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.

That's it.'

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