There are days, I gather myself and leave,
In the smell of nets freshly hauled from the sea
Taking flight on the path of gulls
Drifting from one island to another.
There are unimaginable worlds,
Flowers open, erupt in noise,
Smoke bursts noisily from the earth.
But the seagulls, the seagulls,
Each feather bristling with haste!
There are days, blue all over me.
There are days, sunlight all over me.
There are days, delirious days . . .
translated by George Messo
Rather than from one of my poetry books, this week I have a Turkish poem from Leonard Durso’s glorious website leonarddurso.com