The dead poet's wife

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'Books, papers, she said, all my hand

touches, poems half and whole.

Was everything not in these?

Poems brought the dawn,

moved the streets up and down.

That was how we lived.'

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Her voice was flat, as if coming

from a great distance. She walked the silent rooms

and then, pointing to the open book on the table,

the last book the dead man had touched

and, touching which, had died, 'Here he sat

and read this book.

We saw it slip from his hand.

And that was all,'

she said, her face in her hands

as if offended by a cloud passing.

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Ölü Bir Ozanın Sevgili Karısını by İlhan Berk

Translated March 22, 2020

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