Warm welcome for a guest poet:Alina Purcaru
|
|
Editors choice:Zeynep Köylü
the dream of the ruins
in the timelessness of the Gobi Desert
for the ruins...
my face falls away from a far-off mirror
through a piece of the river I gazed at the sky
in the desert I grew larger. the weeds crept onto my hair
in the sleep of horses my shadow grew larger
here there’s no solitude
moments stolen from clocks
get buried in space through a stone’s bottom
my shell breaks. I’m awakened by a stare
the storm stretches out its hands
birds that shudder to have no ocean
turn, speaking of the earth’s cracking
voice underground
with the tongueless moon
I ought to pass right through my body
the ant has taken flight. now it passes over the mountains
a window from you opens out—a rainwater well
makes the roads fit into the hedgehog’s vacant shell
with the earth’s eyes I looked
burned my wings
I should run off to the fields before the sun
now I’m a water slick on the roadside
before seeing words I saw pain
wind within bones
wanders behind the final prayers
red sand
I bury my face
I listen to the sounds of your feet
the skylark stirs —oh lama oh lama
I can’t open my eyes to the dark oh
in the desert I’m getting wet. I linger, a leaf
a map hidden by those who came back from the fire
opens out in my face
the dream of the ruins
time fallen
Poem: Zeynep Köylü
Translated by Mel Kenne and İdil Karacadağ
the key Silent
grey door hugs an endless wall
shadow hides in the back garden Swallow
flies to all that is lonely Prayers
trading looks with christ Not forgetting
what’s in the back garden. Speaking
with her quiet inner self eleni
mirror’s neck broken for as long as you look
pain of writings past Sky
in a far-away sleep now Your eyes
moistening mihrimah Cracked
palms holding shameful sounds Your shoulder
with a wounded istanbul Remembering
her hair eleni
echoing in the stones farewell
eleni holding the key The world
it’s big enough to fit into On her face
a mirror spread She falls
down onto the naked laugh Kisses
the fear stopped at the door Softly
turns the key
the moon’s come closer eleni, the rain’s late
on the wall the birds left loneliness Just
starting to embrace god she got cold hands The rain
she was getting used to then shut her eyes The frog
hopped over the wall Almost mute
when she pushed down into her chest Deep
despondence it hurts
dropping her fingers she counts down
her prayers into infinity In the sun
the star that glows and bleeds The trees
that were buried by the ending To herself
she neared at the window Her mouth
possessed by shattered words A
stare that’s left Counting off
the doors
the key Silent
Poem: Zeynep Köylü
Translated by Mel Kenne and İdil Karacadağ
(The translations by Mel Kenne and İdil Karacadağ are published in Turkish Poetry Today. )
by:Umit Sener Ta
Editors choice:Nisa leyla
Nisa Leyla was born in Iskenderun, Hatay, Turkey in 1972. After completing primary and secondary education in Iskenderun, she graduated from Çukurova University, Faculty of Economics and Administrative Sciences in Adana. Later, she held management positions for five years, and served as an English teacher for three years.
In her poetry, she focuses on social issues, inspired by real life. She also writes love poems, socialist and lyric poetries.
Her poems appear in all major magazines in Turkey such as: Varlık, Yasak Meyve, Sincan İstasyonu, Şiirden, Şiiri Özlüyorum, Mühür, Papirüs, Deliler Teknesi, Ihlamur, Kuşak Edebiyat, Kurşun Kalem, Kurgan Edebiyat, Hürriyet Gösteri, Şiir, Yeni Adana, Yaşam Sanat, Patika, Yeni Dönem, Tay, Afrodisyas Sanat, Temrin, Ring Edebiyat, Ekin Sanat, Şiir Saati and more of the same. She also writes short stories and fairytales for children. Her poems have been taken place in: the anthology of Minimal Stories from 252 Authors by Remzi Karabulut, the book of The Gates of Poets by Adil Okay, the anthology of World Poetry Yearbook both in 2013 and 2014 in China, the anthology of Çukurova Poets by Mustafa Emre, the anthology of Literature Platform Yearbook by Turan Karataş, the anthology of Mühür Publishing Yearbook.
In 1991, she has been the third best poet in the Poetry Contest held by Yeni Adana newspaper. One year later, in poetry contest of İskenderun Fest she has been the best poet of the year. Lastly she won the award of Mevlüt Kaplan Literature Contest 2015 .She is also a member of Writers Union of Turkey.
Her books:Dar paçalı dizeler (VERSES WITH NARROW FLARES) (Yazılı Kağıt Publishing, 2014, Ankara) Yokoluş Bir Sözcükse () (Yasak Meyve Publishing, 2015, İstanbul) Sihirli Değnek (Magic Wand) (for children) (Mühür Publishing, 2015, İstanbul)
She has three for children and two for grown-ups poetry files, two files of stories for grown-ups and two fairytale files for children ready to be published.Now she is living in Antalya, Turkey and she is looking for the poetry in the life and the life in the poetry…
hunger
the river you pour into my heart will not cure
nor the mountains you release promising eternity
i have nothing to say to your trees offering candy apples
yet the emptiness inside of me is not filled
a tunnel of sadness
the facts being on their feet the sounds rising
like a wall and i am where hop melts away
like a candle
the word life you knit and the god you drip
from honey will not cure me
the children of my desolate street
have been starving
while trying to forget you
a little you and a little poetry
that's what I am working on
your picture and voice
have come into blossom
I take along your voice
I consult my poetry
what kind of me I should present
really, what am I looking for
beside you
I am kissing my smiling grief
on the forehead...
Editors choice:Dilek Değerli
The Pale Garden
The winter of garden falled on the ground
the broken leaves are on the carpet
steel beaks are on my cold skin.
Oh, are the cracklings in the wall
heard from the garden?
The wine is stil acrid.
The wind that hides in my hair
shaking out desert magic to the sleep
the night with winter fingers
walking around my narrow streets
ice nails of the night are broken
hitting stone angels.
Blind midwife of darkness is embracing
wooden legs of a scarecrow.
The screams of scarecrow are
in the throes of death.
The mirror is still dusty.
Under the curtain of ground
when two naked trees are making love
by their roots
fence of the garden is crying
on the dry sunflower’s neck.
The photographs are being pale
to touch into the distance.
ESCAPING FROM THE PAST
Her ankles’ pain
is from thousands of well depth.
Bed disappears in the room.
Rain doesn’t mind cold,
it eats the talkative grasshoppers.
She becomes drunk, listens with her three ears
she looks out the world with her one eye.
She killes everything that used up,
pouring nitric acid to their hearts.
She wears her feathered helmet
and throws herself to emptiness.
She murmurs her song;
Angels, come out where you are
lightness, tulles, mist are here.
