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• Raman Mundair
• Mima Simić
• Anahit Hayrapetyan
• Claudiu Komartin

Travel blog

Adisa Basic reads

Netalie Braun reads

Scattered words on inspiration (part four)
by Katerina Iliopoulou 23/01/10

What is inspiration? Do you think such a thing exists? Have you felt it/provoked it? Does it play any role in your work?

Such were the questions I asked some of my co-travelers interrupting their writing or translating, during the workshops usually to the sound of rain from outside. I took some notes and thus I am about to present them without much editing just as a trace of our co-existence and common or contradicting thoughts.

Christos:I dont ever refer to inspiration. When we start writing, we practice a
learned skill (because writing is excatly that: an acquired skill) and
everything centers around a process characterized by the double
burdern of knowledge and ignorance. To use a rather annoying metaphor:
the writer resembles an inexperienced cook trying to follow a complex
recipe. He reads every line as if it were an explicit order. Only
that, in the case of literature, there is no recipe and the writer
needs to invent one while "cooking". This is why writers are usually
relucntant in describing what writing actually is. Because they learn
each time anew, through trial and error. And this is our only
challenge.

Yaprak:It comes to me usually out of something painful. These events, feelings, are sinking inside and at some point they come out changed into words, ideas, stories. A poem I can think of, came after a terrible fight I had, after this feeling of extreme loneliness. But it does not tell the story it is transformed into something else out of my imagination. I thought of Robinson Crusoe, of having this island and meeting his own reflection in person. I thought of a person’s loneliness on this world as if he/she is in a lonely island like Crusoe, having nobody to share those lonesome feelings. That poem was born in this way, after an unhappy experience of feeling far away from the people around me. So you can feel it coming like some kind of special atmosphere like words in a distance.

Adisa:When we feel lucky and inspired we start, the point is why we continue. Poetry is more of a matter of the moment. In a short time you mobilize your whole senses and knowledge. It can be triggered by moving some borders in your physical life, but usually it is like a circle or wave, some days you feel naked and exposed to the world and other times you are in a way not moved by anything. Of course important sources of inspiration or a starting point for any creation is conversation with other people, all art and literature. An intensive environment is important but emptiness is important too. And of course movement is important, to find inspiration in real life not just literature. There are so many new insights and new effects, I prefer poetry which is aware of all the shifts and changes in the social and political world.

Annahit:I don’t know about inspiration, I know I started writing because it was the thing I could do best. I couldn’t paint, photograph, dance and literature was the only way to speak. My best friend at that time who was painting, was very shy and couldn’t speak, so when we went to an exhibition I started talking to this guy on her behalf and then I told him I was writing poems, he was interested and sent me to meet someone else who turned to be editor of this literary journal. So I met all these older writers and started to attend their meetings and hear them discussing on literary issues, and so that’s how my first book was published. My poems changed in the second book which is something between poetry and prose, there are other people in them now. I guess because of photography, you have to come close to people, to have contact with them, you have to watch them closely in their every moment. I have started a long poem with the name Annahit that will go on as long as I live. I don’t mind it to be perfect but alive.

BALKAN JIGSAW

Ivan Hristov 16/01/10

(translated from the original by Angela Rodel)

