poem

MMaksudoglu

crimea flagA Crimean Tatar poet Bekir Chobanzadehad wrote those lines in 1918 and I think it reflects today’s Crimean Tatars position. Samuel Hodgkin has done a wonderful translation into English. Here, I would like to thank him for his ver valuable contribution.

Nineteen Nineteen

The air is cold, the sky cloudy, rain’s falling

A bitter gale beating, washing my window

I wait for the new year, all alone,

Taking account of last year’s every love

Last year couldn’t set things right either,

It, too, departed, sinking into remorse

I can’t say what this year’s task might be,

I can’t find words fitting to my thoughts

I don’t have a new year then, in short

Our world is the old world of sorrows.

Our life—its anguish, its apprehension—

Is like a patched cloak, an unsteady staff.

A long year, and its last day’s a cold grave

We have no…

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