
itibariyle
bitmistir.
Gunes'in batisi beyazdir.
Rengini aldigi solgun yuzeyin ortasinda bir hizma parlar.
Catik kaslar karamsar goruntuyu butunler.
Giyecegi mor cizmeler bile kendi renginden katamazlar.
Gunes'in dogusu siyahtir.
Uzerine kirmizi ve gri pastel karakterler dokulur.
Kimileri kafiyeli, kimileri kafiyesiz siralanirlar.
Cogu zaman kifayetsiz kalirlar.
Ogle saatleriyse toz pembedir.
Bir oraya, bir buraya kosturur durur.
Berlin'de bu zamanlar hava cok soguktur.
Hep onun icinde kalayim der ve hayatina devam eder.
Benim bundan anladigim,
Ic dünya yolculari icin
Mesafeler anlamsizdir.
Iyiki de öyledir.
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop