A man filled with the gladness of living
Put his keys on the table,
Put flowers in a copper bowl there.
He put his eggs and milk on the table.
He put there the light that came in through the window,
Sounds of a bicycle, sound of a spinning wheel.
The softness of bread and weather he put there.
On the table the man put
Things that happened in his mind.
What he wanted to do in life,
He put that there.
Those he loved, those he didn’t love,
The man put them on the table too.
Three times three make nine:
The man put nine on the table.
He was next to the window next to the sky;
He reached out and placed on the table endlessness.
So many days he had wanted to drink a beer!
He put on the table the pouring of that beer.
He placed there his sleep and his wakefulness;
His hunger and his fullness he placed there.
Now that’s what I call a table!
It didn’t complain at all about the load.
It wobbled once or twice, then stood firm.
The man kept piling things on.

(From the Turkish of Edip Cansever)

A simple new life



One week in Birmingham. So many feelings inside me: happiness, loneliness, fear and good vibes about the future. It’s not easy to stay far from home, but the sensation of freedom is too big. It brings me peace all the time.

So, when you face a big challenge in front of you, just do it. Specially if this stuff causes you a huge fear. Fear is good and makes you walk.

I keep walking and discovering new friends, places and challenges. Brum, as they call the city here, is full of flowers, even in autumn. I walk in the street and see poetry around me, everywhere. It’s not easy, but it’s worthy. Believe me.

Just for you


Summer Villanelle

You know exactly what to do –
Your kiss, your fingers on my thigh –
I think of little else but you.

It’s bliss to have a lover who,
Touching one shoulder, makes me sigh –
You know exactly what to do.

You make me happy through and through,
The way the sun lights up the sky –
I think of little else but you.

The movie in my mind is blue –
As june runs into warm july
I think of little else but you.

But is it love? And is it true?
Who cares? This much I can’t deny:
You know exactly what to do;
I think of little else but you.

(Wendy Cope)