I’m sorry

life was tranquil (sort of)

then

‘when you lifted but the glove of one white hand’

etcetera

I

From his window overlooking the roofs
The harbor was in sight
Church bells
Tolled all day long.
From his bed the trains could be heard
From time to time
And at night.
He loved a girl
Who lived in the house across the street.
Be that as it may,
He left this town
And moved to another.

II

Now the poplars are in view
Out of his window
Along the canal.
Daytime it keeps raining
And the moon is up at night.
There’s a market in the square nearby.
As for him, all the time,
Whatever it is–a trip or money or a letter,
He keeps thinking of something.

translated by Talat S. Halman

Don’t think it’s rose, or tulip,
filled with fire, don’t hold it, you burn,
this rosy glass.

Fuzuli had drunk of this fire
Majnun, fallen with its elixir
into the state of this poem.

Those drinking from this cup burning
why, filling the night of love
with moans and mint, end to end.

Filled with fire, don’t hold it you burn
this rosy glass.

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat