21 AUGUST 1959, Page 25

Baichik

The sky is a pale water-blue With the softest touch of gathering mist And ahead of us the road Twists and whitely climbs Across the Deli Orman plateau, A land of dry and fruitful stone, Across the former frontier And disputed territories, Where writers find obsessive words To construct a bitter symbolism.

But we drive on down the gorge Into the little city; Water and trees, a calm sea-garden Set in a crumbling dry whiteness Like a greenish jewel Between the cliffs and sea.

Cicadas enrich the evening now, A calque loads at the little pier, Birds swim in the harbour, And the trees stir slightly; 1 find in this more depth and meaning Than in symbols of the frontier; And a sea-mist hides the town And flattens the clear water.

ROBERT CONQUEST