The Way Old Friends-A Urgent Call For A Scream Poem by Bulent Karaalioglu

The Way Old Friends-A Urgent Call For A Scream



The Way Old Friends 'Times of joy and times of sorrow
We'll see it every time
Oh, I don't care what happens tomorrow
We can face it together
Like old mates used to say, 'Abba.

Friend ' First a spark falls, slowly it grows
Before you know it, you're a volcano, you're burnt friend
Neither mother nor brother can fill your void
This is the most beautiful, this is the warmest feeling, friend'...Melike Demirağ

These songs are like a cool drop falling on the arid summer soil... Friends and songs are the labouring class of absolute solidarity that has been overdemanded.
Looking for a scream in a hurry.

First person singular
24 hours alone with yourself, I'm your most enduring friend, aren't I?
You don't get to choose your family, your country, your gender.
The good news is you choose your friends.

Like beach clothes in the summer. You want to have seasonal and seasonal friends. the infinite shining stars of song and friendship in the Incremental Dimension?
First a spark falls, then it grows.

Your childhood friend, your neighbourhood friend, your best boyfriend and girlfriend, your work friend, your soldier friend, your life friend, and finally your grave friend.

Graves look up to the sky.
Why don't we often look at the sky when we're alive? Endless bright friends and songs in the sky. Looking for a scream in a hurry.

ANTI THESIS
...
Aren't the worst enemies old friends, old mates and old comrades?
Looking for a scream in a hurry.

Looking for a screaming scream in a hurry.
The first moments and minutes we come into the world, we are the youngest human being. After a few minutes we start to age rapidly.
Human life is a little chair, a little table
The world under the table for the child is big


We grew up, we grew up.
We were forced to grow physically and spiritually. We grew up. As we sat or were forced to sit in the chair as adolescents and adults, the world began to shrink.
the world is small
In time and space,
Existential division, with spatial emptiness
Urgent call for a scream.


Our body is the adult and the adult sitting in the chair... Our soul is the child under the table... We are not children. But in the foam balloons of that child
We'll always look for that scream of childish joy we've lost. Looking for a scream in a hurry.

Human life is a little chair and a little table
In these days of mine besieged by death,
Chairs that have been taken away from me and chairs that want to be taken away. And chairs are not as stable as tables, The Way Old Friends 'Times of joy and times of sorrow
We will always see this'

'One for all, all for one'
The French translation is 'Un pour tous, tous pour un.'...Alexander Dumas - The Three Musketeers....

I give blood to everyone. I can't take blood from everyone. Our ages don't match, our blood types don't match. Three hearts in one body. The oldest, the youngest, me in the middle chair.
The table, the chairs and the songs never end.

TIME AND SPACE AGE 75..
1945 AND AFTER,
Life is a little table and a little chair
Long before the poem Swallows
The oldest
You were born in the year World War II ended, when the blue poppies in your poetry turned to blood. Golden years in social, scientific, artistic and literary life. You saw the first man on the moon. You were young, I was a child.
You saw the youth of 1968 that shook the world.
You loved nature, family and friends.
World traveller, you said 'the most sacred profession, teaching is enough for me'.
Time passes so fast.
The brakes of a fast-moving car and your tracks behind it. Even if he is not the first youth in the world, he is the last.
I give blood to everyone. I can't take blood from everyone. Our ages don't match, our blood groups don't match. Three hearts in one body. The Way Old Friends 'Times of joy and times of sorrow
We can face it together
Like old mates do
One for all

TIME AND SPACE AGE 61
1959 AND AFTER,

Life is a little table and a little chair
60-year-olds going to the cinema for the first time
Living in his country is a reality.
I came, I saw and I wrote.
A poem written in a hurry on a crumpled napkin
The curtain swaying indifferently in the wind is your body...In the car park, neither forward nor backward, in front of me and behind me are cars, as if these ages are a dead-end street sign.
In the time déjà vu of coffeehouses and places of worship, the faces, if not the clothes, of my peers begin to resemble each other. It's like a perfectly boring computer programme.
this is the age when butterflies are most to be expected. Stillness without motion.

If you take a bird's wings away, does it remain a bird? If you break a violinist's hands, he won't be tickled and spoilt.
When my organ of thought is taken from me.
I'll pose smiling for my life photographer. When I go to get my photo, my photographer is closed,
there's a funeral. Looking for a scream in a hurry...

I give blood to everyone. I can't take blood from everyone. Our ages don't match, our blood types don't match. Three hearts in one body beat together.


TIME AND SPACE AGE 23
1997 AND LATER, ,
Human life is a little table and a little chair
Everyone sees the yellow daisy in the desktop vase. Your poem is the cliff wings of the butterflies climbing the mountain to find the daisy on the edge of the cliff.
In the custody of your handcuffed soul and body, In the sadness in the trembling mist of the earth
In the burning joy of the fire,
The wind in the aspen's mane
In a drop of water,
In the whistling whip of time
Your soul is whipped and wounded.

The oldest heart in the world belongs to you
The youngest heart in the world belongs to you.
Calling for a scream in a hurry.


I can give blood to anyone. I can't take blood from everyone. Our ages don't match, our blood types don't match. Three hearts in one body.
Our youngest. Surely one day the pain on the cliff will turn into butterflies.

All for one, one for all
A heart in the chest cage, just like that.
It beats for you. The hearts of three friends beat for each other. Looking for a scream in a hurry.

Winter has returned, spring will return through the gate. The young men have returned from the army.
The grown-ups are back. Life is a little table and a little chair
While children go back, childhood will not return.
A scream is urgently sought.
The scream, from the opposite hills,
He will return as me, Müfit Abi and Gencay.

14 February 2021
Time: 14.30/ Sunday
Sinop.
..
75 years old
Male: 113.479
Woman: 142.037
Total: 255.516
61 years old
Male: 389.295
Woman: 414.816
Total: 804,111
23 years old
Male: 670.165
Woman: 645.495
Total: 1.315.660

The Way Old Friends-A Urgent Call For A Scream
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Frends
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success