Ozkan Mert [Turkey /Sweden]

 

I Am Not Clever Enough
To Exchange Kisses With a Dynamite in my Mouth
 
1.
Bring me face to face with the new born day
              unbutton my shirt
                                 and throw it to the wind!
For, news came; that life has accepted me!
I’ll spend some time more in life
                              in the company of fishes and trees;
Trees, our handsomest face.
Otherwise I’ll be taken to task
             for having failed to show men
                                what they had not seen.
 
The mountains! There they are!
           The street, embracing a pigeon
                          in the most naked hour of the morning
            I wish I had not informed you about the children
who showed the day in its most resplendent attire.
I wish I had not told you about
the world beauties
known to the ice-cream sellers in collapsed summer cities.
Their hips are but small oceans
             whose unruly billows
                   strike against the sun. I wish I had not told you
about Keriman Halis
                    but she was a reflection of the universe
This is the reason why I keep silent.
 
2.
But people misinterpreted my silence.
The yellow roses I had grown in my garden
                      have all been hand-cuffed.
                                                When birds emerged
from the tulip bulbs I had planted in the earth,
the gendarmes took me away.
 
What’s there to be afraid of
                    in the embracing of a pigeon
with the morning? I don’t understand.
Why should one be afraid of the breath of a mare
                     whose teeth smell of fresh grass?
 
 
Everybody’s life passes through everybody. Even the Leander’s Tower;
Who sometimes when it takes itself for a watchtower
                     bends toward the waters of the Bosphorus,
                                                Üsküdar in its vest,
and turns into a scorpion, and indicates the time.
In fact, what it indicates is not time,
                      but an album of a devastated life
 
 
3.
I, whose species is about to be extinct upon the Earth,
           have not been able to choose a life style for myself.
I have identified a child’s life
            with my life.
I was not afraid to see
           that the cherry tree had put on my shirt.
I have tossed my life
           to other people’s lives.
I have tossed my skin
            toward other skins
I have learned how to shake off my life
            along with the lives of others
I don’t want to face it anymore. Kiss me, kiss me hard!
And let all the tickets in my pocket
             become null and void.
            You may tear my pocket off’ if you like.
            You may sew a cloud instead!
                                    Let my swagger be set at naught.
To swagger in the presence of life and love is a delicate affair.
              Not comparable to having oneself photographed on the Alps.
It is something like
              the betrothal of Albatrosses with
                                    abysses….
 
I don’t know how to get engaged
             But with words
                             I can adjust the time of the world.
 
                              I am not clever enough
                 To exchange kisses with a dynamite in my mouth 
 
 
 
Where Are Your Stars Amsterdam?
 
How does one embark on a man, on a city, on a grim Monday                                                  

about to come off from calendars
with violet carnations – planted in petroleum tins - in terraces, on stone steps…
 
A green stream runs through the night;
wounded are the acidified towers and the weary parks of the city;
no matter what the hour is the sky is not utterly devoid of hope.
Let’s talk if you like with words as light
as a dove wishing each other happy hours ruthlessly.
But then let everybody reveal his identity and merits.
For our aim is to cleanse life.
 
What ‘I’m going to tell concerns you all;
you are all bound to listen to what I’m going to say;
let me be a glowing piece of cloud and you stars illuminating
the Earth and washing the winds.
 
My life rushes toward the sun at breakneck speed.
I am passing by the most famous cathedral of Europe
Wall writings, wall paintings, the stark naked poems of life,
the stark naked faces in a stark naked city.
 
A single glance from you will suffice to identify them;
like trees uprooted and toppled over
like ashes falling from a cigarette, they are;
 with eyes as sharp as a blade.
 
Our life is as taut as the skin of a drum.
Your heart may be as cold as a jewel under the snow.
You are condemned to winds and sorrows;
but you know there is no path to take 

without affliction and affection.
Regardless of the hour, there is always hope
 
Beware! Today may be the inception of a doomed love affair
even though it may be a sad one, even though the hope concealed in the dark
Have faith in me. It’s settled, we’ll be washing life.
 
I’m walking along a canal in Amsterdam, a dark blue tango on my lips.
Is the evening setting in? Or am I floating in a sea of dejection?
Lukewarm is the night; and I think my heart is bleeding.
 
Houses are stuffed into the toy bag of a little kid,
their large windows with panes staring at me in curiosity,
I’m a tailor who cuts out clouds.
All right! But where are your stars, Amsterdam?
 
I’ll come back to you with tons of them attaching
 each of them to each of your curls.
Don’t forget, Amsterdam is the city of yellow street-cars and tulips,
you’re my darling now!
 
A face I seem to recognize is shaking my hand:
Van Gogh, my old friend, with a red beard and a chopped ear.
Hello! The man who paints the landscapes with winds and fires;
God’s twin brother, the devil of colors.
 
A dark blue rain is falling over Paris.
A dark blue tango is on my lips.
La Seine is my despondent maiden.
A gossamer curtain stretched over the Earth, there you have Paris.
 
I want to write a blue letter home; a dark blue poem…                                                                       

every word of it smelling of cinnamon;
let a sea breeze sweep off the ‘a’ s ; let the poem have no
 
‘a’ s in it.
But my salted vagabondage must remain
 with my glass of raki.
 
 
 
Author’s Bionote:
 
*Özkan Mert was born on October 21, 1944, in Erzurum, Turkey. Poet, Writer, Translator.  Turkey Writers Union Representative in Sweden. Member of the Swedish writers' union. Former journalist on Swedish Radio. Extraordinary Ambassador for Naji Naaman’s Foundation for Gratis Kultur. Turning to poetry during his early youth in Izmir, the poet took a leading role in student movements during the fiery days of the 1968 events in Ankara. As a candidate of Dev-Genç, he represented revolutionaries in the DTCF (Faculty of Language, History, and Geography) Senate. In 1969, he signed the 1960s Poetry Generation Manifesto during a panel discussion titled "Revolutionary Poets Declare War," organized by ANT magazine. His debut poetry book, “Kuracağız Her Şeyi Yeniden” (We Will Build Everything Anew), published in 1970, was confiscated immediately upon release. In 1971, after being sentenced to a total of 8 years in prison by the fascist military junta, he fled abroad and was granted political asylum in Sweden (1973). In Sweden, he learned Swedish at Lund University and studied in the Department of Drama, Theater, and Film. Between 1980 and 2006, he worked as a journalist, program producer, and news anchor at the Swedish National Radio in Stockholm, and from 2006 to 2008, he served as the Director of International Theater and Culture Projects at the Swedish National Theater. Since 2015, the "Özkan Mert International Honor Awards" have been presented annually in Istanbul across various disciplines, including Poetry, Art, Science, Peace, Tolerance, and Nature. The poet, who has brought many important works of Swedish literature into Turkish, lives in Stockholm.