Time has burned and disappeared.
Take my soul from flames,
then evil can waste his time with my body.
Drawings by Dilek Değerli
Editors choice:Reha Yünlüel
http://goo.gl/ksMPd7
skygazing stop / göğe bakma durağı IV" by reha yünlüel, iç/in bachibouzouck, No: 076 [07.2016]
Editors choice:HALİM YAZICI
MY HEART, LISTEN TO THIS LINE
make love to me
with your olive lifetime
leaking from your veins
somehow or other glass and iron
will melt in your eyes.
HALİM YAZICI (d./b. 1954)
Translated by Baki Yiğit
SONG
a rain song is sung
getting so wet
in the rain.
HALİM YAZICI (d./b. 1954)
Translated by Baki Yiğit
Editors choice:Efe Murad
Mega-Disasters / Rendering Subway Ads
hate the unseen because anal beads is white rice
sparks electrify your imagination
your specialty is clever solutions
danger third rail
ours is devising cleverly tailored protection
I like my men perfectly groomed
(seeking overweight men or women)
they don’t know what they do, I’m covered in
everything you need and nothing you don’t need
your specialty follows your dream
didn’t know they know what they do
your mental clarity focusing formula
compensation for up to everyone is the self.
Feathertops In the Cities
you can catch animals in space
eat them right away crushing their heads
everything is sentient and puffs like feathertops
little furry pieces glued to customized brains
hiding fuzzy animal-tits with razor slashing chests.
emanate all your darkness; you’re alone
gather your force and do it: broadcast everything!
show how you eat, how you fuck, and then piss blood
in the fecal mind of swipe machines.
Editors choice:Veysel Çolak
No Time Left
No time left. Don’t be late with the water
the geraniums will wilt the apples we stored
will rot if we don’t bite them soon.
It’s late. You are in a falling plane
it may not give birth to the incubating moment.
Let us undress and enter the dream we started
if we make love the icebergs will melt
our job is to resist, come on, and quicken your heart.
No time left. May the day be plenty, your love a climber
hand in hand with the mountains may the young girls laugh.
The hand from Asia with a single carnation
a robust soil and the exile it leads.
Time is difficult. The shadow of bitterness on the window.
Let the waters gather us and collect us as sand
and later sweep us on a hidden path
as quarrelsome as love let it fall suddenly
from a waterfall increasing its flow
certainly it must have a meaning
in the mouth of a people tired of dreaming.
June 2006, the World
Translated by: Koray Feyiz
http://towerjournal.com/fall_2011/Feyiz_Colak.htm
Editors choice: küçük İskender
Nicola
you decerebrate the rose. don’t do this.
verses, cannot find the poems they deserted
you become a humiliated evening
your hair wet to your waist
your eyes
turned away and fixed on a couple of cracked glasses
left on a claret, velvet coverlet
almost exploded. Soon to blow
before the storm
closely sheilding your face, poor and lonely child
storyless, bashful and amicable
you should have a macedonian name: nicola
I sat on your balcony, drank Choπcko beer,
over the way were
grand men wounded by the earth
grand women are sleeping
grand women wounded on account of grand men
turned into tramps by grand men
a pen knife, holds its blade inside like a secret
the pen knife I put on the table on leaving
a perfect portrayal
if it were nicola what would appear
if it were İskender what would appear
somehow, not far away
was a beautiful graveyard where songs are laid
poet: küçük İskender
translator: caroline stockford
https://estoniacordfrock.wordpress.com/tag/turkish-poetry-in-translation/
picture:küçük İskender
Letters to Virginia Woolf/ umit sener ta
Translated by: Josef Kilciksiz
Letters to Virginia Woolf/ umit sener ta
Translated by: Josef Kilciksiz
In fact, I started yesterday. I was calling the words brought by a hurricane. My soul was as empty as the wind-scoured streets. I do not know if you’ve ever been in such a frame of mind, as if you want to leave but you were unable . Your eyes are always on the door, waiting for someone to enter.
I’ve built thousands of palaces on tiny words
some broke with utterances, some with marble
I don’t have a slingshot to chase the birds, flying over me
Don’t unlock your inwardness Virginia
I sewed knots on myself and
the imagery of your Cossack
It is not easy to hit the sky
when one hooks onto your heart the hook of the ships
when I wander drop by drop in your damp geography
when your heart was open
Looking at the rooms, you were only you, staring back at you
The sourness of the pen is reflected on paper
The lake feels the pain of the submission of the swan whose shadow is broken
the self-lost dervish leaves his cardigan for someone else
I could not deliver you, a life
like the migration of ants, things deleted from my brain
It’s apparent, I could not look after the inner man through the words, while you are growing your inside
Listen Virginia
I'll tell you the chagrin of my inwardness
broken toy of a boy
racing cars, run close to me, uncathable
thickening time
While growing drops deepened seas
I was drowning on the shallow coast of homes
It was like the defeat of a powerless ember
the cloud I carried over me
the shiver of the rain were jackets, peeled out of me
before entering the bed
deceived mother was a scream in the bosom
like wearing a bracelet
I would gift to every new woman
Each diary
like a smile remained incomplete
of a past
despite persistent writing down
my rage is not over time
all the gathered letters are flying to their owner
don’t shout anymore, Virginia
Special thanks to:
Josef Kılçıksız for translating my poem
Vincent Czyz aouthor of the books called "The Christos Mosaic" , "Adrift in a Vanishing City" for editing and his wife Neslihan and congrats.
Cem Duran for editing
Hale KorayMustafa ZiyalanUlas Basar Gezgin for reading and always supporting me.
Editors choice: Yılmaz Güney
Yılmaz Güney (born Yılmaz Pütün, 1 April 1937 – 9 September 1984) was a Kurdish film director, scenarist, novelist, and actor ofZaza, Kurdish origin, who produced movies in Turkish.[1][2][3][4][4] He quickly rose to prominence in Turkish Film Industry. Many of his works were devoted to the plight of ordinary, working class people in Turkey. Yılmaz Güney won the Palme d'Or with the film Yol he co-produced with Şerif Gören at Cannes Film Festival in 1982. At odds with then Turkish Government he fled the country and later lost his citizenship.
