"hikmet" poems
The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of **** All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On ****** Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimneys to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Beden sükun içinde yatar yeşil türbede,
Amma güzel diliniz konuşur mesnevide.
Ey hazreti Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi,
Hazreti Şems güneştir size, siz aydır Şemse.
O pak mesnevi içinde neler buldum, neler,
Süzünüz bir deryadır, her şey vardır içinde.
Her kese açıktır bu derya, fakir ya zengin,
Ders, güzellik ile hikmet katarsınız şiire.
Allah'u Teala çok razı olsun sizinle,
Mahvî'nin süsü bu, helal olsun bu kaside.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
The most beautiful sea:
hasn't been crossed yet.
The most beautiful child:
hasn't grown up yet.
Our most beautiful days:
we haven't seen yet.
And the most beautiful words I wanted to tell you
I haven't said yet...
--- Nazim Hikmet
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC