Black is the night, black the asphalt of this seasonal return to where it all began. In the trunk, the bare essentials that are of no use where you were born. The olive trees greet you at the roadside, the clothes you wore in former days, the toys of childhood, the voices of the neighborhood, and, if you are lucky, a mother,
Open-ended thought Let me give you a bond, tie it… Climb from where you fell, Become the sultan of my heart! The well is deep, The mouth of fate is narrow, Your love is heavy, heavier than heavy… Let your tongue be silent, Your shirt of patience… Open-ended thought Let me give
Dorel Cosma The line gets longer. It presses on me the moment which restlessly accompanies me. I’m waiting in front of the booking office window. The smell of the trip distributes the infinite life in front of my eyes. I cannot be calm. Where will I go? I shall make up my mind when
Lucia Cupertino A woodpecker pecks at the edges of the world, will it collapse? you ask me in a troubled tone. Blurred as we are by the fog infecting these woods, I confidently answer: No way! But the question keeps on echoing inside: Will it collapse? Will it collapse? All seems quiet, though
THE EDGES OF THE WORLD Read More »
Mesut Şenol Coming to fruition in finding a place to settle in your soul The back gardens of your own paradise still cry for a deal Will the newcomers be patient with what they see in their dreams? Again, it’s not a huge enterprise to fool the hell’s guards Or else you might danger your
IF THE WINDS BLOW ON YOUR FACE Read More »
Alici Maria Kuberska I eat grass. It grows on land scorched by shells. I swallow sand. I am like all those who died in line for flour. Flour and sand, grass and wheat so alike, yet so different. I cry from hunger, despair, helplessness. No one hears me, no one sees. I live in
She was told she was beautiful like a girl from a renaissance portrait, limp as a reed and weak as an ivy. She believed that she needed to find her prince mighty and oak-like, to writhe among the branches, follow the sun and sparkle in its golden rays. The storm has come. It shattered the
Mesut Şenol As the blinding mountainside was shrinking and going beyond the horizon Non blowing top was being shrouded by shadows and at a such end of a sunshine I enter into the world of the fairies without asking and start flying on my magic carpet out of clear sky I give way to the
TO PAY ATTENTION TO YOU Read More »
By Mesut Şenol Fatma Hanım, one of the officials in charge of authors at Nilüfer Municipality, welcomed me at the Bursa Bus Terminal and brought me to Gölyazı. Before arriving at the Writers’ House (Yazıevi) Guest House, she took me on a short tour of Gölyazı, showing me the Weeping Plane Tree (Ağlayan Çınar), the
“WELCOME, MY AUTHOR!” Read More »
Lucia Cupertino I recently became acquainted with the work of Ayumi Shibata, a Japanese-born artist who builds macrocosms and microcosms using the ancient washi paper craft. I was dazzled by this artwork, because she employs such a fragile material to build cities, landscapes, scenery that gradually come to inhabit space in a powerful and
Literature as a Washi Paper Shaped by Writers Read More »