Yılmaz Güney was born in 1937 in the Yenice county of Adana. His father was Zaza from Siverek and his mother was Kurd from Varto.[1][4] His parents migrated to Adana to work as cotton field laborers. As a result of his family background, young Yılmaz grew among the working class. This was a strong background for his future works which generally focused on a realistic portrayal of downtrodden and marginalized strata of the population in the country. Güney studied law and economics at the universities of Ankara andIstanbul, but by the age of 21 he found himself actively involved in film-making.As Yeşilçam, the Turkish studio system, a handful of directors, including Atıf Yılmaz, began to use cinema as a means of addressing the problems of the people. State-sanctioned melodramas, war films, and play adaptations had mostly previously been played in Turkish theaters. These new filmmakers began to shoot and screen more realistic pictures of Turkish/Kurdish life. Yılmaz Güney was one of the most popular names to emerge from this trend, a gruff-looking young actor who earned the moniker Çirkin Kral ("the Ugly King" in Turkish) or "paşay naşirîn" in Kurdish (Sorani dialect). After working as an apprentice screenwriter for and assistant to Atıf Yılmaz, Güney soon began appearing in as many as 20 films a year and became Turkey's one of the most popular actors. The early 1960s brought restricted freedom to Turkey, and Güney was imprisoned from 1960 to 1962. In prison he wrote what some labeled a "communist" novel, They Died with Their Heads Bowed.[5] The country's political situation and Güney's relationship with the authorities became even more tense in the ensuing years. Not content with his star status atop the Turkish film industry, Güney began directing his own pictures in 1965. By 1968 he had formed his own production company, Güney Filmcilik. Over the next few years, the titles of his films mirrored the feelings of the people of Turkey: Umut (Hope, 1970); Ağıt (Elegy, 1972); Acı (Pain, 1971); The Hopeless (1971). After 1972, however, Güney would spend most of his life in prison. Arrested for harboring anarchist students, Güney was jailed during preproduction of Zavallılar (The Miserable, 1975), and before completing Endişe (Worry, 1974), which was finished in 1974 by Güney's assistant, Şerif Gören. This was a role that Gören would repeat over the next dozen years, directing several scripts that Güney wrote in prison. Released from prison in 1974 as part of a general amnesty, Güney was re-arrested that same year for shooting Sefa Mutlu, the public prosecutor of Yumurtalık district in Adana Province, to death in a night club as a result of a drunken row[6] and given a prison sentence of 19 years. During this stretch of incarceration, his most successful screenplays were Sürü (The Herd, 1978) and Düşman (The Enemy, 1979), both directed by Zeki Ökten. Düşman won an Honourable Mention at the 30th Berlin International Film Festival in 1980.[7] After escaping from prison in 1981 and fleeing to France, Güney won the Palme d'Or at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival for his film Yol, whose director in the field was once again Şerif Gören. It was not until 1983 that Güney resumed directing, telling a brutal tale of imprisoned children in his final film, Duvar (The Wall, 1983), made in France with the cooperation of the French government. Meanwhile, Turkey's government revoked his citizenship and a court sentenced him to twenty-two extra years in jail.[5] Yılmaz Güney died of gastric cancer in 1984, in Paris, France.[5] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Y%C4%B1lmaz_G%C3%BCney
Editors choice:Levent Karatas
Of This Of That
We are watching the air
Which the wolves would afraid of; that mud-covered, dark air
Standing still by the window
Comparing with the air of yesterday’s and the day before’s
Oh Lord! Sunlessness gives us so much pain sometimes
Sunlessness of our souls give pain too
“That’s” we say, “devil’s shadow lover weather”
We think of ghosts getting wet under the rain
Passing through a parallel season while roaming country by country
We think of him as opening an umbrella, closing it
We speak about the weather
About the weepy weepy weepy weather
We believe into the flying planes
And into the non arival trains
We see the sea and starting to talk about the water
Of this of that
‘Oh’ we say, ‘I see the sea’. I wish I would lay here forever
We feel the rain goes down on the sea
That we are cold
That we tremble
As if the wind touches
We wake up with the water
We speak with the air
Like everyone else did
We speak of this of that.
Poet: Levent Karatas
Translator: Hande Dipligunes
Hypnosis
Who brought me here?
Last, I was in my toilet, I guess
I remember that
And who are those men taking all that files?
That cook
Or that cook
Or that cook
Are you the doctor?
Or is it my mother who wants me to wake up?
But it can be my father too
Are you the doctor?
Last I ordered a double raki
I’ll never be able to see that raki on my table, I guess
Are you the waiter?
I am sitting on a red armchair
I have even gone to the most dead-end streets
But this is bad
Ha ha ha!
I thought nightmen remained in my childhood
Is that the nightman’s whistle?
It can be a conductor too
But it’s bad this time
What did I promise myself
Ah, are you the doctor?
Ha ha ha!
Poet: Levent Karatas
Translator: Hande Dipligunes
Editors choice:Rezonans
"Rezonans received the 2nd prize with 90.56% points at the Cork International Fleischmann Trophy, which is one of the most prestigious choral festivals in Europe. (april 27-may2 , 2016)"
Rezonans was founded in 2010 by a young team with an innovative and dynamic understanding of music. Having accomplished numerous international projects to date, Rezonans shares its repertoire that focuses on a capella music with music lovers all around Turkey.
Finding the opportunity to work with world famous conductors including Simon Carrington, Volker Hempfling, Klaus-Jürgen Etzold, and Paulo Lourenço, Rezonans also performed with conductors such as Nigel Short, one of the founding members of the King’s Singers; Brady Allred, who gives master classes on choral conducting in various countries; and Jo-Michael Scheibe, the president of the American Choral Directors’ Association, as a part of its latest project focusing on the music of Grammy© winning choral conductor and composer Eric Whitacre. On November 8, 2015, the choir presented an unforgettable music show under the baton of Eric Whitacre in Zorlu Performing Arts Center.
Alongside international projects, Rezonans also focuses on the works of 20th and 21st century Turkish composers. Having performed both the Turkish and world premieres of the works by Hasan Uçarsu, Özkan Manav, and Kâmran İnce, the choir aims at continuing to unearth new Turkish choral pieces in the future.
Rezonans has represented Turkey at Europa Cantat XIX organized by the European Choral Association in Pécs, Hungary, in July 2015. The choir is getting ready to take part in international festivals and competitions throughout Europe.
Editors note:
Treasury
She was born as a daughter of a family of Çarmışıh, Land of Poets, Hilal Nesin grew up with folk songs in a poetical atmosphere. She studied in İsmail Baha Sürarslan Conservatory of Antalya Metropolitan Municipality, and graduated from Department of Turkish Folk Music
She did 4 years Folk song program for Aydın TV station. She received theater education in Müjdat Gezen Art Center and continued her works uninterruptedly in other areas of arts.
Transferring women's issues to the stage, she was intended to take woman into social life. For this purpose, she founded the theater ensemble, ”Çeşnibahar Kadınlar Tiyatro Topluluğu” and she was art director of this ensemble for years. She’s first run is a Çeşnibahar musical "Çeşnibahar Müzikali”
She’s theater play "Koca Yasa", which was written and directed by her, describing woman’s problem, has been exhibited at home and abroad.
