What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
love poem
Neither Did I See Such Loves Nor Such Partings by Ilhan Berk
Each time I think of you
A gazelle jumps down, drinking
Water among the reeds.
Each evening a green olive
And a piece of sky take me
Boldly to your arms.
Each time I think of you
Roses grow at my fingers,
I give water to horses,
Loving the mountain more.
untitled poem by Cemal Süreya
Whereas a glass of water was enough to wet your hair,
A slice of bread, two olives to fill our stomachs
If I kissed you once, the second felt itself neglected,
If I kissed you twice, the third bent its neck in sadness. . .
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
Empty Streets by Ozdemir Ince
I look at you
and my teeth are set on edge as if I’ve eaten green plums
dawn’s peacock spreads open its tail.
I look at you
and our glances meet like two brooks,
the voice lilies of the street blossom.
untitled poem by Cahit Kulebi
Rosy lips
your white hands
hold my hands, babe,
hold them a while.
In the village where I was born
no birch trees;
I pine for cool water, babe,
caress me a while.
In the village where I was born
no wheat stems,
toss your hair around, babe,
toss it around.
Where I was born
bandits prowl at night;
I hate loneliness, babe,
talk to me a while.
the village where I was born
only northern wind;
my lips are cracked, babe,
kiss them a while.
In the village where I was born
only sour faces;
I am shy and sad, babe,
make me laugh a while.
Your face like Anatolia is beautiful;
my village is beautiful too;
now you tell me about your village, babe,
tell me for a while.
The Bee by Cemal Sureya
You are watching a bee whizzing by in the room
The way
You ate your milk pudding
Three days ago.
Only after mere three days of my cajoling,
Coaxing, feeding, lying
You reached this serenity:
Thin, naked
Your pale, still unripe breasts showing,
Leaning against the board,
Nibbling a mackintosh apple. . .
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
a tanka by Lady Izumi
There’s no color
called love
in this world,
yet how thoroughly
it has dyed my heart
translated by Hiroaki Sato
Cassia Flowers by Li Ch’ing-chao
The twisted limbs break
Into ten thousand flecks of gold,
On layer upon layer of carved jade leaves,
Fresh and bright as the grace of Yen Fu.
The heaps of plum petals seem vulgar.
The lilacs seem coarse and contorted.
Your perfume has broken into
My sorrowful dream of the one
A thousand miles away,
And left me drained of emotion.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
Untitled Poem by Lady Akazome Emon
I should not have waited.
It would have been better
To have slept and dreamed,
Than to have watched night pass,
And this slow moon sink.
Untitled Poem by Yamabe No Akahito
I wish I were close
To you as the wet skirt of
A salt girl to her body.
I think of you always.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Leonard Durso 