Those Songs follows more than one feeling, and two large questions that feed each other: is fate truly written outside us, or do we build it again every day? And what remains in our hands -is it as light as what we've lost, or heavy enough to carry?
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The book unfolds in two parts.
The first, "The Wild Face of Fate," treats fate not as an abstract notion but as a force that seeps into daily life - sometimes in the shifting of a stone, sometimes in a song that resurfaces years later.
Here history and myth are woven in as thought itself: a Seljuk palace falling silent among the reeds, or a people's legend of melting an iron mountain with their own fire, meet the poet's private reckoning with fate on the same plane.
The second part, "As Life Passes...," brings this great occurrence down to the small objects of daily life: a cup, a cardigan, a chair left empty.
Here the poem's voice grows more intimate, slower -yet it never lets go of a social and historical awareness, setting justice, empathy, exile, and faith alongside private grief.
Toward its close, the book turns from the past to the future; the question of fate, which surfaces as surrender at the book's opening, ends on a conscious decision about what will be left to the next generation.
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The book's title comes from its third poem, and in a sense sums up the whole of its poetics: a song, without even knowing its own history, can carry more than one generation inside the listener at once...
Those Songs should be read in that light - not as a private notebook, but as a room where many voices, family, history, faith, and loss are heard at the same time.
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The book's range runs from the barest moments of private mourning to the widest layers of history and myth, yet nowhere does that range put the poet's own voice in shadow. What remains is the reader's part in the crossing.
Enjoy the reading.
