It is a summer day, it is extremely hot.
A man is sweating, so he takes a pot,
Fills it with water, ready to cool off.
He suddenly begins to tremble and to cough.
Already naked, he starts having doubts
Apparently with some of his old freak-outs.
He takes the pot with water and then puts it back.
Then takes it again… He thinks he’s on track.
It’s hot outside but the water is cold,
So he is ready to put his bath on hold.
But he has to prove he is brave enough,
He stops for a second to tremble and cough.
So he spills all the water over his head,
And that makes him happy and awfully glad:
“How clever I am, I am always on top,
I didn’t get wet, not even a drop.”
I hope, you got the irony of this verse,
The story I told, is a joke, of course.
But it is like my love, which has driven me insane
I run like Shurale – will I see her again?
I’m hiding my eyes when I see her by chance.
She thinks I am calm, I get nervous at once.
I constantly live with this passionate flame,
I write all my verses without my name.
Why should I continue to behave like a fool?
And yet when I see her I’m distant and cool.
My heart is on fire, I’m burning alive.
If only she leaves – I’ll maybe survive.
Finally I’m told she’s moved back home,
No verses to write, my thoughts can roam.
Who wrote them all, she can only guess
She’ll never learn the truth I have to confess.
My poetry is good to be a rug under her feet,
She is welcome to stand on it, to lie down, or sit.
If she wished to leave this place, so let it be,
I will keep the secret of my poetry with me.
1908
В оригинале на татарском: Кызык гыйшык
В переводе на русский язык: Странная любовь (Перевод Р.Морана)
Странная любовь (Перевод В.Думаевой-Валиевой)