Ressam / Painter – Bilgehan Aydın

Bilgehan Aydın was born in Bursa on 22 August 1996. He began highschool at Bursa Atatürk Anadolu and graduated from the open highschool. After studying at Trakya University Psychological Counseling department and Adnan Menderes University Psychology department, he dropped out from both. Currently he is continuing his studies at İstanbul University Radio, Television and Cinema department.


Translated with the author’s approval by Irmak Ertaş

Painter, I am not a good daydreamer

I make up sensational dialogues

The barber and my father…

But I can never imagine him without a moustache

I sing praises someone’s lover

I can’t seem to spread the gunny over the roof

There is always something left missing

I imagine such a village

That lushes pasta grows on it’s lands

My auntie playing leapfrog at picnics

imam giving a mousaka recipe in the bowels of farming animals

Politicians are crowding the pulpit apparently

Burglars turn to a shade of blue

The village chief worships green

The butler wanders around with whisky at hand

Buddha is as much a shepherd as those by the mimbar

I can’t keep them in check.


Painter, I am not a good daydreamer

The shadows of things I overestimated

Always turn out barren

Anyways I paint unweathered clouds

From time to time

A windy, rainy, burgundy forest

The meerkat becomes the king

And the grasshopper a grand vizier

Only I laugh at this

And my sister.


I am not a good daydreamer

I’m telling you painter

There is only a pinch of hope left

And hungover words

Even though there is warmth in sharing

Simit* is cold says the beauty

Alas the lonely man

Mistakes the noise of construction

With a doorbell


It seems I’m not a good daydreamer

Hey painter

Flakes of her fall in the midst of spring

And cinnamon smells of her

In whirls

Super Mario is jealous

of my belt made of a rainbow

Ceaser evades his taxes from Jesus

I had to place Jesus somewhere

Even though I spoiled the rhythm

Pawns and poets alike

Snitch eventually


Alas good painter

I am not, no mate

A time machine under my head

Blankets of memories

I’m in a dream so sweet

Whoever wakes me shall be cursed

And be it a nightmare or not

I don’t know who cares

Many lives of those awake

Is seamless from slumber


You turned out a bit of a knucklehead

Painter with a delicate soul

Haven’ they told you

I can’t have serious dreams

Reason kills said the beauty once

He died when he fell

Off a balcony

The smoker

Even if they say smoking kills

I hardly think so

If I haven’t died when I fell in your dream

I don’t think I ever will.


Plus why should I die beauty?

Why, inordinate painter?

What’s the rush of the seller of dried nuts and fruits

Scattering confetti everywhere

Before greeting the children

The broom knows dancing too

I didn’t even finish my poem

Wherever are you off to painter?

Before I could taste phosphorous

Lay on the streets in delight, much as I want

Or play cards with my father.

*also known as Turkish bagel, is breakfast staple in Country

İlkyaz – hyrwyddo ysgrifenwyr ifanc yn Nhwrci

İlkyaz – amplifying the voice of young writers in Turkey

Related Posts