| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; |
| At first there blows a gentle breeze |
| And the leaves on the trees |
| Softly flutter or sway; |
| Out there, far away, |
| The bells of water carriers incessantly ring; |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| # |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; |
| Then suddenly birds fly by, |
| Flocks of birds, high up, in a hue and cry |
| While nets are drawn in the fishing grounds |
| And a woman’s feet begin to dabble in the water. |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| # |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| The Grand Bazaar is serene and cool, |
| A hubbub at the hub of the market, |
| Mosque yards are brimful of pigeons, |
| At the docks while hammers bang and clang |
| Spring winds bear the smell of sweat; |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| # |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; |
| Still giddy since bygone bacchanals, |
| A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep, |
| Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed, |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| # |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| Now a dainty girl walks by on the sidewalk: |
| Cusswords, tunes and songs, malapert remarks; |
| Something falls on the ground out of her hand, |
| It’s a rose I guess. |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| # |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; |
| A bird flutters round your skirt; |
| I know your brow is moist with sweat |
| And your lips are wet. |
| A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees: |
| I can sense it all in your heart’s throbbing. |
| I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. |
| # |
| Orhan Veli |
(and other places we like)
Comments
Istanbul was Constantinople Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople…
Don't f*ck with Istanbul when she's drunk! She is always drunk…
Hey! I was gonna say that…