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Poem

Şükrü Erbaş

IN OUR GARDEN THERE WERE NO POMEGRANATE TREES

There the ghost of a mill
Ears of coy wheat, expectancy and prayer
Narrow waters stripped of the wind
A sweating sky, tedium and time dulled

A man shouts out to his innerself
Children unsure of which way to grow
And a woman, her skirts like a summer garden

There pitying poverty
Nights stained with kohl, blurred mornings
Tiredness blooming in the sun
Pale promises washed by moonlight

A steppe where horses converse with dogs
A sky invisible before the stars come out
And a house melting in a copper pot

There the fairy tale whimsy
Distances swelling in a small radio
Grape loaded carts, apple sins and wet dreams

An endless cigarette smoked in a graveyard
Quince yellow hair at the neighbour’s window
Girls their mothers whirling in their fringes
And loneliness brought by distant relatives

My love, my rustling bird, my arab nightingale
Your two eyes are two boundless skies
You asked me why I was crying as we made love
In our garden there were no pomegranate trees

And as our bodies frayed neither were your lips
Desire would start at our eyebrows end in our lashes
I wasn’t crying

I was treasuring my past, I was treasuring your future.

BAHÇEMİZDE NAR AĞACI YOKTU

BAHÇEMİZDE NAR AĞACI YOKTU

Orada hayalet bir değirmen
Nazlı buğday başakları, dua, bekleyiş
Rüzgârları soyunmuş parmak sular
Terli bir gökyüzü, can sıkıntısı, ağır zaman
İçine bağıran bir adam
Nereye büyüyeceğini bilmeyen çocuklar
Etekleri yaz bahçesi bir kadın

Orada merhametli yoksulluk
Sürmeli geceler, bulanık sabahlar
Güneşle çiçeklenen yorgunluk
Ay ışığında solan sözler
Atların köpeklerle konuştuğu bir bozkır
Yıldızlar çıkmadan görünmeyen gökyüzü
Bakır bir tencerede eriyen evler

Orada masalların hevesi
Bir küçük radyoya dolan uzaklar
Üzüm kağnıları, elma günahları, ıslak rüyalar
Mezarlıkta içilen bir sonsuz sigara
Ayva sarı tüyler komşu camlarda
Kâkülünde annesi halkalanan kızlar
Uzak akrabaların getirdiği yalnızlık

Sevgilim, çemberciğim, arapbülbülüm
İki gözün kocaman iki gökyüzü
Neden ağladığımı soruyordun ya sevişirken
Bahçemizde nar ağacı yoktu bizim
Senin ağzın yoktu gövdemiz tarazlanırken
Arzular kaşımızda başlar kirpiğimizde biterdi
Ağlamıyordum

Benim geçmişimi senin geleceğini seviyordum…
Close

IN OUR GARDEN THERE WERE NO POMEGRANATE TREES

There the ghost of a mill
Ears of coy wheat, expectancy and prayer
Narrow waters stripped of the wind
A sweating sky, tedium and time dulled

A man shouts out to his innerself
Children unsure of which way to grow
And a woman, her skirts like a summer garden

There pitying poverty
Nights stained with kohl, blurred mornings
Tiredness blooming in the sun
Pale promises washed by moonlight

A steppe where horses converse with dogs
A sky invisible before the stars come out
And a house melting in a copper pot

There the fairy tale whimsy
Distances swelling in a small radio
Grape loaded carts, apple sins and wet dreams

An endless cigarette smoked in a graveyard
Quince yellow hair at the neighbour’s window
Girls their mothers whirling in their fringes
And loneliness brought by distant relatives

My love, my rustling bird, my arab nightingale
Your two eyes are two boundless skies
You asked me why I was crying as we made love
In our garden there were no pomegranate trees

And as our bodies frayed neither were your lips
Desire would start at our eyebrows end in our lashes
I wasn’t crying

I was treasuring my past, I was treasuring your future.

IN OUR GARDEN THERE WERE NO POMEGRANATE TREES

There the ghost of a mill
Ears of coy wheat, expectancy and prayer
Narrow waters stripped of the wind
A sweating sky, tedium and time dulled

A man shouts out to his innerself
Children unsure of which way to grow
And a woman, her skirts like a summer garden

There pitying poverty
Nights stained with kohl, blurred mornings
Tiredness blooming in the sun
Pale promises washed by moonlight

A steppe where horses converse with dogs
A sky invisible before the stars come out
And a house melting in a copper pot

There the fairy tale whimsy
Distances swelling in a small radio
Grape loaded carts, apple sins and wet dreams

An endless cigarette smoked in a graveyard
Quince yellow hair at the neighbour’s window
Girls their mothers whirling in their fringes
And loneliness brought by distant relatives

My love, my rustling bird, my arab nightingale
Your two eyes are two boundless skies
You asked me why I was crying as we made love
In our garden there were no pomegranate trees

And as our bodies frayed neither were your lips
Desire would start at our eyebrows end in our lashes
I wasn’t crying

I was treasuring my past, I was treasuring your future.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère