Translation: W. B. Bayril (Turkish Poetry)

Turkish Poetry by: W. B. Bayril
Translation: Hilal KarahanMel Kenne-Saliha Paker and Yaprak Damla Yıldırım

W. B. Bayril
The Lands That Allah Has Forsaken
Poet: W.B. Bayrıl
Translated by: Hilal Karahan

Children are eternity,
at those lands that Allah has forsaken.
We are star dust. That’s what we are.
In deep loneliness of universe.

Everything shut up.
Like consonants letters of immigration.
We have already left our souls at
desolate ruins that lightened by moon.

Noone is no longer a seashore for humanity here…
Because children are eternity
at those lands that Allah has forsaken. 

Poet: W.B. Bayrıl
Translated by: Hilal Karahan
Scattered morning of perception… Glassy
borders… Imperfect beauty’s insistence
on the flesh…

In you I see the mistery. Oh blessed
plant!.. Soul blended with rose.

Existence relaxes… When garden
appears and Being is yet in leaves…
You were the shivering river of creation.

Life has secrets and mind has
oblivion beyond things. Hush!
Let not the ripped simplicity
of bewildering expand between us.

Much is concealed in the heart. And indeed it must!
And sometimes whatever you do,
a lily’s susceptibility is evident to its skin.

Man is deficient in any point of view.
Man, the cursed adventure,
apprentice to the estate of endurance.

Oh blessed plant!.. Soul blended with rose.

That may lead us to look for the incompleteness
in God. 

Poet: W.B. Bayrıl
Translated by Mel Kenne- Saliha Paker

Enough! Lower from above my heart
this sky-roof!

Come now! As love comes to fire.
Let each skirt to swirl one in the other.
Wondrously spun wrappings
of nothingness let
me wear!

Time, your spider, time! Detach
yourself from my flesh!

As before, melodies rise from the gardens
as omninous tower and serpent’s
slither. As words, by
and by, blurred

Oh, patience! Oh, sweet forebearance!

My horse has shed its hair. See the golden plumes.
Rub them together. Raise the curtain.
Crack wide open
the seal!

Last night, two angels descended
silently onto Babylon. Be quiet, my soul, and attend.
The refrain starts anew!

Oh, patience! Oh, sweet forebearance!


“Boats on the River”
Poet: W. B. Bayrıl
Translator: Yaprak Damla Yıldırım

The cottage that oozes the moon: Imagination! Figure
s are climbing, like poison ivies,
up on the letter statues sleeping in my heart

Water, tired of its existence. Rebellious
substance. It pushes unwillingly, with flowers
on the fancy river.

Two bodies returned to their innocence.
The last symbol of love. Side by side, hand in hand again.
To flow. Blind verb. It submits with resignation
To the power that condemned it to the flow.

Shadows floating in laurels. They mixed
with the river at the end… Oh mother river, the amber
hair of yours you lay across my heart! What language
can suffice now to call them dead?

It flashed. In an instant. On the paper. On this vitreous,
on this fragile ground. The remnants
I try to reconstruct of that hazy
halo… There remains the light scratches alone
in my helpless imagination inflicted by the moon.

Past: intricate account! What got lost,
what accumulates? In the golden seasons
I spent in-between two radiant magnets!

The Child and Lavender
Poet: W. B. Bayrıl
Translator: Yaprak Damla Yıldırım

Cyanide with its crystal touches
glides into my darkness. In the yard of wind, grows
passion; that black rose! Suddenly on the papers
the winter army with its serge calpac. Snow and suffocation.
The fear of being one’s own self begins.

C o v e r e d  b e c o m e   d r e a m  a n d  m i r r o r.

Inside, where the rust turns into shadow, shadow into child,
there is an eroded smell of lavender…
And a room to pass through in silence:
unease!... This is the way mother and remembrance is.

Cracks the clock that grinds basils. The memory creases.
Silver oozes from the mirror of the large mansion.
To return, oh impossible… When Thessaloniki comes
to sight from the roads of the one with pale silks.

