Sunday 13 June 2010

the rose is frightening By İlyas Tunç


vases! antiques! scented clothes!
when the moon of blues went home, when the beaver ran away from the night, June became red-faced, September, forgetful… nobody told me the truth, I passed through paths, suspended gardens, canyons… in the end I read on a Sumerian tablet: the rose is frightening!

rock graves, temples, darkness of the middle ages… none of this frightened me, nor did guillotines, scissors or vampire bats… I have lived with pirates, dragons and alligators, I have survived the seismic shockwaves… but the rose is frightening!

it is something wild and stirring; away from the midnight but close to daylight… like a red snail, like a sea urchin that rolled down from the slope… it is harmless to the touch, but its smell is of hot blood… like a venus flytrap, like an infection with no vaccine…

altars! ivies! sucking lips!
the rose is frightening!

İlyas Tunç
Translated from Turkish by Robert Berold and the poet

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