Writers’ Room
Writers’ Room: Zehra Mustafa (published in “Avrupa” newspaper) What does it mean to me a writer? To be the person who sits for many hours in a trusty chair, at an oak table pressed up against a wall or looking out on a busy street, or a canopy of trees, hoping that their blood, sweat and hours of solitude may be reduced to those pages that we so love to read. Interest has always been placed on the way in which an artist or writer lives, the Guardian back in 2007 did a long series on the Writers’ room which
poetry to fight with
A poem for strength- a great source to draw from- use it. Piss Factory by Patti Smith Sixteen and time to pay off I got this job in a piss factory inspecting pipe Forty hours thirty-six dollars a week But it’s a paycheck, Jack. It’s so hot in here, hot like Sahara You could faint in the heat But these bitches are just too lame to understand Too goddamned grateful to get this job To know they’re getting screwed up the ass All these women they got no teeth or gum or cranium And the way they suck hot sausage
Cyprus- Part Two
Cyprus│ Freedom to LearnPart Two (published in “Avrupa” newspaper) From a young age, I recall my father telling my sister & I, all my friends and their parents and any other human that we made contact with, that all you had to do was kick your foot in the sand and you would unearth a piece of pottery. He was right. The island’s rich history awaits man on all levels, weather it is in glass case holding Ajax’s horse, or the Castle walls of Famagusta designed by Leonardo da Vinci where Othello’s tower can be found, wherever one looked, history
Cyprus – PART ONE
Cyprus│ Land: ReturningPart One (published in ‘Avrupa’ newspaper) Love hath an island,And I would be there;Love hath an IslandAnd nurtureth thereFor men the Delights The beguilers of careCyprus, Love’s island;And I would be thereAt Paphos she dwelleth,And I would be there.At Paphos she dwelleth,And wealth cometh there.Afloat with the kissesThat Ocean doth bearFrom the hundred streams Like a shower unfurledOf the Rainless RiverBorn out of the world;There are the hil-sidesOn earth most fair,Pierian hill-sides,And melody there,The voice of the Nine,Is borne on the airOver the hill-sides,For Heaven is thereWith spirits divineAnd shining of fire;And there are the Graces,And there is
Strange Creatures: Artists & Writers under the Microscope
Literature │Strange Creatures Artists & Writers under the Microscope (published in Avrupa newspaper) Fellow reader, do you ever wonder what a writer or artist is doing whilst producing his latest masterpiece? Do you truly imagine them sitting at a desk in front of a window, gazing longingly with pondering expressions across their faces? What if you were to find out otherwise? This week we delve straight into the wonderful and truthful, albeit strange lives of some of our greatest writers & artists, here are just a few. Alexander Dumas the great writer of The Count of Monte Cristo and The
Poem of the day – Janet Frame
Oh, how I love new discoveries, and this week’s discovery for me is the wonderful poetry written by Janet Frame. A dear old friend gave me a copy of Janet Frame’s “Storms Will Tell” and I fell in love instantly, and today’s poem of the day is Frame’s “How I began Writing” How I began Writing 1 Between myself and the pine trees on the hill Thoughts passed, like presents. Unwrapping them, I found words that I, not trees, knew and could afford: lonely, sigh, night. the pines had given me my seven-year self, but kept their own meaning in
The Life of an Author
Literature │The Life of an Author (publihed in “Avrupa”) As I gaze across my room, allowing my eyes to fall upon the vast number of books that I have accumulated through many years; presents from people that know that I am obsessed with the written word, books that I buy from the market, the second hand shop, and the ones that I buy for myself at full price as a treat, I noticed that I have collected a decent number of biographies, autobiographies and diaries. It was while taking a second glance at these books that I had to ask
On Being Ill
I’ve had my fair share of bouts of illness which can last up to months and months, and I know many other who go through these bouts too. These bouts leave you feeling as though your soul is being slowly drained away, you can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you can’t work, you simply can’t function. But what is worst about being ill, it that sometimes you can not see the light, and the thought of being well again is alien…an employer’s dream ehh. Well, this is what it is like when being ill for a long time. Along with
Poems I had Written a long time ago
Here are a few poems that I had tucked away; A Mind I invite you to a mind, open.Inviting a select few who all, may wish to see,A light dispersed with colours enveloping the chosen scene.Each emotion in its own secret box, clear the way.The grand opening only happens once.We do not know, just how long they are here to stay,But for just a while, we will sit, watch and listen, to this special display. And so we clear the way,Aroused and prickled by twisted anticipationPondering and yearning for whatever it is that may be coming our way. An image
Why They Write
Literature │Why They Write Zehra Mustafa (published in “Avrupa” newspaper) What is it that makes a person pick up a pen, or flip open the lid of their trusty laptop? Is it pure egotism and the simple desire to be famous? Maybe it is the thought that when they are no longer a part of this mortal coil, that something that they had created would live on forever. What is the driving force that impels the writer, the artist, the creator to take it into their hands, and to make it their duty to share their beliefs and vision with
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