Narin Yükler (Turkey)

Narin Yükler (Turkey)

Narin Yükler was born in Viranşehir of Şanlıurfa in 1988. She graduated from the Tourism and Hospitality Management School of Gaziantep University and from the Faculty of Business Administration of Anadolu University. After graduation, she started to work as a hotel manager. She got married in 2012 and had her daughter in 2014. During that time, she took part in the activities of various non-governmental and human rights organizations, especially women’s rights organisations.

Many of her stories and poems about Middle Eastern–especially Kurdish/Ezidi–women were published in several newspapers and magazines in Iraq, Belgium, Pakistan, Iran, and Turkey. She held meetings in refugee camps where she read her poems written in Kurdish and Turkish languages. She has written theatrical plays on the human and women’s rights, some of which were staged. Being a woman, a mother and a refugee in the Middle East. Her poetry books include Aynadaki Çürüme and Rê û Rêç. Her awards include KAOS GL Short Story Award – Selection Committee (2015), Hüseyin Çelebi Poetry Prize (2015), Ali İsmail Korkmaz Poetry Prize (2016), Golden Daphne Award For Young Poets – Selection Committee (2016), Arkadaş Zekai Özger Poetry Award (2017) and the Arjen ArÎ Poetry Award (2017).


Stories of homes are hidden in its roof
In its colour  there is  burns of the sorrow
Roads can not be used for travelling
At the borehole there is a sad song of the bride that tears apart the morning
Bread that made from the fame which sieved thinly heats the bare foot
Sits on the fire, a moms unburned sadness
A sleepless history records rooms
At the back of he door mom smokes the memories
Lots of lives reflects on the mirror
The line that falls from the mirror settles under the eye
Girl stays still with her long hair
Frame is the enemy for mudbrick walls that does not break the memories
Her daughter that runs away is worst thing for the mother.
No water touches to nations of desert
Feet proceed wiht warm winds
Trails can be seen by the weigths of the bags
Slowly chops the sand
I lay down my tongue toback of the coppery bowl
My hands are like roads that are between gulpings
My hands collapses into Sahara
Mistery and prayer fall off from my face
Equal to house that has no stucco
Rampart and wound stay still at my chest
Trees that holds on to the barren lands
Epilepsy starts rom the weak arms of the tree
Whichever arm that decays
Whicever side that turns into yellow
I bless her
Saints that come for confessing to tree
I kiss them with great desire
From the day that i fell down to Sahara and epilepsy
Getting fooled by borehole that comes from my clefts
I believe in a fairy tale of water

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