Nisa Leyla (Turkey)

Nisa Leyla (Turkey)
 
She was born in Iskenderun, Hatay in 1972. After completing primary and secondary education in Iskenderun, she graduated from Çukurova University, Faculty of Economics and Administrative Sciences in Adana. Later, she held management positions for five years, and served as an English teacher for three years. In her poetry, she focuses on social issues, inspired by real life. She also writes love poems, socialist and lyric lines. Her poems appear in all major magazines in Turkey such as Varlık, Yasak Meyve, Sincan İstasyonu, Şiirden, Şiiri Özlüyorum, Mühür, Papirüs, Deliler Teknesi, Ihlamur, Kuşak Edebiyat, Kurşun Kalem, Kurgan Edebiyat, Hürriyet Gösteri, Şiir, Yeni Adana, Yaşam Sanat, Patika, Yeni Dönem, Tay, Afrodisyas Sanat, Temrin, Ring Edebiyat, Ekin Sanat, Şiir Saati and more of the same. Her poems were published in the prestigious literary magazines of Turkey and several countries. She also writes short stories and fairy tales for children. In 1991, she has been selected as the third best poet in the Poetry Contest held by Yeni Adana newspaper. One year later, in the poetry contest of İskenderun Fest she has been the best poet of the year. Lastly she won the award of Mevlüt Kaplan Literature Contest 2015. She has been award with her poem; “PEACE” by the 5. International Literature and Poetry Contest of Galateo City. She has been award with her book “Council Dream” by ENVER GÖKÇE POETRY CONTEST 2017 in most importent contest in Turkey.
She is editor of Turkey of Miletus Magazine now publishing in America.
She is also a member of Writers Union of Turkey, member of the Turkish the Literature Associations, the Council of European Writers, the Pen Writers Association. Her books: Dar paçalı dizeler (Verses with Narrow Flares) (Yazılı Kâğıt Publishing, 2014, Ankara, Öteki Publishing, 2. Publish 2019 April ), Yokoluş Bir Sözcükse (If Disappearance Amounts to a Word, Yasak Meyve Publishing, 2015, Istanbul, 2. Publish 2016 Yasakmeyve Publishing, 3. Publish Öteki Publishing April 2019, Istanbul), Sihirli Değnek (Magic Wand) (for children, Mühür Publishing, 2015, İstanbul), Hayal Divan (Dream Divan) Öteki Publishing November 2018, 2. Publish Öteki Publishing April 2019.
 
 
hunger
 
the river you let flow would not cure my soul
the mountains you let go promise infinity
i have nothing to say against your trees offering candy apple
yet the void inside me cannot be filled
the grief tunnel.
your boulevards are not collapsing, the rise of the sounds
like a wall and your hope
like a candle without wick
i am where it melts
the life you wove from words
and god you distilled from honey
would not be a remedy for me
the children of my deserted street
die of hunger
 
Translated from Turkish: Mesut Şenol
 
 
 
peace
 
once again a massacre, again on my feet
I am alive since there is a hope.
 
I have trouble
like being alive
since auschwitz
the world war I
changed nothing
the world war II
and even vietnam
 
my pains are constantly growing
my pains are constantly growing
 
I was hitler, I buried the jews
I killed the natives in Vietnam
and the suckling babies in gaza
I became americanized
I killed all the time, I can kill again
 
I am a human being on my feet, freedom
ballad seems to be my enlightenment
I am on my feet since there is a hope
 
I compose poetry I am a barbarian poetess
I draw the pictures of the daisies
I have my rules, my constitutions
I am the world longing for peace
yet arranging everything according to war
 
I am expecting peace
I am expecting peace.
 
Translation from Turkish : Mesut Şenol
 
 
 
moses
I couldn’t tell anyone else:
my darling is an eagle, who believes
his heart is a seagull, sometimes is a lover
sometimes not. when I die, the azrael
will know, on my grave
everyone will see an eagle and a seagull
Oh, my darling, still only,
will only be visible to me
I couldn’t say my darling.
he is sometimes the sky, sometimes not
those who try to get rid of it on me
I fed stubbornly,
my darling is an eagle. who believes
his heart is a seagull. one day, of course.
he’s gonna teach me to fly.
I’ll give my soul to him
not to azrael. Oh, my God. that is
a revolution too, darling is
gonna bury me inside himself.
 
I couldn’t tell anyone else:
 
 
 
the words are the pretext of life
 
edgar allen poe called out : love !
my raven life shouted : never ! never ! never !
 
we are exchanging very obscene words with you dear friend of pleasure
epicurus’ true student that is not cared about by the civilization
the out of fashion countesses and knights in our age supplanted our place.
I hide my obscene words; I starch and iron them
for the doomsday, my heart and pocket.
all of a sudden my self-confidence being unable to settle down unravels
my mystic loves of moses, my inspiring feelings for christ,
the most important of all, my glorious lyric captivity.
I can never live without my wings
says my raven life, I can also break the night!
while I was stitching the sexual coldness of peace with needle and thread,
I can rub my dreams with a pair of love.
I have an interest in the pain with an established personality
in the boastful night,
the exploration of a new era from its eyes:
resistance against my committing suicide and cruel ones of life!
resistance against pharaohs and many zeus!
resistance to the nylon prophets!
get an eiffel from everyone if you can
it is up to me to bleed time
it is up to me to be fooled by love…
beauty got jammed between the letters beaten by compassion.
“ah !” grumbles, “alack !” heaves a sigh
the business of “good” is all serene: in the tummy of the philosophers
it reigns for centuries.
Life : full of pages about hitler!
I throw words on and on for the sake of peace
it is not a bomb, and that’s why they don’t explode, they shake hands,
it is poetry right, they kiss, they kiss one another
you’d better to keep my inner world from words!
I live in the 21st century.
I would be losing the game if I step on the 22nd century’s line,
I would be out of the game like a kid.
a chocolate makes me intoxicated all the time,
a multiple grief harbors a non-existent tomorrow.
as radiating the friendship fed by the window of god
seems up to sorrow;
poetry goes to you, and the pretext is for me. you fell down at the heart of my world
siren calls, my bleeding ambulance is always on its way.
my silly and nonsense lover handed down from my childhood,
a memory saving me from the dark period…
 
Translated by Mesut Senol

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