there’s an Irish band
possibly The Waterboys
on the sound system
at a bar
named after
a city in Ireland
though no smiling
Irish eyes
at the tables
around me
this being Turkey
no Irish whiskey
in bottles
here
though I am
pacified
which is more
than I should
expect
but pleased
to accept
so very far
yet quite near
home
Month: August 2015
acceptance
is knowing
what you can do
for as long as
you can do
it
I once knew a woman
who couldn’t decide
if she liked me
or not
by the time
she made up her mind
to tell me
I was someplace
else
Because by Nazım Hikmet
They’ll go to the moon
. . . . . . .and beyond,
to places even telescopes can’t see.
But when will no one go hungry
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .on earth
. . . . . . .or fear others
. . . . . . .or push them around,
. . . . . . .shun them
. . . . . . .or steal their hope?
Because I responded to this question
. . . . . . . . . .I’m called a Communist.
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
no respite
sleep
when it comes
is no respite
from thoughts
of you
at home, more or less
my cat looks up
as he hears a cat crying in the night
he looks at me with wide eyes
and no, I say
this is not New York
and you do not hear another you
we are aliens here, I say
this is Istanbul
and Turkish cats are crying
for food, for shelter
but you are safe
there is food in your bowl
water, treats
no hunger here for a stray New Yorker
and life goes on
in relative peace
climb back on the bed
and sleep, little friend
sleep
you are more or less
at home
from an untitled poem by T’ao Ch’ien
…my soul is not fashioned like other men’s.
To drive in their rut I might perhaps learn:
To be untrue to myself could only lead to muddle.
Let us drink and enjoy together the wine you have brought:
For my course is set and cannot now be altered.
translated by Arthur Waley
On Returning to Sung Mountain by Wang Wei
and so I have
The clear stream girdles the long copse,
Carriage horses amble with ease, with ease.
Flowing water seems to be purposeful.
Evening birds in pairs return.
Barren city walls overlook the cold ford,
Fading sunlight fills the autumn mountains.
Far and distant–below Sung’s height;
I’ve come home, and close the gate.
translated by Paul Kroll
from Each Note by Rumi
God picks up the reed-flute world and blows.
Each note is a need coming through one of us,
a passion, a longing-pain.
Remember the lips
where the wind-breath originated,
and let your note be clear.
Don’t try to end it.
Be your note.
I’ll show you how it’s enough.
Go up on the roof at night
in this city of the soul.
Let everyone climb on their roofs
and sing their notes.
Sing loud!
translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
untitled poem by Rumi
Listen to presences inside poems,
Let them take you where they will.
Follow those private hints,
and never leave the premises.
translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
Leonard Durso 