inspiration listening to Sezen Aksu's "gölge etme" (don't shadow me) and other songs

Yellow-shoed times (20.05.2007)

To J.

My feet wear yellow shoes as the shields thinner.

All those hands, hidden in songs, in voices, along streets, in gestures, find no shield stopping them.

Nails breathing between my lungs

and hands squeezing something inside.

Feeling tired most mornings...ah...

It was the time for the shields to become thinner.

Paper shields.

And J., his inner hands, made of bony words.

The other hands are wearing a ring he never told me about.

So the ring didn’t exist.

At first his hands were naked.

But a speechless ring appeared one day.

Quite a long time a go

Or not so long ago.

Far and near beings;

A vase next to a cat.

Those inner hands might cause my morning tiredness.

Luckily he’s not a surgeon, otherwise it’d be worse.

My thinner skin, my thinner flesh.

So many poems I’ve written for you.

So many poems you’ve read.

Collapsing walls to let grass, trees, flowers grow.

Bloom.

You won’t shadow me, J.

The words you, J., didn’t dare to say are hung next to my underwear, next to my colourful pantyhose, beneath invented suns.

A song by Gerhard Gundermann connects me to imagined scenes that seem to have happened.

They might have happened.

J. peels a piece of fruit.

I become some naked figure, some naked orchestra of soul-or-whatever and organs.

It had to happen.

It was necessary.

I smile.

The honour

Of feeling all those hands.

It’s what an orchestra needs...

And the orchestra closes its eyes.

Someone else’s arms.

The orchestra plays silence.

And then comes the desert.

A buried orchestra or some place for it?

What did you want?

What do you want?

Your rough hands smashed the instruments.

Your rough hands hit the walls with the instruments.

No walls and no instruments.

Just a yellow-shoed woman

In yellow-shoed times.