Poplars / Metin Altıok

POPLARS

My body feels cold, my heart aches.
Ah, poplars, poplars. . .

With a rough pair of scissors
They cut me out of an old picture.

Half of my cheek remained there,
And it completes itself with emptiness.

On my shoulder a cut-off hand
That bleeds continuously.

Ah, poplars, poplars. . .
Pain has chased me, followingly whistles at me.

Metin Altıok - Turkish poet (14 March 1941 – 9 July 1993)

Translated by Baki Yiğit





KAVAKLAR

Bedenim üşür, yüreğim sızlar.
Ah kavaklar, kavaklar...

Beni hoyrat bir makasla
Eski bir fotoğraftan oydular.

Orda kaldı yanağımın yarısı,
Kendini boşlukla tamamlar.

Omzumda bir kesik el,
Ki durmadan kanar.

Ah kavaklar, kavaklar...
Acı düştü peşime ardımdan ıslık çalar.

Metin Altıok (14 Mart 1941 – 9 Temmuz 1993)

‘Road with Poplar Trees’, in the vicinity of Naples and Danseville,
New York, 1955, by Minor White