I’ll not write again
things a young man
thinks, not the words
of that feeling.

There is no world
except felt, no
one there but
must be here also.

If that time was
echoing, a vindication
apparent, if flesh
and bone coincided–

let the body be.
See faces float
over the horizon let
the day end.

I am through
Dragging it
All these years
At the tip of my feet.
About time
We live a little,
My shadow
At someplace,
I
Someplace else.

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

She was a force of nature, a short, dynamic, attention-seeking woman who charmed all who knew her. She would dance the tarantella in between serving courses at our family dinners, and sing off-key oblivious to criticism to Al Martino albums. She was a foot shorter than me but my long legs had to do double time to keep up with her when walking. And even though the weekly poker games at the dining room table were only for pennies, she took it so seriously that you would think they were playing for souls.
She actually played cards twice in my memory: Saturday nights with Uncle Joe (a cigar in his mouth, his green visor pulled down low on his forehead), Aunt Bernie (placid, accepting defeat before she even looks at her hand), her sister Mary (who fretted over each hand as if the mortgage depended on winning), Charlie (who was…

Whenever I eat,
I eat the pain of your love, mistress.
Whenever I get sleepy,
I dream of my love, my mistress.
Whenever I lie on my back in the house,
I lie on the pain of your love, mistress.
For whenever I walk about,
I step on the pain of your love, mistress.

translated by Frank Boas

I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
who remains calm and silent while I talk,
and forgives, gently, when I hate,
who walks where I am not,
who will remain standing when I die.

translated by Robert Bly

“My head is like some ridiculous barn packed full of stuff I want to write about,” Sumire said. “Images, scenes, snatches of words. . . in my mind they’re all glowing, all alive. Write! they shout at me. A great story is about to be born–I can feel it. It’ll transport me to some brand-new place. Problem is, once I sit at my desk and put all these down on paper, I realize something vital is missing. It doesn’t crystallize–no crystals, just pebbles. And I’m not transported anywhere.”
With a frown, Sumire picked up her two-hundred-and-fiftieth stone and tossed it into the pond.
“Maybe I’m lacking something. Something you absolutely must have to be a writer.”
A deep silence ensued. It seemed she was seeking my run-of-the-mill opinion.
After a while I started to speak. “A long time ago in China there were cities with high walls surrounding them…

To live is to build a ship and a harbor
at the same time. And to complete the harbor
long after the ship has sunk.

translated by Yehuda Amichai & Ted Hughes

Love at the closing of our days
is apprehensive and very tender.
Glow brighter, brighter, farewell rays
of one last love in its evening splendor.

Blue shade takes half the world away:
through western clouds alone some light is slanted.
O tarry, O tarry, declining day,
enchantment, let me stay enchanted.

The blood runs thinner, yet the heart
remains as ever deep and tender.
O last belated love, thou art
a blend of joy and of hopeless surrender.

translated  by Vladimir Nabokov

You’ll stand waiting in the rain your eyelashes will grow long
Dusk will descend in a little while
To the water that runs softly to the lonesome asphalt roads
You will walk and your eyelashes will get wet tenderly
And love will accompany you
From the marble sidewalk

“I love you so,” the girl
Who has made a kite out of her heart will say
That girl who sheds leaves when you steal a look

A dawdler, you will walk
Your heart seething with flighty passions
On your lapel a flower that offers all of its fragrance
Inquiring into the loves that have an unhappy ending

The desk will study you, the water glass will be full
When that young girl awakes now

translated by Talat S. Halman