slumps

Three weeks of not writing. No. perhaps four. And wondering if I can still write. That's worst time. between projects. Just working long hours at a language school. now moving into friend's house for a while until my paperwork is sorted out with the state university in Ankara. might not have internet for a week or so. re-assess. re-see. pen and paper.

after not writing for so long it gets harder to write because of fear of being banal. but here. this is banal. not deep. My hands are sweating on the keyboard. 35 degrees. palms sticking to the powerbook. smudges. packed six plastic bags, two backpacks, and one suitcase. gonna order a taxi soon. in about 5 min. attachment is also an issue. or anticipation. or waiting. but there is nothing to wait for cause everything is already happening. always. in this eternal present.

off we go into the wild blue yonder.

that was one of the first songs i heard when i immigrated to America. Las Vegas. And Iron Eagle and Top Gun and the cold war. And K-mart hamburgers and 7-eleven slurpies and now-and-laters and trying to do the helicopter on a piece of cardboard and an American girl named Candy who loved Duran Duran and wanted to take me to an abandoned house in the vegas desert to show me something called French kissing but I told her I loved Jesus and I can't do that kind of thing. yeah . . .. . life happens!

Oh Turkey!

Hamam

oh Cemal
there are no
candles
on a navel stone
a man grew me
frightened
in the manner
of chips
I was fried
and I became
the method
of sandpaper
and I didn’t expect
this
from my face
sloppy seconds
from buckets
of water
an idiom
of red spots
aspirations
of presence
in this way
I was wiped
clean

new poem in revision

KARAMAN (Anatolia)

the city is under construction. the newly planted trees provide no shade. students pack every morning into the dolmus with peasants and workers. In the centre new buildings go up and look old before they are finished. nothing matches.

we sit at a table with Turkish tea. glass cups. redish tint. a gypsy girl calls us sir and madam from the road. we eat our cheese gozleme. talk of interracial couples as the dust blows around us and a man with a hose sprays down the footpath.


women collect water near the mosque. build 1292. almond eyes in the desert. the sun scorches. we drink ayran.



crowds crack seeds in their mouth and spit empty shells on the street. there is music. blood and geography. constant beeps from the old yellow dolmus. mules. wedding drums and mopeds. negotiations on the fly.



this is a dusty town. men with slicked hair and tight jeans. covered women. old men with sticks. modern gals with bright lips and blond hair. Turks return for the summer buying up cartons of cigarettes and purchasing mobilya to ship back to Holland or Germany.

yesterday a ship captain fed us popcorn, green melon with honey, and white cheese.

Quick poem from my notebook

AMASRA


the dijinns are relative
this is affecting a lot of people
near you
a good wonderful
kismet
toss yr hair
squeeze me
off
check that fish
with lungs

*****************************************

i met your moods
out to lunch
spices of the black sea
fish with coca cola
a tinkling of knives
that mountain
made pregnant
with Zeusfog

*****************************************
you were an armful
slipping out the balcony
the flies won’t
leave me alone
i’ve an inkling
to become
a beach bum

*****************************************
I’m accessible but
difficult
pardon
yon
girl sd
and took
my green
lighter

*****************************************
the girl behind her has a hiccup laugh
sucking out to blow in
or the other way
around
and ah kuh
she says
out of nowhere
“true blue”
and her friend says
“higher”
and then its sayumbabayakma
or something like
suzzie got magic
this is Turkish
homophonics
Kolay gelsin