The Inventors of Silence

Original version (Turkish):

“Sessizliğin Mucitleri” by Nejat Cihan Yurdaün

yansıyor gümüş sırtından aynaların
seni sana bütünleştiren yanılsama
derin arzuların ve keskin parçaların
ayırırken evrenin kumaşından astarını

evren dediğin de hani pencereli bir oda
içinde güneş ve yıldızlar, gök tavan
gözlerini yumduğunda bulduğun karanlık
sigara yanıkları koltuk kollarında

yırtılan dikişlerde saklı tutulamayan
tümlük hissini aradığın insan suretleri
unutmak, olmak, hatta sevmek istediğin
kurtulamadığın ihtimallerin çatlakları

duvarların pastel pembesine işlemiş
gölge bir şişe, bir kadeh, kâfi masada
sevgilin, annen, kardeşin olmayan sevgi
sükût çırılçıplak uzanmışken karşında

artık akordeon var ciğerlerinin yerine
ıslık, hırıltı, kabına söven melodi
açılınca sabır tırtıklı kenarlarından
nefesinde kuruyor getireceği cinneti

aşk belli ki bir yumuşak yastık başında
her gördüğüyle alay eden edepsiz
senin insanlara mesafenle yarışıyor
objelerin garezini şekline sindirmiş

yüzünü yasladığından cesaret alan
sessizliğin mucitleri seni incitirken
söylemek isteyip de zamanda asılı kalan
ne varsa, yankısı sonsuz noksanlığın

English version:

“The Inventors of Silence” translated by Mehmet Kaan Eğretli

from the silver back of mirrors shine
the illusion defragmenting yourself to you
while your deep desires and sharp shards
rip your lining from the universe’s fabric

what you call universe, a room with windows
with the sun and starts, the ceiling sky inside
the darkness you find when you close your eyes
cigarette burns on the arms of armchairs

cannot be kept hidden in the torn stitches
the human outlines where you seek wholeness
which you want to forget, to become, even love
the fractures of possibilities you can’t get rid of

ingrained into the pastel pink of the walls
a shadow bottle, a goblet, suffice on the table
a love which is not your lover, mother, sibling
when silence lies stark naked across you

now there is an accordion in place of your lungs
a whistle, wheeze, a melody cursing its vessel
when patience is opened from its serrated edges
dries on your breath the madness it would bring

love is apparently a soft pillow under your head
shameless making fun of everything seen
racing with your distance to people 
the grudge of objects intimidated into your shape

encouraged by where you rest your face
while the inventors of silence hurt you
whatever you want to say but is left hanging
in time is the echo of endless incompleteness

This is the English translation of the poem called “Sessizliğin Mucitleri” by Nejat Cihan Yurdaün. The poem mainly concerns itself with the condition of the woman, or any oppressed individual, in a household, it rediscovers the supposed safe haven of “home” and reflects the alienation and fragmentation of the individual. While doing this, the poem employs the motifs of a classical household to make the tragedy more relatable. Nejat Cihan Yurdaün was born in Istanbul and holds degrees in Sociology and English Literature from Boğaziçi University, where he also completed his PhD in English Literature. He is the author of the novel İlk Sabah (2008) and the poetry collection Yılanlı Bahçe (co-authored with Pelin Batu). His work spans fiction, poetry, and screenwriting, and he currently serves as a lecturer and researcher in English literature in Bogazici University.