Elegy For My Mother Huriye Ay
Stay a little longer, I will tell your fortune, she would say, to make me stay. When I said I have to go, she would beg, please stay a little longer. I still couldn't stay. I will come again, I would say, to please her.. “When?", she would ask. She would have wanted to know. When?
She knew that time was running out for her. We, her children (Aysel, Ekrem, Mircan, Samiya) who are still alive and left behind thought that, she was immortal and would take us all to the grave. Time was not important to us.
What am I going to do, she often asked. Her soul, trapped in her body, which can no longer move freely, is in pain. She was asking: What am I going to do? Will I die? "Mommy, we're all going to die, but we live now. We're alive now. You're alive now. Think about it. We're here now". These words were somewhat comfortable. Let me kiss you, she would say. But you just kissed me mom, don't lift me up now. I'm tired because of the road to here, I would say.
When she looked at my face and said, you are so beautiful, do you know how beautiful you are, I would reply, I don't know, and what does it matter, everything is temporary.. Now that she is not here anymore, how important are these conversations that I did not value enough at the time. It's not about being beautiful or not, but the fact that no one will say those words to me the way she did, the fact that no one will see me through her eyes. How important was the way she expressed her admiration for a garment I wore, the way she exposed her jealousy, and even the fact that she wanted it from me.
Now the armchair, which I combed and braided her hair, and put a blanket on her shoulder (Mircan's blanket, she used to say) is empty. When I go to my mother's house, I look at the empty armchair. Now she looks at me from the photos I took and calls out from the videos of her singing folk songs. I can still smell her scent.
Please, I want to see her when she's hot, before her body gets cold, please let me enter the morgue, I said at the hospital. I went and saw. I touched and kissed her silky skin, which has never wrinkled despite the age of ninety-three, with my tears. It was still warm and still smelling good, but she wasn't there. To my brother Ekrem, who was almost fainted, she is not here. I said, from now on, she will be with us everywhere, but even if I say so, this consolation is not enough.
The epic story of my mother Huriye Ay is in my book "The Night The Dark The Grasshopper and You". She was known not only for her beauty, but also for the beauty of her voice and her very strong energy.
She didn't die for me. On August 21, 2022, she set sail for new journeys, new forms of existence, possibilities and adventures. She was very afraid of separation, of going into the unknown. I hope she is aware now that there was nothing to be afraid.
I have her voice in me. I dedicate my album "LAMENTATIONS" to my mother. I present this album by adding new laments to a selection of laments that I have performed in my various albums and live performances over the years, and greet the souls of my mother and all my loved ones who have been passed away. I have never sung songs or laments without thinking about them.
I have my mother's voice in me. I am thankful to her and call out with these laments, and dedicate this album to my mother Huriye Ay. You will be able to access my elegies on November 20, 2022. However, you can pre-save now by clicking here