L’immaculée conception / Paul Éluard et André Breton

"[...] L’amour a toujours le temps. Il a devant lui le front d’où semble venir la pensée, les yeux qu’il s’agira tout à l’heure de distraire de leur regard, la gorge dans laquelle se cailleront les sons, il a les seins et le fond de la bouche. Il a devant lui les plis inguinaux, les jambes qui couraient, la vapeur qui descend de leurs voiles, il a le plaisir de la neige qui tombe devant la fenêtre. La langue dessine les lèvres, joint les yeux, dresse les seins, creuse les aisselles, ouvre la fenêtre; la bouche attire la chair de toutes ses forces, elle sombre dans un baiser errant, elle remplace la bouche quelle a prise, c’est le mélange du jour et de la nuit. Les bras et les cuisses de l’homme sont liés aux bras et aux cuisses de la femme, le vent se mêle à la fumée, les mains prennent l’ensemble des désirs. [...]"

Paul Éluard et André Breton – (L’immaculée conception)

Photo by Celine Andrea

Girovago / Giuseppe Ungaretti

Girovago

In nessuna

parte

di terra

mi posso 

accasare

A ogni

nuovo

clima

che incontro

mi trovo

languente

che

una volta

già gli ero stato

assuefatto

E me ne stacco sempre

straniero

Nascendo

tornato da epoche troppo

vissute

Godere un solo

minuto di vita

iniziale

Cerco un paese

innocente

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Wanderer

No piece

of land

can I

make

my home

For each

new

climate

I meet

I pine

as

once before

already I had been

addicted

And I always leave

a stranger

Being born

changed by ages too

lived

To enjoy just one

initial

instant of life

I seek an innocent

country

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Wanderer (second english translation)

Nowhere 

On earth 

Can I make 

Myself 

A home 

In every 

New 

Environment 

I encounter 

I find myself 

Longing 

For once upon a time

When it was already 

Familiar 

And since parting 

I’m always 

A stranger 

A newly born 

Returning from epochs 

lived to the brim 

Enjoying 

One single minute 

Of the initial life 

I am searching 

For an innocent country 

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Translation: Youlika K. Masry (2014)

Vagabundo

En ninguna

parte

de la tierra

me puedo

arraigar

A cada

nuevo

clima

que encuentro

descubro

desfalleciente

que

una vez

ya le estuve

habituado

Y me separo siempre

extranjero

Naciendo

tornado de épocas demasiado

vividas

Gozar un solo

minuto de vida

inicial

Busco un

país inocente

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Gezgin

Yeryüzünün

hiçbir yerinde

yerleşecek

yer bulamadım

kendime

Gittiğim

her yeni iklimde

oraya

alıştığımı

hissedince

bıkmaya

başlıyorum

Ve oradan

bir yabancı olarak uzaklaşıyorum

Fazla yaşanmış

bir çağda

dünyaya gelmişim

Bir an

tadını çıkarabilmek için

yaşanmamış bir hayatın

Masum bir ülke

arıyorum.

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Çeviren: Cevat Çapan

Rainy day. Hallstatt, Austria, by @wauba

Einsamer Abend / Hermann Hesse

Einsamer Abend

In der leeren Flasche und im Glas

Wankt der Kerze Schimmer;

Es ist kalt im Zimmer.

Draußen fällt der Regen weich ins Gras.

Wieder legst du nun zu kurzer Ruh

Frierend dich und traurig nieder.

Morgen kommt und Abend wieder,

Kommen immer wieder,

Aber niemals du.

Hermann Hesse

Solitary Evening

In the empty bottle, in the glass,

The candle glimmers through the gloom;

It is cold in the room,

Outside the rain falls softly on the grass.

I lie down again as I always do,

Cold and sad lie down again;

Morning comes and evening then

Comes again, but never you.

Hermann Hesse

(DEMIAN by Hermann Hesse, translated by Roloff and Lebeck)

Solitary Evening (second english translation)

In the empty bottle and in the glass

The shimmering of the candle undulates;

It is cold in my chamber

Outdoors the rain falls softly into the grass.

Once again now, freezing and sad,

You lie down for a short rest.

Morning comes and evening again,

They come again and again,

But never you.

Hermann Hesse

Translated by Sharon Krebs

Kimsesiz Akşam

Boş şişeyle bardakta.

