Poetry Performance

Last night I did a performance (after a few glasses of dutch courage!) of this poem to some British friends who were visiting us in Portugal. I had to pull it up from my Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide website where I published it back in 2012. This is one of Neale’s favourite poems. probably because it covers so many shared memories.

It’s part of a poetry collection I published about the cultural experience and people we met that first year in Turkey.

I’m copying this poem over to this blog because I’m in the process of shutting down my Bodrum website, and I wanted an online reference of it.

I’m also in the process of working with my language tutor to translate it into Portuguese so that I’m able to perform it in both Portuguese and English – should that desire arise! 😉

Turkish Coffee is my cup of tea; it’s bitter, it’s sweet, and generally

Approaching it one sip at a time; the taste that lingers, is simply divine.

This cup in my life plays a key role; keeping me grounded, leaving me whole.

Not just a cup but a metaphor; for travel adventures, just through the door.

Embracing unknown, mysteries to greet; head and heart strong, with firmly placed feet.

Into the fray. Trouble and strife. Ditching my comfort; embracing my life

With a goal in mind. A will of steel. Approaching hurdles, with laughter and zeal.

Why do I do it? Does it make sense? The “It’ll be easy” is just a pretense.

No matter what greets me; good, bad or wise. I’ll open my soul, my heart and my eyes.

Good memories linger, lifting me up; like the grounds in my coffee, they’ll stay in my cup.

Years from now when I’m glancing back; challenges faced, will all fade into black.

What will remain and I’ll not forget; is the weird and wonderful people I met.

A market man, who smiles with his eyes; his hands caked in dirt, then wiped on his thighs.

Both gnarled and rough he waves them about. Then a smoke-clad voice delivers his shout.

Groups of fisherman untangle nets, prepare their boats by sweeping their decks.

Visit the tea house, plotting their day; give me a glance, but-have nothing to say.

The dolmus driver sat at the front. The questions I ask, are met with a grunt.

When I need help, he’s there by my side; he says “no problem”, his chest puffed with pride.

Eat at a cafe. Head in a book. I raise up my eyes for barely a look.

Glancing up say “thanks” with some grace; the child delivering, licks snot off his face!

Next door neighbours encouraging death; of garden poppies I love with each breath.

They lend me a shovel a pick an’ a rake.  I kill off these “weeds”, for good-neighbor’s sake.

Inviting me round. Then serving food. No words of English; a jovial mood.

Giggle and laugh, charades being played; pointing at things, we’re not able to say.

I’d rather these memories to pack my soul, than a empty suitcase, playing no role.

A wandering nomad, a constant flitter, my life like coffee; is strong sweet and bitter.

The lingering taste, on the tip of my tongue. Sweetens my mood; keeping me young.

This vessel of memories pulled from my day; leave hurdles forgotten, and banish the grey.

Being consumed one sip at a time; I’m living a life, that’s simply divine.

Enjoying the bitter, as well as the sweet. Retaining memories, of those that I meet.

Written by Roving Jay