Insomnia by Elizabeth Bishop

The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she’s a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she’d tell it to go to hell,
and she’d find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.

In the Middle of the Road by Carlos Drummond de Andrade

In the middle of the road there was a stone
there as a stone in the middle of the road
there was a stone
in the middle of the road there was a stone.

Never should I forget this event
in the life of my fatigued retinas.
Never should I forget that in the middle of the road
there was a stone
there was a stone in the middle of the road
in the middle of the road there was a stone.

translated by Elizabeth Bishop

untitled Chinese poem 3 by anonymous

In the courtyard is a marvelous tree
its green leaves spreading a profusion of flowers
I bend a branch and gather blossoms
to send to the one I love

sweet smells fill my lapels and sleeves
but the road is long and nothing can reach you
these things have no value as precious gifts
they only remind me how long you’ve been away

translated by Charles Hartman

where home is

A walk around my neighborhood any day of the week puts my mind at ease. Today I didn’t go in to work, having spent the last two nights reliving memories death always conjures, so I took a walk, or rather limp since I fell yesterday running to catch the ferry and this body is slow in recovering, but anyway, a limp around the neighborhood to sort of ground myself again in the present tense of my life, rather than the past. And there it was, a nice, fairly sunny day, and I sat at the tea garden overlooking the Sea of Marmara, to rest my aching toe and my shoulder, and watched ships out at sea, had a Turkish coffee without sugar, then two glasses of cay and let myself be lulled into a peaceful state of mind.

I find there has been turmoil in my mind these last several months, thoughts of leaving, going back to The States, perhaps, or to another city in Turkey, Izmir, which is much more manageable than Istanbul, even thoughts of Naples, though on an internet search I could find no suitable employment there, but the idea of having broccoli rabe and sausage on a weekly basis, along with white clam sauce and linguine, does still appeal to me. I’m still torn emotionally about America. Sure, I miss those I love back there, my brothers, my friends, Rita, Steve & Ren in NY, David upstate, Gene in New Haven, Jimmy sunning himself in Puerto Vallarta now and posting numerous pictures on facebook to prove it, Randy in Seattle, the two Chucks in San Francisco, and Maureen and Carl in LA. Sure, I would like to be in a place where I could easily see them as frequently as I wanted, and needed, to. And the numerous people I love from the old ELI, Gilda, Jenny, Maria, Fernando, Jia Ling, the list too long to reproduce here. But my heart is still torn, perhaps never to heal properly, by others I helped so unselfishly who had a hand in dismantling all that I accomplished.

So I still linger here, where there are a few people who actually appreciate me, perhaps even understand me a bit, and there is time to write without the distractions of New York, though I miss some of those distractions–the theatre, films, the restaurants, the hum of Manhattan–but of all the many places I’ve lived, I find this neighborhood heads the list of favorites. And I have my opera house here which I go to several times during the season, and now have found two theatre companies within walking distance and so have seen Cyrano last week and will see Hamlet on Sunday. And though they’re in Turkish, I know the plays well enough to not only understand them, but to enjoy the acting, the production. And I have my neighborhood restaurants here, my barber, dry cleaner, fish market, fruit carts, grocery stores, my friendly pharmacy. It’s a world complete for me, and I feel so comfortable here I wonder why I would want to leave.

So though I’m not necessarily as happy as I was at work, it may be time to either change jobs or change the job into what I want (as my favorite Uncle Mike would say). I have a close friend returning to Istanbul soon so the conversations about books that I miss so much, about film, are not far away. These next few months are important in terms of decision-making for me and so I must also consider this neighborhood, my life here on weekends especially when I am completely at home, as a factor. And now, as I pause to grill some fish I bought earlier in the week from the fish stalls in Kadikoy and saute some spinach, to settle back to watch an episode from the Inspector Montalbano series I love so much, I feel at peace, even though there is no one special here to celebrate this day, this weekend with, but myself. But as a waiter once told me many years ago, “Better to be alone than in bad company.”

How true that is. How true it always was.

Symptoms Of Love by Robert Graves

Love is a universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy,
Laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares–
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.

Take courage, lover!
Can you endure such grief
At any hand but hers?

for Valentine’s Day from Hafiz

Oh my dear, how can I speak of being apart from you?
The eyes know a hundred tears, and the soul has a hundred sighs.

I’d not have an infidel suffer the torment your beauty has caused
To the cypress which envies your body, and the moon that’s outshone by your face.

translated by Peter Avery & John Heath-Stubbs

for Valentine’s Day: Thine am I, my Chloris fair by Robert Burns

Thine am I, my Chloris fair,
Well thou may’st discover;
Every pulse along my veins
Tells the ardent Lover.

To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish;
Tho’ Despair had wrung its core,
That would heal its anguish.

Take away those rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure:
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure!

What is Life when wanting Love?
Night without a morning:
Love’s the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.