from the Turkish of Erozcelick Seyhan (1962–2011)
Coffee Readings 1
People stand on one another’s shoulders and soon are a tower stretching into the sky.
At the summit, a single hand silver as a flying fish.
But none of us is last. All of us are first, as we rise like incense through the sky, people who become a plume of smoke.
Or, more like a rainbow, or the roads of a rainbow, its open roads to emptiness.
Surely this smoke now makes a saint, a smoke-saint who is a smoke-man or smoke-woman too, all of us writing our stories on the sky, like the grits in the coffee cup spinning around.
Coffee Readings 2
These grounds are dry. Time must have stopped.
But inside the cup, what might be a mountain is flying into the sky. Simply a symbol? Of anxiety perhaps? Because when mountains fly they leave the world behind.