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#Post#: 678735--------------------------------------------------
Mehmet Ya??n
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: July 21, 2015, 8:26 am
---------------------------------------------------------
<img src=\"
http://i.imgur.com/34XiiCN.jpg\"<br
/>alt=\"34XiiCN.jpg\">
he trilingual Turkish Cypriot
poet�Mehmet Ya??n�writes in Turkish, English and Greek,
sometimes using all three languages in one poem. Ya??n has lived
in Turkey, Cyprus and the United Kingdom. Turkey\'s military
government deported him in 1986 because the frank descriptions
of Cyprus and his criticism of war contained in his first
collections of poetry, Sevgilim �l� A?ker (My Love, the Dead
Soldier) and I??k-Merdiven (Light-Ladder), were deemed
�subversive.� His overall oeuvre is lyrical, narrative and
poignant, particularly when he writes about the conflicts of
language as he does in the poem Wartime. Wartime and Don\'t Go
Back to Kyrenia are two of his translated poetry collections as
well as Step-Mothertongue: From Nationalism to Multiculturalism:
Literatures of Cyprus, Greece and Turkey, a book of literary
criticism on national and cultural identity in Greek and Turkish
literature from a multilingual approach.
#Post#: 678736--------------------------------------------------
Mehmet Ya??n
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: July 21, 2015, 8:26 am
---------------------------------------------------------
A PRIMEVAL MERMAID
turn on my right and there is a
dream.<br>
cannot sleep. I turn on my left.<br>
e\'re lying
with a poem in our embrace,<br>
n our tender fondlings. A
featherlight duvet<br>
s weighing on us. But I\'m feeling
lighter,<br>
nough to escape from myself. A silver
colt,<br>
azelle-like, and wings from a thousand tales and
one...<br>
he is the answer to my life, no, no one else,<br>
y
wife, the better rest of myself.<br><br>
ow is the time of
peace in our passion,<br>
he warmth of a cosy slumber of a poem
I\'ve just begun,<br>
feel elated.<br>
ike a simple phrase,
yael*, the beautiful �<br>
y only rose : an image of multiple
senses...<br>
his is where the world begins, a primeval maid of
the sea,<br>
aveshine in her hair, and on her flesh<br>
he
scent of salt of sandy beaches...<br><br>
ho can interprete
such a dream?<br><br><br>
�������* Yael is a proper female name
meaning gazelle in Hebrew.<br>
�������(Translator\'s note.)
#Post#: 678737--------------------------------------------------
Mehmet Ya??n
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: July 21, 2015, 8:27 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Sea was my lover\'s song<br>
ar anchored on its blue
voice<br>
y lover,<br>
he dead soldier.<br><br>
heat was my
lover\'s song<br>
ar handcuffed its golden stare<br>
y
lover,<br>
he dead soldier.<br><br>
eace was my lover\'s
song<br>
ar divided its white laugher into two<br>
y
lover,<br>
he dead soldier.<br><br>
hear my lover<br>
he
soldier is singing a song<br>
lue songs are knocking on our
door.<br>
hear,<br>
hose who die in a war,<br>
hey sing the
best songs for peace.<br><br>
efko$a, 1978<br>
ehmet Ya$In
#Post#: 678738--------------------------------------------------
Mehmet Ya??n
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: July 21, 2015, 8:27 am
---------------------------------------------------------
A GHOST<br><br>
���Phoenician inscribers of epitaphs were
killed by Phoenician warriors themselves,<br>
���because they
advocated an end to the war with the Greeks, and those who
remained,<br>
���continued to live like ghosts under threat of
death<br>
������������From a tombstone in Idalion, Cyprus, 8c
BC<br><br>
nly as a ghost can I now return to my own
home,<br>
merging from blurred mirrors. I haven\'t much
time.<br>
throw the windows open, in utter dark,
starlight<br>
loods the rooms. I shake the dust off the
curtains,<br>
ff the linen draped over bookshelves. I must also
clean<br>
ith my moist breath, the family pictures in
frames.<br>
he avenging angels of this polyglot house, now
silenced,<br>
ake every one who enters it, promise to
write<br>
gainst wars, against everything jingoist, even
tongues.<br>
prinkle the antkiller around like enchanted
words,<br>
he mothballs. I\'ve wiped the floors clean. I lock
the doors,<br>
nd I\'m off again, no one has even seen
me.<br>
���I\'m a phantom... they can\'t have me killed.
