The dead poet's wife
'Books, papers, she said, all this my hand
touches, some with half-poems and some
with whole ones. Was all we had not these?
The dawn would break
the street would walk itself in poetry.
This was how we lived.'
Her voice was bruised
from traveling. She walked the silent rooms
and then, pointing to the open book on the table,
the last book the dead man had touched and upon
which he had lain, 'Here he sat
and read this book.
We saw it fall from his hand.
she said, her face in her hands
as if offended by a cloud passing.
Ölü Bir Ozanın Sevgili Karısını by İlhan Berk
Translated March 22, 2020