Poem
Mustafa Köz
LAST WORDS FOR THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
Into the shelters, said Mr. Jose Macidowhile planes were landing on the fields.
The war starts with a single bullet, said Mademoiselle Cicino Durune
everything that happens later is an inimitable memory for us.
An impenetrable darkness falls, said Master Bedî El Hassan
when we fill sordid cannons with our hearts.
These children will too grow up, said the Monk Chen Su Yang
how long is the life of a flag or a rose.
There is a sea inside everyone, said the Sailor Barba Vasilius,
we all seek his own shore there.
The world turns, said the Immigrant Milev Milinovic,
these, his most serious words death cannot erase.
Equilibrium is everything, said the respectable boozer Zakir Pranov
as he falls down beside a log.
Words do not like the void, said Imam Zekeriya,
fighting is as blessed to us, as the cream on milk.
They shoot us like horses, said Dr. Ruth Miller
while she injects a crystal ampoule into her veins.
We don’t even have a single span of land to give, said Mr. General Kaninga
these bastards’ mouths cannot begrime one sip of water.
Now all are dirty: the words of our plays, the shelters,
the sunflower fields, the holy scriptures, the planes, and their wings
under infinite suns still we live.
But Mr. Macido, Mademoiselle Durune, the almighty Master El Hassan,
the word monger Zekeriya, the Sailor Vasilius, Dr. Ruth Müller,
the Monk Chen Su Yang, the boozer Zakir Pranov,
the immigrant Milev Milinovic and Mr. General Kaninga are all dead.
And we play an old war game with the toys
made out of their knucklebones and eyeholes.
YİRMİNCİ YÜZYIL İÇİN SON SÖZ
YİRMİNCİ YÜZYIL İÇİN SON SÖZ
Sığınaklara, demişti Mr. José Masidoinip kalkarken uçaklar tarlalara.
Tek kurşunla başlar savaş, demişti Matmazel Cicino Durune
sonrası eşsiz bir anıdır artık bizler için.
Göz gözü görmez, demişti Sahip Bedî Hassan
yüreklerimizi bir top mermisi gibi sürmüşsek aşağılık namlulara.
Bu çocuklar da büyüyecek, demişti Rahip Chen Su Yang
neyse gülün ömrü ya da zambağın.
Herkesin içinde bir deniz vardır, demişti Denizci Barba Vasilius
herkes kendi kıyısını arar orada.
Dünya dönüyor, demişti muhacir Milev Milinoviç
en ciddi sözüydü bu, ölümle unutulmaz.
Her şey dengedir, demişti saygıdeğer ayyaş Zakir Pranov
yıkılarak koca bir tomruğun dibine.
Söz, boşluğu sevmez, demişti İmam Zekeriya
savaşmak helâl bize, sütün kaymağı gibi.
Atlar gibi vuruyorlar bizi, demişti Dr. Ruth Müller
kristal bir ampulü boşaltırken damarlarına.
Verecek tek karış toprağımız yok, demişti Bay General Kaninga
bir yudum suyumuzu kirletemez bu soysuz ağızlar.
Kirli şimdi oyunlarımızın sözleri, sığınaklar
ayçiçek tarlaları, tüm kutsal kitaplar, uçaklar ve kanatları
ama yaşıyoruz işte biz, sonsuz güneşler altında
ölü Mr. Masido, Matmazel Durune, yüce Sahip El Hassan
söz taciri Zekeriya, Denizci Vasilius, Dr. Ruth Müller
Rahip Chen Su Yang, ayyaş Zakir Pranov.
Muhacir Milev Milinoviç ve Bay General Kaninga
oynuyoruz onların göz çukurlarından ve aşık kemiklerinden
yaptığımız oyuncaklarla çok eski bir savaş oyununu.
© 2003, Mustafa Köz
From: Ateş Bağı
Publisher: Papirüs Yayınevi,
From: Ateş Bağı
Publisher: Papirüs Yayınevi,
Poems
Poems of Mustafa Köz
Close
LAST WORDS FOR THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
Into the shelters, said Mr. Jose Macidowhile planes were landing on the fields.
The war starts with a single bullet, said Mademoiselle Cicino Durune
everything that happens later is an inimitable memory for us.
An impenetrable darkness falls, said Master Bedî El Hassan
when we fill sordid cannons with our hearts.
These children will too grow up, said the Monk Chen Su Yang
how long is the life of a flag or a rose.
There is a sea inside everyone, said the Sailor Barba Vasilius,
we all seek his own shore there.
The world turns, said the Immigrant Milev Milinovic,
these, his most serious words death cannot erase.
Equilibrium is everything, said the respectable boozer Zakir Pranov
as he falls down beside a log.
Words do not like the void, said Imam Zekeriya,
fighting is as blessed to us, as the cream on milk.
They shoot us like horses, said Dr. Ruth Miller
while she injects a crystal ampoule into her veins.
We don’t even have a single span of land to give, said Mr. General Kaninga
these bastards’ mouths cannot begrime one sip of water.
Now all are dirty: the words of our plays, the shelters,
the sunflower fields, the holy scriptures, the planes, and their wings
under infinite suns still we live.
But Mr. Macido, Mademoiselle Durune, the almighty Master El Hassan,
the word monger Zekeriya, the Sailor Vasilius, Dr. Ruth Müller,
the Monk Chen Su Yang, the boozer Zakir Pranov,
the immigrant Milev Milinovic and Mr. General Kaninga are all dead.
And we play an old war game with the toys
made out of their knucklebones and eyeholes.
From: Ateş Bağı
LAST WORDS FOR THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
Into the shelters, said Mr. Jose Macidowhile planes were landing on the fields.
The war starts with a single bullet, said Mademoiselle Cicino Durune
everything that happens later is an inimitable memory for us.
An impenetrable darkness falls, said Master Bedî El Hassan
when we fill sordid cannons with our hearts.
These children will too grow up, said the Monk Chen Su Yang
how long is the life of a flag or a rose.
There is a sea inside everyone, said the Sailor Barba Vasilius,
we all seek his own shore there.
The world turns, said the Immigrant Milev Milinovic,
these, his most serious words death cannot erase.
Equilibrium is everything, said the respectable boozer Zakir Pranov
as he falls down beside a log.
Words do not like the void, said Imam Zekeriya,
fighting is as blessed to us, as the cream on milk.
They shoot us like horses, said Dr. Ruth Miller
while she injects a crystal ampoule into her veins.
We don’t even have a single span of land to give, said Mr. General Kaninga
these bastards’ mouths cannot begrime one sip of water.
Now all are dirty: the words of our plays, the shelters,
the sunflower fields, the holy scriptures, the planes, and their wings
under infinite suns still we live.
But Mr. Macido, Mademoiselle Durune, the almighty Master El Hassan,
the word monger Zekeriya, the Sailor Vasilius, Dr. Ruth Müller,
the Monk Chen Su Yang, the boozer Zakir Pranov,
the immigrant Milev Milinovic and Mr. General Kaninga are all dead.
And we play an old war game with the toys
made out of their knucklebones and eyeholes.
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