to hide here and kiss a beloved is not sin enough
the human soul is a dark place, leviathan.
so much that my eyes begrudge the light.
I sense the dark upsurge. I can’t find a hole large enough, can’t live on level ground.
at the old bookshop I stopped by this afternoon, I found on top of a cabinet a little french book about paul cézanne. I showed it to the man standing by the door and asked, how much. a rare work, he said, antique, hard to come by. I know that, I said, but how much. thirty liras, he said. I cursed the man who priced rareness at thirty liras.
the human soul is contemptible, leviathan. you better hang in my dark face. just like this. one day, when I leave this place, I’ll want to kiss you. believe me: neither luke nor john will record my deeds.
Translation from the Turkish