Translated by Suat Karantay "My life will begin OnceI am the black princess." You're frowning at my flowery poems, Sir, But you don't know. Behind flowery curtains I'm trying to conceal my body rent asunder. Here am I sitting in the dark with the lights off. Let the alarm clock ring until the spring winds down. I am remembering a love scene with a bitter aftertaste Like the irrelevant radiance of a knife. I am an illicit rain which for years has been hiding in the clouds. Were I to rain now, I'd ride in the whirlwind and direct the storm. I am a guttersnipe, Sir. Loneliness is the sole master in my cellar. Lately I've been feeling as unbreakable as those plastic vases. With your large-size shoes you'll be stepping on the children playing in the garden. That wouldn't be proper, Sir, would it? I scatter breadcrumbs to the birds They're pecking at glass splinters In my dream in a bowl full of water All I want to tell you about is the puzzle pieces in a rainbow of colors. But you're not listening to me.

No, I don't think I can wait till morning I feel that people must tell their dreams As soon as possible. My soul was fourteen years old, Sir, It aged in the cold of a marble table. My soul became a peg-leg, on slender white legs I roamed the city making creaking sounds. They even whistled at my artificial legs. They laid siege to the unarmed legions of flowers within me. "Squeals of Orgasm" was playing in the cinemas. classic curtains rollestonI tried to escape but no success. lill curtains ikea reviewThat's why I find it beneficial for my soul To compose flowery poems. kajsa curtains ikeaI never forget a film. lioh curtains

I've often taken refuge in the unending nights of cinemas. I remember having wept bitterly as I watched "Sophie's Choice." I wish they had made a film of the kissing Guramis. I'd never forget it, I'm sure. Can anyone forget the sound of a spinning wheel deep within? Moreover I've the habit of recalling I am a "collector of articles", Sir. The great ships of yore are no more, Sir. And the great clippers are no more. sick light curtains c4000Now I want to burn large sheets of paper. 2nd hand curtains cobhamI saw a cormorant dive a while ago It's not come up yet. red curtain cinema barton marinaI wish it would emerge with the whole world in its belly Death is a big big word isn't it, Sir? I know I stink like marigolds.

But can you imagine the beauty of a forlorn lover Who poaches eggs on a coal stove? One rose would say to another if it could see No, I am lying Roses have lately grown mute, Sir. Translated by Suat Karantay To Corresponding Lovers As of now you're but a memory Like a cloud or a powder, fleeting Let all (loves) be put into parentheses Like wind chimes, you echo the language of the breeze Neither clear refrain nor distinct melody evokes your name Your present essence as pitiful as certain songs I know Let the days pile up like stubs in ashtrays For that one day you're sure to show up on the train You're the froth of the waves, living in the blue Your skin whene'er you wish takes on a watery hue I've left it to my hands, which shall now write my thoughts to you Should there be two aged fish within me Should there be two fish, one bare of scales, within me And one is you, your return might well destroy it This is what I wish to write to you Then what I wish to put into the post In a bare envelope There

is no longer any letter that can bring me back to life If with these red ribbons adorning my hair I look as wan as a fine sheet of muslin -not only my countenance but my soul as well Time will fade a page, whatever's written upon it To my hands I've left this; they shall write my thoughts to you As of now you're but a memory In a transparency adorned with broken hearts You're the glass and I'm the film; if you break With my silver coat I shall make love to you Upon that image adorned with broken hearts Should there be two women in me, one in silver You, if you come, might destroy them This is what I wish to write to you Then what I wish to put into the post with a New Year's card adorned with gilt There is no longer any letter that can bring me back to life As of now you're but a memory When a geranium blooms in the pot Let all (loves) be put into parentheses To my hands I've left this; they shall write you what I think Should my letters go astray in the post... Ah, my love Your present essence as pitiful as certain songs I know

Translated by Suat Karantay Each and every day tidbits from distant nations fall From the pockets of the sun Like those from the pockets of a hard-pressed papa Melancholy and smelling of sesame seed. Maybe a star like gretagarbo's died Till evening falls ironmongers walk their black nightmares Throughout all the city's thoroughfares At each corner after nightfall the drunks now puke out their mundane day With the sun now safely packed - with receipts for tax Racks of cheap clothing now display a ruffled, ruffled sea of bargains as a consolation prize. In the damp drizzle toward sunrise then There are only forlorn feline strays collected in the corners Rubbing and preening their coats. They contemplate the slanting rain These filthy cats of every hue. Peddlers selling Crisp rings of fried dough, their hands greasy Their eyes, their hearts greasy-filthy merchants! Seagulls lacking any vote of confidence Begin to haunt the crowded markets of Kemeralti With tears from some thirty-three slashes of love's dagger dribbling slowly from their eyes.