Other many theater plays like "Gıvır" ve Pembe Gözlük Mor Ayna" were also written and directed by her, in their content to observe an approach of not remaining silent on social issues.
She is also director of the oratorio named " Şeyh Bedrettin'den Bu Yana Can Yana", written by Cemal Canpolat, which aims to make heard the screams of peace of mothers.
She is also participating in social, cultural and art projects under umbrella of Antalya Muratpaşa municipality.
Hilal Nesin has also published many books like "Koca Yasa" "Şeyimin Derdi" "Gevşek Vidalar" "Kızınca Kıyamet" "Bir atımlık Sen" "Diren Muhtar"
She is continuing her own writing adventure with the books "Ademin Bademleri" "Hep Sonradan”, to be published in 2016
Marrying Ahmet Nesin, Hilal Nesin becomes daughter-in-law of Aziz Nesin
Editors choice:CİHAN KAR
He was born in Antakya, in 1977. He finished high school in Antakya. In 1999, he received BA degree from University of Marmara Physics Education Teaching. In 2000, He fulfilled his military duty. Between 2000 and 2003 he taught physics as a teacher. Since 2003, he has been working in a private company as an engagement director. He is married and has two children.
Between the years 1995-1999, he successfully received a photography certificate from Marmara University Health, Social and Culture Department (New name: MÜSEM – Marmara University Continuous Education Center). He continued his photography education through private courses which are black-white photography classes taken from fashion and commercial photographer Şenel ALDI and Prof. Dr. Özer KANBUROGLU. He attended dark room workshops. His successful shots, which have mostly micro approach, testify the development of his hometown Antakya, published in local and national papers and magazines. He has so many successful works in photography.
He is also interested in high-speed and infrared photography. In his portfolio his pictures describe mostly facial expressions, holding human and human emotions in the foreground.
In 2001 he took place among the constituents of Antakya Photography Community (AFOT). He held personal also institutional exhibitions participating in AFOT exhibitions. In 2012 he founded Hatay Photographers and Filming Amateurs Institution (HAFSIAD) and became the executive board chairman. In 2014 he started to teach photography and to work on commercial photography in his private studio Fotofilm Hatay (www.fotofilmhatay.com). Cihan KAR is currently teacher in MEB (Ministry of National Education) Defne Halk Eğitim Merkezi (Public Training Center) and in some other educational institutions.
Editors Choice:Robin VAROL
(April 12, 1975) Bingöl. He completed primary and secondary education in Istanbul. He received art training in Moscow between 1996-2000. He was involved in Folk Dances, Music, Theater, and Painting. He taught Folk Dances after he received his teaching certificate from Turkish Folklore Institution. He was engaged in other forms of art in this period when he interrupted his focus on painting.
He opened his first solo painting exhibition at the age of 16 in Söğütlüçeşme High School in 1991. He resumed working on painting in later years. He opened his second solo exhibition in Halkalı Culture Art Center in February 2015 where he presented realistic dry paint portraits. His main style being realistic, Painter Robin Varol now reflects this style in his oil paintings. He defines his works as Emotional Realism.
In my works, I believe that painting has an emotion. I also want this emotion to appear in a realistic form. A painting should bear not only drawing but also emotion. This is how I see emotional realism.
Editors note:PEDAGOGICAL MUSIC
Optimistic Man
as a child he never plucked the wings off flies
he didn't tie tin cans to cats' tails
or lock beetles in matchboxes
or stomp anthills
he grew up
and all those things were done to him
I was at his bedside when he died
he said read me a poem
about the sun and the sea
about nuclear reactors and satellites
about the greatness of humanity
Nazim Hikmet
When you want to live your life, you should hit every note. Fazıl say is one the great musicians from Turkey who hit every note of his life. He done so many things. I want to start with Nazim Hikmet’s poetry . " Fazıl Say Taking his inspiration from the poetry (and the biographies) of the writers Nâzım Hikmet and Metin Altıok, he composed works for soloists, chorus and orchestra which, especially in the case of the oratorio Nâzim, clearly take up the tradition of composers such as Carl Orff."*
When I was looking his face book page I read that he made a new album for children. In that album there are other great musicians such as, Ahmed Adnan Saygun, İlhan Baran, Muhiddin Dürrüoğlu. I was very excited to see his album because I believe in to make investments to our children. Because they our future.
Adding beauty and stories to children's fairytale world filled with music, his album becomes a phenomenon for children. Influences of our poets could vaccines to the children poetic sensitivity and literary consciousness. It is thinkable, that his inspiration resources giving him a political profile, but in fact it is about maintaining a legacy to developing an influential approach toward music education for children.
Say is about to formulate a concept that could be called ‘pedagogical music’, which was based on the unity of the arts symbolized by the reputed musicians, and involved tone, dance, poetry, image, design, and theatrical gesture…
*http://fazilsay.com
Editors choice:Ahmet Buke
Ahmet Büke was born in Gördes, Manisa in 1970. He graduated in 1997 from Izmir Dokuz Eylül University, Faculty of Economics and Administrative Sciences, Department of Economics. Because it is a different educational domain compared to his beloved activity, he would say, “Only when I wrote, I get a feeling that I’m useful.” His short story “Kayıp Dua Kitabı” was awarded first place in the 2002 Xasiork Short Story Competition, held by “Ölümsüz Öyküler” publishing house, which has published mostly imaginary items. His short stories have been published in Literary journals such as E Edebiyat, Adam Öykü, Ünlem, Patika, İmge Öyküler, Eşik Cini, Notos and Özgür, and his numerous other articles have been published in magazines such as Yeni Aktüel, Virgül, Yelkovan and in the national newspaper Radikal. He has written for internet journals such as Derkenar, Sosyal Ayrıntılar Ansiklopedisi, Önce Ekmek, Gazetem.net, and continues to write in the zine Velâkin and in the blog Sessizkule. In September, 2004, his first book of short stories “İzmir Postasının Adamları” was published by Kanat Books. His two other books “Çiğdem Külahı” (A Cone of Sunflower Seeds) and “Alnı Mavide” (Brows in the Blue) were published by the same publisher in 2006 and 2008 respectively. The author was awarded the Oğuz Atay Short Story Prize in 2008 for his book “Alnı Mavide”, 2011 Sait Faik novel prize for his book, “Kumrunun Gördüğü”. He is continuously writing as well as online. He is a writer of a web site called on8 and his page called “Sosyal Ayrıntılar Ansiklopedisi”, his selection of stories called Stories of Bedo of Izmir, turned into a novel called “Mevzumuz Derin”(2013, on8) and it has been given the prime novel of the year by association of youth and children . He also was rewarded by Dunya Kitap, the copy right book of the year for “İnsan Kendine De İyi Gelir”. (2015) Same year he published a book called “100 Tuhaf Kitap”, owing to his content, he was able to compile and promote old books with his own unique, unconventional style. His last book “Gizli Sevenler Cemiyeti (2016,on8) also is a selection from “Sosyal Ayrıntılar Ansiklopedisi” Buke is still writing on his blog and lives with his family in Izmir.
