The Batterers by küçük İskender

iskenderpic

for want of a cliche

‘it was an autumn whose face had been knifed by the rain’

istanbul taking it all back under grey veils

the men who battered me – a grand total of five or three

Maybe a david bowie song I listened to repeatedly

maybe a single lover’s head that fell to my feet, aflame

like the last meteor,

maybe too, a dark drape of mist being demolished,

crackling, in the very centre of my chest;

no-one should experience this

the men who battered me were but five or three

I want you to know this:

no-one who loves you is left in this city

I wasn’t only jilted, you all went quiet on me

the bones of the roads are broken

there’s no-one to believe the new words they give up

only other roads that intersect them understand them

a person’s not called a traveller for ever in life

there’s always an address that will someday flash back

they maybe had a david bowie song they listened to repeatedly

a pride he might have cared about, a cover

and his own few special moments to cry about.

‘it was an autumn whose face had been knifed by the rain’

istanbul taking it all back under grey veils

descending on the evening’s Rakis like a spider

the wind playing a nihavend lament

I’m not going to curse a single person, because,

the number of those who battered me was no more than five or three

they were insects

kids

narky

and all so stupid they reminded me of me

.

poet: küçük İskender, Istanbul

translator: cas stockford, 2016

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