          Why did we have to read in a MALL? Maybe it would’ve been more interesting to read in the crypt of Alexander Nevsky Cathedral or in Sofia University’s Mirror Hall. In Istanbul we read in a 2,000-year-old basilica. It was amazing. Despite the fact that malls and poetry don’t really go together too well, everything was fine. Overall, our whole stay in Sofia went very well – minus the part where I had to take the Armenian writer Anahit Hayrapetyan to the passport office at the Interior Ministry. This is what happened: Anahit had gone to the Bulgarian Embassy in Yerevan and when they saw she had a Schengen visa because she studies in Denmark, they told her that she didn’t need another visa to go to Bulgaria. When she crossed the border, however, they told her that she could only stay in the country for 36 hours. And so the clock started ticking, Anahit. Entry into Bulgaria at 6 a.m. Stopover for one day. Stopover for a second day, leaving in the morning of the third day. All that adds up to a little more than 36 hours. As soon as I heard of this problem, I set about trying to solve it. After all, we were both part of the Eastern Bloc, communist countries, OK, so Bulgaria wasn’t part of the USSR, but we’re Orthodox Christians, too… Only our language is different. I can’t understand a single word of Armenian. Here the puzzle pieces didn’t fit together, but what can you do? We had to help each other out. At the passport office they explained to me that those are the rules, only 36 hours and it’s not their problem, it’s the Border Police’s problem. At the Border Police’s headquarters, they told me that they couldn’t do anything about it and that we should go to the passport office. We went back to the passport office and there they told us that it was the Border Police’s problem… Actually, we found out that Anahit would be fined at the border. She could leave the country without paying, but if she wanted to come back to Bulgaria she’d have to pay. So that’s what Anahit did. We got back on the express for the next stop – Thessaloniki – and at the border Anahit was fined, but didn’t pay.
          On the train our conversation centered around the topic of genocide. Anahit from Armenia argued with Bariş Müstecaplioğlu from Turkey. When she blamed Bariş for what his great-grandfathers had done to hers, he turned to me and said: “What about what Bulgarians did to the Turks?” It made me stop and think – not a bad argument at all… Everything was great in Thessaloniki. We’re Orthodox, we’ve got shared history – both Bulgaria and Greece were part of the Ottoman Empire. OK, so they didn’t live through communism and speak a different language, but we did take on Christianity from them. We’ll fit the puzzle pieces together somehow. Except for the fact that I was worried the whole time. I was supposed to read, but I’d forgotten the print-outs of my poetry in Bulgaria. All I had were the English versions. When I mentioned this to Christos Chrysopoulos, our Greek host, he told me not to worry, because the chance of a Bulgarian being at the reading was practically nil, so nobody would have any idea what exactly I was reading. I had a book by another Bulgarian poet, Georgi Gospodinov, with me and I toyed with the idea of reading something from it, but then I figured that would be pushing it, so in the end I decided to translate my own poems from English back into Bulgarian. I was reading with two of my fellow poets from Greece – Giorgos Chantzis and Vassilis Amanatidis. Their poems sounded so light and rhythmic, it was as if Cavafy and Seferis were reading next to me, while I sounded like an archeologist trying to decipher Ancient Greek to get back to Proto-Bulgarian. Immediately after the reading a slightly swarthy, chubby man came up to me and exclaimed ecstatically: “I’m from Bulgaria! Your poems were fantastic!” Well yes, theirs is theirs, ours is ours.
          We got back on the express and crossed over into Turkey fine-free. So this is Istanbul – the mythical city. We share a history. We were part of the Ottoman Empire. We have common words and common cuisine. OK, so they are Muslims and speak a different language, and were never under communism, besides. I noticed that when you take a cab you can pile five or six people in it without anyone batting an eyelash. That’s not allowed in Bulgaria. In Bulgaria you can get away with not wearing your seat belt. At Kadir Has University we had writers’ workshops every day. The idea was for us to write, translate each other’s work and talk about literature. Gökçenur Çelebioğu had translated my poems into Turkish, but since he was very busy, I had to discuss the translation with Bariş Müstecaplioğlu instead. The situation was a bit perplexing – how could I discuss the translation with someone who wasn’t the translator himself? Bariş asked me some very probing questions about the ideas behind my work, listened to my answers carefully, and then announced: “The translation is excellent!” And I took his word for it. After all, I don’t know any Turkish.
           The evening before we were flying back home, Olga Tokarczuk invited me to meet up with her group of friends, but with great reluctance I turned the invitation down because I wanted to say a proper goodbye to my friends from Word Express. The organizers of the Istanbul Book Fair had given each writer a bottle of RAKI as a going-away present. It sounds like Bulgarian RAKIA, but tastes like Greek UZO. We decided to celebrate our final evening together on the terrace of our hotel. When the clerk at the reception desk saw us with that much alcohol, he almost fainted. We had to call the hotel owner to get permission to use the terrace. That RAKI was the same color as the moon. My friends had already learned that I play the kaval (wooden flute). As we sat quietly sipping moon under the enchanting Istanbul sky, someone suddenly told me to go get my flute. Owen from Wales grabbed a guitar, Marko from Croatia found a tambourine and we all started playing. I think the jigsaw puzzle fit together this time. OK, so Marko Pogacar is Catholic, and Owen Martell isn’t from the Balkans, but that really doesn’t matter anymore.

