VELI, Orhan Kanik


To Leave This City

This is the city to walk around in the rain

Staring at the barges in the harbor

And to hum songs through the night.

The city has countless streets

Bustling with people running around...

The waitress who brings me my tea every evening

And whom I like a lot although she's a White Russian

Is in this city.

The old pianist who turns around

To look at me

When he sneaks in pieces by Schumann and Brahms

While playing waltzes and foxtrot

Is also in this city.

The ferry boats that caryy passengers

To the village where I was born are in this city.

So are my memories,

All those I love,

And the graves of my loved ones.

This is the city where I have a job,

Where I earn my bread money.

And yet, in spite of all this,

This is the same city I'm leaving

Because of a woman

In another city.


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.