What There Is by Kenneth Patchen

In this my green world
Flowers birds are hands
They hold me
I am loved all day
All this pleases me
I am amused
I have to laugh from crying
Trees mountains are arms
I am loved all day

Children grass are tears
I cry
I am loved all day
Pompous makes me laugh
I am amused often enough
In this
My beautiful green world

O there’s love all day

For A Hopeful Ending by Turgut Uyar

one day I leave what is to remain of me
everything left unfulfilled remains

who would want to die in summertime
everything I left unfulfilled remains

my life seems to be of a whiteness
everything I left unfulfilled remains

I expand I scatter I am white
one day I leave, what is to remain of me

one day I leave oh vigorous horse
something of mine will surely remain

translated by Omer Kursat

I woke Up Three Times Loving You by İlhan Berk

I woke up three times loving you
I then changed the water in the vase
I could see a cloud that had taken off, drifting away.

Your face looked at if it fell off a part of the morning.

I paced the street the balcony and a half finished poem
I was bored I cooked for myself I dried herbs
I could hear a voice say “My Laurel!”

Your face was like the first days of the Republic.

I got up then walked up and down
Read poems, I reached the age of the poems
I felt your breath of clove gum on me.

I run through it over and over until only your beauty remains.

translated by Omer Kursat

At An Old Street Of Pera by İlhan Berk

Birds ascend from Hagia Irene
A stalk of grass behind their ears.

I tell myself that I am here finally
Here at this place, intersecting wth an old atlas.

A cat is gazing into your eyes
And the sky further below, as low as it can be.

And a woman trying to cross the street
I think of you and her incredibly thin neck that I do not see.

Peddlers, soldiers, knife sharpeners pass in front of me
And the sulky laborers of our world.

A voice says we are on the same peninsula
And vanishes down an old street of Pera.

I tread an old street of Pera like this every night
Every night with your mud on my soles.

translated by Omer Kursat

At Fırst by Turgut Uyar

no one spoke it, perhaps only contemplated
because it exists in one’s life
exists like sleep and anger
no one spoke it
like the sun setting
in salty seas
I missed it too
even though my eyes
are in search of stains all day
I missed it, but one can say that
apart from the entire history of poetry
apart from all values plus or minus
apart from all things previously explained
as in the summer of the hottest countries
in the winter of all colds
I burn I get cold I feel awful
I am of no use
but I still love you
so then, love me too

translated by Omer Kursat