Titremekte mum alevi;

Oda soğuk buz gibi.

Dışarda otlara yağmur yağmakta.

Yatıyorsun kısa bir zaman için

Üşüyerekten üzgün, yatağına.

Yine sabah olacak, akşam daha sonra,

Sabahlar, sabahlar gelecek tekrar,

Ama sen hiç gelmeyeceksin.

Hermann Hesse

Çeviren: Behçet Necatigil

A parisian work break, by Laria Saunders

White Nights / Fyodor Dostoevsky

“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts.

When I woke up it seemed to me that some snatch of a tune I had known for a long time, I had heard somewhere before but had forgotten, a melody of great sweetness, was coming back to me now. It seemed to me that it had been trying to emerge from my soul all my life, and only now-

If and when you fall in love, may you be happy with her. I don't need to wish her anything, for she'll be happy with you. May your sky always be clear, may your dear smile always be bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of one's life?”

Fyodor Dostoevsky - (White Nights)

"Ben bir hayalperestim. Gerçek hayat hakkında o kadar az şey biliyorum ki, böyle anları rüyalarımda tekrar yaşamaktan kendimi alamıyorum, çünkü böyle anlar çok nadir yaşadığım bir şey. Bütün gece, bütün hafta, bütün yıl seni hayal edeceğim. Seni o kadar iyi tanıdığımı hissediyorum ki, yirmi yıllık arkadaş olsaydık seni daha iyi tanıyamazdım. Beni hayal kırıklığına uğratmayacaksın, değil mi? Sadece iki dakika ve sen beni sonsuza dek mutlu ettin. Evet, mutlu. Kim bilir belki de beni kendimle barıştırdın, tüm şüphelerimi çözdün.

Uyandığımda,  uzun zamandır bildiğim, daha önce bir yerlerde duyduğum ama unuttuğum bir ezginin bir parçası, şimdi çok tatlı bir melodi geliyormuş gibi geldi bana. Bana hayatım boyunca ruhumdan çıkmaya çalışmış gibi geldi.

Eğer aşık olursan, onunla mutlu olabilir misin? Seninle mutlu olacağı için ona bir şey dilememe gerek yok. Gökyüzünüz her zaman açık olsun, sevgili gülümsemeniz her zaman parlak ve mutlu olsun ve başka bir yalnız ve minnettar kalbe verdiğiniz o mutluluk ve mutluluk anı için sonsuza dek kutsansın. Böyle bir an insanın bütün ömrüne yetmez mi?"

Fyodor Dostoyevski - (Beyaz Geceler)

Unknown photographer

Fantaisie / Gérard de Nerval

Fantaisie

Il est un air pour qui je donnerais

Tout Rossini, tout Mozart et tout Weber,

Un air très vieux, languissant et funèbre,

Qui pour moi seul a des charmes secrets.

Or, chaque fois que je viens à l’entendre,

De deux cents ans mon âme rajeunit :

C’est sous Louis treize ; et je crois voir s’étendre

Un coteau vert, que le couchant jaunit,

Puis un château de brique à coins de pierre,

Aux vitraux teints de rougeâtres couleurs,

Ceint de grands parcs, avec une rivière

Baignant ses pieds, qui coule entre des fleurs ;

Puis une dame, à sa haute fenêtre,

Blonde aux yeux noirs, en ses habits anciens,

Que, dans une autre existence peut-être,

J’ai déjà vue… – et dont je me souviens !

Gérard de Nerval

Fantasy

There is an air for which I'd freely change

All Weber's, Mozart's, and Rossini's spells:

An old, old air, that of some sorrow tells—

Sad, fascinating, endless, weird, and strange,

Each time I hear that air my soul is borne

Back through the vista of two hundred years:

Reigns 'Louis Treize'—and in my sight appears

A hill-side green, where fading sunbeams mourn.

Then suddenly a noble castle towers—

Brick, with stone fretwork, and red glass that glows,

Girt by a park, through which a river flows,

Bent over by innumerable ferns and flowers.

And then a lady at a window high,

Fair, with dark eyes, in which a tear I trace—

Oh, is it in my dreams I've seen that face?

Or have I ever lived in times gone by?