TIME DECAY
Day by Day - © Nurdan Hatipoğlu
Translated from the Turkish by Kerim Biçer and İdil Aydoğan.
Bump… I opened my eyes. My ears filled with the sound of a murmuring engine. Followed by shadows, and then light. Then again short and subtle shadows. I felt the breeze. Inhaled the smell of filthy leather. I wanted to reach out to the darkness covering my eyes. I couldn’t lift my arms. I felt them under my body. Pain ran down my shoulders. I couldn’t force them any further. I held my breath. And then let go. I tried to twitch my fingers. My right arm felt more comfortable. I touched my right wrist. Cold iron. Someone grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me up. The light was brighter now.
“You thirsty?”
I nodded.
“We’re almost there. You’re gonna have to wait.”
It felt as if my arms had been chopped off. Thousands of needles piercing my flesh. I wanted to rub my face against my arm.
“No. We can’t take your blindfold off.”
They must have opened the window. The cool pine air flowed in. I could hear cicadas droning. So it was almost evening?
“Where are we going?”
I could hear noises coming from up front.
“How much longer?”
I think it was the driver who answered.
“About a quarter of an hour.”
“We’re making good time.”
“Where are you taking me?”
The one sitting next to me placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. Ain’t no place you don’t know. We’re going back to your childhood.”
I felt a slight sting in the back of my neck. I shuddered. Hundreds of tulle curtains descended upon me. My face slowly cooled off. A winged horse came and wrapped me up in its mane. The noise and the breeze gently swept over us. I sank into moist mud. *** Mina, I’m your brother, you know that, right?
You were a real brat. You’d always have dirt and mud stuck in your long blond hair. Boys would claw your face. But you’d never back down. You’d risk getting beaten up just to hang on to that little corner where you and your friends had drawn a hopscotch court with pieces of broken bricks, to keep from surrendering it to them and their football matches.
You’d cut your dolls’ tummies open with the silver scissors you’d snitch from our grandmother’s wedding chest. You’d stuff chickpeas inside them after pulling out all the cotton, and then you’d struggle to sew them back up.
“They’re going to have babies. Chickpea children with no arms or legs,” you’d say. Do you remember, our grandmother, that Caucasian woman, was terrified of you.
“Watch out for this girl,” she’d moan. “She’s going to bring this family nothing but trouble.”
You never went out to sickle tobacco. You never liked the soil. No matter how badly mother beat you. She dragged you by the hair out by the little pond in our backyard.
“No way I’m sending you to school! Forget the tobacco leaves, it’s your skin I’m gonna hang out to dry!”
Father would shout out from the only window in our jerry-built house.
“Oi, that’s enough!” Mina, I’m your big brother.
We went to İzmir together. To study. They put us in that aileevi1 in Karataş. Quite a spacious room. Two small spring mattress beds. A table. Stools.
You remember?
You remember that young fireman in the room next door who was studying for his exams? I used to go to his place and drink wine.
“Brother, you should concentrate on your studies. He’s nothing but a pig. Don’t go taking after that bastard,” you’d say.
Mina, that scoundrel gave me money. Found me a job. I quenched my thirst for women, thanks to him. What? My job?
Is there such a thing as an easy job in this world? And what if I had finished high school? What if I’d had to go back, back to the tobacco fields? Breaking leaves all night until dawn. Flies attracted by the light of the fluorescent lamp all going in your mouth. Stringing tobacco leaves under the arbour all night until you can barely sit upright. Fried courgettes for dinner, and warm water to drink.
Do you remember what grandmother used to say? “Go rinse your mouth. Courgettes is a dish fit for prophets.”
Mina, why on earth did you get involved in all this?
It’s all my fault. I neglected you. On that day when we went to bury mother, father entrusted you to me.
“Listen son! Your mother and your sister are both bad seed. Your mother drank tobacco pesticide. She died foaming at the mouth. Watch out for Mina. Trouble breeds trouble.”
What did I do? I went and took you to the dormitory myself. Just to get you away from that one bedroom home. So you’d stay away from me. I now carried cold iron in my belt. In my heart, a twelve bullet courage had settled. What? My job?
There’s no such thing as an easy job in this world, is there?
That night towards dawn, my hands were trembling as I took whiffs from the fat roll. Is there a job in this world which is not stained with blood? With me living in the guise of a man, walking up and down, let’s say, Konak Square, or rambling around Kemeraltı dirt-poor, and those tarts reluctantly spreading their legs as they lie in beds reeking of piss, dare anyone speak of conscience?
Who took notice of me?
Not even you took me for a man. That afternoon, following the radio announcement, we cut off the road. I ran up the street where the crowd had parted. You were leaning against a utility pole in the corner, trembling. Pulling at your hair I dragged you into a row of houses. I could have taken you away with me then. But you just stood there looking at me. And then you pushed me away. You walked all over me like I was a wad of tawny phlegm on the ground.
Mina, why?
Look, they brought you all the way up here. To the final destination of those who don’t speak. Here, the tick-tock stops. We end it. We take away the vigour of life and in its stead, we leave the coldness of disappearance. No, we won’t torment you any further. We possess the mortals on whom pain can no longer be inflicted.
We only ask the final question.
“Would you like us to erase all the faces you’ve ever seen, all the breezes you’ve ever felt, and all your moments of joy and sorrow?”
Mina, if you don’t speak now, you’ll be the end of me. They’ll have me pull the trigger.
But Mina, is there truly any job that’s good?
Is this world not made of decaying meat and shattered bones? *** They’re burying me where I thought they would. I know so. Above us will be cypress leaves. Towards evening, herds of goats will pass by the lower wall of the cemetery. A boy shall whistle them along, taking hesitant steps. The worst thing is they’ll lay me beside my mother.
And they’ll say, “She killed her mother slowly with grief.”
My brother takes the shovel now.
The worst thing is, my breasts will decay and fall to my mother’s side.
My brother shall live on like a blood drenched country. . 1. Aileevi: Also known as ‘kortejo’ (courtyard), are homes built by Sephardi Jews who settled in İzmir some 500 years ago. Jewish families lived a communal life in these buildings, where they shared common kitchens, bathrooms and living areas. Their only private space was their bedrooms. In time, as the Sephardi Jews began to move out, the buildings were occupied by other minorities. These were poor families of various different ethnic backgrounds who had newly immigrated to the city. Originally published in Turkish as: Zaman Çürüğü
As part of the collection: Alnı Mavide.
by Ahmet Büke.
