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Showing posts from June, 2010

original poem in English and retranslated from Turkish back to English

Gluttons (original)

It is 03.28 on the second day and my fridge is full of Pınar Doğal Yoğurt. There is a haze of lights outside my window. I’m at REAL shopping centre. Prayers crowned the air. I was a translated clam. This is where the world's nuts are made. I'm waiting for the ruins of a Roman bath. I'm waiting for the temple of Augustus. I'm waiting for the Monument to a Secure Confident Future! Everybody seems hard on the face but soft in the mouthholes.

It is 06.42. I've slept one hour. 15 min till I am supposed to awake. It was a night with my life. Or parts thereof. Snow and microbrews, ping pong beer, erotic nights in hotel rooms. Paper routes and swimming pools. Little boy and big boy. Dusty hands against the window, sweaty trousers and moldy cheese. Hands on the nightstand. Running & running round the tracks. Jesus on the ceiling. Angel light from passing trucks. Tootsie rolls from Mormon missionaries. Las Vegas lakes and rocket ships.

It is 09.00. I…

poem from Primitive pianos via google translate


Bu 03,28 ikinci günü ve benim buzdolabı Pınar Doğal Yoğurt doludur. Benim pencere dışında ışıkları bir pus olduğunu. Ben REAL alışveriş merkezi daha kötüyüm. Dualar hava taçlandırdı. Ben tercüme istiridye oldu. Burası dünyanın fındık yapılmış olmasıdır. Ben bir Roma hamamı kalıntıları bekliyorum. Ben Augustus tapınağı bekliyorum. Ben Secure Confident Geleceğe Anıt bekliyorum! Herkes sert yüzünde görünüyor ama mouthholes yumuşak.

O 06,42 olduğunu. Ben bir saat uyuyorsun. 15 dk uyanıyorum suçsa kadar. Hayatımın bir geceydi. Ya da parçaları. Kar ve microbrews, ping pong bira, otel odalarında erotik gece. Kağıt yolları ve yüzme havuzları. Küçük çocuk ve büyük çocuk. pencere, terli pantolon ve küflü peynir karşı Dusty eller. komodinin üzerinde Hands. Koşu ve koşma yuvarlak izler. İsa tavanda. kamyon geçmesini Angel ışık. Mormon misyonerler dan Tootsie yuvarlanıyor. Las Vegas göl ve roket gemi.

O 09.00 olduğunu. Ve benim tabanı Ankara sicks kırmızı kil yağmur yağdı vardır. Eski kapıda…

revised from Primitive Pianos

(Ulus, Ankara)

the upchoke of black crumbs these
melancholy wakings now
attack the nipples
in the Hamam a man
slapped me
with soap bubbles
and scrubbed my face with sandpaper
red dots spot my back
what is raki without rhyme
what is lion’s milk
what are bluejays without Hermes
my hymen
the people
are still moving
are free in their
and crocks
free to love
in this red clay of Ankara

From Nerve Fibre (South Korea 2005)

Flying Bird Teahouse (Insadong)

the sun on my
finches the feathers
in my cup

less plumbers
many electricians

an evening performance
of fruit sellers

Utopia Spa

cold pools
skating shakes
heated floor
wooden pillows
leather lumps
pale drainage
never stop

From Nerve Fibre (South Korea 2005)


searching for nan and Russians
pot-bellied smart and tart
Zen Blud lust dhar ma top-
ped rice cake orange fish eggs
& salmon slices oh boy

as regards this meathole
tonked up testy & smiling

mind finds a home on the ground
a beard between me & my mouth

cramping at the knee

swamp grass

the allegory breaks
in the mouth

the old wood
sticks out
from the newer

the neighbouring dust
will have its way

Australian explosions

Q. And have you any belief as to the purpose which the authors had in mind in writing the Ern Malley poems?

A. They claimed to be hoaxing the members of a modernistic culturism.

Q. Don't you believe that Ern Malley's poems were never intended to be serious work at all?

A. I have no opinion on their intentions, I only worry about their content as poems.

Q. And you say that it doesn't matter if the significance is accidental or otherwise.

A. I don't know if the significance is accidental, I am concerned with the significance.

Q. A great number of people would regard the poems in Angry Penguins as being rubbish.

A. It all depends on what people regarded them, on the person.

Q. The majority of people in Australia would regard the poems as nothing but rubbish.

A. Yes, and Shakespeare.

revised from Primitive Pianos


to get from the ship to the wave is a motion

the movement is what happens

my lover is movement

what is a motion of a lover if not an apology for death?

I has many notions

movements take place inside the coalshed

else inside a coal cooker

a coalhead

the paint is wet dry

it may happen the I is wonky

it may happen we fickle ourselves sick

therefore the I must keep moving

conceptions are not contraceptions