The Ferry Boat Churned White Foam

The ferry boat churned white foam
by the bridge. The pavement rose and fell
with the swell. I was in Istanbul
when I should have been in London.

Looking over the Horn at Topkapı Saray.
Hearing the hooting of ships' sirens
and the chug of the engines and the background
roar of traffic beneath.

Hundreds of kites flying in the sky
on reels of string held by children's hands.
In the dawn the walls were like the battlements
of some extended mediaeval castle.

Richard McKane, The Turkey Poems (Türkiye Şiirleri), YKY-Istanbul-1994, p. 64.