With poetry, hope, stubbornness, On behalf of all poets.

Istanbul of my rural childhood
It was a fairy tale city for me;
A fell, a dream, unattainable
Yahya Kemal’s “Dream City”.

Then the day came, those dreams
They became real for me too:
In Bebek, Cihangir, Üsküdar,
“In old gardens in Kandilli” …

From Fatih, Eyüp, Balat,
I have passed through Kocamustapaşa;
Fikret, Akif, Nâzım
I got to know “remote and poor Istanbul” …

“When the nets are pulled from the fisherman”
I read poems from Orhan Veli.
I’m also a poet of this city
I missed having a son.

Of Cahit Sıtkı, of Necatigil
Beşiktaş; Burgas of Sait Faik,
Our dear, our pupil, our Istanbul,
Beloved of all poets.

Now these beauties are our beautiful,
The princess of our dreams,
To a soulless virtual city without poetry
They will transform, right?

No, we won’t let this go
His being shot in the house of life;
We will resist, we will resist,
With poetry, hope, stubbornness.
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
On behalf of all his poets.
April 3, 2021
Ataol Behramoğlu