Friday night, Istanbul

there’s an Irish band
possibly The Waterboys
on the sound system
at a bar
named after
a city in Ireland
though no smiling
Irish eyes
at the tables
around me
this being Turkey
no Irish whiskey
in bottles
though I am
which is more
than I should
but pleased
to accept
so very far
yet quite near

a Quiche poem about home: The Face of My Mountains

My voice speaks out
to your lips,
to your face:
give me thirteen times twenty days,
thirteen times twenty nights,
to bid farewell
to the face of my mountains,
the face of my valleys,
where once I roamed
to the four world-ends,
the four world-quarters,
seeking and finding
to feed me
and live.

translated into Spanish by Prologo de Francisco Monterde, then into English by John Bierhorst