Gérard de Nerval

Translated by Toru Dutt

Fantasy (second english translation)

There is an air for which I'd gladly give

All Mozart, all Rossini, all Von Weber,

A languid, ancient, solemn-sounding air

That yields its secret charm to me alone.

Each time it happens that I hear it played

My heart grows younger by two hundred years:

I live in former times. . . and see portrayed

A green slope gilded by the setting sun,

And then a feudal castle Banked with stone,

Its windows tinted to a glowing rose,

Bounded by spacious parks and with its feet

Bathed by a stream that through a garden flows.

And then a lady in a window high,

Fair-haired, dark-eyed, and dressed in ancient style .

Whom, in another life, perhaps I've seen,

And whom 1 now remember with a sigh.

Gérard de Nerval

Fantasy (third english translation)

There is an air for which I would give

all Rossini, all Mozart, and all Weber,

an old air, languishing, funereal,

that has secret charms for me alone.

It happens that every time I hear it,

my soul becomes younger by two hundred years:

it's the time of Louis the Thirteenth...

and I think I see spread out before me

a green hillside turning yellow in the sunset;

then a chateau of brick with stone corners,

its windows tinted with reddish colors,

with a belt of grand parks around it, with a river

bathing its feet, that flows among the flowers.

Then a lady, at her high window,

blond with black eyes, in her old-fashioned clothes,

who in another life, perhaps,

I have already seen...and whom I remember!

Gérard de Nerval

Fantasía

Existe una tonada por la que yo daría

todo Mozart, Rossini y todo Weber,

una vieja tonada, languideciente y fúnebre

que me trae a mí solo sus secretos encantos.

Cada vez que la escucho mi alma se hace

doscientos años -es sobre Luis Trece-

más joven; y creo ver cómo se extiende

una ladera verde que amarillea el ocaso,

luego un alcázar de ladrillo y piedra,

de vidrieras teñidas de colores rojizos

ceñido de amplios parques y a sus pies un arroyo

que entre las flores corre;

luego una dama, en su ventana altísima,

rubia. con ojos negros. de vestimenta antigua,

que en otra vida acaso ya hube visto

y de la cual me acuerdo.

Gérard de Nerval

Versión de Aníbal Núñez

Fantazya

Bir hava bilirim, dünyalara değişmem:

Bütün Rossini, Mozart, Weber sizin olsun.

Çok eski bir hava, ağır, hazin, muhteşem;

Yalnız ben duyarım onda ne varsa füsun!

Ne zaman o havayı dinliyecek olsam

Ruhum gençleşiverir birden iki asır.

Onüçüncü Louis devridir, vakit akşam!

Batan günle sararmış bir yamaç uzanır.

Camları kızıla çalan renklerle yanar,

Kiremitten bir şato, köşeleri taştan.

Etrafı çepçevre bağlar, bahçeler, parklar;

Bir dere akıyor çiçekler arasından.

Kömür gözlü bir kumral en üst pencerede;

Eskidir geçmiş zaman esvapları eski.

Görmüşlüğüm var bu kadın, ama nerde?

Hatırlıyorum, başka bir hayatta belki!

Gérard de Nerval

Çeviren: Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı

Photo by Mary Wilson

Piedra de sol / Octavio Paz

"voy por tu cuerpo como por el mundo,

tu vientre es una plaza soleada,

tus pechos dos iglesias donde oficia

la sangre sus misterios paralelos,

mis miradas te cubren como yedra,

eres una ciudad que el mar asedia,

una muralla que la luz divide

en dos mitades de color durazno,

un paraje de sal, rocas y pájaros

bajo la ley del mediodía absorto,

vestida del color de mis deseos

como mi pensamiento vas desnuda,

voy por tus ojos como por el agua,

los tigres beben sueño de esos ojos,

el colibrí se quema en esas llamas,

voy por tu frente como por la luna,

como la nube por tu pensamiento,

voy por tu vientre como por tus sueños,

tu falda de maíz ondula y canta,

tu falda de cristal, tu falda de agua,

tus labios, tus cabellos, tus miradas,

toda la noche llueves, todo el día

abres mi pecho con tus dedos de agua,

cierras mis ojos con tu boca de agua,

sobre mis huesos llueves, en mi pecho

hunde raíces de agua un árbol líquido,

voy por tu talle como por un río,

voy por tu cuerpo como por un bosque,

como por un sendero en la montaña

que en un abismo brusco se termina

voy por tus pensamientos afilados

y a la salida de tu blanca frente

mi sombra despeñada se destroza,

recojo mis fragmentos uno a uno

y prosigo sin cuerpo, busco a tientas,"

