On the tip of my tongue, the name of an old friend,
Forgotten forms carried by clouds;
With the vastness of sky filling my soul,
The pleasure of lying on my back on the grass.

In my hand, the warmth of bread,
Overhead, autumn, as beautiful as its memory;
Engrossed in the pure white, the spotless clouds,
I contemplate, singing a children’s song.

Orhan Veli (1914-1950). Ekmek. Translated from the Turkish.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s