11-11-1933 Bursa Prison My one and only! Your last letter says: "My head is throbbing, my heart is stunned!" You say: "If they hang you, if I lose you, I'll die!" You'll live, my dear-- my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind. Of course you'll live, red-haired lady of my heart: in the twentieth century grief lasts at most a year.
Death-- a body swinging from a rope. My heart can't accept such a death. But you can bet if some poor gypsy's hairy black spidery hand slips a noose around my neck, they'll look in vain for fear in Nazim's blue eyes! In the twilight of my last morning I will see my friends and you, and I'll go to my grave regretting nothing but an unfinished song... My wife! Good-hearted, golden, eyes sweeter than honey--my bee! Why did I write you they want to hang me? The trial has hardly begun, and they don't just pluck a man's head like a turnip. Look, forget all this. If you have any money, buy me some flannel underwear: my sciatica is acting up again. And don't forget, a prisoner's wife must always think good thoughts.
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)
- by Nazim Hikmet34
as a child he never plucked the wings off flies he didn't tie tin cans to cats' tails or lock beetles in matchboxes or stomp anthills he grew up and all those things were done to him I was at his bedside when he died he said read me a poem about the sun and the sea about nuclear reactors and satellites about the greatness of humanity
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