E C E   A Y H A N
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TWO POEMS

Translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

 

Her thousand years under tar trees

with mediterranean lips, windowless, in pain without windows

she recalls her dad as a lake

in the scoop of her hands a mossy lake with lots of fish.

 

In the miniature scale of a town square

purple monday mornings waking her up,

a shyster tower clock keeper who subcontracted his job to

a Hoffman rooster, to sleep late.

 

On sacks of tea, a gypsy widow

averts her face. does she pretend not to see us,

or doesn't she see us?

and in her basement heart the darkness of Chaldean nights.

 

As the sun rises on the river

they are lowering her dad - tradesman in ants - into the ground

already lost to wife, daughter, lost his hat.

 

A thousand years under tar trees - windowless,

in pain, a bunch of bare assed children with mediterranean lips

are making lewd signs towards

boats

full of silk - silk sailing away,

which will never sink.

 

And they are playing lemons ocharina in their sea lingo

laughing crying screaming sour ocharina ocharina.

 

 

 

 n e x t  

 

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