Octavio Paz - (Piedra de sol)

"I travel your body, like the world,

your belly is a plaza full of sun,

your breasts two churches where blood

performs its own, parallel rites,

my glances cover you like ivy,

you are a city the sea assaults,

a stretch of ramparts split by the light

in two halves the color of peaches,

a domain of salt, rocks and birds,

under the rule of oblivious noon,

dressed in the color of my desires,

you go your way naked as my thoughts,

I travel your eyes, like the sea,

tigers drink their dreams in those eyes,

the hummingbird burns in those flames,

I travel your forehead, like the moon,

like the cloud that passes through your thoughts,

I travel your belly, like your dreams,

your skirt of corn ripples and sings,

your skirt of crystal, your skirt of water,

your lips, your hair, your glances rain

all through the night, and all day long

you open my chest with your fingers of water,

you close my eyes with your mouth of water,

you rain on my bones, a tree of liquid

sending roots of water into my chest,

I travel your length, like a river,

I travel your body, like a forest,

like a mountain path that ends at a cliff

I travel along the edge of your thoughts,

and my shadow falls from your white forehead,

my shadow shatters, and I gather the pieces

and go with no body, groping my way,"

Octavio Paz - (Sunstone)

Translated by Eliot Weinberger

(other english translation)

"I go among your body as among the world,

your belly the sunlit center of the city,

your breasts two churches where are celebrated

the great parallel mysteries of the blood,

the looks of my eyes cover you like ivy,

you are a city by the sea assaulted,

you are a rampart by the light divided

into two halves, distinct, color of peaches,

and you are saltiness, you are rocks and birds

beneath the edict of concentrated noon

and dressed in the coloring of my desires

you go as naked as my thoughts go naked,

I go among your eyes as I swim water,

the tigers come to these eyes to drink their dreams,

the hummingbird is burning among these flames,

I go upon your forehead as on the moon,

like cloud I go among your imagining

journey your belly as I journey your dream,

your loins are harvest, a field of waves and singing,

your loins are crystal and your loins are water,

your lips, your hair, the looks you give me, they

you open up my breast with your fingers of water,

you close my eyelids with your mouth of water,

raining upon my bones, and in my breast

the roots of water drive deep a liquid tree,

I travel through your waist as through a river,

I voyage your body as through a grove going,

as by a footpath going up a mountain

and suddenly coming upon a steep ravine

I go the straitened way of your keen thoughts

break through to daylight upon your white forehead

and there my spirit flings itself down, is shattered

now I collect my fragments one by one

and go on, bodiless, searching, in the dark...."

Octavio Paz - (Sunstone)

Photo by Lucien Clergue

Nu / Manuel Bandeira

Nu

Quando estás vestida,

Ninguém imagina

Os mundos que escondes

Sob as tuas roupas.

(Assim, quando é dia,

Não temos noção

Dos astros que luzem

No profundo céu.

Mas a noite é nua,

E, nua na noite,

Palpitam teus mundos

E os mundos da noite.

Brilham teus joelhos,

Brilha o teu umbigo,

Brilha toda a tua

Lira abdominal.

Teus exíguos

- Como na rijeza

Do tronco robusto

Dois frutos pequenos -

Brilham.) Ah, teus seios!

Teus duros mamilos!

Teu dorso! Teus flancos!

Ah, tuas espáduas!

Se nua, teus olhos

Ficam nus também:

Teu olhar, mais longe,

Mais lento, mais líquido.

Então, dentro deles,

Bóio, nado, salto

Baixo num mergulho

Perpendicular.

Baixo até o mais fundo

De teu ser, lá onde

Me sorri tu'alma

Nua, nua, nua...

Manuel Bandeira

Naked

When you're dressed,

no one imagines

The worlds you hide

Under your clothes.

(So when it's daytime,

we have no idea

Of the stars that shine

In the deep sky.

But the night is naked

And naked in the night,

your worlds throb

And the worlds of night.