Published by Kanat.
Editors choice:Firuz Kutal
Born in Turkey, moved to Norway in 1985, got in Oslo State Art School MA degree as Graphic designer and illustrator. Freelancer since 1992. He made comics, book covers, 2d and 3d animations, political cartoons, banners, etc. He has some honarary mentions around the world and got first prize in Venice, Italia 2011 with his one minute animation about Peace and In December 2009 he won one of United Nation's RANAN LURIE POLITICAL CARTOON AWARD for ''Citation for Excellence.'' He is a regular cartoonist for a weekly news/periodical Ny Tid in Norway and produces daily cartoons for ortakhaber.com LAcibert Litature Magazine, etc in Turkey. Member of FECO-Norway and he is one of international Cartoonist for Peace group where Le Monde cartoonist Plantu is leader. Current residence in Norway.
Editors choice:Volkan Hacioglu
Volkan Hacioglu was born in Istanbul, Turkey on 26 September 1977. He earned B.A. in 2000, and then M.A. in 2003 both at Istanbul University, Faculty of Economics. In 2006 he matriculated in the Ph.D. program in economics at State University of New York at Albany, College of Arts and Sciences. He received his Ph.D. in 2010. He lectured courses of Æsthetics at Nazim Hikmet Academy. Since 1997 his poems and poetry translations appeared in various journals and magazines. Hes has three books of poetry published. He is the-editor-in-chief of the international multilingual magazine Rosetta World Literatura.
Shelley's Heart
Cor cordium
A great lighthouse still
On the horizon blazes
And dark storm will
Ruin the rough seas
My vision is of but thee
In the mirror drown’d thy soul
Of thee in lieu let I die
And be a ghost or a ghoul
Not the Gods can divide us
Thy dubber doppelgänger
Show of a pair of shadows
The Soul twin hereafter
Talk to me please
Shelley’s heart over
Set into fire at unease
Like a salamander
Tell me the truth Alastor
Of ‘The Spirit of Solitude’
All in all but love for
Kindle into a new prelude
The Hermit of Marlow
Then be dumb forever
Modern Prometheus
Frankenstein’s lover
“Nondum amabam
Et amare amabam
Quaerebam quid amarem
Amans amare”
The magical chiper of poetry
In thy heart breaking
“Night” is eyes’ alchemy
And the darkness everlasting
O what a grand core
To catch fire from sky
Let stars ignite more
Lest thy torch die!
Editors choice: Yusuf Eradam
Between 1988-89 with a British Council scholarship, he studied in Moray House College of Education, in Edinburgh, Scotland received his second MA in TESOL (teacher training in the Teaching of English to the Students of Other Languages) with his dissertation Literature in Language Teaching.
He worked as an instructor of English at Hacettepe University (1977-85), at UNLV (University of Nevada Las Vegas,1994) and SVSU (Saginaw Valley State University of Michigan, 1999) to teach comparative literature and film and at the Department of American Culture & Literature of Ankara University, where he taught American literature for 20 years (1985-2004) and retired as the Chair.
He is also known for his translations of two Paul Auster novels, Herman Melville’s masterpiece Bartleby, the Scrivener, Sylvia Plath’s Ariel poems and Gabards’ Psychiatry and the Cinema. He has edited and contributed to many international and Turkish anthologies.
He has held five photography exhibitions, first in Michigan, USA. At present he lives and writes in Cihangir, Istanbul and he is teaching literature, cinema, narratology as the Chair of the Department of English Language and Literature of Istanbul Kültür University.
Eradam, has received a scholarship from the Writers Union of Sweden in 2008 and represented Turkey in the first Waltic Congress with 600 other writers and translators from around the world. He made a speech titled “Labour, Vanity and Envy: Writer Translating, Translator Writing”.
In 2011, he won the best translation award presented by the Ankara Art Foundation for his translation of The Pillowman by Martin McDonagh, which is still on stage in Ankara. In 2012 he won an award for a story of his about human rights and architecture.
Eradam, with many awards in other creative activities of his, is the author of 13 books of his own, and 7 translations; and is working on a new book of stories, his autobiographical novel, a multi-authored book he will edit on real life stories of fraternity and goodness, a collection of essays on culture of obedience and his third book of poetry.
SIBILANT LOVE
Storks are migrating back
summer is at hand.
The deluge of longing for you
remains 'cause you stamped it
with your red-hot lips.
Written & translated & photo by Yusuf Eradam
Editors choice:Filiz Asrak Ankaç
Born 1963-İstanbul. She graduated from Mimar Sinan University Fine Arts Faculty, Painting Department Neşet Günal/Neşe Erdok Atelier (1987). She took her masters degree from the Plastic Arts Department of the Fine Arts and Design Faculty of Near East University (2012).
Individual Exhibitions
1989–Nicosia,FluxusArtGallery.
1994–Nicosia,HPGallery.
2012 – Famagusta, Eastern Mediterranean University, Art and Design Centre Exhibition Hall.
2014- Girne, Artrooms Galery
for mor info:http://www.filizankac.com/tr
About Editor: Umit Sener Ta
Sener Ta,was born in Netherlands.Grew up in Turkey and lives in USA,CA.He has one book, "Bocekciler Carsisi". He has so many translations and poems published in several magazines in Turkey.
Editors choice:Kadir Okurer
05.05.1990 Born in Ankara. Started his ballet education in Hacettepe University Ankara State Conservatory in department of ballet in 2002. When he was continuing his education, he entered Ankara State Opera and Ballet as a soloist dancer. In 2010, when he was undergraduate student, he directly passed from 2nd class to 4thclass, due to his extraordinary success. He has worked with Irek Mukhamedov for a year in 2013.He is still working in Ankara State Opera and Ballet as a soloist dancer. In 2008, he took place in Opéra National de Bordeux as a soloist dancer for a season. He participated in many international ballet and dance competitions since 2006. In 2006, he won the 3rd prize in “International Varna Ballet Competition.” In 2008, he won the Grand Prix in “Istanbul International Ballet Competition.” In 2009, he won the 2nd prize in “Youth America Grand Prix” and he won the 2nd prize in “Premio Rome Ballet Competition”. In 2010, he won the Andante Magazine classical music awards " Male dancer of the year ". In 2010, he won 3rd prize in “Seoul International Dance Competition”. In 2014, he won 2nd prize in “Grand Prix of Siberia”. In addition he performed in various gala programs and dance festivals: Macedonia Gala (2008), Istanbul Golden Bridge Igor Zelensky & Farukh Ruzimatov Gala Program (2010), Hagen Ballet Gala (2011) ,Bodrum International Ballet Stars Festival (2008) Kyrgyz Bishkek Gala Program (2015) , Istanbul International Ballet Competition Gala (2010 - 2012).
