These things happen, winds like these
\nThis autumn balcony calls me<\/p>\n
Whatever your hands dispense at night
\nI gather up my hair and rivers too<\/p>\n
Then I go and undress in front of a poem
\nI kiss a child its name becomes love<\/p>\n
Everything is distant from us
\nWhen with us, nothing is alone<\/p>\n
I accent a little sorrow to this presence<\/p>\n
There’s a tree in your hands
\nI’m looking at a bustling tree in your hands<\/p>\n
You sit, eating a peach
\nGrass is walking, I say, don’t you see<\/p>\n
Oppressive rain passes the window
\nI call out to myself, there’s no reply<\/p>\n
O my love, there’s a needle between us
\nStitching me to you<\/p>\n
\t\t\tTranslated by George Messo<\/em><\/p>\n The Land Of Mulberry<\/strong><\/p>\n Come to the land of mulberry I’ll teach you quiet I’ll kiss where you’re waning Cross the plain I’ll make you listen to the storm A long while later Cross the field I’ll show you the ants<\/p>\n Translated by Ruth Christie<\/em><\/p>\n Cross-Breed<\/strong><\/p>\n I read Dante I stripped a man white I asked about birds I delved in the forest white I read Dante I kissed a soldier white I sat then I found a mouth that would be silent I read Dante I knocked down a state black<\/p>\n Translated by Ruth Christie and Mel Kenne<\/em><\/p>\n Mustafa<\/strong><\/p>\n I peeled the orange Mustafa A bed, look, no wider than a grave Thin sword, thin blood, slim death Dumma dumma dum in every man a woman<\/p>\n The one romping inside me had black eyes They think this one’s a love poem too, so let them These skies must be pulled down Mustafa, pulled down Keep me cool Mustafa To return, those children in far off homes<\/p>\n Translated by Saliha Paker and Mel Kenne<\/em><\/p>\n Memet<\/strong><\/p>\n Take these ratta-tats Memet Take this me Memet Do I know what to do with me? Take this me to the birds Battling’s a backpack anyway Memet<\/p>\n Besides can a wound get old Even the apple awaits its time<\/p>\n Just … me in a big old urn… Just watch what a carnival, the human race<\/p>\n Does the ratta-tatta man Best if you dump me in with the poor Memet Translated by Saliha Paker and Mel Kenne ABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong> I read Dante I stripped a man white By Gonca \u00c3\u2013zmen.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":155,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[484,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-43877","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-maintenant","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43877","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/155"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=43877"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43877\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=43877"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=43877"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=43877"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nTo the remoteness of dwellings<\/p>\n
\nAnd the branches’ concern<\/p>\n
\nWhere nature wanes<\/p>\n
\nCome to the land of mulberry
\nInto the grasses<\/p>\n
\nTo the scream of the storm-god<\/p>\n
\nI’ll wait for you again
\nBeyond a stream<\/p>\n
\nCome closer come
\nTo the mulberry scent<\/p>\n
\nA good child I lay down and took stock
\nMy losses great, my gains many, my sins sweet
\nSee how I’m reduced to bushes and brambles<\/p>\n
\nI stripped myself bare and headed out
\nHow great to stop between your shoulder and evening
\nI looked long at distant mallows<\/p>\n
\nOnce like a whole town asleep
\nI came back the echo of a stone you threw
\nThe world sometimes, sometimes the world is one blood only<\/p>\n
\nWe mixed together forlorn and white
\nMy book, my sacred text, my mixed child
\nI reek because of you<\/p>\n
\nI placed you at my bedside<\/p>\n
\nJust like that deep down I’d offered myself<\/p>\n
\nThis condemnation I invented myself<\/p>\n
\nOne, Mustafa, doesn’t call out my name any more<\/p>\n
\nTheir umbrellas are large
\nThey’re not getting wet<\/p>\n
\nIn people deep down lies their boundlessness<\/p>\n
\nKeep me cool
\nIn being alive lies the word’s being<\/p>\n
\nTake them to the ratta-tatta man<\/p>\n
\nTake this me to the meadows<\/p>\n
\nTo me, I’m always a seabattle Memet<\/p>\n
\nDrop this me to the poor suburbs<\/p>\n
\nJust keep me waiting again on a pillow-bed<\/p>\n
\nDeeper even deeper Memet<\/p>\n
\nEver ratta-tat the ratta-tat Memet?<\/p>\n
\nTake this me, throw this me off the minaret<\/p>\n
\n<\/em><\/p>\n![\"foto_mehmet-erte\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/01\/foto_mehmet-erte.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nGonca \u00c3\u2013zmen<\/strong> was born in Burdur (southern Turkey) in 1982. She was awarded with Ali R\u00c4\u00b1za Ertan Poetry Prize in 1999. Her first poetry book Kuytumda<\/em> (In My Nook<\/em>) was published in 2000, winning Orhan Murat Ar\u00c4\u00b1burnu Poetry Prize. She won Berna Moran Poetry Prize given by Istanbul University in 2003. Her second book Belki Sessiz<\/em> (Maybe Quiet<\/em>) was published in February 2008. She edits the magazine of literary translation \u00c3\u2021.N.<\/em> (\u00c3\u2021evirmenin Notu<\/em>). Her poems are translated into Spanish, French, English, German, Slovenian and Persian. The Sea Within<\/em> (Selected Poems, translated by George Messo) was published by Shearsman Books in February 2011. She has been living in Istanbul since 2000. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/01\/foto_mehmet-erte-150x150.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nA good child I lay down and took stock
\nMy losses great, my gains many, my sins sweet
\nSee how I’m reduced to bushes and brambles
\nI asked about birds I delved in the forest white
\nI stripped myself bare and headed out
\nHow great to stop between your shoulder and evening
\nI looked long at distant mallows
\nI read Dante I kissed a soldier white
\nOnce like a whole town asleep
\nI came back the echo of a stone you threw
\nThe world sometimes, sometimes the world is one blood only<\/p>\n