SCATTERED WORDS ON INSPIRATION (part three)
Katerina Iliopoulou 2/12/09

What is inspiration? Do you think such a thing exists? Have you felt it/provoked it? Does it play any role in your work?

Such were the questions I asked some of my co-travelers interrupting their writing or translating, during the workshops usually to the sound of rain from outside. I took some notes and thus I am about to present them without much editing just as a trace of our co-existence and common or contradicting thoughts.

Gokcenur: Muse is the one you can’t explain. “The first line is from God”, it is said. We wonder around the muse but we can’t go were she is, so we go to what she likes. We go to the books and the other poems and then maybe the muse finds us. She has habits you know, it is like this little creek in the forest, the one we found in front of us accidentally and then can’t find it again. So we search and search, we fall down, the knees are bleeding, we cannot find the creek without getting lost in the forest. Some dare to get lost again and again and if you get lost many times it doesn’t matter anymore. You have found your way in the forest and to the creek.  And it can be anywhere, even in the smallest things in regular life, anything can bring it back.

Milan: At most cases I am triggered by something I see or hear, a small situation in the street, words I overhear from people, anything. I need some kind of movement, like walking, or traveling, or being in nature where everything moves, or inner movement, like reading. Inspiration can happen anytime, I usually get it in small doses.  There is something central and then I work around it. I think I am a collector of real life, real things like a scene I remembered just now. I saw these two people from a distance, a boy and a girl and the girl was laughing at something the boy was saying and as I came closer I realized he was mute, I have never imagined someone could be so funny moving their hands.

He was standing there alone, with her,

Looking at her with his tender eyes

Which always received only movement;

He watched her steady, merged with shadow.

His gestures were now light, pushed by the wind,

Their sense laid in the field drunk with the sun;

She too was happy, she laughed lightly,

The way that he,

The witty mute boy,

Had never smiled.

Adela:It’s is not like a strike but something very subtle, you cannot predict it, but you can feel it coming. If you are able to catch that moment, fine, but then again you might come up with nothing. Mostly you just want to write, you keep on writing and find your ideas in the process of writing. Inspiration is a mixture of feeling and knowing and it is a work in progress. In my last book which turned out to be a novel I have found these five people, five women, talking and the things they were saying evolved, I got to know them, find their voices which are part of their stories. Writing makes you change your usual environment, to put your self in someone else’s place, you meet people in the most intimate sense.

SCATTERED WORDS ON INSPIRATION (part two)
Katerina Iliopoulou  28.11.09

What is inspiration? Do you think such a thing exists? Have you felt it/provoked it? Does it play any role in your work?

Such were the questions I asked some of my co-travelers interrupting their writing or translating, during the workshops usually to the sound of rain from outside. I took some notes and thus I am about to present them without much editing just as a trace of our co-existence and common or contradicting thoughts.

Ivan: What we call inspiration is not really inspiration. Poetry is like another language that you have to learn. And this language you learn well by reading. Of course you can be inspired by the things around you, but I prefer to read about them instead of looking. I prefer this secondary approach to the “real” experience. Every idea or content in poetry is some kind of experience. I just feel that the thing I draw from the other texts, is some kind of humanity that has enriched the primary experience, image, fact. Inspiration is a moment out of time, when my consciousness touches the meaning of the world.

Mima:I don’t believe in inspiration at all. If I have free time I sit down and produce something. The whole notion of inspiration is a romantic idea. I think I write best when I am disconnected and it is better for me to write without fixed ideas, so that what I produce is not too structured. This way it takes an organic structure of its own, the inspiration lies within the work. Writing is very hard work, you have to read a lot and it also takes some interaction with other arts which become sources of ideas. Film is a very important material for me, combining the visual, the audio and the writing. The editing process is often common in writing and film.

Marco:Inspiration is a notion of the early romanticism. I consider myself a “textualist”. If anything emerges it emerges from literature, it is mere interpretation of other texts. Every writer comes from other writers. Writing is a craft and a product of the culture you belong. You have to learn it and then you sit down and you write. You are to recompose the tradition to discover your own voice, so if you don’t read you cannot write.  Poetry is like a chorus, singing. If you listen carefully you can hear in it the layers of different voices and traditions.

Igor:Inspiration is like a strike. You can never predict it, but you can sense it coming. Sometimes it reminds me the state I am when I feel that thirst for alcohol, so it is a physical thing. You have to let it happen and create the conditions to materialize itself. But I think it is also a sort of mechanism. Through that state last year I wrote many poems, working late at night. It feels like a necessity.

