Bach's Concerto No. 1 in C-Minor
by Nâzım Hikmet (1902 – 1963)
(https://youtu.be/ljLi9A0H8H4?si=5rSXFsLu4KHRqnps)
Fall morning in the vineyard:
in row after row the repetition of knotty vines,
of clusters on the vines,
of grapes in the clusters,
of light on the grapes.
At night, in the big white house,
the repetition of windows,
each lit up separately.
The repetition of all the rain that rains
on earth, trees, and the sea,
on my hands, face, and eyes,
and of the drops crushed on the glass.
The repetition of my days
that are alike,
my days that are not alike.
The repetition of the thread in the weave,
the repetition in the starry sky,
and the repetition of "I love" in all languages,
and the repetition of the tree in the leaves,
and of the pain of living, which ends in an instant
on every deathbed.
The repetition in the snow -
the light snow,
the heavy wet snow,
the dry snow,
the repetition in the snow that whirls
in the blizzard that drives me off the road.
The children are running in the courtyard;
in the courtyard the children are running.
An old woman is passing by on the street;
on the street an old woman is passing by;
passing by on the street is an old woman.
At night, in the big white house,
the repetition of windows,
each lit up separately.
In the clusters, of grapes,
on the grapes, of light.
To walk toward the good, the just, the true,
to fight for the good, the just, the true,
to seize the good, the just, the true.
Your silent tears and smile, my rose,
your sobs and bursts of laughter, my rose,
the repetition of your shining white teeth when you laugh.
Fall morning in the vineyard:
in row after row the repetition of knotty vines,
of clusters on the vines,
of grapes in the clusters,
of light on the grapes,
of my heart in the light.
My rose, this is the miracle of repetition -
to repeat without repeating.
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