There is something like alcohol in this air;
It’s making a guy like me feel bad, bad,
Especially if I’m also homesick;
Your lover one place,
You someplace else;
It’s making a person like me feel sad, sad.
There is something like alcohol in this air;
It’s making a guy like me drink, drink.
My mother died
In a dream
Last night
And my waking up
Crying
Reminded me
Of my crying when
One holiday morning
My balloon slipped through my fingers
And I watched it
Rise
Into the sky.
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
I’m waiting.
Come when the weather is such
That there can be no turning back.
translated by Talat Sait Halman
I was bored yesterday towards the evening.
Two packages of cigarettes didn’t do me a thing;
Tried to write, no good either;
For the first time in years I played the violin,
Walked around,
Kibitzed watching people play backgammon,
Sang songs off key,
Caught flies–a boxful.
Finally, damn it,
I came here to see you.
Robinson, my clever Robinson
you don’t know how I envy you.
If you could only show me your island,
there I would find peace of mind.
I’ll be the ship, you be the captain.
We can unfurl the sail one morning.
The sea becomes our shadow in the sun.
The journey. And suddenly we’re at our island.
I wish you could be my interpreter,
introduce me to the fish,
to wild birds and flowers,
say to them about me: “He’s one of us.”
I know how to climb trees.
I can tell a fruit that’s ripe.
I can also manage breaking stones,
making fires, cooking food.
Robinson, understanding Robinson,
if your island hasn’t sunk yet
take me there
before the seaways close.
Roads disappeared early
I lost my hope of disappearing
Something else covered your foot steps
Beyond the silence colored moon
Far away from everything, and stars
You became the denier of all gardens
Built your house where my freezing winds
Can’t find a branch to break
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.
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.
Getting a letter makes me dizzy;
Drinking raki makes me dizzy;
Going on a trip makes me dizzy;
What’s the meaning of all this, I don’t know;
Someone singing “My Kazim”
In Uskudar
Makes me dizzy.
translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
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
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
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
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Life, love and destiny.
4TheRecord is dedicated primarily to Ausmusic from all eras and most genres, we will explore the dynamics of the creative process, and reveal the great drama, lyricism, musicality, and emotion behind each classic song.
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