For the past few days, I’ve been on a coastline of flint. Enveloped in memory and erosion, the second family funeral service in a handful of weeks, revisiting the kinds of objects—artefacts—in familiar houses that are lodged deep in the body, having grown parts of myself around them easter after easter, summer after summer as a child.
It is an old Turkish winter classic poem called Elhân-ı Şitâ means Winter Tunes and written by Cenâb Şehâbeddin in 1897. I found a translation for you at web, hope you like it.
When I saw there was a new “The Sometimes Newsletter” my day became instantly brighter! ❣️✨
Always grateful for whenever this newsletter lands. Like opening a little gift, or sitting at a kitchen table with the light streaming through.
https://youtu.be/tsMnRnkQ5kU
It is an old Turkish winter classic poem called Elhân-ı Şitâ means Winter Tunes and written by Cenâb Şehâbeddin in 1897. I found a translation for you at web, hope you like it.
https://lyricstranslate.com/en/elhan-i-sita-winter-tunes.html
“...soft feet tucked into frosted grass.” Beautiful words. And some fluffy dandelions in yellow light ✨ thank you!
I am sorry for your loss(es), Ella.