Free reading in Sofia

Barış Müstecaplıoğlu

16.11.2009

As Word Express authors, we were invited to a public event that aims to make people read loudly at least one page from different novels, stories and poems in the center of Sofia together to get people's attention to literature. It was both meaningful and entertaining :) Here are some photos of the event.
 

 

WORD EXPRESS (IONS)

Ivan Hristov

13.11.2009

Borders

the border guard
doesn’t know
English
or Russian
he strictly
guards
the borders
of language

A Wave in Thessaloniki

for Katerina

we stand on the shore
talking
a wave
digs
beneath our feet
but that
doesn’t matter...

Istanbul

1.

the both of us
you and I
are two of a kind
Istanbul
hushed
we stand
in the harbor
of a
long history
our
extremities
sprawling
harmlessly
But who can
take away
our silence
Istanbul
who can...

2.

I’ve never
given it
much thought
But things
flow
in a certain direction,
yes things
really
flow
in a certain direction,
will we be able
to follow it

3.

I don’t live, I burn...

                                          P. K. Yavorov

I don’t live, I resound
my sound
quietly
glides
over the walls
of Hagia Sophia
quivers slightly
at the top
of the minarets
whispering what
a prayer
to God
or
romantic verses
everyone hears

4.

Basilica Cistern

Medusa,
you’ve
been standing
here
with horror
in your eyes
walled up
for two thousand
years
already
simultaneously
terrifying
and beautiful

5.

Space between Words

your
space
between words
is so
small
Istanbul
so
small
that’s why
we
don’t create
words
we create
stones

6.

Istanbul

Stone
        Upon
               Stone
               Sun
        Upon
Sun
     Wave
           Upon
                Wave
               Silence
                Upon
               Silence

7.

My friends
I’m writing to you
from Istanbul
that’s why
I’m not using
any punctuation
marks

SCATTERED WORDS ON INSPIRATION (part one)

Katerina Iliopoulou  Nov.13.09

What is inspiration? Do you think such a thing exists? Have you felt it/provoked it? Does it play any role in your work?

Such were the questions I asked some of my co-travelers interrupting their writing or translating, during the workshops usually to the sound of rain from outside. I took some notes and thus I am about to present them without much editing just as a trace of our co-existence and common or contradicting thoughts. 

Mirt and Owen, Claudio and me (Katerina) in Nazim Hikmet center café in Istanbul 

Mirt: I do have an answer for inspiration coming from Aristotle: αυτόματον/τύχη, (automaton/tihe) meaning two types of causes for any act. The natural (internal) cause and the cause unknown to us (external) the one we can not predict. It seems we need both for the act of creation to start. You couldn’t obviously produce any situation that would make you inspired. Since you are a writer you sit down and write and maybe τυχη/ tihe (lack) will pay you a visit. Of course tihe can only happen to active people. So in a way you go after it by being active, alert. Tixe produces always something new, something that was not here before.  

Owen: If we mean inspiration to be the first flash of an idea, then that's only a small part of the work which might result. I tend to think of inspiration in more practical terms these days. In my experience, it comes – as well as from 'outside' – from within, from the actual writing. You write yourself into inspiration and writing produces the inspiration for more writing. That said, you can't predict the time an idea will take to be completed. I've been inspired – in the abstract sense – to  write a particular book for many years now but haven't yet been inspired in the actual writing of it. During that time I've written other things, so maybe inspiration – in terms of actual results – is the marriage of that first flash (for want of a better description) and a willingness, or ability, to work. Most writing is hard and deliberate; inspiration can make it feel less so. I write, I think, to find myself in this privileged position; the place were I feel most alive and active, the writing place.  

