Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Roni Margulies

THE TOWER OF LEANDER

Diving into the black waters at Salacak every evening,
he’d swim, sometimes easily, sometimes against the waves,
forgetting all he’d left behind the instant he reached
the woman with jet-black hair and coal-black eyes.

She was like the mysterious heroines of old:
You felt she could do anything at any moment, but didn’t;
her visible beauty was breathtaking enough,
but it made you imagine and covet what you couldn’t see.

They’d talk late into the night, gently touching
each other’s cheeks with their fingertips
as though touching some unique, fragile treasure,
make love with a never-ending passion.

Then just after dawn he’d leap back in the waters
to spend the day uneasily on shore,
fretting through the endless hours
as he waited for night and his swim to happiness.

Like everything, the summer, too, ended one day;
as winter took hold, the waters changed and grew rough,
the Tower no longer seemed so close to the shore:
He had to put a greater trust in his arms and his love.

“Don’t come to see me any more,” she begged.
He wouldn’t listen, just said: “Not being together
would be no different from death to me.
What have I to lose?”

And one evening
he did not turn up.

The Tower’s deserted now:
No one swims to it, no one waits by the window,
in the empty rooms there’s nothing but a warm breeze,
whispering, “A man loved a woman here long ago.”

DE MEISJESTOREN

Elke dag dook hij van Salacak het donkere water in,
en zwom, soms rustig, soms in gevecht met de golven,
terwijl hij alles vergat wat op de wal achterbleef,
naar een vrouw met gitzwarte haren en zwarte ogen.

De vrouw leek op de raadselachtige heldinnen uit het verleden.
Elk ogenblik scheen ze tot van alles in staat, maar deed niets.
Haar zichtbare schoonheid was vermaard, maar
naar de onzichtbare kon men slechts raden, hunkeren.

Ze spraken uren aaneen, beroerden elkaars wangen
met hun vingertoppen alsof ze een zeldzame en
broze kostbaarheid beroerden, vergaten alles
en beminden elkaar met een ongekende hartstocht.

En elke ochtend direct na zonsopgang sprong
de man in zee, om op de wal naar de avond te smachten.
De lange uren van de dag vielen hem zwaar, leken eindeloos.
Hij wachtte op het donker, wanneer hij zwom naar zijn geluk.

Zoals aan alles kwam ook aan de zomer eens een einde.
Met de winterdagen veranderde het water, verwilderden de golven,
en groeide die korte afstand tussen de wal en de toren.
Elke nacht moest hij meer op zijn armen en liefde vertrouwen.

De vrouw smeekte hem, “Kom alsjeblieft niet meer.”
Hij luisterde niet en zei “Voor mij is elke nacht
dat wij elkaar niet zien hetzelfde als de dood.
Wat heeft het leven nog voor zin?”

En op een nacht
is hij niet gekomen.

De toren is nu verlaten.
Er is niemand die zwemt, noch iemand die wacht.
In de lege kamers lijkt een lauwwarme bries te vertellen:
“Lang geleden hadden hier een vrouw en een man elkaar lief.”

KIZ KULESİ

Her gece dalıp Salacak’tan karanlık sulara,
bazen rahatça, bazen boğuşarak dalgalarla,
unuturdu o an arkasında karada kalanları,
ulaşıp kapkara saçlı, kara gözlü bir kadına.

Esrarlı kahramanlarına benzerdi kadın geçmişin.
Her an her şeyi yapabilecekken yapmaz gibiydi.
Görünen güzelliği de destandı dillere ama,
görünmeyenini sezdirir, onu merak ettirirdi.

Uzun uzun konuşur, birbirlerinin yanaklarına
eşsiz ve kırılgan bir defineye dokunurcasına
parmak uçlarıyla dokunur, unutur her şeyi,
sevişirlerdi dinmek bilmeyen bir tutkuyla.

Ve her sabah güneş doğduktan hemen sonra
atlar denize adam, karada akşamı iple çekerdi.
Zor geçer, sonsuz gelirdi günün uzun saatleri.
Kararıp hava mutluluğa yüzeceği anı beklerdi.

Her şey gibi yazın da geldi sonu sonra birgün.
Kış günleriyle başkalaştı sular, dalgalar azdı,
uzadı karayla Kule arasındaki o kısa mesafe.
Kollarına ve aşkına daha çok güvendi her gece.

Yalvardı kadın, diller döktü, “N’olur gelme” dedi.
Dinlemedi. “Ölümle birdir”, dedi, “benim için
görüşmediğimiz her gece.
Ölsem ne farkeder ki?”

Ve bir gece
gelmedi.

Kule metruk şimdi.
Ne yüzen var, ne bekleyen.
Boş odalarda anlatır gibidir ılık bir esinti:
“Bir zamanlar burda bir kadınla bir erkek birbirini sevdi.”
Close

THE TOWER OF LEANDER

Diving into the black waters at Salacak every evening,
he’d swim, sometimes easily, sometimes against the waves,
forgetting all he’d left behind the instant he reached
the woman with jet-black hair and coal-black eyes.

She was like the mysterious heroines of old:
You felt she could do anything at any moment, but didn’t;
her visible beauty was breathtaking enough,
but it made you imagine and covet what you couldn’t see.

They’d talk late into the night, gently touching
each other’s cheeks with their fingertips
as though touching some unique, fragile treasure,
make love with a never-ending passion.

Then just after dawn he’d leap back in the waters
to spend the day uneasily on shore,
fretting through the endless hours
as he waited for night and his swim to happiness.

Like everything, the summer, too, ended one day;
as winter took hold, the waters changed and grew rough,
the Tower no longer seemed so close to the shore:
He had to put a greater trust in his arms and his love.

“Don’t come to see me any more,” she begged.
He wouldn’t listen, just said: “Not being together
would be no different from death to me.
What have I to lose?”

And one evening
he did not turn up.

The Tower’s deserted now:
No one swims to it, no one waits by the window,
in the empty rooms there’s nothing but a warm breeze,
whispering, “A man loved a woman here long ago.”

THE TOWER OF LEANDER

Diving into the black waters at Salacak every evening,
he’d swim, sometimes easily, sometimes against the waves,
forgetting all he’d left behind the instant he reached
the woman with jet-black hair and coal-black eyes.

She was like the mysterious heroines of old:
You felt she could do anything at any moment, but didn’t;
her visible beauty was breathtaking enough,
but it made you imagine and covet what you couldn’t see.

They’d talk late into the night, gently touching
each other’s cheeks with their fingertips
as though touching some unique, fragile treasure,
make love with a never-ending passion.

Then just after dawn he’d leap back in the waters
to spend the day uneasily on shore,
fretting through the endless hours
as he waited for night and his swim to happiness.

Like everything, the summer, too, ended one day;
as winter took hold, the waters changed and grew rough,
the Tower no longer seemed so close to the shore:
He had to put a greater trust in his arms and his love.

“Don’t come to see me any more,” she begged.
He wouldn’t listen, just said: “Not being together
would be no different from death to me.
What have I to lose?”

And one evening
he did not turn up.

The Tower’s deserted now:
No one swims to it, no one waits by the window,
in the empty rooms there’s nothing but a warm breeze,
whispering, “A man loved a woman here long ago.”
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
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