Burial of the Dead

Variation on the ‘Burial of the Dead’

July is the sweetest month, bringing
Poppies to the green vast fields, saluting
Hopes and joy, shaking
The flowers with gentle wind.
Spring kept me calm, making
Promises of coy sunshine, helping
With days getting longer each scented day.
Summer was there, as expected, shining over Notre Dame
With pigeons’ songs; we took a walk by the river,
And stopped to watch the white clouds, over the Pont Neuf
Then moved on, listening.
Il pensait que j’etais Algeriene et ça m’est egal.
In those summer days, at my grandma’s
I’d play with my uncle, he’d throw me into the air
And we’d have heaps of fun. He would bring
Chocolate and clothes. And he would tell
About the river, the workshop.
I heard much of the river, and went home to the city.

Why should I ever endure, why should I try
To take an irretrievable step? Oh mother,
You should say, or guess, for you know too,
The illustrated histories, the small classrooms,
And the parade leaves no cheer, the picnic no joy,
And the colours of flags, the tunes of marches. Still
There is relief in this grey book,
(For it talks of other places as well)
You will see there are other things
Other than these familiar temples
Other than these familiar tunes
There are things you will be happy to know about.
Clementine
Quand tu fermes les yeux
Tu devines
Le merveilleux
‘You told us about the party on board of that ship;
It filled my thoughts day and night’
--And when at last I saw that ship, on the Thames
You were gone, a relic of the past, I did not
Know, who to share it with, whom to show
It was the past and yet in the present
Looking at that ship and wondering
Je voudrais, que tu te rappele...

Monsieur Le Coton, the famous writer,
Has a bad temper, but that doesn’t keep him away from
Going to interviews, the clever man of Asia Minor,
With a never ceasing stutter. Why? they ask him,
Are we in a bad way, where is the shining road?
(For we were told there was one. Or isn’t there?)
Here is the Opera House, the black building
With the grey shutters.
Here’s the Theatre, there the Sports Ground
And here’s the School, and this thing
Which is so colourful, is the Club
Which I’m forbidden to enter. Where is the House?
You should beware
There are a lot of people on your shining road
Yes. If you see Mr. Rector
Tell him I won’t be here for long;
It’s so easy to fly these days.

Ancient city,
When the sunlight shines on the aluminium,
On the roads, cars with diverse drivers,
For in our cars we’re free to choose
We’re free to buy, free to drive, free to consume
We’re all one big brotherhood in supermarkets.
The cues in front of the cashier girls
We let each other be, oh, so gracefully.
With even a ‘You first’ now and then.
‘ ‘They’ have certainly got into their heads.
Otherwise I could swear they were like us,’
‘Oh, Heaven forbid, like you?
Look straight into my eyes and say it again
And show me what you are made of!’
‘Cuando me buscas, no ves nada — nunca — nadie!’

(N. Haliloglu, a life time ago)