{"id":160,"date":"2020-07-20T22:33:18","date_gmt":"2020-07-20T19:33:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/?page_id=160"},"modified":"2020-09-20T20:22:05","modified_gmt":"2020-09-20T17:22:05","slug":"poetry-english","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/?page_id=160","title":{"rendered":"Poems in English by Yusuf Eradam"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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YUSUF ERADAM<\/p>\n

Objects in Mirror<\/strong><\/h2>\n

1.<\/p>\n

He came from Anatolia thousands of years ago
\nand embraced a standard American cat in fear
\nas they dance in the window of the Cage here
\nwith objects in mirror closer than they appear<\/p>\n

He was in, and could not find the way out of the maze
\nstill Saginaw Blues remains in the maple\u2019s ablaze
\nand they dance in the window of the Cage
\n\u2018cause objects in mirror are closer than they appear<\/p>\n

He was the guest in a little red house on the prairie
\nby a road that opens to a rickety rush but he could hear
\nthem dancing in the window of the Cage
\nknowing objects in mirror are closer than they appear<\/p>\n

To tell his story of a rude awakening
\nhe shuttled across human borders in pain
\nas he learned to dance in the window of the Cage
\n\u201cperhaps,\u201d he said \u201cobjects in mirror are closer than they appear\u201d <\/p>\n

He buckled up with the rest of the world
\nin his word on the brittle wins of the oven bird
\nthey danced and danced in the window of the Cage
\nas objects in mirror are closer than they appear<\/p>\n

2.<\/p>\n

he listened to the whirly gig of his clink
\nand before he forgot to put the red flag up
\nhe put a poem in the mail box of his pleasure dome
\ndanced with his wild cat in the window of his Cage
\nand thrust his body into the solitude of <\/p>\n

the dark bleeding night
\nthe only realm he bloomed at<\/p>\n

his spinning top and petosky stones in his hands
\nsweet grass and mandala his regalia
\nhe opened his homeless eagle eyes of cryptic cacti
\nraining on the tombs of his kind
\nflooding his own dreams of ore<\/p>\n

3.<\/p>\n

now an object in mirror closer
\nthan it appears he sings his quiet song
\nfrom the top of a juniper tree<\/p>\n

and looks at the onlookers
\nand to the serene melodies of the running river
\npeople dance in the window of the Cage <\/p>\n

\u2018cause objects in mirror
\nare closer than they appear<\/p>\n

Nov 11-14, 1999
\nSaginaw, Michigan<\/p>


<\/p>\n

Stone for a Sling<\/strong><\/h2>\n

…I played<\/p>\n

games with child friends whose names i forgot<\/p>\n

i was the best at grabbing the five stones off the ground<\/p>\n

thanks to those five stones in one hand<\/p>\n

i could never ever hold a sling to kill birds…<\/p>\n

then i saw life-size cartoons of wars, of massacres, of genocide…<\/p>\n

of fingerprints crying out for their owners…<\/p>\n

of human beings indifferent to human affliction…<\/p>\n

now in my room with birds from all over the world<\/p>\n

i play hide-and-seek in poems<\/p>\n

hoping to shed light onto lullabies…<\/p>\n

hoping not to be<\/p>\n

the stone for a sling.<\/p>\n

(Published in<\/strong>: The Space Between Our Footsteps: poems and paintings from the Middle East. Selected by Naomi Shihab Nye. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998: 88)
\n(Also published in: The Flag of Childhood: poems from the middle east. Selected by Naomi Shihab Nye. New York: Aladdin Books, 2002.)<\/p>


<\/p>\n

A Brief Note to the Bag Lady, Ma Sister<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Ma sister, ma sister<\/p>\n

Maybe lady maybe not<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sorry, I\u2019m sorry for you<\/p>\n

But I know it\u2019s not enough<\/p>\n

\u2018Cause I know not enough<\/p>\n

Ma sister, no not enough<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sitting in a coffee house<\/p>\n

