The Silent Ship
the souls are in haste impressed with another time and with an other place
even the shore is sooty with the colorful smoke may be on face
in vain trying to explore and examine the other world and the fear from it
when the day has come to weigh anchor from our time more and more
a ship launches to unknown to obscurity from this parting harbour
the past and the future are loaded with the same thoughts
the same sadness..the same hesitation deteriorate them day by day on
what a holy magic is this..though there are so many passengers board one
this ship silently advances like nobody in it on the sea..waving
neither a handkerchief or a hand is waved when that ship is launching
past doomed to day..some worried with this parting
some screaming...some complaining of the ocean
their sadness longs for the shivering of meeting again
the ones behind..left on the quay are so worried with this voyage high
they look at the gloomy horizon for days with dampening eye
each bloody sunset adds a day to the gone passengers' lacking
this never ends..and drags itself to a hope of a new meeting again
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Paul Anka
I put a record or a disc oı ver there...on the old veteran record player...and the disc began to turn byself onthe tı urntable...what a fantacy....look at the music...shattering the room...to my memories...see it...from ancient scratched old and ancientr recorded things....paul ANKA sings in my ears...''I am so young...you are so old..this my darling ı have been told......oh please stay with me diana....and so so so...go record go...take the rust of my ears...the turntable clumsily turns....that takes me to the years...1955 or 1960s....or something later or between.....ı was a student in a boarding school...in istanbul......istanbul..istanbull...there must be a song like this nowadays...in desolate rooms on vacations....the songs of paul were my companı ons to my lonelı hood....ı imagined the seas....lived fancy loves...sung by his songs...but that was in memories....ı was in love with the lady with a big umbrella....yes ı did it my way....under the voices of dean martin...frank sinatra and santana...the magic woman was our secret....while my brother managing the music room and the pı ano....ı wrote humble poems lı ke these...paul was a famous singer then....a boy genı us...world known...years passed so quı ckly....after 38 years in the home affairs..ı retired...become an old poet unknown...but their songs too dissapeared....now we live in a world of internet...and easy hand....my lips cannot sing songs.....teenaging left....ı wönder where were those singers went....thge name of paul anka and pat where do they rest.....april love has been forgotten very soon...we lı ve in a world following spoon...hunger is not satisfied with the spoon...but our souls will need them soon....where have they gone.....their songs appear on my old veteran lazy turntable ancient...ı bought from the flea market...from time to time....come lets listen them...remember our old days...lets sigh a little bit fun
poem by Metin Sahin
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Family Homes
everybody's mother is beautiful and brave
but my mother was little bit different
And was at the top of them
she was the bravest...the most beautiful..and the cleverest
we lived in a house
a very very ancient an and old house
ı ts plaster worn out and falling down
once a big and beautiful of our nomad ancestors
the camels of the long caravans used to rest in its garden
now the rooms of the house is rented to families in poverty
the kitchen...and laundry and washing were common for all
there was a in wall cupboard for bath in every room
in one of this rooms upstairs we lived
my mother..my brother and me
hiring it
they called these rooms faqmiliy homes
in turkish
in our homeland in turkey
in one of these rooms
lived shoe maker...rather a cobbler
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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Last Duty
ı t is two days or three
since with soil we covered thee
we gathered here
in your mother city
from all over the country
may be the unı verse
to perform our last duty
in fact you are doı ng your last duty
perfectly
you gathered friiends together
after so many years
a peculı ar thing too
just notified me
they have cut the lonely poplar
that shoot
from the root
which were a friend to me
my friend in winter
in my loneliness..lonelihood
in my all days on foot
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poem by Metin Sahin
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BORNOVA 1983....Five Minutes Past The Spring
ı am stunned
the inspector
nur dogan topaloglu
good for nothing
wrote the report about me
and the minister interior Çetiner
has given the last order
It is my destiny
I am here
like a house
like a hotel
like a guest house
ı t is 1983
the winds of 12 september
are blowing harshly and fiercely
the season is five passed the spring
ı have just made the anniversary 40th of my life
in my hand ı carrieda big white suı t-CASE
in it some books
my suı ts..underwear and my socks stinking
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Snow Sweet
the woman was walking
perhaps she was a grand mother
very old and old old old and ancient
like a walking monument
there left a bit of her femininity
her breasts
like long flat oven loaves of bread
towards the gravity
she tries to be ottoman
as she could be
and the years
nestled in her whitening hair
very difficult to weave or plait
a rough walking stick in her hand
hatred tapping on the ground
was shr walking
or the walking stick
one of her eyes
covered with a white stain
seeing clearly is in vain
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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Trio
we were the three...Bedirhan..Nazlican and me
three mouthes, three hearts, three sworn bullets
our names were written on the mountains
and on the rocks as trouble
a hard duty hanging from our necks
crossed guns on our bosoms
hands on trigger, ear on the bow string,
backs summitted to the soil
we embraced each other under the stars as blankets
the sea was far, far away
and loneliness made us sick
all nights, the jackal howlings along the cliffs
struck our faces, our breads and our songs and wavered away
nazlican rubbed our chests with thyme
the air smelled heavily with rhyme
we gazed at her secretly
in case our hearts would be broken easily
mAy be we have lost her in the sound of a pipe of a shepard
she joined to the fire flies
glittering and exhausting with them
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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Street Clover(karanfil Sokagi)
all the horizons are held in military barracks
all the four disrections, the sixteen winds
and the seven climates and the five continents
are all underneath the whlte heavy snow
But..we are doomed to meet again
by railway, asphalt roads, highways and by stone roads
but this is my steep roads my foot-path I prefer
Taurus, anti Taurus and the river..the rebelling EUPHRATES
tobacco, cotton, wheat plains and the rice fields,
my country all over, all along suddenly
is uinder the white snow completely
some are still fighting with each other
in this weather
with hands and feet frozen..their hearts hell
hope...regretful and gloomy
hope stubborn and always honest
but drawn back ti the mountains
and also are under the white snows
i know the folk songs under the avalanches
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Welcome
welcome you..my woman..welcome
you must have been tired
how can I wash your tiny and lovely
feet
I have neither rose water nor a silver basin
you must have been thirsty
i have no sherbet with ice cubes to offer you
you must have been hungry
i cannot lay and prepare you a table white linen clothy
my room is in prison and in penury like my country
welcome you..my woman..welcome to my room
now you have trodden your feet in my room
now..the forty years old concrete floor
has turned all to green moor
you have smiled
the roses bloomed on my windows' iron bars
you have cried
the pearls dropped in my palms
like my bosom wealthy
my room is illuminated with freedom now
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poem by Metin Sahin
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