‹zeyir Lokman «ayci


The Marketplace Still Attaches Your Fool To Money

One does not sell
broken pottery,
look for profitable business.
A hump on her back
your wife Z‚ra
beats the wool
Let your hungry children
and your animals that wait for fodder
not cause you to brood;
the marketplace is always there
attaching your soul to money.
You sell your merchandise,
you make money,
you will not go to Nigde...
You remain without hope
in the marketplace.
Your customers hearing your voice
say "Halil is still here..."
Sell your apples
snatched from their branches
hope they are all eaten;
the marketplace is still there
attaching your soul to money.
You sell your merchandise,
you make money,
you will never go to Nigde...
Let indifference
not change you,
the shenanigans
and acrobatics
of all sorts -
let all that
from one direction
not tire your mind.
The marketplace is always there
attaching your soul to money.
You sell your merchandise,
you make money,
you will never go to Nigde...

                     


Note: Nigde is a prefecture of Turkey,
and Bor is a sub-prefecture of Nigde.



White Roses

Sorrows clash
in white roses;
in nocturnal obscurity
water flows noisily,
mirrors transform into a sea.
Her color extends in the flow,
the earth whitens at her approach;
the shepherd's star shatters
and darknesses fall silent
I cannot tear them from myself
for she bonded with me in dying;
the waters flow noisily,
the mirrors transform into a sea.




** Translated from French by Joneve McCormick






e-mail the poet at uzeyir.cayci@wanadoo.fr
info on the writer
to go back to the home page