She was born in Nicosia, Cyprus on 7th March 1961. She is a Turkish-Cypriot. Residing in London.Working
for NHS-Child Health.Her interests are travelling, reading books, writing poems also enjoys listening to folk and classical
music. Her precious creations consist of her 3 daughters.
Mart 1961 Lefkoşa doğumlu, Londra'da ikamet ediyor. Halen, ulusal Sağlık Servisleri- Ēocuk Sağlığı
yürüyüş yapmayı, seyehat etmeyi, kitap okumayı, şiir yazmayı
seviyor, ayrıca folk ve klasik müzik hayranı, yaratmış olduğu en değerli hazinesini 3 kızı
Gunsel Djemal ka lindur ne Nikosia, Qipro me7 Mars 1961.Ajo eshte turke
qipriote.Aktualishtjeton ne Londer dhe punon per NHS-Shendeti Femijeve.Hobi
saj eshte udhetimi,leximi librave,poemat,folku muzikor dhe muzika klasike.Ajo ka tre vajza.
I am on fire!
tongue is dumb/until the loving heart speaks the
heart is dumb until it beats you have the iron eyes/of the guitar play the music/i am addressing you rusty old
lyrics/rolling in the air hurry! let us make love come on sir, dish me out i am on fire!
i am Athena’s bird in the sky one colourful
band eyes are overcast/cloud white as snow erasing the sorrow on faces i am the moon and here to make all uncertain
dreams come true…. hope, meaning and faith/the star the olive tree the blessing of the lands peace-loving the
jasmine plant clear water... the lover/Aphrodite i am Paris's conflagration 1789 the Five Finger Mountains rebelling
in the skies greeting from the south i am the Trodos mountain will embrace from the north madly Mediterranean longing
for the re-birth of Aphrodite waiting for you to kiss me from my rosebud wet lips i am CYPRUS...
MY LOVE -II- & - III
MY LOVE - II -
i am scared
of approaching you i can’t tell/how desperately i want to make love to you
i had slept at your bosom, touched
your skirts sat at your peak…
if there is no place left
is mountain finally a mountain? i am discovering
my suffering is different/another
to stand at your slope and to look at you, hear you, breath
you, until today never re-united, so that i want to become you… and I become you
i want your face to face
to mine, your eyes to look into my eyes, your smell to mix with mine, your stones to my stones, my soul to talk with
yours, i want my birds to fly with yours. i am flying towards you and i am discovering…
MY LOVE - III
if you were only one man, every man, i wouldn’t even look at you if you were a mysterious God i wouldn’t
worship…i know… i am discovering you
and when i am loving you i define love LOVE is not invented,
it’s discovered affection…
I missed you!
in the middle of the sea gliding
in emptiness i stopped and looked from remoteness your eyes inside their green/ the waves were in a terrible mess foams
twinkled and turned into one white moon from your face reflected to mine suddenly gale breaks out in whispers,
in a whisper the sea was ripped from its place/ by the winds of your hair i have come passing over the horizon to
extinguish the foams in my hands and the gale should go back open your arms and embrace let us mix into the phosphorescence to
get rid of our loneliness my darling i missed you!
Zemėr e gėrvishtur
Unė thėrras dhe Ai flet:
“E dashura ime Unė rrugės sime…”
Zilja e derės tingėllon
Dhe ai arrin
Nė dhomėn e bardhė tė larjes
Ai me delikatesė troket.
Me tė shpejtė unė vrapoj
Dhe hap derėn.
Ai qėndron nė kėmbė i gjatė, i lodhur
Dhe me pak kurriz prapa
Thotė : “Unė jam kėtu!”
Porsaai rri ndenjur
Gjeja e parė qė thotė:
“Ti nuk… pija ime dehėse”.
Telefoni i tij bie.
Ai thotė : “Unė jam rrugės sime!”
Unė kuē me shikimin tim ngulmues nė drejtim tė tij.
Ai kthehet dhe rri ndenjur ngjitur nga unė .
Thotė: “ Tė lutem , mos mė mė trishto mua!...”
Unė fėrkoj kurrizin e tij dhe pėrkėdhel qafėn e tij tė gjatė.
Thotė se ai duhet tė ikė, tė shkojė dhe ai tė kthehet tė nesėrmen,
Pėrqafohem dhe nuhas lėkurėn e tij tė dėrsitur.
“Po ēfarė nė lidhje me atė…?”Unė rri ndenjur nė
shtėpi me tulla guri gjithė ditėn e gjatė,
Lava ēorapet e tua,veshjet
Ajrosa mbulesat e krevatit
Kundėrshtinė e tij pėr tė qėndruar.
Unė qėndroj mbi gishtat e kėmbės
Pėrqafohem dhe e puth atė…
“Natėn e mirė”, kthehem te krevati im i zbrazur
Dhe kjo mė gėrvishtejzemrėn time
Duke dėgjuar fqinjėt
Dashurinė duke e bėrė gėzim.
2. * * *
Pa njė vend
duke tė bėrė dashuri ty
tė pėshtysh sekondėn
ekzistonnjė skėterrė e policisė
Translation by: Günsel Djemal
Biography of Atilla
He is the second
son of a teacher mother and civil servant father. He was born on 16/08/1961 in Ankara. He had his primary, secondary and High
school education there. He had to postpone his education because of the worst period in Turkey; political, economic and politicalchaos. Then they moved to Istanbul
with his family. Since primary school he was interested in literature, significantly poetry and was involved in various activities
and educational studies. Some of his poems were published in various literature magazines e.g.: Sair Cikmazi Dergisi-Dead
End Poets Society Magazine, Yalin Ayak Dergisi-Bare Foot Magazine, Yasayan Yarin Edebiyat Dergisi-Living Darling Literature
Magazine, because of the economic crises are not making profit he carries on working. He has two sons Halit Dogus and Mustafa
Baris and Atilla addresses them as his treasures. Atilla is a very humble person and leads a modest life.
Hit the roads (180°)
don’t go wait we’ve got unfinished business fragile days at the courtesan
nights with my naked dreams I must come to you don’t go wait we’ve got lots of unfinished business we
will gather dreams mute darling hit the roads (180°) if lived without questioning without comments/borderless the
past is beautiful and morrow as well...
Poem by: Attila Elüstün 18.11.2009 Translation by: Günsel
when mystery descended to the shores of Erenkoy our dreams are hazy saddened
and guiltless the foxes' don't throw satanist javelins into our brains without underestimating we keep alive
our moments/memories the rest of our days will be lived preciously we don't intend to walk double-faced on
the streets and not to delineate the sadness in our green eyes we beat it in our hearts even if it would hurt every
single bit of us we don't repeat words we don't get offended we have no intention of offending the night will
pierce the horizon once again. with a warm smile .../our place we know our limit.
Poem by: Atilla Elüstün-
İstanbul Translation by: Günsel Djemal -London
There isn't a centre of love
There isn’t a centre of love
“fear and be wrathful of the wine because it is
badly red” Attila Ilhan
tonight the wine is badly red i have wrapped the stars into my tobacco rainbow
in its smoke i am aged she is fresh is it because of that?
i don’t understand anything from what I am drinking
are droppings of a thousand fragments of steam, on my table one of which is…my love the moss tastes like fish
green like Bogaz i am questioning my past, in the pages of dream is it because of that?
i don’t understand
anything from what I am drinking my heart is rear, one dark horse wired phosphorescence in his mane stars, sea and
the moon on her lips, sorrowful one rosebud
can not keep-up is
it because of that?
tonight the wine is badly red i don’t understand anything from what I am drinking.
by: Atilla Elüstün 30.12.2002/2004 - İstanbul Translation by: Günsel Djemal - 2004-19/2/2009 - London
its sword in hand the night is approaching me on my mind... the grey hair of my
battle and my loneliness it’s the lovesick season the pen fell in love with the paper the agony on my guitar autumn on
my tongue your favourite/that melancholy tune my dream a pensive duck
born in 1959 in Cyprus. She is a poet well known and read on both sides of divided Cyprus. She studied Sociology at Middle
East Technical University in Ankara.
She directed and presented a literary program called “41st
Room” at CYBCradio (1992-2007) and the program Peace Garden (2001-2003)
at radio ASTRA.
She is currently teachinglanguage
and literature at the Turkish Studies department of University of Cyprus, writing weekly columns for BirGün newspaper (Turkey) and Yenidüzen newspaper (Cyprus).
She has published
six volumes of poetry ‘Hyacinth and Narcissus’ (1979), ‚Tears of Wars’(1980), Doors’ (1992),‚The Moon is Made of Love’ (2000),‘Chambers of Memory’ (2005 ) Selected poems (2008)and one novel ‚Secret History of Sad Girls’ (2002). Her poetry has been translated to 20 languages,
published in literary magazines and anthologies. She has participated in poetry festivals and readings around the world. Among
others she has received the Anthias Pierides Award in 1998.
Once there were knocks on doors
and women used to open them
life used to pass by
dusted and polished each day
longed for a great love
so as to watch their own beauty
through the centuries
to be frozen like a painting was their desire
From little girls
they grew up like docile saplings
and wearing glittering wedding rings on their fingers
like white doves
Some took to the streets
not even becoming mothers
some became falling stars and disappeared
some hang themselves on a rosebush
waiting for life without a question
The window sparkled
the washing ironed
but never a knock on the door
the man who would love madly
The world was a horse carriage
and women pulled it at top speed
how could they not understand
thata woman was the strongest
and the word freedom
was like a new year's eve party in the sky
they should never find the right dress
they could never go
They were just surprised
at the men's soldier-dress
and for the watches
they knitted sweaters
to be worn secretly under uniforms
Life knitted by pain with fine needles
wounded by bullet holes
their dowries trampled upon without pity
every time man massacred man
they lost those most cherished husbands and sons
Tears and loneliness burnt in candles
incense burners smoked
in cold widow rooms
Their photographs were on the walls
the sons, husbands and in the hands of guns
the thick eye brows, hard looks, thick moustaches
ruled their homes
Interfering with everything from where they were
from the door knocker to the food in the pan
their shouts still ringing all around
while children like kittens hid behind their mothers' skirts
They prayed and prayed
and carried myrtle branches
to the graves on every festive day
longing was lived with imperceptible pain
from the heart to the groin
Once there were knocks on the doors
and women used to open them
life used to pass by
dusted and polished each day.
No permission to cross
in reality it is the traces of hope which disappear