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	Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
	PROFILE About me Poetry (14) Prose (1) Photography (6) Graphics (21)

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Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI, 27 june 2012

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 Zâra
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...

Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick

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

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Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI, 1 july 2012

MOLESTATION

“Hard prohibitions are necessary in order to live systematically... Strength isn’t affected by being a woman... I must use my authority continuously, even though it may seem insensitive to others....” The eyes of the female administrator widened after she murmured these words to herself.
She told her secretary not to be disturbed and began typing on her computer. She was almost frantic with excitement over the things she wrote. Sometimes her eyes stayed fixed at one point and she was envisioning three dimentional fiction from the words.
Two hours passed. She put the last period on her article, which resembled a political party announcement or a syndicate bulletin and bore no feeling or empathy. She remembered to write her name, title and date at the end. After signing, she picked up the phone and said, “ The difficulties of the opposition against my authority will simply have to be understood."
Her talk, complete with gestures, was reflected upon behind the misty glass. A few minutes later, a white-haired worker entered the room after knocking. He held the letter bestowed upon him. With a trembling hand, he went down the back steps, and read the letter quickly. He took a deep breath after wiping his sweat from his forehead and thought about the negative aspects of being a foreigner in a strange country.
His anxiety continued at home that evening. Watching his children wanting to sit on his lap to get rid of their own day’s troubles doubled his pain. That night he had chest pains and was taken to the hospital by an ambulance, where he died.
His loved ones visited his body in the morgue. His wife wasn’t able to stop her tears while she tried to speak of the cold winds that had changed the direction of their lives. How could their children be greeted in the future if no one knew of their heritage?
The event was forgotten. A few months later, the woman in the same work place said, “Continued effectiveness requires judgement... It must be my duty to continue struggling with foreigners using the best psychological methods... My strength isn’t affected by being a woman.”
She began typing on her computer after murmuring these words to herself and told her secretary not to be disturbed. She was again excited over the things she wrote. She remembered to write her name, title and date below her letter after she put the last period. After signing “Traces from the beginnings of everything reach to the end; forgetting things from the past will make my job easier...”, she said and picked up the phone. Her talk was reflected upon behind the misty glass. She handed the letter to her worker who entered the room after knocking on the door. She stretched out, relaxed, as her worker was going down the back steps. The waiting began...
Her worker took a deep breath at first. Then he folded the letter into his pocket. Sirens sounded in his ears. He felt as if he had died. Nobody noticed the disturbance reflected in his family life as his feelings closed down. Sales advertisements at reduced prices were given more attention than human rights declaration on the walls.

by Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Translated by Fide ERKEN and by Anne PROULX
Paris, 20.12.1998

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Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI, 1 july 2012

Go Now...Come Back Later

Do not stay in front of my troubles
And rattle my private feelings
Hereafter, do not touch my ideas
Do not revive my memories
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!

Me, I depend on my loneliness...
I do not let other people trample
My love so easily
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!

Me, I am accustomed to the sky's irony
It is of no importance
That I am discovered in my sleep...
I climb my trees myself
I water my flowers myself
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!

Do not stay in front of my troubles
And rattle my private feelings
Hereafter, do not touch my ideas
Do not revive my memories
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!

Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Ankara, 06.06.1979
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick, 22.02.2006

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Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI, 16 august 2014

What Species of Humanity Are You?

What species of humanity are you?
Whatever kind you are, you don't worry us.

According to hearsay
you were willing to lay your hands
on small items
deposited by my mother
to the communal account,
close to a bank.
I know that since its existence
Istanbul has changed others.
Some who have gone there wearing worn down shoes
have returned in high heels.
You continue to brush its streets with your skirt.
Mirrors do not show what really happens.

Ah, yes, you forget so quickly
the dusty streets of the sub-prefecture
of your childhood.
This ruse is your currency of the moment.
I know you.
You have swindled your brothers and sisters
with many recoveries.
My daughter, is there nobody to take you by the hair
and demand that you seek out America or Europe?
You have invented a lie to fill your pockets with money.

What species of humanity are you?
Whatever kind you are, you don't worry us.

Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Paris, le 09.10.2004
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick - 25.10.2004

(Note: Soul to Soul presents this fine poem and others
in the spirit of communicating freely to increase understanding,
not to cater to any agenda or offend any nationality.)

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Other poems: What Species of Humanity Are You?, Go Now...Come Back Later, THE WORLD IN A BOTTLE *, THE CITY WHICH IS INSIDE YOU, MOLESTATION, What Is Written in the Dark by War, The Marketplace Still Attaches Your Fool To Money, FRIEND, YOU'RE NOT THE GUILTY ONE, My Teacher, Where the Lilies Grow, Tomorrow the Sun Is Born for Us, Martial Dances, Those who dance to the rhythm of their own music, İSTANBUL,

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Poetry

The Marketplace Still Attaches Your Fool To Money

MOLESTATION

Go Now...Come Back Later

What Species of Humanity Are You?

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