometimes that feeling
stays with me. if I were to lose
that feeling I would lose a part
an important part of me. I am sure of this
as I am sure of my name never mind
soon Azra will be arriving. I wrote this poem
for her. we will sit-down
and drink tea...

in reality she does not carry flowers
but I always think of her with
pansies and balloons in her hands. now she is also
a fatherless girl. but I know her father
is always sitting down in his study.
is proud ofhis wife and daughter.
a beautiful woman and clever.

what else could he want?
stole many hearts
but that he could not help.
but even so he must have thought about
death not love.
this poem could have been named
just as Mahir wrote,'There, now
there is also Zeynep.'
but it is not. the name of this poem
and his real name will always
be a mystery.

Translated by Aydin Mehmet Ali

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