Editors choice:Murat Altunoz
Murat Altunoz was born in Antakya in 1977. He has worked as a journalist in Istanbul,Ankara, Antakya and Middle East for many years. He has worked at local, national, international press agencies, newspapers and internet journalism department as editor, reporter, photojournalist for 20 years and has put signature to many news. He was in civil and military prisons for 6 years at certain periods because of his articles, news and politic thoughts. He has been tortured and has been treated for many years because of this torture. He had published the literature journals named Karalama, Amanos Yazilari and Dar Sokak with his friends in Turkey and his poems has been published in many literature journals regularly. Also he has a poem book named "Kirilgan Zamanlar" and this book has been translated to Arabic. Altunoz who has gained awards at his sector and is still working with some newspapers and news agencies has settled into Sweden 2 years ago by leaving his own country because of the cases about his news, articles and ethnic identity, death threats and being under pressure. Journalist Murat Altunoz has two books named "Uzak" and "Kayip Mektuplar" which are ready to be published.
Editors Choice:C. Hakkı Zariç
C. Hakkı Zariç was born in the Susuz district of Kars, Turkey, on the 5th of January 1972. He spent ten years in prison for his political views. He published the literary magazine ‘Ağır Ol Bay Düzyazı’ together with his friends. His essays and poems have been published in various literary magazines such as ‘Evrensel Kültür’, ‘İzlek’, ‘Öteki-siz’, ‘Rüzgâr’, ‘Bireylikler’, ‘Eliz Edebiyat’, ‘Erkekçe’. Currently he is the editor of ‘Evrensel Kültür’ and ‘Evrensel Basım Yayın’.
Books:
‘Ağzımızın Yanmışlığıyla’ [Once Bitten...] ‘Gerçek Sanat Yayınları’, May 1999. ‘Keşke Hiç...’, [Only If…] ‘Hera Şiir Kitaplığı’ May 2001. ‘Şairlere Mektuplar',[Letters to the Poets] ‘Bizbize Yayınları’, October 2006. ‘Senli’ [With You], ‘Bizbize Yayınları’, October 2006. ‘Sıfır’ [Zero], ‘Yasakmeyve Yayınları’, December 2014. ‘Utanç ve Onur, 1915-2015 Ermeni Soykırımı'nın 100. Yılı’ [Disgrace and Pride, 1915-2015, The 100th Anniversary of the Armenian Genocide] (co-author with Aydın Çubukçu, Nevzat Onaran and Onur Öztürk ), ‘Evrensel Basım Yayın’, April 2015 Toz Kadınları, Notabene Yayınları, October 2015
Awards:
- ‘Mısralık’ 2000 Youth Poetry Prize for his poem ‘Keşke Hiç... [Only If...]’
- 2008 ‘Behzat Ay’ Literature Prize for his short stories ‘Sedef Hanım’ [Miss Sedef], ‘Yaprak Hanım’ [Miss Yaprak] and ‘Nehir Hanım’ [Miss Nehir]
He, a member of the Writers Union of Turkey, served in the executive board during the 17th and the 18th terms.
He is a member of PEN (International Association of Poets, Playwrights, Editors, Essayists and Novelists)
Lastly, there were chrysanthemums on your face
And questions which reflected its meaning: your eyes
IF ONLY...
I was dry cold, less than whole... Without food
Within me, poems rushed for their turn
If only you hadn’t untimely knocked on my door
If only you hadn’t nailed down my days with your dark smile
If only you had never come
Night was mixing into the pitch
To go was an abyss, to return, the cry of not seeking
To give you up, regret
It was the dice throwing with the blind god of those who can’t see tomorrow
If only you had never come
Pale-faced poem sketches in fair winds
There were lovers unable to bleed during infertile times
I was passing through the autumn side of illusions
Deceitful were the dark touches, scenting murder
If only you had never come
Raindrops like splinters
That stabbed rug-patterned wounds on my skin
The rose which thrust its thorn into its pink scent
The ash which fell to my share of strange words
The sky which burst into laughter with its copper thunderbolts
They were the only things we shared
If only you had never come
Just a ragged word was fidelity, on sale
Flawless and shadow less grey was the taste of your absence
To forget was the most innocent shelter of our age
To be forgotten evoked suicide and nothingness
If only you had never come
Still, if only you hadn’t come once again
With my inner bleeding slightly smiling face
If only you hadn’t kept me waiting for the morning like sparrows
I was dry cold, without food… Less than whole...
If only you had never come
If only you hadn’t set your earth-tasting blue eyes on the galley-slave in my eyes
If only you had never...!
Şiir: C. Hakkı Zariç
Türkçe aslından çeviri: Oya/ Gürgenç Korkmazel
Editors choice:Neşe Yaşın
Neşe Yaşın was born in 1959 in Cyprus. She is well known and read on both sides of divided Cyprus. She studied Sociology at Middle East Technical University in Ankara.
She directed and presented a literary program called “41st Room” at CYBC radio (1992-2007) and the program Peace Garden (2001-2003) at radio ASTRA.
She is currently teaching language and literature at the Turkish Studies department of University of Cyprus, writing weekly columns for Yenidüzen newspaper (Cyprus).
She has published six volumes of poetry ‘Hyacinth and Narcissus’ (1979), ‚Tears of Wars’ (1980), Doors’ (1992), ‚The Moon is Made of Love’ (2000), ‘Chambers of Memory’ (2005 ) Selected poems (2008) one novel ‚Secret History of Sad Girls’ (2002) and a research book, Remembering through Poetry (2013). Her poetry has been translated to more than 40 languages, published in literary magazines and anthologies in several countries. She has participated in poetry festivals and readings around the world. Among others she has received the Anthias Pierides Award in 1998.