Watching TV, waiting<\/p>\n

All I know ma sister<\/p>\n

You know nothin\u2019 \u2018bout me<\/p>\n

You dunno nothin\u2019 \u2018bout the cold here<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s no 5th Avenue<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s no Central Park<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s no Statue of Liberty<\/p>\n

The cold here ma sister<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t take place on your TV channels<\/p>\n

God knows how many<\/p>\n

Here is South-East Asia Minor<\/p>\n

Now is winter<\/p>\n

The avalanches at \u201342 C<\/p>\n

Are not as minor<\/p>\n

First came when I was out to find the doctor<\/p>\n

On my way back I couldn\u2019t find<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t find ma house under the snows<\/p>\n

TV news says a second swallowed the whole village<\/p>\n

No house is as tall as the twin towers<\/p>\n

Here nothing\u2019s new, no york is new york here<\/p>\n

I worked and worked all ma life ma sister<\/p>\n

Now I have no belongings but here<\/p>\n

Here ma sister you can find bags everywhere<\/p>\n

Plastic bags, nylon bags, bags made of kilims<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know what to put in them<\/p>\n

Maybe my freezing heart, maybe not<\/p>\n

I\u2019m watching you here ma sister<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s no Brooklyn Bridge<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s no bridge ma sister<\/p>\n

Soon will be spring<\/p>\n

The Flood will sweep the left-overs<\/p>\n

Then I will never find ma children<\/p>\n

Noah won\u2019t visit us I know<\/p>\n

He wouldn\u2019t let me in, ma sister<\/p>\n

He\u2019d be disappointed here<\/p>\n

\u2018Cause here\u2019s so many lonely souls<\/p>\n

So many women, husbands\u2019n children gone<\/p>\n

Ma sister, thank God you have some belongings<\/p>\n

Belongings to carry in your bag, you have them<\/p>\n

You have them and that makes you a lady<\/p>\n

And to the streets yes to the streets maybe<\/p>\n

You belong, but maybe not<\/p>\n

Ma sister, ma sister<\/p>\n

I\u2019m no lady whether I have a bag or not<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s no lady, no lady am I<\/p>\n

I\u2019m in a coffee house waiting<\/p>\n

They haven\u2019t found ma home yet<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sitting in a coffee house watching<\/p>\n

I\u2019m watching you and your old bag in new york<\/p>\n

They tell me they will give me<\/p>\n

Lots of money, God knows how money<\/p>\n

How money would touch ma identity<\/p>\n

They say I will have a new house<\/p>\n

I dunno where, they don\u2019t see I lost ma home<\/p>\n

They say I will have a TV-set<\/p>\n

So many channels, so many other worlds<\/p>\n

I\u2019m watching yours now, by a stove<\/p>\n

I can touch the stove, I put ma hands on it<\/p>\n

Cold metal burns ma hands<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t move nowhere, I can\u2019t talk to no one<\/p>\n

They\u2019ll find ma house soon<\/p>\n

And get ma dark-skinned, emerald-eyed<\/p>\n

Emerald-eyed and rosy-cheeked buds out of the snow<\/p>\n

Ma sister, the snow is everywhere<\/p>\n

Ma sister, how will they do it?<\/p>\n

Ma sister, I could do it better<\/p>\n

With my nails ma sister<\/p>\n

I could do it better<\/p>\n

But they wouldn\u2019t let me, no they wouldn\u2019t let me<\/p>\n

Ma sister, I see your life is tough too<\/p>\n

In the middle of so much plenty<\/p>\n

You are hungry<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember eating for days<\/p>\n

I dunno, I really dunno I\u2019m watching you here in the avalanche area<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s South-East Asia minor, Anatolia, winter<\/p>\n

It\u2019s eight to the the twenty-first century<\/p>\n

I\u2019m watching you on TV ma sister<\/p>\n

You\u2019re cold in the streets I see<\/p>\n

Your heart may be freezing too, maybe not, dunno<\/p>\n

I see, I see ma sister, you have no home<\/p>\n

I see, you\u2019re cold and hungry<\/p>\n

But still I can\u2019t be sorry enough<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sorry ma sister, but I can\u2019t<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t be sorry enough.<\/p>\n

(1992)<\/p>\n

(Published in: This Same Sky: a Collection of Poems from around the world. Ed. Naomi Shihab Nye. New York: Four Winds Press, 1992: 133-35)<\/p>


<\/p>\n

Hartford Blues<\/strong><\/h2>\n

too large a hotel room <\/p>\n

a huge capitol on a hill <\/p>\n

very near station <\/p>\n

living some new history<\/p>\n

waiting for Hal expecting<\/p>\n

to speak what\u2019s left unspoken<\/p>\n

in Izmir, the warm Aegean town <\/p>\n

in the cosy silence of the room<\/p>\n

charlie parker and Hal<\/p>\n

chatting to a D minor<\/p>\n

a birds strut the window <\/p>\n

in connecticut campus <\/p>\n

a squirrel\u2019s surprise<\/p>\n

debut before <\/p>\n

a walnut tree<\/p>\n

too quick emotions <\/p>\n

too late auditions of love <\/p>\n

too soon is the depart <\/p>\n

a hug a smile a warm stare <\/p>\n

hartford blues in full flare<\/p>\n

May 9, 1992
\nAnkara, Turkey
\n(Published in Cardinal Sins 1999, Saginaw, Michigan. p.8)<\/p>


<\/p>\n

The Room Without A View<\/strong><\/h2>\nYusuf Eradam (as a tribute to the memory of Felicia Campbell)<\/p>\n

It took so long to build it
\nThey had so much time to put
\nso much expectations
\nhopes
\ndreams
\nas mortar
\nbetween the bricks<\/p>\n

In the room without a view
\nhe mistook the blue wall for the sky
\nand the pink wall for a caring heart
\n\u201cLet\u2019s call it square\u201d she thought
\nas she had mistaken the caring hand
\nand the friendly smile for love
\nin the noisy nights of Istanbul streets…<\/p>\n

He was here, at last, in the desert,
\nAnd she, the hungry wolf, was ready for a bite<\/p>\n

She, kept him in this room without a view
\nand the key to herself
\nthere was no air inside
\n for him to inhale
\n and no one else
\nhe could play with<\/p>\n

That\u2019s why he gave a warm hug
\nto the child in him
\nthe child who dreamed
\nof the Indian chief resting
\non top of the Wilson Cliffs
\nor Noah squeezed in the crags
\nof Mt Ararat<\/p>\n

She had been to K2
\nHe always wondered why she ever came down
\nNow she was the heat in August
\nShe was her own desert
\nShe was so impatient and intolerant
\nAll he could do was to sign his name
\non the glass door
\nwith wax
\nhis final cry
\nSeeing a sledge-hammer in her eyes
\nHe turned into a dust-devil
\ndevious and two-faced
\nand kept fidgeting in his room without a view
\nAwesome was the change in him
\nBecause he had stopped looking at her
\nHe was looking through her at the Cliffs,
\nwhich drove her crazy
\nas his eyes were her new mirror:<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you love me any more?\u201d she whined,
\nwhich he did not hear,
\n as his mind was at rest on the cliffs
\nhis hands ready to embrace rain<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you love me any more?\u201d she asked again,
\nhe was making her life misearable
\nmaking her feel old and ugly<\/p>\n

So down went her hammer
\non her own illusions
\nWhat\u2019s left behind from this one-faced love affair
\nis the wax-stain on her carpet
\n and thousands of glass pieces
\nburied in their bodies.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s how the night was scarred
\nand how love was lulled.<\/p>\n

Bleeding all over, he swiftly escaped
\nthrough the door
\n towards the Cliffs
\nto piecing together Freedom and Peace<\/p>\n

Leaving
\nthe heat
\nas a gift<\/p>\n

knowing
\nshe would never
\nbe able to
\nexhale
\nit.<\/p>\n

5 August\u201315 August 1994 \/ Las Vegas\u2013Wolf Point, Montana (Amtrak 12\/831)<\/p>


<\/p>\n

Man in Manhattan<\/strong><\/h2>\nYusuf Eradam<\/p>\n

just listening to
\nmanhattan transfer
\nin the offbeat of avenues
\nhe let himself out
\noh he let himself
\nout
\nto transfer his image into
\nanother language beyond the night
\nacquainted with the night he was
\na dew before the frost
\nthe man in manhattan
\nlost
\nlong before it was
\nhe had just lost the rhythm
\noh the rhythm was
\njust
\nand so he was
\nthe man in manhattan
\ntired of listening to the
\n\u201cbig blues in the city\u201d
\noh he was tired of hiding
\nin other rhythms
\nrhythms of the outside and nobody
\nnobody would rhyme with him
\nso into some
\ncosy
\ncorner beyond the night
\nhe let himself out
\njust like that
\nand he was
\nlistening to manhattan
\ntransfer<\/p>\n

just jazz…<\/p>\n

May 9\u201324, 1992
\nAnkara-Turkey<\/p>


<\/p>\n

Wash\u0131ng Wash\u0131ngton<\/strong><\/h2>\nYusuf Eradam<\/p>\n

early september he went out to walk the capital
\nin that vast dawn over his image on the ground
\none step ahead it was running its idea to
\nsome unknown destination holding onto its own sky
\nto feel safe on the way to finding another way<\/p>\n

adios washington adios the sad tunes
\nadios flores para los muertos goodbye miss dubois
\ni will never forget the helpless look in your face
\nyet i must go \u2019cause too heavy a burden
\nthey have become your desparately wild eyes<\/p>\n

these were the last tears to gush into the streets
\noff his quietitude and despair subsidized by some
\nfar away soul whose tears were dripping out
\nof the small white envelope that was very personal
\nearly september he went out to walk the capital<\/p>\n

May 9, 1992
\nAnkara-Turkey<\/p>


<\/p>\n

Brainstorming Collage<\/strong><\/h2>\nYusuf Eradam<\/p>\n

I am alone in Las Vegas in Nazim\u2019s \u201cHello\u201d
\nTo dare to venture myself
\nI need a simmer and time
\na pen and coffee, or wine<\/p>\n

\u201cThose were the days, we mustn\u2019t forget
\nKeep the hearts warm in memories…\u201d say
\ntwo separate bunny-teeth
\nand the lower lip cut in two<\/p>\n

I am the shielded rebel angel in a Breugel hell.
\nI am Margot, I wish I had met Ren\u00e9 Magritte\u2019s hat
\nWhy should my mountains bloom only when I cry?
\nThey could tell me perhaps, the people of Salvation Town.<\/p>\n

I am passion at dusk, regret at dawn
\nI am Icarus
\nThe jailor of Mus\u00e9e des Beaux Arts
\nN\u2019Auden will see me into a poem.<\/p>\n

November 1996 \u2013 19.9.2020
\nAnkara<\/p>


<\/p>\n

Conference on Women<\/strong><\/h2>\nYusuf Eradam<\/p>\n

Confer me an essence<\/p>\n

Apart from my headache<\/p>\n

Please \u2014<\/p>\n

And give me the rose and the
\nthe wine<\/p>\n

Stop the ache
\nthe heart-ache<\/p>\n

Release \u2014<\/p>\n

April 15, 1992 \u2013 19.9.2020
\nIzmir, Ankara, Turkey<\/p>


<\/p>\n

His Bundle<\/strong><\/h2>\nYusuf Eradam<\/p>\n

Never knew where
\nWhere she dropped it<\/p>\n

Never in her life did she
\nEver, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever,
\nTry to find who had put it there<\/p>\n

Anything would do to relieve
\nHer battered heart
\nA tiny battery or just a \u201cHOORAY!\u201d<\/p>\n

Whose bundle was it anyway?<\/p>\n

April 15, 1992
\nIzmir-Turkey<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

YUSUF ERADAM Objects in Mirror 1. He came from Anatolia thousands of years ago and embraced a standard American cat in fear as they dance in the window of the Cage here with objects in mirror closer than they appear He was in, and could not find the way out of the maze still Saginaw … <\/p>\n

Devam\u0131n\u0131 oku<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/160"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=160"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":839,"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/160\/revisions\/839"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/yusuferadam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}