Bir şiirimin İngilizcesine yapılan beste (ai)

Şarkıya burada ulaşabilirsiniz:

https://suno.com/s/ZwXMNPeO9hVMn13m

I’m a river and I flow away

I’ll keep your shadow, weeping willow:

I’ll leave you my voice …

 *

I’m a river and I flow away

Steal wings and come with me, bluebird

The weeping willow follows us in this song

 *

I’m a river and I flow away

when the starry darkness descends

I’ll tell my story to the weeping willow and the bluebird

 *

I’m a river and I flow away

I release the fish of my bosom into the sees

my voice lingers behind with the weeping willow and the bluebird…

“The Agni Verses: Two Ambiguous Words in Mid-Flight” is a monolithic prose poem and an esoteric manifesto exploring the thin, blurred line between existence and non-existence. Originally woven into the final fabric of my Turkish novel, Children of the Full Moon, this standalone English text is a syncretic journey through ontological doubt, sacred passion, and the subversion of ancient myths. Here, Agni—the Vedic deity of fire—descends into a dark, stormy night not as a distant god, but as a twin-souled lover, a ruthless mirror, and a sovereign of ancient altars. Enter a realm where a Hadith is read in Hades, where realities become illusions, and where two unknown words remain eternally suspended in mid-flight.

By: Hashem Khosroshahi (Haşim Hüsrevşahi)

• What a blessed abomination it was! She, who is the daughter of the moon goddess! The wind had brought the whisper of yellow wheat to your hair! Your hands, newly returned from hell, had finally touched the soil; they were to bring fertility to the earth, to my face, and to this city, which had memorized the resonance of your footsteps patiently telling that ancient tale… Ah, my eternal holy whore, with whom I made love hundreds of times, for whose icon I lit candles, by the poison of whose tongue I went mad, and upon whose altar I was sacrificed every sunset when the fear of death plundered your breast! The moisture of your lips seeps into my lifespan… Your sweat, the water of life flowing from between your thighs, washes away my sins. The scent of wild thyme on your skin, like barbarian hordes, tramples my soul beneath its hooves. Now the moon, your mother, sits by the window, gazing at us and at this orphaned city! That moon-woman, whom you named Simla in your own lore, now wanders these streets. Now she sits within the shadows of this bright night, listening to the voices of the fishermen who sailed out to sea and the musicians. And those young girls, those boys dancing in colorful skirts under the moon’s tambourine, they are singing your songs… One side of you is Sadri Alışık, the other is Borges! Ah, my Al Yazmalim, until eternity!
• As I wander inside you, your hand leaves its tenderness upon my hair. I, who believed in you, will now sacrifice to you my poem, whose soul I distilled in blind wells. My first voice, my first poem… Listen now! At the end of this voice, you may drink my blood. For I have bled my blood into this poem of mine. Before the blind gaze and decayed flesh of Simla, I slit the throat of my first poem, my firstborn child. Now rub your wings against my blood and hear it for the very first time! When I was still a child, two cruel hands ripped the wings right from my shoulders.
• The soil of your shoulders is bitter. A mere touch of the tongue would burn. Inanna had told you that you could fly. Your wings will bloom with every single tear. Black tears and blue… She would journey into the underworlds by night. That is why the rivers of pain flow within your palms. Rub your newly blooming wings against my eyes. Rest your head upon my chest when night falls. On that first night, looking at your stars, I suck your fingers… You laugh… “I did not take you as a slave, my love!” We were born on a Sunday morning in Ankara. We got up and walked down together to buy bread.

(Şarkıyı dinlemek için fotograf üzerine tıklayın!)

ben senin dilinin yılanını özledim
zehirlerini akıt masalımıza
gülen dişlerinin ortasından
otur da yaz sonra unutma
dolunaysız penceremiz var
aynayı al da gel!

tek başına bir akıncı ordususun
meydanlarımda çift başlı ejderha agni
atlıların naralarla çarpar göğsümde
gece ve gündüz

(Şiir ve Fotoğraf: Haşim Hüsrevşahi, Beste: AI)

İngilizce şiirime yapılan bu besteyi beğendim:

there are verses of whispering nights read in the morning
your eyelashes evoke of rain with no umbrella
dark clouds under your gaze
while sheltering under your earlobes.

or let’s say it in this way
sidle to my rocky harbours
let’s move our tavern to your southern beach
your northern lips had always bloody words
set sail on the open seas unfurl

it’s hard to differ the shining sun from generous cursing out at that very moment
as if plucking an apple from its branch
come on now,
almost a bitter jouissance the wind!

Gül ki güller açsın al yanağında
Yanım sola dönük, yar yatam sağında (Arzumanım kaldı kız gözünün ağında)
Firdevs’i âlâ’da, İrem bağında
Sana benzemiyen gül olmaz olsun

Yılda iki bayram gözüme görün (Senede bir bayram gözüme görün)
Hasretine dayanamam ölürüm
Bedir saçı belik belik örgülüm
Varsın sensiz geçen yıl olmaz olsun

Dağladın sinemi göz göre göre
Bir günün içinde yar öldüm bin kere
Çunacağım yoktu çundurdun ele
Elde senin gibi de yar olmaz olsun

Ettin Kul Duran’ı derde müptelâ
Açtın şu sinemde sağılmaz yara
Yetmiye muradın göğsünde kala
Her dem iki yakan bir olmaz olsun

Sözler: Kul Duran

Türk ulusunun Egemenlik Bayramı olan 23 Nisan’ın ertesi günü 24 Nisan 1972 tarihli TBMM oturumunda tarihi bir karar oylamaya sunuldu. O dönemde, 12 Mart 1971 muhtırası verilmiş, askeri cunta devletin başında ve hükümet sözde “partiler üstü” kurulan teknokratlar hükümeti işbaşındaydı! Başbakanlığını Nihat Erim’in yaptığı, AP, CHP, MHP ve CHP’den ayrılan Turan Feyizoğlu’nun başında bulunduğu Cumhuriyetçi Güven Partisi’nden (CGP) teknokratların yer aldığı I. ve II. Nihat Erim Hükümetleri (33. ve 34. Hükümet) işbaşındaydı.

Hayat ki bir oyundur oyunlardan, ya biter ya da biter!

Satranç geldi çıktı İran mülküne! Sunuldu padişaha. “Ne ola bu?” diye sordu padişah. Anlatıldı: “Buna satranç denir. Akıl ve sabır işidir. Hayattır ve mücadele. Görürünürde 64 hane var! Yarısı siyah, yarısı beyaz. Tümü paylaşılmış siyah ve beyaz ordular arasında. 16 ülkede siyah ordular, 16 ülkede beyaz ordular hâkim. 32 hane boş. Kim ki tüm bu 64 haneden karşı orduyu silerse kazanır. Evren onun olur!”

English version of my poem “sığınak” in Turkish.

there are verses of whispering nights read in the morning

your eyelashes evoke of rain with no umbrella

dark clouds under your gaze

while sheltering under your earlobes.

*

or let’s say it in this way

sidle to my rocky harbours

let’s move our tavern to your southern beach

your northern lips had always bloody words

set sail on the open seas unfurl

*

it’s hard to differ the shining sun from generous cursing out at that very moment

as if plucking an apple from its branch

come on now,

almost a bitter jouissance the wind!