by Koray Feyiz
That summer was an attic.
I've drawn its boundaries
In the map of my heart:
Top floor, and beyond that, sky.
But it was also a neighing steppe
Trampled by horses.
There remain two words
Of which we can not speak .
One is leyle-i süveyda,
The other, süveyda-ül kalb.
My seed was uncontrollable,
More tempestous
Than the seed raki
Left in my throat,
The border of my handkerchief
Choking my sobs,
Mud on my shirttail.
Summer spilled into the balcony
Like a non-iridescent lamp
Awakening from sleep
Split up by mice. Suddenly
I loved my seed in an attic
Filled full as possible
By the rain beginning to fall
At a full gallop.
I walked the streets
Of the sky of horses
Whipping loneliness
Your absence present
At each stage of separation
Even the mirror breaks
When it gazes at itself.
The dark brown tar
On my hands after
Chain smoking cigarettes.
Say it was summer
And an attic where two hearts
Were closed like a pair of scissors
We spoke of two words;
One was leyle-i süveyda *
The other süveyda ül-kalb. **
* Darkness of night
** The dark spot in the heart, a sign of sin or the centre of insight
and maturity.
KORAY FEYIZ
Translated by Dr. Nesrin Eruysal & Prof. Dr. Kenneth Rosen
Last updated June 12, 2016