Claudio: We have become very critical of all the romantic ideas about inspiration, but I doubt whether we should forget all about them. I used to wonder if we could provoke inspiration, to look for a mechanism behind it, to reach this state of mind lets say, with drugs or alcohol. I look at the idea of inspiration as something coming from the outside, with skepticism, but there are some experiences I have that I cannot explain. I mean writing like being in a hallucination. There is thinking and planning, but this unknown state is part of the artistic experience. I think we need to accept that there are inner layers of our conscience that we don’t have access to. What we call inspiration is maybe a kind of vehicle to access these areas. In any case it is only a means not a goal 

Katerina: As I said talking with Mirt and Owen who asked me, inspiration to me is always a kind of dialogue. Something tries to talk to me, I try to answer back, so often I find that writing of poetry is like a hearing exercise. I have to be very still and listen to what is being said. Sometimes is not even language yet, it is movement, rhythm, tone. Sometimes what makes you write is the desire for writing itself. Writing will find something (ideas, images, people etc.) to materialize.  This is sometimes unpredictable, what we may call accidental (tihe) or even fatal. But this thing again, exists only because you are able to recognize and seek it, by being active. Poetry happens inside writing, although perhaps you can never fully grasp the meaning of your own metaphors. You create with your words a place where words can come again and again.

Milan Dobričić

well, alexandra reprimanded us, so we must start blogging! :) i am not much of a blogger, but i will put something for a start. i am still half here and half there, still expecting to look and see one of you, friends, and still looking through my window to see if it is raining still, or can we go and explore istanbul? what can i say? everything was new, wonderful, great! even the trains don't look that scary now! i am already starting to prepare the issue of our magazine dedicated to word express, so soon I will contact all of you travelers.

Stumbling

7/11/09, Athens , Katerina Iliopoulou writes:

Athens seems serene and calm and sparsely populated compared to Istanbul. This city is like a wave hitting you again and again with its monuments, its boats and ponds, its labyrinthic embrace of cobbled streets and hundred smells, its endless stream of humans. Although legendary for all Europeans nothing can prepare you for its beauty and its complexity. A city that cannot be decoded it seems to me almost impenetrable by sight or pace. Only by living here you could slowly begin to unveil it. But of course the people will help. Our Turkish hosts will try to let us in through their gentle gestures and deep eyes and their words. Always in a process of translation we all move slowly, not certain were we step now or will step next, trying this and that, being wrong, or triumphantly happy when we make it or happily failing most of the time.

  Three days have passed since I came back and still I cannot find my pace. I keep stumbling on your names and your faces, I keep feeling the vertigo of your different voices and rhythms, I keep loosing contact with stable ground to travel with you.

And I kind of like this. I would like to keep it for a while.

The world out of focus, shaken by the contact of such diverse utterances.

The vibrating doubt against any preconception or prejudice.

Isn’t that already the politics of art?

2/11/09, Istanbul, Mirt Komel writes:

Dear all and everyone and after all none of all,
I've just came home to a rainy Ljubljana and I already melancholichly miss your company, the Kraftwerk-style train journeys where we looked like a flying circus, our endless meaningful debates and meaningless jokes, the official ones and unofficial, the dramatic literary performances and theatralical impersonations in high-class society in which none of us really fit and at the same time fit more then anyone else there. From the sultanic palace with ceilings higher then the highest nose in the room, to the titanic boat-trip where the only thing I missed was a good storm so that we could have an opportunity to use those windcheaters, which would definitely not have been able to cheat the Bosporus.

And then of course the after-official semi-serious party-hours, enjoying the freedom to speak and act as we liked, not being too pretentious and knowing of why we were there and at the same time pretentiously testing each other's thinking, pushing ourselves to unexplored limits. These were for me the most beautiful hours, which sometimes extended backwards into the past day, sometimes into the morning Nargilas after every after-hour. And after, when the sun didn’t want to rise but we had to, pale morning faces and black stripes under the eyes, the signs of night-life and life as such, before break-feasting with devastated stomachs and zen-empty minds, before reaching for the next day to come, embracing the experiences which connected us in a very peculiar way, and which I’m sure we will all remember and treasure carefully…

I’m sure that you are having a great time now, enjoying as much as you can the rest of the voyage through the always-inspiring streets of Istanbul. I wish you as many unpredictable collisions as possible between yourselves and your self.
Yours, Mirt

First Stop: Romania

27/10/09, Bucuresti-Sofia, Barış Müstecaplıoğlu writes:

We have spent three wonderful days in Bucharest with Anahit Hayrapetyan from Armenia and Ognjen Spahic from Montenegro, and now we are preparing for our first journey by train to Sofia. I am excited because one of my books, The Coward and The Beast will be published in Bulgarian translation soon, and I hope I will meet the translator who is working on my book during this visit too. We are a good group, continuously making jokes and enjoying the time we are sharing together. We have made many new friends in Romania, and everyone, especially our Florin Bican from the National Book Centre, has been very kind and helpful. Florin showed us around the city between the planned events.

