The seas are here, the boats of the sea
The captains of the ships, the children
Those hungry bollards swallowing the wind
Devouring the wind madly
To make time understandable
I am hanging my watch on the ropes where clothes are being dried
Each departure of yours is but a drop that falls on the roads
This is not something that shrinks when washed
Neither a ball of wool that becomes entangled while being disentangled
One foot on the ground, wish we fell inside as it split down in the middle
One foot on the road, but it is not ready yet
That which makes the balcony a balcony and
The dove a dove
The brakes that get loose and the tree that I crash into
How far are these, to him, to me, to this very place
It is our choice to wait
For the cries of the human doves
Uttered in the balconies of the underground
But a fragment of blurred voices that
Made both the dove and the balcony
Frightened and run away!
Derya ÖNDER
(Translated into English by Aysu ERDEN)
Really Derya, you have some brillian ideas in this. I wish I could read Turkish, so I could get the intensity of imagery that I know this has. Here's what I love: Washing time, and hanging it out to dry... that it doesn't shrink or get tangled. And I also love your line: "cries of the human doves Uttered in the balconies of the underground"... and the idea that a balcony can also be frightened, and can runaway with its boarders. Amazing talent! Welcome to AD... just sorry I didn't "discover" you sooner. --Charlie
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
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