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2009

,

Husnu

The Turkish ClarinetistThere is no use reading this one unless you have an access to

this track of Husnu's .It is hard to locate the title of it while the

track are only numbered to me , but it is the only live track

within his albums, sort of a night club audience applauding to it.

This is not just a musical theme, in fact , it is the puree of a

wounded heart ,full of anguish , regardless of whose blade hadbeen the one to stab and cut . The whole wound is Turkish ,

same as the players identity, but the blood that it managed to

shed had a universal pattern , borrowing all alphabets of the

world . It would have flown all the way across the world , not

requiring any ticket, if it were one of Kenny G's hits since he is

a famous American artist . Listen to the tunes of the clarinet that

appear to be escalating sky high , as if a plant surrounded by a

thousand rivaling plants, reaching up to beat them and grab itsshare of sunlight, as if addressing them that it is the best, and

deserves life in the first place, more than they do .

If it were only for his title to have fancy neon lights and shiny

signs like else , it would have grant him the applause of theatres

and music halls, tickets sold out too, may be . It all is because

they do not figure out for real, who is Husnu ,the Turkish

clarinet. How I wish to god that I were attending this concert of

yours, I would have shaken hands with you, and asked you toplay it once more , over and over again. I would have told you

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of an Arabic poem that goes this way "Heal me with what had

been the real illness of mine ". Our bitter memories, and our

lives that are far shorter than just being short, these two ones for

sure, as well as others, many many more, and the soul that has

abandoned the body within one great leap, but the body is

writhing still , as if a wounded deer, what is it that is nourishing

its muscles in absence of that soul, I wonder? With colors of the

iris having gone astray?

Play it for me, me in particular, and set my tears free, far more

than the existing ones, a stranger whose memory had

squandered all features of its own, to further get lost more and

morea stranger whose alphabet has finally got alienated to all

around him, to the extent of making him stick to talking tohimself, a stranger seeking oblivion within your "talking" blows,

in a time where all the world around him has become a

homeland to him, but we all know it damn well, that all God's

wealth lie within the real homeland of ours ,that one which had

been made to be a No Man's Land.