Dennis hopped into the nearest available rabbit hole, which led down into a whole labyrinth of interconnected tunnels. These all brought him to rooms full of pain and humiliation: letters tucked inside books, chilly bedtimes, lies, tears and (towards the end) a long poem about loss that Edith had read out to him, naked, with no explanation for the poem or the nudity, while she wept. Time passed and all he did was smile at Barry blankly. This sort of thing had been happening to him since Edith had gone. Entire minutes could go by, in shops and pubs and work meetings, in which he seemed to lose track of himself. When he came back again, he frequently found that people had given up on him. Conversations had moved on, shopkeepers were serving somebody else. He was, he supposed, glad that his marriage was finally over, but he hadn’t managed to prepare himself for the shock of it, the sheer exhaustion.
Month: October 2016
the ways to measure
the depth of the heart
the breadth of the mind
these are the ways
to measure
the capacity for life
for love
in your arms
holding onto you
a life jacket
losing myself
in your arms
Quantitative by Orhan Veli Kanık
I love beautiful women,
I also love working women;
But I love beautiful working women
More.
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
what passes for love
to think of you
even when I am with you
this is what passes for love
in my heart
Exodus by Orhan Veli Kanık
I
From his window overlooking the roofs
The harbor was in sight
Church bells
Tolled all day long.
From his bed the trains could be heard
From time to time
And at night.
He loved a girl
Who lived in the house across the street.
Be that as it may,
He left this town
And moved to another.
II
Now the poplars are in view
Out of his window
Along the canal.
Daytime it keeps raining
And the moon is up at night.
There’s a market in the square nearby.
As for him, all the time,
Whatever it is–a trip or money or a letter,
He keeps thinking of something.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Glass by Ahmet Haşim
Don’t think it’s rose, or tulip,
filled with fire, don’t hold it, you burn,
this rosy glass.
Fuzuli had drunk of this fire
Majnun, fallen with its elixir
into the state of this poem.
Those drinking from this cup burning
why, filling the night of love
with moans and mint, end to end.
Filled with fire, don’t hold it you burn
this rosy glass.
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
a picture of you
a picture of you
one thousand words
all of them
lost
through the crack
in my heart
Trip by Orhan Veli Kanık
Birch trees are beautiful.
Still
When we arrive
At the last stop
I prefer
Being a river
To being a birch tree.
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
At Times by Metin Cengiz
at times comes someone
settles down into my heart
surrounding my whole body
the iron protecting me melts
utters words I’ve never heard
telling me about myself
whisks me far away
upsetting my world
no, this is not the only thing I want to explain
this is someone else or you perhaps
but in the end I understand
I am the traveler of myself
translated by Pınar Besen
Leonard Durso 