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 UrganKIRIK 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
tulin.damar@gmail.com
English 
Spanish
