Poem
Behçet Necatigil
A PALE ROSE WHEN I TOUCH
Many like her end up hereYet no passer-by cares
I bend down and pick her up
She becomes a pale rose when I touch.
Wandering in one of those big cities
Among the crowd at bus stops
Or in a far-off corner of the country,
In a café or in a hotel
Wherever she goes at these late hours
She hides her hands in her pockets
Flowing slowly among the
Cigarettes and papers
I bend down and pick her up, she becomes no one
But a pale rose when I touch.
Or in the wiped off lipstick
Of a lonesome girl
As she rests her head on the pillows
On the edge of the weary night.
Sometimes even in the middle of the day she sidles up
Mostly in fall you know when a cloud descends
and it rains, in that cloud of sorrow
I reach out and pick her up, she becomes no one
But a pale rose when I touch.
In hands, between the lips, in wild scripts
She is caught by the night nets
panting like a wounded animal
smothered, wanting to flee
Through the roads through memories.
Again and again I bring her back, all night she lies awake,
Tosses and turns in the dark and becomes
A pale rose when I touch.
SOLGUN BİR GÜL DOKUNUNCA
SOLGUN BİR GÜL DOKUNUNCA
Çoklarından düşüyor da buncaGörmüyor gelip geçenler
Eğilip alıyorum
Solgun bir gül oluyor dokununca.
Ya büyük şehirlerin birinde
Geziniyor kalabalık duraklarda
Ya yurdun uzak bir yerinde
Kahve, otel köşesinde
Nereye gitse bu akşam vakti
Ellerini ceplerine sokuyor
Sigaralar, kâğıtlar
Arasından kayıyor usulca
Eğilip alıyorum, kimse olmuyor
Solgun bir gül oluyor dokununca.
Ya da yalnız bir kızın
Sildiği dudak boyasında
Eşiğinde yine yorgun gecenin
Başını yastıklara koyunca.
Kimi de gün ortası yanıma sokuluyor
En çok güz ayları ve yağmur yağınca
Alçalır ya bir bulut, o hüzün bulutunda.
Uzanıp alıyorum kimse olmuyor
Solgun bir gül oluyor dokununca.
Ellerde, dudaklarda, ıssız yazılarda
Akşamlara gerili ağlara takılıyor
Yaralı hayvanlar gibi soluyor
Bunalıyor, kaçıp gitmek istiyor
Yollar, ya da anılar boyunca.
Alıp alıp geliyorum, uyumuyor bütün gece
Kımıldıyor karanlıkta ne zaman dokunsam
Solgun bir gül oluyor dokununca.
From: Yaz Dönemi
Publisher: Ataç Kitabevi, İstanbul
Publisher: Ataç Kitabevi, İstanbul
Poems
Poems of Behçet Necatigil
Close
A PALE ROSE WHEN I TOUCH
Many like her end up hereYet no passer-by cares
I bend down and pick her up
She becomes a pale rose when I touch.
Wandering in one of those big cities
Among the crowd at bus stops
Or in a far-off corner of the country,
In a café or in a hotel
Wherever she goes at these late hours
She hides her hands in her pockets
Flowing slowly among the
Cigarettes and papers
I bend down and pick her up, she becomes no one
But a pale rose when I touch.
Or in the wiped off lipstick
Of a lonesome girl
As she rests her head on the pillows
On the edge of the weary night.
Sometimes even in the middle of the day she sidles up
Mostly in fall you know when a cloud descends
and it rains, in that cloud of sorrow
I reach out and pick her up, she becomes no one
But a pale rose when I touch.
In hands, between the lips, in wild scripts
She is caught by the night nets
panting like a wounded animal
smothered, wanting to flee
Through the roads through memories.
Again and again I bring her back, all night she lies awake,
Tosses and turns in the dark and becomes
A pale rose when I touch.
From: Yaz Dönemi
A PALE ROSE WHEN I TOUCH
Many like her end up hereYet no passer-by cares
I bend down and pick her up
She becomes a pale rose when I touch.
Wandering in one of those big cities
Among the crowd at bus stops
Or in a far-off corner of the country,
In a café or in a hotel
Wherever she goes at these late hours
She hides her hands in her pockets
Flowing slowly among the
Cigarettes and papers
I bend down and pick her up, she becomes no one
But a pale rose when I touch.
Or in the wiped off lipstick
Of a lonesome girl
As she rests her head on the pillows
On the edge of the weary night.
Sometimes even in the middle of the day she sidles up
Mostly in fall you know when a cloud descends
and it rains, in that cloud of sorrow
I reach out and pick her up, she becomes no one
But a pale rose when I touch.
In hands, between the lips, in wild scripts
She is caught by the night nets
panting like a wounded animal
smothered, wanting to flee
Through the roads through memories.
Again and again I bring her back, all night she lies awake,
Tosses and turns in the dark and becomes
A pale rose when I touch.
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