Your knees shine.

your navel shines,

shine all yours

Abdominal lyre.

your small breasts

- As in the stiffness

From the sturdy trunk

Two small fruits -

shine) Ah your breasts!

Your hard nipples!

your back! Your flanks!

Ah, your shoulders!

If naked, your eyes

They are also naked:

your longer gaze,

Slower, more liquid.

So inside them,

Float, swim, jump,

down in a dive

Perpendicular!

Down to the bottom

Of your being, where

your soul smiles at me,

Naked, naked, naked.

Manuel Bandeira

Desnudo

Cuando estás vestida

nadie se imagina

los mundos que escondes

bajo tus ropas.

(Así, cuando es de día,

no tenemos noción

de los astros que brillan

en el cielo profundo.

Pero la noche es desnuda,

y, desnuda en la noche,

palpitan tus mundos

y los mundos de la noche.

Brillan tus rodillas.

Brilla tu ombligo.

Brilla toda tú

lira abdominal

Tus senos exiguos

-como en la firmeza

del tronco robusto

dos frutos pequeños Brillan.)

¡ah tus senos!

¡tus duros pezones!

¡tu dorso! ¡Tus flancos!

¡ah, tus espaldas!

Si desnuda, tus ojos

quedan desnudos también;

tu mirar, más largo,

más lento, más líquido.

Entonces, dentro de ellos

floto, nado, salto,

bajo en zambullida

Perpendicular.

Bajo hasta lo más hondo

de tu ser, allí donde

me sonríe tu alma,

desnuda,

desnuda,

desnuda.

Manuel Bandeira

Traducción de Umberto Cobo

Alessia Marcuzzi for Panorama Calendar
2000, by Francesco Escalar

Poemeto Erótico / Manuel Bandeira

"Rosal queimado do estio,

Desfalecido em perfume...

A todo o momento o vejo...

Teu corpo... a única ilha

No oceano do meu desejo...

Teu corpo é tudo o que brilha,

Teu corpo é tudo o que cheira...

Rosa, flor de laranjeira..."

Manuel Bandeira - (Poemeto Erótico)

"Rosebed burnt by summer, 

Petal-fall into perfume- 

In every moment I see it- 

Your body-the unique island 

In the ocean of my desire- 

Your body is everything that shines, 

Your body is everything that smells sweet- 

Rose, blossom of the orange tree-"

Manuel Bandeira - (Poemeto Erótico)

Photo by Anton Montbrillant

Der Leuchtturm / Wolfgang Borchert

Der Leuchtturm

Ich möchte Leuchtturm sein

in Nacht und Wind –

für Dorsch und Stint,

für jedes Boot –

und ich bin doch selbst

ein Schiff in Not!

Wolfgang Borchert

Lighthouse

I would like to be a lighthouse

at night and wind –

for codfish and smelt –

for any boat –

and am myself

A ship in need!

Wolfgang Borchert

Deniz Feneri

Deniz feneri olsaydım

gecede, fırtınada

ışıktım, balıklara,

vapurlara, kayıklara -

ne yazık ki ben kendim

batmak üzere bir gemiyim!

Wolfgang Borchert

Çeviri: Behçet Necatigil

Lighthouse in Moonlight. Oil Painting. By Simon

Beauté cruelle / Émile Nelligan

Beauté cruelle

Certe, il ne faut avoir qu'un amour en ce monde,

Un amour, rien qu'un seul, tout fantasque soit-il;

Et moi qui le recherche ainsi, noble et subtil,

Voilà qu'il m'est à l'âme une entaille profonde.

Elle est hautaine et belle, et moi timide et laid:

Je ne puis l'approcher qu'en des vapeurs de rêve.

Malheureux ! Plus je vais, et plus elle s'élève

Et dédaigne mon coeur pour en oeil qui lui plaît.

Voyez comme, pourtant, notre sort est étrange !

Si nous eussions tous deux fait de figure échange,

Comme elle m'eût aimé d'un amour sans pareil !

Et je l'eusse suivie, en vrai fou de Tolède,

Aux pays de la brume, aux landes du soleil,

Si le Ciel m'eût fait beau, et qu'il l'eût faite laide !