Nights are fragile. Hits the glass the mad
linden. Silences in the blonde sleeps of the child
the drum whose immigrant lilacs withered.
It’s cognition, it’s the images with their foils gone, it gets old
In the feeling of smile and rose that floats from a grandmother.

C l e a r  b e c o m e  d r e a m  a n d  m i r r o r.

Dignus Ornatus
Poet: W. B. Bayrıl
Translator: Yaprak Damla Yıldırım
                                              for Bonnefoy.

ornament soothes.

bird is presence
sculpted bird

existence drawn on stone
cloud dispersion

fading away like a music
vanishing off in the cloud

what an opening in hearts
to the influence of the mist

under the heavens
of ash and iron

the ceremony of the dark
the sleeping thought

between the thought and the sun
in the noon of absence

under the dead heavens
to the wind of shadeless flame
do not give way

even though the “green darks of
moist spring” summon

Poet: W. B. Bayrıl
Translator: Yaprak Damla Yıldırım

                                   In memory of Canan Özdemir…

With your slight touch, the solder of reverie
would come apart. You, floating into
the evening hours, magnolia. The sense of

From the roots to the branches, the world recedes.

Look, in my clothes there’s only
my soul… fire and gold
dribble from the gutters of heavens
to childhood now.

The crazy other! Nobody is nobody’s shore
around here any more!

Summer thinned. Summer in which words
are fickle angels. In the beach
appeared the princess of foams
never again.

Oh little sister, oh magnolia the hapless.
What are we if not our melancholy
among these people who constantly
shed skins?

My dear… my dear… my dear… farewell!

The Mariners
Poet: W. B. Bayrıl
Translator: Yaprak Damla Yıldırım

The thin ship that carries dreams
to the port in the evenings, has long been out of sight.

We are the mariners, we know, like corals,
how to wait
without complaint.

Then a broken fin appears on
the water. Traces of closed gaff upon
its skin. Our lanterns lighten,
for a moment, that wrathful skeleton
entangled in ropes.

Capitain AhaB! Capitain AhaB!
Mussel cut our tongues… We were reading history
in deep waters. The knowledge of defeated gyre!

                              Then an elegant strike of tail
breaks this magic. Disappears the melting halo
our laurel-scented ritual. You the chemistry that lessens
in our souls! You the implacable
sense of absence!

Skinless and naked and proud and kufic.
We just stand. Like the screams in the bottles
left to the ink…

Still we are the mariners, we know the angel
will return, we wait. Vigilantly, endlessly.

-To resist the world, how else does a heart become able?

Translator Dr. Hilal Karahan: Turkish poetess, writer, translator, mother and medical doctor (1977, Gaziantep/Turkey). She is professionally writing since 2000. She has joined to many collective books, bilingual poetry almanacs and found in organisation comittee of international poetry festivals. She has 6 poem, 3 prose books and many selected poem books published in different languages. She is recently a member of Turkey PEN, Turkish ambassodor of World Institute of Peace (WIP) and Turkey director of  Writers Capital Foundation (WCP) and World Festival of Poetry (WFP) network sites. She organises Feminİstanbul Poetry Festival every year. She has many national and international poetry awards. Since 2017, she is a member of publishing council of international bilingual poetry magazines of  Absent and Rosetta Word Literatura.Communication:, Translator Yaprak Damla Yıldırım: Turkish poetess, translator. Born in 1994. She was graduated from Boğaziçi University Management and Western Languages and Literatures departments in 2017. In March 2015, she was appointed as “The Young Poet” by Yasakmeyve. Her poetry collection “ezmira” was rewarded the degree of “Remarkable” by Yaşar Nabi Nayır Poetry Youth Awards 2016, short after which her poem “zan” ranked first in the Bayraklı “Peace” Poetry Award, as well. She translated The Atlas of Sorrow (Emel Koşar) into English. Her poems, essays and interviews have been published in various platforms like Evrensel Kültür, Yasakmeyve, Varlık, Yeni E, Lemur, Birgün Kitap, and Pan. Communication:

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