Lale Müldür,
translated from the Turkish by Lisa Bourbeau
FUSCHIA
There where I hurt
when you touch here
you comfort me
but not usually
instead of waiting for you
it is better that I place
there a fresh leaf
WATER
By your waters of turquoise hue, on bended knee
an archer with golden bow in hand.
He was playing with tigers on the shores
like a violin is played.
I am in the illusions
reflected by . . . by yellow roses
floating . . . in the turquoise colored waters . . .
I am walking in those waters
with my long black glove.
marriage to waters with aquatic greens
gray eyes an anima-woman
faint and out of breath her give and her take
behind the inkiness of leaves
a star is whispering with silver syllables
in his ears too . . . dolendo . . .
with his cries and the silver weight of syllables
he is plunging into the waters, we are plunging
like the babble between
two people underwater nobody listening anymore
almost like two people from within the sea’s depth who try to speak
to keep from drowning
dolendo
When I with my white glove reemerge
to the water’s surface, my Inheritance
may be a golden arrow piercing my brow.
A golden arrow in my brow, I may come to be
sitting bowed in front of virgin maidens.
Bowed with certain distances between us
we may come to be singing to gray waters.
With crystal distances between us
we may be drawn into the skies, like weeping unicorns,
Perhaps too the gravitational pull of Orion nothing else. . . .
LA LUNA
grant me time La Luna
look, everything has gone away
everything has gone away crying
the waters have become estranged
a Sacrifice drops now into our distance La Luna
one from our three is an offering
a cold stain recedes into your sky
too late too late now
one by one all of my suns are abandoning me
will they ever return to my life again
an Eagle that has sprung from my brow splits open
the sky and passes through
the maddening sound of an invisible Wheel
is heard everywhere
distant memories
like crabs
appear at dusk
the final sun final sun collapses too
look
with rings of metal you break through into my life
with unseen forces
with sorrows shadowed and deep, you were awakened
as your own same self
your appearance horrific
is there no humanity in you, none at all La Luna
if all things seem possible, all things explicable too
some things you have apparently clamped in place
come once more Emperor, Night
and accept me one last time into the darkness of eyes
braid my hair with an ancient code La Luna
embrace my face my wounds with winding
rags and with soot La Luna
prepare me for that bestial feast
like shades who pass by the murky wall
like ice blossoms that wait in the dark blue night
like a lighthouse that combs foggy seas
like a silver pendulum that swings in space
in your Gallows Tree that Man.
a Priest, a Solderer
the mandrake rises from your tears…
from underneath a blackened glass that passed
like a poisonous vapor
clouds, from your covering, it slithers
slithers, La Luna, beginnings and endings
grant me time La Luna
a little time
I hear it at times still, in the distance,
the voice of your lyre, and of the Sirens,
with their amaranthine songs
A PHONE CALL AT 3 IN THE MORNING FROM TASHKENT
to Seyhan Erözçelık
A phone call at 3 in the morning from Tashkent
“I’ll make you listen to Lili Marleen”
A phone call at 4 in the morning from an island
“I don’t know what to make you listen to”
It was impossible for me to understand you
Until I arrived in Bartin, the place where you were born
First I came to know the people there
Then, you
Don’t be afraid
Seyhan nothing can happen to you
RAIN BED
Like barbarous plants you settle into the area . . . when you have arrived
a mist envelops the flowers . . . you do not see the silence
passing over us like a green wave . . . but the true barbarian
is me besieged by languages that cannot be reflective . . . .
when you slam the door fast first a water mark disappears
then the languages besieging me disappear. . . . I look at the purple stains
appearing on the walls without saying anything. . . .
I pass him a long thin leaf and I say:
. . . Never be afraid I am woven with glass
. . . I had been dead . . . but am now of the living again
. . . I have nothing left but a scream . . . sea moss . . .
. . . underwater chambers . . . nothing other than a bed of rain
POISON BELL
you are a poison flower blossoming in space
oh you sword
you seem to be an angel wing blossoming in space
while bringing me Tarkovsky
oh you bowing
before the cat of a fair-haired woman
bell bell bell blossoming in space
you are like a bell flower
o sword
beneath so much of your tragedy
Oh You Melusine
this stalk of Tarkovsky in your mouth
What are you doing
What are you doing
What is it you seem to be doing