The Brooklyn Rail

DEC 19-JAN 20

All Issues
DEC 19-JAN 20 Issue


there is the sound of a chopper in the air
and that dull ringing in my ears
“sing, now, sing!” I say
“there is no singing better than yours in the whole world"
say one sky descended from dark skies
perched on my forehead
it doesn’t caw if only it would
this word will stir to life
the cheese will fall to earth

don’t cry my baby
if you don’t I'll make this parable stand up and walk
I'll add it to my hump, make it bound over the streets
here the cock in sweat, there the dwarf of the universe
here the coral island, there the bleeding forest
here the human shrieking
there the silence of my shrieking eyes
bells will ring in your milky breath, don’t cry
the mouse of the ship will remain without any fortune told
mother will come to our shore, don’t cry
here the magic sphere in her hand, there her flying broom
frog lips in the cauldron one pinch of horse eyelash
a few heads of mortar shells
here we have a statement extracted under torture
mandrake, licorice, owl nail
unquestionable role of cheekbones in the beauty of a face
a river on her way back from the sea
sunglasses forgotten on the beach
a toucan on my shoulder, in receptions, in tv rooms
an impeccable cough ready for my stumble
I am on the stairs I descend while climbing
suddenly I catch how I was armed
how I waited for that immortal word
the doors I passed through were never opened
no chance should be given to these foul games aiming to disrupt our harmony
a diamond ring forgotten in the pie
a tiger tooth stuck in the pie
I cut my wife’s hair very short
4376 is the number of terrorists liquidated
I rubbed the blackberry bushes with my dry stick
yes, who wants tartarelli all’uovo bolognesi
I looked at my hands they almost didn’t exist
grasshopper sleep, warmth of the grass, wireless static
dehydrated lightning struck on the slope
- I dried my wet neck in an old photograph
I sat on a rock my shadow stirred
my face elongated by constant calling
fire hole expanding on my shirt -
something was about to reach my exactitude…

there is the sound of a chopper in the air
the crow is guided to death come winter
my favorite daughter is august

              İstanbul, 2019


Hasan Güçlü Kaya

Hasan Güçlü Kaya was born in Turkey in 1975. He is the author of “Ölümsüz” (Immortal), a book of poems, and lives in Istanbul.

Mustafa Ziyalan

Mustafa Ziyalan is a well known Turkish poet living in New York City.


The Brooklyn Rail

DEC 19-JAN 20

All Issues