What are you, of what? Don’t mind I asked the question
I know: Firstly, not mine, secondly what are you?
For years I looked at blind walls, in mirrors
The lettering in my own lines, I could not figure,
What am I to me, what exactly to you,
What is the sound of you in me, and the sound of me in you,
We listened to each other: Our eyes communed
in one another, in what and how they fixed, who knows.
I give up the puzzle of the sphinx inside me,
Turning to my face, won’t ask again: Why,
Whose, what are you, of what?
All questions are ice, they come and form a mountain –
I’ve left them to melt, let water run, collect and spill:
Whose mist, the mist of what are you?
Poet: Enis Batur
Translator: Caroline Stockford
First draft, produced at DAM, Istanbul, September 2016