ONE DAY SURELY

Today I made love and then I joined in a march
Iím exhausted, itís spring, Iíve got to learn to shoot a gun
this summer
The books pile up, my hairís getting long, everywhere thereís a
rumble of anxiety
Iím still young, I want to see the world, how lovely it is
to kiss, how lovely to think, one day surely weíll win
One day surely weíll win, you money-changers of old,
you goose-brains, you grand-vizier!
My beloved is an eighteen year-old girl, weíre walking down
the avenue, eating a sandwich, talking about the world
Flowers blossom ceaselessly, the wars go on, how can everything end
with a bomb, how can they win, those filthy men
Long I ponder, I wash my face over and over, dress myself
in a clean shirt
This tyranny will end one day, this feast of plunder will end
But Iím tired now, Iím smoking a lot, a dirty overcoat
on my back
Furnace smoke rises into the sky, in my pockets
books of poetry in Vietnamese
I think of my friends at the other ends of the earth,
of the rivers at its other ends
A girl dies quietly, dies quietly over there
Iím crossing bridges, on a dark and rainy day, walking
to the station
These houses are making me sad, this slap-dash world
People, the sounds of motors, fog, the water flowing on
What to doÖ what to doÖ everywhere the dregs of sadness
I lean my brow against cool iron, those old days
come to mind
And meÖ I was a child, I would surely have things to love
Iím thinking about coming back from the movies, about my mother,
how can everything die, how can someone be forgotten
Oh, sky! I used to lie still beneath you, oh you
gleaming fields
What to doÖ What to doÖ later I was reading DescartesÖ
My beardís getting long, Iím in love with this girl, itís just
a little hike to Chankaya
A Sunday, a sun-lit Sunday, how tumultuous is my heart,
how I mingle with the people
A child peers from a window, a child with great
dreamy eyes
Then his brother looks out, who resembles the childhood
portraits of Lermontov
Iím writing a poem at the typewriter, Iím intrigued by the newspapers, the sounds of birds come to my ears
Iím a modest poet, my beloved, everything gets me
excited
So what is there to cry about, when gazing on the common man

./..

Iím looking at the guyís ears, his neck, his eyes,
eyebrows, the play of his face
Oh people, I say, oh child, and as I say it I feel like crying
I curse all the individualist poets, Iím going to the market
to buy an orange
I curse those chattering crowds, their withered hearts,
the liberation of the individual and the like
I curse those bookworms, and then I forgive them all
After long winter nights, who knows how things happen
After long winter nights that are told of in legends
Over and over I think on these things, a joy follows
close upon a sorrow
My heart is a changeable springtime sky, in short,
a Turkish heart
Waitingís left me fed-up, Iím anxiously explaining things
left and right
I get on a bus, Iím intently inspecting a bug held by
the wings
I used to walk in the spring to the fields
where those ruins and pastures are
His poem came to mind, that old Americanís poem
that told about autumn
There were meadows in that poem reminding me still of spring
So am I readying myself anew for excitement,
for rushing out again into the street
To throw myself head-first off a cliff
Something large and blue left an impression on me, was it from a film I saw, or what
A hat, an anxious sky, a hot artificial world
Tell and tell, it never ends, it never ends, this nostalgia in me
I could sacrifice all my loves at one go, all those rainy roads come to mind
The smells of gasoline, damp electric-poles, my fatherís
plump and warm hands like brown loaves
I used to drowse, suddenly youíd look up and thereís a new film at the cinema, a new girl in town, a new waiter at the coffee shop
She would stand there on the balcony in her dressing-gown
melancholy
Ok, so what is there to be sad about in this, why
this throbbing heart, this anxiety
It seems like Iíll die tomorrow, the police will come
a little later, or else
Theyíll come and take my books, my typewriter, this poem,
the picture of my beloved on the wall
Theyíll ask my fatherís name, where I was born, and,
if you would be so kind, down to the station
I think about my friends at the other ends of the earth,
the rivers at its other ends
A girl dies quietly, dies quietly in Vietnam
Weeping, I draw the image of a heart in the air

./..

I wake up crying, one day surely we must win
One day surely we will defeat you, oh you importers, exporters, oh you great cleric of Islam
One day surely weíll defeat you, one day surely weíll defeat you, weíll say it a thousand times
Then a thousand times more, then a thousand times more, weíll multiply it with marching songs
I and my beloved and my friends we will all march down the boulevard
We will march with the enthusiasm of being created anew
Ever multiplying we will marchÖ