Where was this melancholy in those days?
This crying inside,
Singing of faraway things?
I raised hell
Every day then;
To a dance today, to the movies tomorrow,
If I didn’t like it, to a cafe;
If I didn’t like that either, to the park;
I embellished my lover
In poems,
I took her to picnics,
A book of poems on our laps;
Where, where,
Where was this melancholy in those days?

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat