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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 100 | volume  | September, 2015



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 100September, 2015
Poetry

Two Starry Poems for Igor

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p. 1
Gökçenur Ç.

Stars Spring from the Ground If They Didn’t Tie Igor’s Jaws Before Burying Him
There Are Some Stars in The Sky Only Both of Us Can See

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Stars Spring from the Ground If They Didn’t Tie Igor’s Jaws Before Burying Him

    Bottles were over.
    Poems were over.
  
    We had already told each other
    our first loves,
    girls we made love
    for the first time.
  
    I said, it’s up to you
    tell me how you started
    drinking
    or writing.

    Same story, he said,
    one evening I left home,
    I walked to the fields
    not to the work.
  
    It was summer,
    stars were unloading
    the creation of space
    to the night.
  
    A scarlet poppy was
    like a bullet wound
    on the dark green shirt of
    Skopje fields.
  
    I laid down on the warm grasses,
    next to the poppy.
    I stared at the night.
  
    For the first time I saw the stars
    not as the null subject of loneliness
    but the scribble of the space.
  
    I must have oozed out
    and stars poured
    in my open mouth.
  
    Next day, at the sun set
    stars started to talk:
    
    There is a gale in the mountains
Igor
    come with us Igor,
    we will chase the night again,
    we are all made of past
Igor,
    you will not weep for long Igor,
  
    write what you want
    the way you want it.

  
    Stars verses were howling
    in my head
    like a rainless sea.
  
    I started to drink
    because
    I was afraid.
  
    When I drink
    stars were getting
    even more boisterous
    but at least I could manage
    not to consider them
    and stars were always
    oozing out before me.
  
    I went to bed.
    Igor wrote
    Seagulls Above Rooftops:
  
    this evening:
    seagulls above rooftops,
    opened walls, balconies,
    and that song again, out of nowhere.

    I never told him how I started writing,
     there’s no justice in the sky.
    in the nights above Istanbul. and at all.






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