Someone is calling me, from yesterday-from tomorrow;
To languish-to laugh, just a matter of mood for me.
My heart writhes in pains of labour;
Oh God! To die without, without delivery…
Let the abyss be one step away from me;
Take the bit out of my mouth, everywhere meadows I see!
Why these effortless, loose, small pieces?
A solid block waits to be engraved in front of me…
The broken pieces of stone I play with, look at them and see:
Pieces from the block I carve.
Will it break and crush me?
Have I prepared my own ruin for years?
The streets constantly call out from the stones:
“This ramble is pointless, all you have done no use!”
My temples throb with the fever to create,
The hammer in my hand beats inside my head…
Behçet Kemal Çağlar (1908-1969). Başımın İçinde Bir Çekiç. Translated from the Turkish.