Lithograph


Cevat ÇAPAN

LITHOGRAPH

Hand in hand they were,
through the dust on the ground
they were watching the clouds in the sky
the ashen sea.

From somewhere the noise of the cranes
was coming, through freight ships
being loaded and unloaded
through the wheels of wagons
lowered on barges
they seemed to see a fountain, a tree
the nest of swallow.

They stood just like that.
They were silently repeating
all the words they knew, at the lake
formed by the colors they knew by heart
flowing into one another
they were waiting for a boat
to land at a moss-covered wharf.
An imperceptible sound of flute
was intermingling with the cries
of the street vendors.

The curd cheese, bulgur, dried mulberries
they had left at the coffeeshop of the inn
hand in hand, worn out, in an anxious swoon
were reflecting on their heavy hearts
from the glass containers of the bookseller
selling perfume in the courtyard

Suddenly from the book covers
in lithographic print
appeared the Caliph Ali with his horse
taking them to the Castle of Kan
through the Hayber Pass
in the night he had split into two
with his famed cleft sword.

One half of the night a cold desert,
the other crimson twilight, burning sand.
Hand in hand they were waiting, and waiting
Into a dried up bloody sediment were turning
their desires.

Translated by Suat Karantay