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Yaşamı

 

İlhan Geçer tıklayın

(1917-2004)

End of September

A pale September recedes

With weary steps

Away from routed memories

 

Sparrows, their wings skittish,

Break loose from shrinking joys

As the face of waves darkens

 

Tha warmth melts in our blood

Giant-mouthed clouds vie to snatch

The gren encounters

In the gardens birds hold no flowers in their beaks

Snows of Mt. Torment lie on caved-in shoulders

 

Each gossamer wing founders

Lost long ago unable to fly to blush-pink horizons

On the tips of our eyelashes a speckled bird

Twitters a dark tune

It refuses tos mile at our suns

Fate that buffoon

 

The scissors of night cut up despair

Autumn’s cupsa re filled with mawkish dregs

The tired doughboys of joy have piled their rifles

Our hands cling to the tattered ropes

(Translated by Nermin Menemencioğlu, 101Poems by 101Poets An Anthology of Turkish Poetry)