I have tried, as best I could, to safeguard the essence of Temelkuran’s work so that the English-speaking reader may experience the sincerity and inventiveness of this new voice. I hope you enjoy it.

—Deniz Perin

Offering

Offering

I am earth. I lie beneath everything.
Everything is above me. Even the earth’s crust.

I am water. I am afraid of the stones I will strike as I flow.
I stop, for fear that the stone’s skin be scraped.

I am air. Wind curves inside me. Whereas I am invisible.

O reader! You? You are like this, too.
You may not know it yet:
You are just like me.

I must believe you. For there are no kindhearted gods!
This is why I am obliged to believe you.
You!

And that is why, though we may be water, earth, and air,
we appear as somebody among the crowds.

I. DOOR

Necessary Things for Any Journey

What You Must Know

Whereas I’ve said it: I’m not permanent amid the noise.
I need to find new couch grass inside myself.
Otherwise I might believe I’m really part of the crowd.

My right hand is cold as a bird that couldn’t keep up with the migration.
Whereas I was to cross oceans
to build vast sentences.
I’ve wasted too much time in the playpens of narrow rooms.

The crowd suppressed the warm, familiar voices inside me.
That’s the price one pays for building know-it-all sentences
on paper, like a single day’s monarch.
Whereas I’ve never enjoyed being “someone.”
How could I? They never had anything to do with me,
all these things
the crowds call “good.”

I can be no “one” ! All I can be is: No one.
I never say it. Because they’ll “announce it.”
They’ll make noise. Those who are truly
“nobody”
know.

I’m compelled
to climb again today, to alpine plateaus.
I shall embark upon a long voyage
to heal the organ I’ve rotted in paltry rooms.
If I still have a voice when I arrive
I shall wish for acceptance
from my beloved mother tongue, my inner tongue, my self.
If I can’t reenter,
I’ll end up like all who remain outside—I’ll be done for.

This is the story of a compulsory journey.

If there’s anything worth telling on the way—who knows, things may speak for themselves.

What You Must Leave Behind

If the journey to be embarked upon is one that seeks its own path,
you are not to load your saddlebag. Empty your saddlebag—your Me—
as much as possible.

You own so many things now! Perhaps that’s why
you can’t go. You’re brimming, your hands are cluttered. Let go:
the sounds will release you as soon as you stop grasping them.