Twenty-seven steps by Gökçenur Ç


Twenty-seven steps

(Darkness is the only excuse for the mess on the paper,
the shadows are clawing the walls of the ward
I sit crossed-legged on the lower bunk, as the meds mix with my blood
the sherbet of sleep thickens sweetly,
I hold my battery torch between my teeth, and as I try to shroud its light
with my blanket, I rip the back cover off my favourite book

and write to you
-just as you’ll guess straight away The Eternal Stone-)

I wandered by the riverside reading your letter
took a grasshopper in my hand
and walked for twenty-seven steps not knowing what to do with him
I thought of the day I brought you my manuscripts

You and me, you’d written,
we’re like two small spoons forgotten
in a bowl of cooling angel-hair soup
two toppled chairs
a blue table – made love upon

You and me, we’re like a door
and a note slipped under it

Two boats floating towards eachother
that think they’re approaching the pier

You and me, constantly
write down what we are like
without really knowing what we are

(NB. Remember that night when we sat on the sea
the brush of pure touch and salt igniting the leaves)


Poet: Gökçenur Ç
Translated by Caroline Stockford at the Cunda International Workshop for Translators of Turkish Literature, 2014

photo: Erik Brede


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