Apr 18, 2011

The Probability of Being Able To Love

I gave up being a child in cold and intercity buses.
And my father was an odour of cheese with herbage in my lunchbox...
I loved the probability of eating boiled beef with you someday in Veyselkarani. 
In the eraser-smelling, chalk-spotted years of the primary school,
Autumns with carbon monoxide were being lived in Ankara then. 
I began to miss everybody... 
And this longing lasted so long that, I began to miss manly longings later... 
We had "Kemalettin Tuğcu" etc,
Besides possibility of writing over the steam on the windows... 
In the brown desks shared with friends smelling eggs,
We began to play leftism. 
I was acting as a doctor, you as a nurse and all the others as counter guerillas... 
Letters were being written onto the chopped walls with red paints in the hope climate and
Contrary to the Turkish of  the "Turkish Language Association"...
We learned creating hammer and sickle figures from our elder brothers...
It was raining as carbon monoxide upon Ankara quietly. 
And the news reports were advicing to make love indoors.
But I never made love in Ankara. 
I didn't have a love being discussed in the discipline committee,
If we set aside the platonic thorns pricked into our buttocks...   
It was raining as bullets upon Ankara quietly...
And the news reports were advicing not to go out after a definite hour. 
But I never had a bullet wound
And my name was not mentioned in any court reports. 
I was just a cute childish face in the middle of the battles. 
I was saving poems for you in my science notebook but you were not there. 
I loved your probability of being able to love me in rescue breaking hours.
The school bus was always taking you untimely and mercilessly to a lodging greyness. 
I loved your probability of being able to come with me to "Tunalı Hilmi Street". 

I loved your probability of being able to love me. 

The summer's hot was catching the fragility of my skin which was ready to chap.
Later I was becoming the bus; the desperate deportee of  broken roads.    
I was supposing all the things I saw as mountains and sea,
The deceitful blueness of "Muş Plain", too.  
I was becoming the bus for a while,  
I was racing with the black trains passing close to us as my cheek was in the guaranty of the bus window.
I was becoming the bus.
From a country to another,
I was growing up as I approached my childhood. 
I was putting the sound of "Zap Water" to the first line of my song list. 
I was scared. 
Then I was getting off the bus. 
I was running on the longest, shortest,
The most childish, the most oldish road going to our home.
Because I was becoming my mother at last, smelling my father at last...
I gave up being a child in cold and intercity buses.
And my father was an odour of cheese with herbage in my lunchbox.
I loved the probability of being with you,
Someday in a breakfast lounge in Van,
Or in a roadside restaurant which was only known by the people who have to know,
Or on any demiste of Doğubeyazıt which watches "Ağrı Mountain" in a mystical and well-steeped tea consistence,
Or in the sweaty geography of any human's hand...

I loved your probability of being able to love me.

Translated by Sihirli Yazılar

6 yorum:

oyumben said...

Karbonmonoksit olsa da solusam. :)

Sihirli Yazılar said...

Bağımlısı oldun tabii orda, bulamadığın zaman krize giriyorsun:)

Anonymous said...

Erdoğan'nın eserlerinin iki tanesine çok severim.Biri bu diğeri ise Hijiyenik Aşklar.

Sihirli Yazılar said...

Artistic Communism:

Bu şiiri seviyorum çünkü yaşamak isteyip de yaşayamadığı bir ilişkiyi tarif etmiş. Platonik bir sevgiyi, başka bir deyişle. Günümüzde böyle şeyler kalmadığı için ilginç geliyor bana...

Madem Hijyenik Aşklar'ı seviyorsun, o halde bir sürprizim var sana, Gabi:)

Anonymous said...

Evet, malesef bugünki aşkları çin malı,haklısın.
Yaa, merak ile bekliyom o halde:)

Sihirli Yazılar said...

Geldi bile:)

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