Émile Nelligan - (Amours d’élite)

Zalim Güzellik

Bu dünyada, kesinlikle, ancak bir aşkı olmalı insanın, 

Bir aşk, ne kadar huysuz olursa olsun, fazlası değil; 

Ve arıyorum onu ben böyle, ince ve asil, 

Açıldı bir yara ruhumda derin bir yara inanın.

O mağrur ve güzel, oysa ben mahcup ve çirkin: 

Yaklaşabiliyorum ancak bir düş sisi ardında. 

Ne yazık! Ne kadar ona uzansam, o daha yukarıda 

Hor görüyor kalbimi güzel bir çift göz için.

Ama gelin görün ki cilvesiyle kaderin! 

Değiştirmiş olsaydık yüzünü ikimizin 

Sevmiş olacaktı beni eşsiz bir aşkla nasıl da.

Düşerdim peşine gerçek bir Toledo delisi gibi, 

Puslu diyarlarda, güneşli topraklarda, 

Tanrı beni güzel onu çirkin yaratsa idi!

Émile Nelligan

Çeviren: Şevket Kadıoğlu

Photo by Spyro Zarifopoulos (Acros Photography)

Aurora / Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Aurora

O poeta ia bêbado no bonde.

O dia nascia atrás dos quintais.

As pensões alegres dormiam tristíssimas.

As casas também iam bêbadas.

Tudo era irreparável.

Ninguém sabia que o mundo ia acabar

(apenas uma criança percebeu mas ficou calada)

Que o mundo ia acabar às 7 e 45.

Últimos pensamentos! últimos telegramas!

José, que colocava pronomes,

Helena, que amava os homens,

Sebastião, que se arruinava,

Artur, que não dizia nada,

embarcam para a eternidade.

O poeta está bêbado, mas

escuta um apelo na aurora:

Vamos todos dançar

entre o bonde e a árvore?

Entre o bonde e a árvore

dançai, meus irmãos!

Embora sem música

dançai, meus irmãos!

Os filhos estão nascendo

com tamanha espontaneidade.

Como é maravilhoso o amor

(o amor e outros produtos).

Dançai meus irmãos!

A morte virá depois

como um sacramento.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Dawn

The poet was drunk in a streetcar.

Day was dawning behind the backyards.

The gay boarding houses were sleeping most sadly.

The houses also were drunk.

Everything was beyond repair.

Nobody knew the word was going to end

(Only a child guessed it but kept silent),

That the world was going to end at 7:45.

Last thoughts! final telegrams!

Joseph, who had mastered his pronouns,

Helen, who loved men,

Sebastian, who was bankrupting himself,

Arthur, who said nothing,

Set all for eternity.

The poet is drunk, but

He listens to an invitation in the dawn:

Shall we all go dancing

Between the streetcar and the tree?

Between the streetcar and the tree

Dance, my brothers!

Although there is no music

dance, my brothers!

Children are being born

With such spontaneity.

How marvelous is love

(Love and other products).

Dance, my brothers!

Death will come later,

Like a sacrament.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Şafak 

Sarhoştu şair, tramvaya binmişti.

Bahçeler arkasından söküyordu şafak.

Neşeli pansiyonlar huzurla uyuyordu.

Geçen evler de sarhoştu, ne olacak!

Ne varsa ortalıkta, onarılmazdı.

Kimseler bilmiyordu ama yıkılacaktı dünya

(bir tek çocuk biliyordu bunu, söylemiyordu),

yıkılacaktı dünya sekize çeyrek kala.

Son düşünceler! Son telgraflar!

Zamirleri ustalıkla kullanan José,

erkeklere bayılan Helena,

iflas bayrağını çeken Sebastiao,

ağzını bile açmayan Artur,

çekip gideceklerdi sonsuzluğa.

Şair körkütük sarhoş gerçi

ama bir çığlık duyuyor şafakta:

Dansa var mısınız hadi

tramvayla ağaçlar arasında?

Tramvayla ağaçlar arasında

dansedin kardeşlerim!

Müzik olmasa da ne çıkar

dansedin kardeşlerim!

Sanki kendi kendilerine

sıra sıra doğuyor çocuklar.

Dünyanın en güzel şeyidir aşk

(aşk ve aşkın sonuçları).

Dansedin kardeşlerim, dansedin!

Ölüm arkadan gelsin!

Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Çeviri: Ülkü Tamer

(People on Cable Car), c. 1947-1948, by Max Yavno