VELI, Orhan Kanik
I can’t explain
If I cried, could you hear
My voice in my poems,
Could you touch my tears
With your hands?
Before I fell prey to this grief,
I never knew songs were so enchanting
And words so mild.
I know there's a place
Where you can talk about everything;
I feel I'm close to that place,
Yet I can't explain
The Galata Bridge
Hanging around on the Bridge,
Gleefully I watch all of you...
Out there, some of you row backward
Or pick mussels off the buoys;
Some clutch the rudders of barges
Or catch the ropes on the dock,
And the birds in flight, like poems,
And the glittering fish;
Then the ferryboats and floats,
Clouds drifting in the air,
Tugboats with funnels lowered
Glide quickly under the Bridge;
Over there, the whistles blow,
I watch the smoke curl up and go.
But all of you, all of you...
Struggle to make ends meet.
Am I the only one who has fun?
Never mind, maybe some day
I'll write a poem about all of you,
Make a couple of bucks
And get something to eat.
I listen to Istanbul
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
First, a light wind blowing
A soft wind swaying
The leaves in the trees,
And far off in the distance
The tinkling cups of the water-seller;
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
Now the birds are passing
In high clamoring flocks,
Nets are pulled in at the fisheries,
A woman's feet graze the water;
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
The cool covered bazaar,
Mahmutpasha, the courtyards
Filled with warbling pigeons,
Hammer sounds from the docks,
Smells of sweat in my lovely Spring wind;
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
An old world drunk in its head,
A waterfront palace with a dark boat shed,
The humming of the lodos ceases inside;
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
A pretty young girl walks by
Chased by taunts, come-ons and curses,
Something falls from my hand—
Surely a rose;
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
A bird is fluttering in your skirts,
Your brow is hot, I know,
Your lips are wet, I know, I know,
A white moon rises behind the pistachio trees—
I understand the pounding of your heart;
I listen to Istanbul, my eyes closed.