Wednesday, November 1, 2017




Letters to Virginia Woolf/ umit sener ta

In fact, I started yesterday. I was calling the words brought by a hurricane. My soul was as empty as the wind-scoured streets. I do not know if you’ve ever been in such a frame of mind, as if you want to leave but you were unable . Your eyes are  always on the door, waiting  for someone to enter.

I’ve built thousands of palaces on tiny words
some broke with utterances, some with marble
I don’t have a slingshot to chase the birds, flying over me
Don’t unlock your inwardness Virginia
I sewed knots on myself and
the imagery of your Cossack
It is not easy to hit the sky
when one hooks onto your heart the hook of the ships
when I wander drop by drop in your damp geography
when your heart was open
Looking at the rooms, you were only you, staring back at you

The sourness of the pen is reflected  on paper
The lake feels the pain of the submission of the swan whose shadow is broken
the self-lost dervish leaves his cardigan for someone else
I could not deliver you, a life
like the migration of ants, things deleted from my brain
It’s apparent, I could not look after the inner man through the words, while you are growing your inside

Listen Virginia
I'll tell you the chagrin of my inwardness
broken toy of a boy
racing cars, run close to me, uncathable
thickening time
While growing drops deepened seas
I was drowning on the shallow coast of homes

It was like the defeat of a powerless ember
the cloud I carried over me
the shiver of the rain were jackets, peeled out of me
before entering the bed
deceived mother was a scream in the bosom
like wearing a bracelet
I would gift to every new woman
Each diary
like a smile remained incomplete
of a past
despite persistent writing down
my rage is not over time

all the gathered letters are flying to their owner
don’t shout anymore, Virginia



The ghosts without identity
Was wandering around in this city
You would not come
The piano was tumbling on the windows
One seller stole baby from a young girl
Her screaming was waiting on the wall
You were absent


I am walking through Farmers Market
Broken glasses in my palms
The seller is crying my name
Bodies on tables are mine
I forgot my shoe shine box
My shoes are invisible
I am walking through Market Street
The balloon seller knows me
I am the blues in his
Old jacket pocket


UMIT SENER TA: He is the editor of the web site www.  He has one poetry book in Turkish called “ Bocekciler carsisi”He has so many translations and poems published several magazines,such as,Siirden,Siiri Seviyorum,Agir ol Bay Duz yazi. Currently he is living in United States. His poems translated several international magazines in many languages such as, Spanish, Albanian and Bengali.

1 comment :

  1. Congratulations Poet Umit Sener Ta !!! Remaining number ONE in the Top ten of 82 Poets "Globally" is not an easy task. I love your Poetry. I like, "Farmer's Market" so much. As it reads like a dream, the last line being "I am the blues in his/ Old jacket pocket" Wow !!! Loved this Ink !