Poetry etiketine sahip kayıtlar gösteriliyor. Tüm kayıtları göster
Poetry etiketine sahip kayıtlar gösteriliyor. Tüm kayıtları göster

26 Kasım 2008 Çarşamba

the idea of being a phantom in Istanbul


a crackpot among old phantoms
your hair is dry and teeth are wet
a weirdo symphony orchestra
sliding the time from its fingernails
you've lived in ages before christ-

and if time is a rattlesnake
being a ghost isn't virtuous anymore-
and blood doesn't' stop on your gashed head
this is a curse / however you bend
you're a spitted out dead
to the aborted womb of the city

now with incoherent matters
gypsies go crazy in the moonlight
irons rust in the dirt of drains
houses tipped out from belongings where their soul stinks
intriguer genies settle inside them
yearning for smoke and sour wine
demons, addicts and cancerous cheap sluts
brothels planted all over the face of rotten cities
how their asses on fire
such the dead are
scared of.


murder is freedom, in the back street
for instance a junkie would be killed by a syringe.
this could be a banker instead of a prostitute
pickpockets, godfathers, traitors,
and bribe taker cops should be added to calculation
death comes suddenly by unexpected corners
from darkest sidewalks of the streets
heard a phantom's paces..


figures for sale in market places
sulky face, vacant look, free anger
to be a ghost is a secret inside all of them.

virgin gravures in byzantium seraglios,
there are marbles who make love with you, i know
their nipples are ice, bellies' are abysm in inferno
atheist temple nuns make confession in the harem
and occidental wish candles imitate to be oriental
only one hope left for them: to be a phantom like you!


it was possible to be a king in year in year one
choking mutinies off, besiege cities and victory
reed semai in mutual parties
hicaz hümayun preluds, kürdili belles...
thus they've passed from the fınger prints of centuries
addict in assorted, varicolored tables
there was sickly drunkenness and vomit too
cherry jams on lips of fresh odalisques
and their slim waists were tight as their legs
thee who didn't fell in with all these magnificence-
only haunted with the idea of being a phantom in istanbul.

october / 2006


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