Nicola by küçük İskender



you decerebrate the rose. don’t do this.

verses, cannot find the poems they deserted

you become a humiliated evening

your hair wet to your waist

your eyes

turned away and fixed on a couple of cracked glasses

left on a claret, velvet coverlet

almost exploded. Soon to blow

before the storm

closely sheilding your face, poor and lonely child

storyless, bashful and amicable

you should have a macedonian name: nicola

I sat on your balcony, drank Choπcko beer,

over the way were

grand men wounded by the earth

grand women are sleeping

grand women wounded on account of grand men

turned into tramps by grand men

a pen knife, holds its blade inside like a secret

the pen knife I put on the table on leaving

a perfect portrayal

if it were nicola what would appear

if it were İskender what would appear

somehow, not far away

was a beautiful graveyard where songs are laid

poet: küçük İskender

translator: caroline stockford

First published in translation in Assaracus Journal of Gay Poetry, Feb 2016


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