AYTEN MUTLU

The Needle

the tide of the sky
shivers in the Near East
the pensive time returns to the beginning
the winds change, the needle reels
it draws pictures of chaos on dreams
turning and turning

the needle feels dizzy
back-and-forth
in the tide of the day.
it embroiders chopped off heads
and eyes of a child crying
on cerecloths

behind the seven seas
from the Far West to the Near East
the tailor cuts out
shirts without buttonholes
tarry shirts plucked from magma

in the tailor’s hand
the needle with a long thread
impetuously goes deep into the wound

the needle is hungry
the needle is naked
one day it sees red
and then stitches images of taylor
on the chest of the hell

the embroidery frame becomes broken

Wet Dog
for Gaza

it’s raining blood
shouting and screaming blood
The sky is so wide and the rain is so dark
the soil had collapsed
overturned garbage bins
even in the weeping earth
There is no shelter anymore

What to look for, where to escape
the trees lost their leaves
The leaves are silent on the trees
The smell of burnt meat mixes with the rain
This naked loneliness person’s sobs
hurts my flesh

This hand is that little girl’s
She did caress my head
with her broken blue beaded wrist
Now a hellish bullet in her belly
Her smile had shattered in his mouth

I’m climbing a mountain of fire
unhappy butterflies in my chest
Where are these women’s screams running to?
these torn lullabies

It’s raining red at night
fire flowers hurt the night
Dead birds are flying around my head
and the children are those festive children

I owe it to God now
how if i were human
I don’t know if I would endure it.
both victim and executioner
to the shame of being

Do You Hear?

shopping centers are being closed, breads are tired
foggy shades in child eyes
poppy field remained seedless
mountains are full of holes, plains are dead
leaves are between falling and remaining

bells are ringing

sandmen are telling tales
to the crowd which has forgotten to grow up
underground and overland are both or sale
thornbushes are being scattered in the old wind
roses do not spring up on the concrete fields anymore

bells are ringing

time is whispering we are not listening
the songs of steed days
we exchange infinity to moments
we exchange ourselves to others
our ego is between staying and leaving

bells are ringing

i am quiet you are quiet he is quiet
whereas the crier of hate is not quiet
brothers are thirsty for each other’s blood
bowls are rusting our hearts are icing up
our blood is between stopping and running

bells are ringing

we are at the broken mirror of history
we have forgotten about our old faces
shattered crabbed hopeless
still we are memorizing waiting
we are waiting for the last judgement as if waiting for Godot

bells are ringing!!!!

Stone Also Became Silent

stone also became silent my love
now we are nowhere we went
the leaves of tears crashing the sky in the storm
don’t cover
children’s graves anymore
in this eternal house of winter

stone also became silent my love
the towers of the evening lowered into the grass
the tree trying to remain standing got tired
the pain hurting my insides
can’t tell nothing to nobody

the sky has decayed
the rains don’t make the sea wet anymore
like a flower that fell down in the pavement
we live with semi-dead animals in our blood
the inside of our bones is getting darker

we used to know everything, i remember,
the situation of the world used to come under us
oh, come and see even stone became silent
the time of loneliness of the iron night
is still moaning where words fail

stone also became silent my love
the moonlight the valley of the dead crabs
the mountains were buried in the marked cities
tell me when today became yesterday
when did we forget to sing to the rain

a silent dance of death in the eyes of time
there is nobody left to remind us of us
now the screams of an inflaming age are burning
in an underground river
did the insect creeping in the grass use to
walk like this as it did before
or didn’t we use to see it, not every cloud pours down
not every memory is kept in the chests of hope
i want to sleep, oh i want to sleep
in a darkness whose birds don’t become silent

Translated Into English By Baki Yiğit

AYTEN MUTLU

AYTEN MUTLU, a Turkish poet and writer (born in Bandırma, Turkey. Graduated from the Faculty of Management of İstanbul University in 1975. She was retired from The Central Bank. Her political activism began in high school, when she was fifteen years old. Being in political activity she took part in the Women’s Rights Movement too. She has published poetry, prose, short stories and essays on literary criticism. She also translated the works of a number of contemporary poets from English to Turkish that published many of them in periodicals. She translates the works of the women poets from Antiquity to the present days in selections from the world over. Her research on women poets from Antiquity to the present day, published in many literary magazines. She presented papers at some universities. Some of her poems took place in many countries, some magazines, newspapers and anthologies in France, Sweden, Germany, Spain, Senegal, Morocco, Italy, Serbia, Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Macedonia, Romania, Spain, Argentina, South Korea, India and Russia. She is a laureate of Ibrahim Yildizoglu Literary Prize (1999), Poetry Prize of the International Meeting of the Poets of Yalova (2001) and Sunullah Arısoy Literary Prize (2005). Akköy Magazine Poetry Worker’s Award (2015) Ismet Kemal Karadayı poetry honorary award (2017)