“Another Life” casino faded away,
Songs faded away…
Colours on my palette, on my brush, faded away.
And tonight for the first time in the northern bay,
The aria pouring out of the shutters of Peramos faded away…
No crew now, no “Bar Komandos”,
No ember skin, scarlet feathered canary.
On this lonely tropical night,
Bamboo reeds shrouded in remorseful silence,
Shrouded in pain…
Like suddenly finding ourselves
Shrouded in a yellow mist of misgiving.
As wretched as that.
Nothing, I want to think of nothing!
But, on the fourth watchtower
There’s a suspicious signal.
No, no these are all lies!
No more do I believe in fate or fortune;
She’s lying, the fortune teller woman, the Indian pariah!
Only in you, I believe,
Only in you Marya!
Each night spent like this, so anguished.
The ungracious stars, the mystery, the vast sea
And the hanging lantern entrusted to the sky…
Believe me dear Marya!
Believe me, since you left,
All is strange, all is sorrow,
All, an unrelenting burden on my shoulders,
Drudgery, all of it.
I know, at sunrise this morning,
A ship shall anchor in this ungrateful port;
In spite of Paul’s everlasting mourning,
Virginia could be on it!
But I know, you are not…
How quickly you forgot your promise, Marya.
You said you would come in the spring, didn’t you?
It’s spring now!
Why don’t you come, why don’t you?
Do you know why my brush trembles
And the background is yellow in my paintings?
You see my love, don’t you?
Absorbed in all the papers…
The tropical poison, the chronic malaria.
Without you how empty the quay,
How desolate the city…
In front of the platoon guards’ eyes,
They still, one by one, have stolen the stars from the bay.
Again, several dockmen, several palikaria.
But, who would think about the stars,
The locals have shot Captain Arnold,
In mourning, the whole squad.
These people, this sky, this sea, this land,
Condemned to disappear one by one, one by one…
We, so long speechless within this yellow nostalgia,
For so long, lost.
Are you, are you crying Maria?
Wipe your eyes my love, wipe your eyes,
What does our absence matter,
Our love is.
Bekir Sıtkı Erdoğan (1926-2014). Marya. Translated from the Turkish.