Poetry in broken English

The winter caved in standing, and fell onto it’s knees.
They picked their life apart, to its´ smallest piece.
And they put it back together.
They put it back together as soon as they were done,
poetry in broken English has begun.

The pages of a letter and moments that unfreeze.
The place I’m at consumes me just like some bad disease.
But I’ll get it back together.
But I’ll get it back together as soon as I’m well,
from poetry in broken English into hell.

She caught those blue sheets dancing, directing them her way,
and read them in the taxi up from down the bay.
And she got them back together.
And she puzzled them together from the first word to the last,
from poetry in broken English to the past.

 

Empty hands of love

Reflections on the watercourse around the pillars of the bridge.
Standing on the rooftop terrace looking out across the ridge.
Sinking with devotion into the empty hands of love.

Climbing down the storage ladder to the warehouse office space.
Finishing some paper work in the dockland's sleepless haze.    
Sinking with devotion into the empty hands of love.

Shuffling a deck of cards, waiting for the dawn to break.
Sweeping dust off from her portrait, pondering which move to make.  
Sinking with devotion into the empty hands of love.

A dog is barking on the shore below the fading winter moon.
He grabs his jacket and a hat, humming on a  joyful tune.   
Sinking with devotion, into the empty hands of love.

 

In the endless home of space

I stepped out from the backseat of the cab onto the waterfront,
and saw the vessels drifting coming closer to the shore.

Time has passed but I’m still there (voices from the past are calling).
You looked right at me almost glad, the snowflakes swirled and came down falling.

Down on the back lanes and you came out of a phase,
when the day disintegrated in the endless home of space.

I read the papers in a lounge and the wind leapt through the door.
An article on Arthur Miller and on Marilyn Monroe.

Time has passed but I’m still there (voices from the past are calling).
You looked right at me almost sad, the snowflakes swirled and came down falling,

Down on the back lanes and you came out of a phase,
when the day disintegrated in the endless home of space.

I’ll never let them bring you down

 

 


The Galata Apartment Accommodation Hotel

She came around the turnstile under a streetlamps glare,
continued through an alleyway and past the portal by the fairs.

To the songs of congregation, as she slipped inside her shell.
Going back towards the Galata Apartment Accommodation Hotel.

She was following a crowd, along the sloping rise.
Lingered on a square, when the headlights pierced her eyes.

To the songs of congregation, as she slipped inside her shell.
Going back towards the Galata Apartment Accommodation Hotel.

She went to buy some groceries, in Çihangirs restless flow.
A scarf flapped on the shoulders, of a merchant mumbling low.

To the songs of congregation, as she slipped inside her shell.
Going back towards the Galata Apartment Accommodation Hotel.

 

 

Another turn around the bend

Swiftly cruising in the dusk, another turn around the bend.
Grinding horns and drizzling, near the city borders end.

Going out to the meadows, I remember how you said:
- Forget all the troubles, forget what has been.

Taking off onto the highway, quickly glancing back to check.
As if I sense your fingertips, gently stroking down my neck.

Going out to the meadows, I remember how you said:
- Forget all the troubles, forget what has been.

You fill in the blanks of recollection, the lines are blurred and the contours bled.
As if I hear your whispers and, see a streak of silver shed.

Going out to the meadows, I remember how you said:
- Forget all the troubles, forget what has been.

 

 

By the Bosphorus

Waves of heat are raging down the broad steps of the stairs,
still in April fading into a purple flower bed.
I’m walking through the parking lot the security-control,
get my ticket at the counter and keep on walking down the hall.

I looked at all the paintings and the photographs,
the descriptions of the sceneries I somewhat understand.
The colours burning softly by the riverside,
laughters´ ringing loudly, where the sorrows hide.

Shades and leaves are raving along the pavements, through the windows and the cars.  
All the children playing, they’ve been longing since the fall.

I looked at all the paintings and the photographs,
the descriptions of the sceneries I somewhat understand.
The colours burning softly by the riverside,
laughters´ ringing loudly, where the sorrows hide.

A hundred ships are waiting by the eastern Roman wall,
they’re sketching and they’re skating, prayers answer to the calls.

I looked at all the paintings and the photographs,
the descriptions of the sceneries I somewhat understand.
The colours burning softly by the riverside,
laughters´ ringing loudly, where the sorrows hide.

 

 

Nuruosmaniye

Got off the tramway at Çemberlitas,
and loosened my tie in the afternoon rush.

All I can say is:
- You are with me all through the day.

Nuruosmaniye, the valve of the trees.
Left my reflections in the late autumn breeze.

All I can say is:
- You are with me all through the day,
all through the night,
all through the dark,
all through the light.

The Kapali Çarsi and salesmen that call,
a final destination and main entrance hall.

All I can say is:
- You are with me all through the day,
all through the night,
all through the dark,
all through the light.

 

Beneath on the other side

The silence broke and the landing wheels came down,
the pilot spoke as they passed the edge of town.

Trembling downwards and hovering away along the ocean and boats that glide,
spiraling roads and vehicles are crawling beneath on the other side.

Recalled the pledges and the things she said,
the bus stop shelter and the skyline turning red.

Trembling downwards and hovering away along the ocean and boats that glide,
spiraling roads and vehicles are crawling beneath on the other side.

The sidewalk damp from sprinklers upon the hill,
waiting for her entrance by the exit standing still.

Trembling downwards and hovering away along the ocean and boats that glide,
spiraling roads and vehicles are crawling beneath on the other side.

 

 

Do you still believe in me

Her char-coal black eye line turned into grain.
In the maze of her thoughts, on a walk through the plain.

She said:
- Do you still believe in me ?

The harbour was sparkling, a blanket ofpearls.
Into the horizon, like a carpet unfurls.

She said:
- Do you still believe in me ?

The napkins were folded, the porcelain was white.
She polished the glasses and faded the light.

She said:
- Do you still believe in me ?

 

 

All of the way to Karaköy

A withering building, the firmament grey.
The seagulls were circling the end of the day.

They closed up the curtains and fled from the scene.
A turn around the tower and out of the screen.

Time has spread its´ violent wings, looking for another place.
Listening to the traffic that sings, all of the way to Karaköy.

A wing-blade that blinked and cut through a cloud.
Squeals from the trains on the bridge that were loud.

Shuttles were rushing across the water running late.
A door stood ajar to the gold behind the gate.

Time has spread its´ violent wings, looking for another place.
Listening to the traffic that sings, all of the way to Karaköy.

The fruit stands and mussels, the minarets tall.
The fresh toasted chestnuts, and rugs on the wall.

A fisherman untangled his reeling by the horn,
and came back from the markets with the decades he had bourne.

Time has spread its´ violent wings, looking for another place.
Listening to the traffic that sings, all of the way to Karaköy.

Time has spread its´violent wings, looking for another place.
Listening to the traffic that sings, all of the way, to Karaköy.

 

 

 

 

Photo: Pelle Hybinette