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• 1 2015-10-28T19:30:16-07:00 Pain 16 plain 2015-10-29T17:41:42-07:00                         To people I told my pain,
                          For Alihsan, Işıl, Ayhan
   
  ​So the king of autumn comes to Istanbul
  They shot a film of my lungs
  My lungs became actors in necessity
  It looked like an acute in fire chronical autumn
  Where cigarette was a side kick.
  I was acting a red leaf as the main girl
  I was flying, it turns out that it was my meaning
  I understood this late.
  I was going to write a poem for you Istanbul
  I was going to name it pain.
  In fact what was a poem
  Would a poem eat drink make love
  Would a poem order anchovy to a person for example?
  Would she be able to get photos of herself with horses in hippodrome?
  Would she be able to drink raki in Samatya
  Would a poem sleep like a bird
  By taking her head under her wings?
  In fact what was a poem
  I loved you as much as the defect in the corner of my lung
  Do you think a poem would have loved you like this Istanbul?
   
  I shouted at the drunk homeless sleeping on their cardboards in your streets
  Show me your miracles
  Show your miracles to me!
  I drank a bottle of your nights in one shot
  I wanted to go into a coma of stars
  I wanted to be struck by the full moon
  My werewolves should go free in necessity
  Whoever has extra bastardness should roll me a cigarette
  Grudges should overcome their dams, revenges should be taken
  I was a modern woman in necessity, whenever my spirit got fat
  I immediately started a suicide tomorrow
  What I’m saying is I should not eat much misters
  This is too much grudge for me.
  In necessity an allah and another allah
  Made a polytheistic religion
  Let me be your believer Istanbul
   
  You always thought of me as a poem Istanbul
  But my tears were sparkling like flints
  Following the example of my nose, red because of crying and my under eyes
  I wrote this poem in a condition of a wounded panda
  It hurt me
  I wrote this poem in a state of fire
  Now let me tell you my old days when I brought milk for my cats
  The men who leave roses at my door
  In necessity I am a victim of dementia too
  On Saturdays with my other mothers
  I’ll demonstrate on streets.
  I had days when I was burned with [friction of] a beard
  Look at the sunset and remember me
  Tired of kissing and crimson
  Do you think that a poem would tell you these?
  I looked at your red banks washed with rains
  All reds fade one day
  I understood this late
  Rain was the tyranny of god Istanbul.
  What was pain, where was it, where was pain
  Whoever that was to ask me the range of my heart should do it now
  Painnnonstoppainnonstoppainnonstop
  Pain was the climbing to the top - non-stop
  Of a mountain, that is high.
   
  Search my body
  I quietly slipped the poem in my pocket to your side
  I have raised my hands too see
  I’m ready arrest my desire.
  I have no poetry
  Do you think a poem would name you pain Istanbul?
  I wrote this poem vomiting.
                          october 2002, soon chrysanthemum’s would come out too. 
   
  
  Didem Madak
   
  * “ağrı” (Tr.) = “pain” (En.) / Also “Ağrı” is the Turkish name of the mountain known as Ararat in English.