By the Stove

One evening, a quiet knock on your door,
Instantly, the furniture pulsates.
You get up, leave your chilly pillows,
Open the door with trembling hands.

A familiar vision appears,
Holding it by the shoulders, shake it;
Even if just skin and bone, let it for a moment,
With kisses, take you into its bosom.

And as the vision returns to its underworld,
Close the door behind it;
On your own by the stove,
In silence, looking at your hands, feel the warmth.

Ahmet Kutsi Tecer (1901-1967). Ocak Başında. 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