The Silence Of Beethoven


Youth Adolescence
We thought we were swans.
A look, ugly duckling

I got a pimple on my friend first.
And then I
Mine are more dominant.

I thought I was a candle.
Seeing the Sun
My candle's out of the pale.

Black and white films were beautiful
But in real life
When I thought I was triangular
Between two points of life
Combine all points
Smiling Hanged Man

My only holiday days
I wore a festive dress
The room came in the rain

After the Ayran soda wafer years
32 I wanted to laugh with my tooth
The world did not allow
I found myself in the dental chair.
Like a tired warrior
I'm taken from my hands my curry algae

As my rage rises, foaming
In volcanoes
I got a wave of blue blue
Sleepless and Careless
Cherry rot
It swims my flogged night

The Silent Sea Inside US
Friends to curry Algae
Without saying the fat woman's aria
The curtain will not descend

Wait for the peace to end for silence.
The silence of the city is divided into two.
The Silence of the Living
The Silence of the Living Dead

What I like about the silence of death;
Peaceful, frightening and great dark silence.
No screams of cut lambs
No mandatory requirements.
You don't have to pretend to be alive.
So much silence.

The warm sun quietly on my face,
When I feel in the tissue and in every cell.
That's when..
I forgive myself and the world.
You don't have to pretend to be dead.
If I were as great as Beethoven's silence
The voices outside are like vortex

Until then, silence
Silence.. Silence.. Beethoven Silence
As much as the Deaf frog in my Heart
I missed the silence.

30th Apr 1982
24th March 2019

by Bulent Karaalioglu

Comments (1)

This is strange, weirdly captivating, and excessively haunted. Set at night, outside, it still dissolves into some inner dream world living in his head. Was his drug addiction responsible? Was he in the midst of a drug-induced hallucination? Well, I don't see how Coleridge the lyrical smackhead could write such well-done poetry with their rhythm and meter and depth and technical genius. I have to give credit to Coleridge the poetic genius not the drugs. He and the other Romantics were interested in exploring extreme states of mind and feeling, the dark groundwork of our nature as Coleridge called them.