THE LIGHT RISING INSIDE ME
Who knows perhaps
while you shot from the barricades
that killed our house
I used to mellow into childish sadness
deaths passing through my deep sighs
I knew back then
one day you would steal my soul
While I ran off to the spaces between stairs
crying over family murders
it whispered dreams of the future
the light rising inside me
Three angels appeared
one brought a red poppy
the second a gentle kiss from you
the third was empty handed
embarrassed looked me in the face
And then the ghosts of martyrs
chased me in their blood soaked clothes
my history teacher
read out lies at the gates of Heaven
I waited for such a long long time for you
in desolate Babylon towers
Take off your soldier’s clothes
and come close to me
give me three babies from the souls of the dead
One to make me forget all pain
the other to console the earth
the third to wander the city in the night
and hold crying mothers by the hand
translated by: Mehmet Ali Aydin
PENELOPE
The footprints of the visible
are traced in the gaze of others
from the gates of grief
to the eyes of time
In memory’s secret room
forbidden hours kiss the clouds
the early autumn of tiny pleasures
How tattered now
the words moaning in the well of the soul
However tight your embrace
so much it pinches the flesh
however far you burn
so much is the ash
however warm the room of love
so much the cold outside
There is no Ithaca
don’t come back
The woman in waiting
vanished long ago
in the silence of other women
Translated by:Clifford Endres
Coeditor :Josef Kılçıksız
Kılçıksız Josef was born in Antioch, as the eldest male child of Greek-Orthodox family. Breathing liberal air of the city's cosmopolitan atmosphere Kılçıksız, found himself in high school and college years in the domain of the left tradition. Due religious, political and social pressures, thereof he and his family suffered, failed to complete his higher education in Turkey, except Philosophy at Hacettepe His higher education adventure has continued abroad of Turkey: Theology at Pontificia university of Rome Study in Human sciences, philosophy and German philology, at the Tampere (Finland) University. Currently he has been working as a doctoral student and deputy assistant at the same university. His doctoral study is based on a comprehensive social analysis of W. Koeppen’s trilogy. The focus of this work is mythical phenomena, broken out in post-war German society. After having completed a period of study in Paris, he leaved France for Finland, where he is living and working for years. Numerous articles with a cultural and social contents, which criticize political and social developments in Turkey, have been published in various Finnish newspapers. A study of poetry was published also in Finland under the name ’Hedelmät, jotka eivät tuoksu ruudille” (acrid smell of gunpowder in fruits of the languages) There is also a poetry book published in Turkey under the name ‘Bahar Kapımda’ (spring at my door) His language skills is wide, extending from Turkish and Arabic to İtalian, French, German, Finnish and English
Embers and ashes
I’ll bring you the words of silence, replete with lead;
hot in the mouth of a Beretta…
I want to begin a noisy suicide in this deafening silence.
Pulling the trigger,
maybe you make me owner a single word,
if some crumbs of sake remain…
September's languages are disentangling,
talking inside of me,
in no time compile dispersed melodies of fall ,
maybe one day you gathered me spring’s songs from them…
Look,
stretching his arc,
hand in the string,
the seasons are waiting,
give me a sign,
I broke thrown arrow of the time,
which targeted our dreams…
With her lemon-yellow hair always,
there are infinite silence of September,
latent in you,
leaves her colors in to silver oyster;
to hide them in the blue bottom,
remains again
task of the sea of sadness…
The night is a owl deprived of his hunt,
snatched up of you the turtledove,
taken refuge under your wings…
and again
remains duty of wings of darkness,
to move away the secret…
Havens split us into two,
as extinguished and slipped stars,
we're suddenly shadowless in the vast atlas of the night…
A awesome fire broke out,
across all ports of darkness skies;
one of us remains in the side of ashes,
other in the side of embers of separation’s fire…
the wind couldn’t hurl ashes away,
which we couldn’t send them off
of our hearts…
Josef Kılçıksız
Helsinki, 24.3.2016

Editors Choice: Mustafa Ziyalan
Mustafa Ziyalan was born at the Black Sea coast of Turkey. He worked as a general practitioner and coroner in a rural Anatolian village. Now he lives and practices psychiatry in New York. He had psychoanalytical psychotherapy training. He did research on schizophrenia. He has worked with torture victims, prison inmates, children abusing volatile substances, pathological gamblers, and persons with HIV illness and cognitive disabilities.
His poetry, short fiction, essays and poetry translations have appeared in many literary journals, anthologies (including “New European Poets”) and in book form. Istanbul Noir, an anthology of short fiction he co-edited with Amy Spangler, came out from Akashic Books in 2008. His most recent work of poetry is Rüyacılar Kitabı (Book of Dreamers) that came out in 2012. His most recent book of prose is “Çuvallama Ustası” (Master of Failing), a collection of short fiction, that came out in 2014.
His poetry was part of Letters to Distant Cities (New Amsterdam Records, 2011), a multi-media project featuring photography of Murat Eyüboğlu, spoken word and music by Shara Worden and Claire Manchon. “Alengirli Filmler” (Handsome Films), a collection of film writings, came out in 2012, “Manhattan'da Şiir Konuşmaları” (Poetry Talks in Manhattan), a collection of writings on poets and poetry, in 2009 and “Yakılacak Kentlerden” (From Cities Slated to Burn), a collection of travel writing with original photography by Murat Eyüboğlu, in 2007.
Editors Choice: Mustafa Ziyalan
Mustafa Ziyalan was born at the Black Sea coast of Turkey. He worked as a general practitioner and coroner in a rural Anatolian village. Now he lives and practices psychiatry in New York. He had psychoanalytical psychotherapy training. He did research on schizophrenia. He has worked with torture victims, prison inmates, children abusing volatile substances, pathological gamblers, and persons with HIV illness and cognitive disabilities.
His poetry, short fiction, essays and poetry translations have appeared in many literary journals, anthologies (including “New European Poets”) and in book form. Istanbul Noir, an anthology of short fiction he co-edited with Amy Spangler, came out from Akashic Books in 2008. His most recent work of poetry is Rüyacılar Kitabı (Book of Dreamers) that came out in 2012. His most recent book of prose is “Çuvallama Ustası” (Master of Failing), a collection of short fiction, that came out in 2014.
His poetry was part of Letters to Distant Cities (New Amsterdam Records, 2011), a multi-media project featuring photography of Murat Eyüboğlu, spoken word and music by Shara Worden and Claire Manchon. “Alengirli Filmler” (Handsome Films), a collection of film writings, came out in 2012, “Manhattan'da Şiir Konuşmaları” (Poetry Talks in Manhattan), a collection of writings on poets and poetry, in 2009 and “Yakılacak Kentlerden” (From Cities Slated to Burn), a collection of travel writing with original photography by Murat Eyüboğlu, in 2007.
poetry:Murat Ustubal

Editor's choice:Murat Ustubal
Book:Teknokriptler
Page numbers:47-48
publisher:Ve publishing
Editors choice: "Şiirden" magazine
Şiirden Publishing is founded in 2005. Its publishing policy mainly prioritizes works which focuses on theoretic issues concerning poetry. It has various trademarks such as, "Şiirden", "Şiirden Öykü" (Şiirden Short Story), "Digraf Şiir" (Digraf Poetry), Digraf Öykü" (Digraf Short Story), "Şiirden Cep" (Şiirden Pocket) and "series of thoughts".
Şiirden Publishing has published more than 180 books in four years and it also publishes bimonthly magazine titled “Şiirden Dergi”. Şiirden Publishing also giving a poetry award “Şiirden Şiir Ödülü” which aims to encourage young poets.
Web address: http://www.siirden.net/
Email address: siirdendergi@gmail.com