greenegg

A Strange Feeling Nâzim Hikmet

“The plum trees are in bloom —the wild apricot flowers first, the plum last —

My love, let’s sit face to face on the grass. The air is delicious and light —but not really warm yet— the almond shells are green and fuzzy, still very soft . . .

We’re happy because we’re alive, We’d probably have been killed long ago if you were in London, if I were in Tobruk or on an English freighter . . .

Put your hands on your knees, my love —your wrists thick and white— and open your left hand: the daylight is inside your palm like an apricot . . . Of the people killed in yesterday’s air raid, about one hundred were under five, twenty-four still babies . . .

I love the color of pomegranate seeds, my love —a pomegranate seed, seed of light— I like melons tart . . .”

. . . . . . a rainy day far from fruits and you —not a single tree has bloomed yet, and there’s even a chance of snow— in Bursa Prison, carried away by a strange feeling and about to explode, I write this out of pigheadedness— out of sheer spite — for myself and for the people I love.

2.7.1941

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(Written during the Turkish poet's 1938-1950 political imprisonment for supporting Communism.)

Also by Nâzim Hikmet: It’s This Way

More like this:  + On Being Asked To Write A Poem Against The War In Vietnam, Hayden Carruth  + from Understory, Craig Santos Perez  + We Lived Happily During the War, Ilya Kaminsky  + Easter, Jill Alexander Essbaum  + The Conditional, Ada Limón  + The Crunch, Charles Bukowski

Previously on Poetry Month Poems for People Who Read Poetry:

the horse and his boy (1954) - c.s. lewis

I know I shouldn't have,

but I was given the excuse

by the man who took your place.

"He'll need his stuff for when he wakes up,"

he told me,

guilt distorting his smile,

discomfort bending his body in

unfamiliar shapes.

I smiled back. It hurt more than I remembered.

My trembling fingers touched your neatly-folded shirts.

They felt as soft as

the knife

you had held against my throat.

And I held my breath

as if

you were there.

Hold down the fort, ‘cause I gotta go Light on the water will carry me somehow Don’t say goodbye, forever is not too far The other side’s just a stone’s throw from love and you’ve got a great arm You’ve got a great arm

You held the pen to my chest each hour you were writing You said, ‘Every good poem is hell and heaven fighting.’ But there’s no gates where I’m going— I think that’s a good thing I want nothing kept out if I’m losing my everything ‘cause

I had it I had it I had it all, I had you

Prints on the window Where you watched me come home I hear your footsteps on every winter’s first snow But this too shall future I’ll circle back honey When they lay me down, I’ll hit the ground running back to you

A River

c.1883,pastel on canvas, 60 x 81 cm

Man Ray