#Post#: 678739--------------------------------------------------
Mehmet Ya??n
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: July 21, 2015, 8:28 am
---------------------------------------------------------
A POEM OF THOSE DAYS WHICH DIDN\'T BELONG TO US<br><br>
<br>
Was your name Stella,<br>
he aunt who lived in this
house<br>
efore us?<br>
id you have children?<br>
nd this
picture on the wall,<br>
as it taken on your wedding day, dear
aunt?<br><br>
Was your name Stella,<br>
as it you who used to
hang the washing<br>
n the balcony, before us?<br>
n the wall
tiles, are they your finger prints?<br>
nd the voice which
still vibrates in the rooms?<br>
h, my auntie, my dear, dear
aunt!<br><br>
i<br>
ou are the door shattered with a
rifle-butt,<br>
he cotton fabric that clothes
strangers,<br>
ou are the cooking pot to feed the
others.<br><br>
ou are just a fading photograph,<br>
ot even a
corner for you in an album.<br><br>
ii<br>
f I could only meet
you one day,<br>
\'d be so happy, ever so happy...<br><br>
\'m
keeping all your photographs, little girl :<br>
here is your
birthday<br>
under the mandarin tree, the cake with three
candles<br>
you, in the sea with Donald Duck<br>
you, waving
from the car<br>
your parents smiling at you<br>
nd now
you\'re smiling at me.<br><br>
\'ll give these pictures back to
you, little girl,<br>
ut from time to time<br>
ll this weighs
heavy on me, I am anguished :<br>
hat, if they killed you
during that war?<br><br>
v<br>
\'m very curious to
know<br>
ho was this Greek-Cypriot reading this book?<br>
e
stopped on page 48.<br>
erhaps he was called up at that very
moment?<br>
nd, what is more, the title is :<br>
an is not
Born a Soldier.<br><br>
e could have shared memories,<br>
aten
ice-cream together,<br>
might have dressed the wound on your
hand,<br>
een able to wear your rain coat on a wet day.<br>
would have liked you to know of my surprise at myself<br>
how
can I continue with your unfinished book,<br>
ere, like
that!<br><br>
<br>
mell of blood all around
me<br>
lood.<br><br>
am not a murderer,<br>
ake peace with
me, flowers in pots<br>
ounterpanes, easy chairs,<br>
nd the
photograph in the album.<br>
am not a murderer.<br><br>
lood
is flowing all round me<br>
lood.<br><br>
f only you had been
there and witnessed :<br>
am not a m u r d e r e r .<br><br>
#Post#: 678740--------------------------------------------------
Mehmet Ya??n
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: July 21, 2015, 8:32 am
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<div style=\"margin:0px;color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,
\'Helvetica Neue\', Helvetica, Verdana;font-size:12px;\">
div
style=\"margin:0px;\">
ehmet Yashin
div
style=\"margin:0px;\"><a data-ipb=\"nomediaparse\" href=\"\"
http: rel=\"external nofollow\"><img height=\"19\"
src=\"
http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/images/print_b.gif\"<br
/>title=\"Print this page\" width=\"56\" alt=\"print_b.gif\"></a
>
<strong>Don\'t go to Kyrenia</strong>
div
style=\"margin:0px;color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,
\'Helvetica Neue\', Helvetica, Verdana;font-size:12px;\">
div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
em><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">�If you should come to
Kyrenia<br><div style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
on�t enter the walls.<br><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
f you should enter the
walls<br><div style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
on�t stay long.<br><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
f you should stay
long<br><div style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
on�t get married.<br><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
f you should get
married<br><div style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
on�t have
children.�</em><br><div style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">����������������From an old
Ottoman-Turkish song of Cyprus<br><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
�������������� Translated by
Lawrence Durrell<div style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\"><div
style=\"margin-left:{option}px\">
Don�t go to Kyrenia�, they
said,<br>
ut if you do, have no children.<br>
undreds of times
they said it,<br>
our fault if you paid no attention.
t was
the same boat that docked,<br>
ou thought the sail was satin,
it was a shroud.<br>
hey unloaded the songs to the port<br>
ut
they were not the songs of our love<br>
he amphoras were filled
with sea-blood<br>
nd those who drank from them were
poisoned,<br>
ut if they didn�t drink, they�d die of the
plague,<br>
nd if they didn�t die, they�d go to war.
he lights
at the discotheque daze,<br>
et them daze whether we die or
not<br>
e spin in slices of multicolour shadows,<br>
et the
lights daze, daze . . .
don�t know what tremor of war<br>
as
petrified Kyrenia but left her eyes wide open,<br>
n a
confusion of who�s gone away<br>
ho�s come back,<br>
he loved
ones who have sailed away,<br>
nd the dead<br>
nd the dead
have sent back.<br>
yrenia will be machine-gunned if she
moves,<br>
nd if she doesn�t, she will still be bombed by
planes.
ove will move, even if we won�t<br>
on�t water the
garden they said<br>
ut if you do, don�t dig,<br>
here�ll soon
be a war, anyway.
f we�ll strip down to soldiers in the
Fort,<br>
hether the geraniums burst open or not, in a tumult
of noises,<br>
r not bloom at all, around the Loveterranean,
our sea.<br>
f we light a fire and dance,<br>
f we dance in
the submarine-caves<br>
ith LSD and videos and revolvers, we�ll
dance,<br>
hoever doesn�t dance will lose his mind<br>
nd who
doesn�t lose his mind will drown in salt.
on�t go to Kyrenia
they said,<br>
he lights at the discotheque, let them
daze<br>
here�ll soon be a war, anyway,<br>
et the lights
daze, daze...
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