That was a different time
Of all times,
Inside the tiniest earrings
Of white, round beads
She left by my bedside
Were light beams and shadows.
Perhaps Güler’s hours of love
Remained in those worlds. . .
Or maybe they flew away
Descending onto a vacant shore
With suns receding from rooms.
Day breaks, night descends.
Those kisses and caresses
Are now bright white pebbles
Found by children.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Monday I expect a letter from you
Tuesday I pour my distress onto paper
Wednesday your voice resounds in the void
I shall sigh my heart out on Thursday
Friday I am in the theater of memories
Saturday is pregnant to so much
How about Sunday my love
Just wait for Sunday
translated by Talat S. Halman
I woke, this meant a love in the world
–Your voice was like forsaking a rose.
I was black, like paper on all sorts of life
Each day my name was on those seas, could you see
For a millennium I was an M sound in Lower Egypt.
I struck at loves, didn’t anyone notice
For a millennium I unfurled you in my loneliness.
Whenever my name came up in your bright light
. . . . .This meant a love in the world.
In Egypt once upon a time solitude was lovely
It was a brave new sky one could cross with you
When I glanced, it grew like a lily in my memory
Now it’s a shadow that grows tall in my meadows
This is the way I woke which wasn’t really waking
. . . . .This meant a love in the world.
translated by Talat S. Halman
If sometimes I say that flowers smile
And if I should say that rivers sing,
It’s not because I think there are smiles in flowers
And songs in the rivers’ flowing. . .
It’s so I can help misguided men
Feel the truly real existence of flowers and rivers.
Since I write for them to read me, I sometimes stoop
To the stupidity of their senses. . .
It isn’t right, but I excuse myself,
Because I’ve only taken on the odious role, an interpreter of Nature,
Because there are men who don’t grasp its language,
Which is no language at all.
translated by Richard Zenith
I see a cloud at day’s end and just can’t look away.
It has no mind at all, no mind and surely no talent:
a sad flake of bright jade radiant with color, drifting
ten thousand miles of clear sky, nowhere it began.
translated by David Hinton
On bamboo leaves and rooftops the autumn dew is clear
vermilion strings and jade harmonics multiply old feelings
Calling Crow and Departing Cranes are tunes I somehow recognize
containing as they do the sounds of a breaking heart
translated by Red Pine
You’re on my mind when I walk, on my tongue when I talk,
if I sit, You’re next to me, otherwise. . .what do I have?
translated by Paul Smith
The fire ban darkens an auspicious day
I still feel the pain of our parting
seeing these flower-covered fields
reminds me of the trails of Tuling
when will we ride together again
I’m feeling much older today
translated by Red Pine
NOTE: Cold Food Day occurred 150 days after Winter Solstice (late spring). This is in the commentary by Red Pine.
Taking time off in the enervating heat
we drifted in a skiff along the city moat
a light wind blew open our robes
a flute echoed through the woods
thin clouds darkened the water
a fine rain cooled the lotus-scented air
rather than pour out our cares
we raised our cups to the flowers
translated by Red Pine
You came with New Year’s greetings
walking here alone in the bitter cold
knocking on a bamboo temple gate at night
covered with snow from your hike through the hills
after starting a fire deep in my stove
and closing the door to my empty room
we shared a gourd full of wine
and didn’t speak of all the things that went wrong
translated by Red Pine
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 