THE BROKEN SPOOL It was evening On black stones was written in white Two numbers one below the other 6228 I was the only one to read itThe old friend is goneThe two of us were on the swingsOf our own silenceApart from each otherWe were swinging elbow to elbowWe stoppedThen by seperate staircasesWe went down to our thresholdsIt was eveningWe left behind us the domestic city of the eveningIn one ...
THE BROKEN SPOOL
It was evening On black stones was written in white Two numbers one below the other 6228 I was the only one to read it
The old friend is gone
The two of us were on the swings Of our own silence Apart from each other We were swinging elbow to elbow We stopped Then by seperate staircases We went down to our thresholds
It was evening We left behind us the domestic city of the evening In one hand the stick On which we were leaning In the other our lost Exhausted daylight When the redness in the west struck us To draw once more our faith Sparks flew from our foreheads
It was evening We walked We reached The wise evening sea Without delay We kneeled And stayed there We first set our sweating free From the iron of our handcuffs The old friend had put on unawares The sea was tired Tired was the water
'Night Night of nights Pitch-dark night'
We half opened the door of the tired water Without mystery In the starlight we knew our own light We set it apart quietly
-You have nothing in common she said Besides your memories -We have nothing in common I said
Don't I know what I learned In this world
If memories are not lived Lived once more They wither and fade Left there All alone
How else could we be We were silent
'Night Night of nights Pitch-dark night'
We didn't look at the stars We didn't even listen To the sound Or the silence It was as if we were shaped In the streams of the ocean
Morning-glories were waiting for us And water-lilies Were waiting To spread their fragrance
We were the rainbow dream The simple striving Without splendour Of the ear-shell
We We were the two of us The unheard song of the sea-tulips In the deep
Tomorrow We were to set the world right Together But first let the night end
'Night Night of nights Pitch-dark night'
That natural Immortal beauty Bloomed on the thinnest of the uncanny branches
-Come let us get up we said -Come
While from the brooken spool Of our desperate dream Two strips of white thread Came down Came everywhere
Translated by Mina Urgan
KIRIK MAKARA
Akşamdı Karataşlarda beyaz alt alta İki sayı 6228 Ben okudum yalnız
Eski arkadaş gitti
Biz kendi sessizliğimizden Birbirinden uzak Salıncaklarına bindik Sallandık dirsek dirseğe Durduk Sonra aynı merdivenlerden Eşiklerimize indik
Akşamdı Akşamın evcil kentini arkamıza aldık Sendelerken dayandığımız değnek Bir elimizde Ötekinde yiten Tükenen gündüzümüz Vurdukça kızıltısı batı çevreninin Yazgımızı yeniden çizmek için Kıvılcımlar saçtı alnımız
Akşamdı Yürüdük biz Bilge Deniz akşamının gecikmeden Vardık önüne Dizlerimizi büktük Kaldık orda
Terli bileklerimizi ilkin Demirinden bir kelepçenin Ayırtına bile varmadan Eski dostun vurduğu Yorgundu deniz su
“Gece de Ne gece Yoğun gece”
Araladık gizemsiz kapısını yorgun suyun Yıldız ışıkları içinden Bildik aydınlığımızı seçtik Ayırdık usulca
-Hiçbir ortak yanınız kalmamış dedi Anılarınızdan başka -Hiçbir ortak yanımız Kalmamış dedim
Ben dünyada ne öğrendim Bilmez miydim
Orda Solarlardı sararır da Yapayalnız bırakılır Yaşanmazsa yeniden Yeniden anılar da
Başka nasıl olacaktık Suskunduk
“Gece de Ne gece Yoğun gece”
Yıldızlara bakmıyorduk Kulak verdiğimiz de yoktu Sese Sessizliğe de Okyanus akıntılarında Biçimlenir gibiydik
Gecesefalarını bekletiyorduk Beyaz sugülleri Yolumuza bakıyordu Kokusunu saçmak için Uysal denizkulağının Gökkuşaklı düşü bizdik Görkemsiz Yalın çabası
Biz İkimizdik İşitilmez türküleri denizlalelerinin Dip sularındaki
Yarın ilk Dünyayı düzeltecektik Birlikte Hele bitsindi gece
“Gece de Ne gece Yoğun gece”
Açtı aykırı dalların en incesinden O doğal Ölümsüz güzellik
-Hadi kalkalım dedik -Hadi
Bir onulmaz düşümüzün Boşlukta takılı kalan Kırık makarasından İki sap beyaz iplik İnerken yere Her yere
BIOGRAPHY: Arif Damar [b. 1925] a socialist poet of the 1940s, was influenced by the “Second New” movement, but in his later poems moved closer to a spare, lyrical