. ی
ی ی ژ ی  



                                               Poem  from: Naser Najafi

                                                                      Translator: Shokat



Istanbul an old quilt which has been captured

by the militaries,

security agents, smugglers

and owners of hotels, 

like lice.




City of counterfeits

Bogus after- shave

City of fraud

Where workers eat cheap food

Militaries are cannibal.




City of (Tan ) and (GUN AYDEN )  newspapers




Those newspapers which sell Turkish pretty women for a few $



Phenomenal beauty ,terrifying ugliness

A city where every nights the buses collect

dead bodies from factories bring home.



City of expensive hotels and cheap slummy inns

In where American Generals, Bug-Pashas

sucking  the blood out of you.


Is a sad ,sultry  woman surrounded by

pimps .On one hand she has a salacious smile on her lips

on the other , she tries to covers  her tears .



City  of melancholy beauties, posh poverty.

City of all fugitives rich and poor  .

City of queuing lotto ,

feeble people dreamingly queuing up

for Lucky Ticket!



Silver nights

on the roof of pleasant humidity

buried in the Tobaccos and Rockys nightmare.

faint because of Dollars and lemons perfume.

A city which  simultaneously erects sex and religion


City of little revolutions

a torturing place for big revolutionaries.

A city where in its factories  by force make the under- aged young 

hard labours get naked

and in  its bordellos even old women get ravaged.



Is a broken winged goose in water filled with crocodile,

Is the empire of pirates ,capitalism

and Persian-  Golf s Arabian princes,

like the Kuwaiti  one who bought

the Turkish young women on sale

for  only a million lire at the Marble and Hilton hotel.



On the skin of salted sea like a magnificent herpes,

capitalisms breast cancer .

the nightmares maroon grins at the gates of remote bordellos.


An old  and childishly stupid kid

who sleeps calmly through un-rhythmic lullaby

in the numbness of amber vine ,

in the sourness of olive yards.


Is a shrewd girl in the moonlights boat

with  her dried mouth ,wrangled hair

paddling on the hunchbacked sea.


Is  the povertys horrifying  laryngeal

The whispering of fishers agreements.

Purple shriek of seagulls.


Torn silence

vain of tremendous pain, a cheap lyric .

In the hurricanes depth.

A severed head sings its greatest song ,

with a long as wide as Oxygen .



Rotten teeth in the mouths of harbor

chewing in the gloom , saliva ,regret and the humidity ,

drowning in  the moonlight of salty waters ,

in the blackish hallucinations.



A weeping middle-aged man

who throws his jealous luscious wife in the sea ,

from whom and his stormy boundaries

the sea- maids do run away .



A gloomy trembling old man ,

who throws  his progeny's transparent determination

in the ditch of fate, drowns himself

in a hot bowl of IŞKAMBEA

with a piece of fresh lemon and

then  slips  into frozen time of earth with excitement.



A bright lifeless body in the arms of history.

calls up the human progeny to  the procession of freedom ,

at the highest of lightless springs

sobs all the dampness of  the world .

In a way that pregnant clouds rain tiny gravels

on to dews sorrow.



An agony affidavit of legendary sanctimony

Sells his body to a terrifying salacious  atheistic passion,

till in the attendance of constraint and choice, 

he knocks down that ambidextrous ghoul to a mythical mortar ,

building  up  again his children out of Tears Proteins

and Dew - Phosphorous.



Sleeps by dawn, sobs nightly life ,

overly exhausted, exasperated

from intoxication of a loud yawn  

with hair disheveled , 

She drowns herself in a sea of Mascara and Tears

raising to phosphorus twilights from pains shoulders

in the exceeding  joy of fishers 

Singing Rouhi-sou and Hekmat .



The giddy expecting whale in stagnant water of colonization.

Sturgeons have nested in the split of her teeth 

and sea weeds shroud  her dull eyes, soon she gives birth.


Shaking  through laboring  whispering  secretly

about shore- less storms.

affection flows in its veins like  a melted iron ,

wisdom like the joyful dew .


Ah Istanbul

let me talk about love and wounds

Talk  about broken scab in prisms of endless melancholy,

about my home which is shattering in my nerves.


The sun of wild  chamomile laid ashes in the sulphuareous dawn ,

bleeding star rolled down from the mirrors branches. 


subterranean dew is buried on summers burning crockery

Surprisingly.  Is also the collapsing yellow contemplations

in suns eclipse on the exhilarated  shoulder of my home.

Oh my land

Your patient ,troubled dress  has never been fluttering 

in water-lilys wave.

In the morning light your bare legs have been pruning ,

got faded in the whip of darkness 

which the sun and breeze had carved them.

Alas  Your paradise arms  are like a bitter child ,

lost his aim in the desserts sands  ,resting on scattered death.

The world is meaningless without your presence

in the geography of epic and lyric.

My beloved !

Let me speak of the hemlock of the cinnabar of my amber nightmare

under the light of your eyes.

The tyrannical hostility made me leave behind the flowers,

stars and sun at home

pieces of my body in Istanbul ,

in Sofia  the most beautiful eyes.


I flowed through  the glittering sadness and dark shame  of a land

its sun has been stolen .

Now with a tremendous flaming log ,

I am standing at the gate of a frozen city,

at the gate of memories and daggers

feeling bitterness ,

focusing  on the liliaceous valley of exile with odious spiders,

hanging  at its entrance .

Watch the capitalisms futureless bride!.

Preparing for her nightly love- making.


She polishes her body with the nectar of human-beings souls .

Her black hole desire is  like a terrifying monster

which  implants itself in the transparent sockets of human- beings eyes,

she rejuvenates her blood  of geography

with the law of  gangrene

in the freshness of dark mines

and in national apartaid delusions.


Look! its foreleg in Athens

Its expectation in Warsaw

thighs in Madrid

jaws in the Pentagon

Its pubis and uterus in the Persian Golf

makes her breasts young in Istanbul.

I wish I could have rest in the Sofias gardens

when there is no more  misery  in the  world. 

In future strife ,

I wish I could die on the cobblestone

Of Istanbuls squares.

My darling!  Your wandering hands are my guide

far away from home

Your singing heart symbolizes a burning piece of my country.

Cover! my sadness .

Rain on me  !flowers with

kisses and carnation .


I remember  when our countrys hair caught fire

and its hands were worn out ,crying itself to blindness,

feverishly talking in blistery ,stony language.


Ah my darling I lean from the highest chilly cloud

embracing its blisters .

I cry ,on the water-bed,

metal and grief.


سخنرانی ها استانبول يک منظومه آواره زبان لرزه فيس بوک