Library of Wind

 M. Bülent Kılıç

from Turkish

Translated by Mine Özyurt Kılıç

For the sake of the lust caused by mediocrity

I was heroically spending my sensitivity

My whole being had emulated such a deep slumber that

I was not surprised to see my heartbeats scattering clippings of dreams

I was dispassionate, magisterial, smiling and shaved

I was hopping powdering saffron behind my steps

And I was at a leisurely pace climbing to the top of a brand new mountain

(Had I but a song with me for the troubles that I failed to anticipate

A thin bough for a fight)

At the summit,

On the transparent divan of the night

Under my head

Like the docile dogs of the defeated

Was a very soft pillow,

And I would scatter,

to the wind,

my oath that is left to be a rusty bit of dust out of  being grinded

over and over again

And perhaps I would sleep for a while

Perhaps I would feel no pain

And before my eyes would appear a library of wind

I would intuit each book my hand points absent-mindedly

as written in a missing alphabet.

I would not touch.

At the place where I fell down with my eyes shut

--white grass talking sweetly under the ancient stones--

I would make a wish of

a flower, stalk and twisted

Towards a big water

so that I would not wonder the reason for the tide.

It would come true.

And I’d say “Then it is not that bad”

“see, it is not that bad” would I murmur myself.

But

When I broke into the impossible

And entered from its door

Alas

what I merely found

was

Wasteland

Hot sun was testing a snake’s patience with the shadow of a pebble

It was not that bad and there was still some hope

Snake’s patience was heavier than the snake itself

Snake’s patience was heavier than the snake itself

Ankara,1998