The weather was very good so we could do long walks exploring the city of Bucharest. On the first day, we gave a reading in our language and then our dear colleague, the writer Claudiu Komartin, read the translations of the texts. In the evening, we attended a house party with young Romanian poets and translators. We had talked about literature and our countries drinking beer and coffee until late. The next day, we met many contemporary Romanian writers and Florin’s students who are young translators of Romanian literature from different countries such as Italy, USA and Bulgaria, attending a course organised by the National Book Centre. We had a literary discussion together in a beautiful castle on the shore of a lake in the woods.

During the first day’s reading and the second day’s discussion, we tried to find answers to mainly three question, “what we expect from word express project as participating authors”, “why are we writing” and “what is the use of writing today”. These were interesting questions and I want to share my answers to these questions with all of you. Maybe we can talk about them again when we meet other travelling authors on the way.

I’d like to thank everyone for their perfect hospitality during our stay in Romania. I am leaving part of my heart in Bucharest, and - I must say that I also fell in love with Romanian food, everything we ate here was delicious!

I can already see that the Word Express project gives me a great opportunity to encounter different cultures, people and literatures. I believe that the more you know about the world and people the better you write. I expect that such an experience will provide me with new viewpoints, a deeper knowledge about the countries I will visit and a better understanding of the people in the region. I am sure that all these will enrich my writing in the future. I look forward to sharing my writing with the other authors during the journey and learn from them in the process. I am sure we will develop many good and long-lasting friendships that will inspire us throughout our writing careers.

I write because I discovered already as a child that I love to develop stories and I soon found that others enjoy reading them. This has always been my main motivation. It is a wonderful feeling to make friends all over the world through writing. I see my readers as my best friends since I share my deepest feelings and wildest dreams with them. And I also believe that literature still has a great deal of power in this age. It can be a bridge between us to enhance the relations and understanding between people and nations.

Many people call this age as “information age” but I call it as “screen age” because we spend most of our times in front of screens, the screens of mobile phones, the screen of television, the screens of computers etc. Today all of us are “watchers” of the world but only watching is not enough to understand what is behind the events and what is inside people’s hearts and minds. While watching a movie you only see what the character does but while reading a good novel, you see the world through the eyes of the character. You hear his or her inner voices and you begin to share his or her feelings. This makes you understand different people better. And understanding each other better will make it possible to find solutions to problems in and between our countries. Or at least it will make us better persons and this is important too.

Sometimes we think that “world is too big and I am too small, I can’t change the world although I am not happy with it” and use this thought as an excuse for not doing anything useful. But the world is not something separate from us, it is not something that we can take, change and put on its place again. The world consists of “us”, it consists of our behaviours, our acts and our thoughts. In fact we are changing the world continuously by our every action. And good literature can help us find out the best actions by providing us with a better understanding of people and what of what it is to be a human being.

Ljubljana

26/10/09, E fe Duyan writes:

Prešeren’s protective eyes watch
over the city from his plinth.
But look, not at the obvious :
that he seems strong -
that he looks at
the slow water flowing,
and how time is fast.
Up and down with his giant’s step along the river,
and of course, he is drunk
and of course, the day is full of rain,
among the dream filled sonnets
a woman disappears slowly.
But don’t look at the obvious:
that he has self confidence -
And that although he feels the wind in his hair
he would fall at the feet of that woman.
And although he can plant the tongue of Slovenia in the soil
he doesn’t have any words to call her back.
And Prešeren, I also have dreams, even though they’re not burning.
And Prešeren, I also have poems even though they’re not so brave.
And Prešeren, I also have a woman who hasn’t turned her back on me yet.
I’m thinking about how much she might be mine
in the wet and empty streets of Ljubljana.
and it’s possible to realise a dream,
but it’s not possible
to find the right words to call her back
before learning how to cry.

24 Ekim 09 Trans. by Raman Mundair*

Efe Duyan

* It was a great experience to work with Raman, my dear fellow traveller, on translating the poem. She has given fine advices so that maybe I am going to rewrite (at least to think about) some passages of Turkish the version. Have the poets to be always arrogant? I don't think so.

Raman Mundair

Quick impressions - Word Expresso! ... read here

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