love in letters

ONEGIN adlı filmden bir sahne, Puşkin'in romanından uyarlama
tatyana letter to onegin

“I write to you – no more confession
is needed, nothing’s left to tell.
I know it’s now in your discretion
with scorn to make my world a hell.
“But, if you’ve kept some faint impression
of pity for my wretched state,
you’ll never leave me to my fate.
At first I thought it out of season
to speak; believe me: of my shame
you’d not so much as know the name,
if I’d possessed the slightest reason
to hope that even once a week
I might have seen you, heard you speak
on visits to us, and in greeting
I might have said a word, and then
thought, day and night, and thought again
about one thing, till our next meeting.
But you’re not sociable, they say:
you find the country godforsaken;
though we... don’t shine in any way,
our joy in you is warmly taken.
“Why did you visit us, but why?
Lost in our backwoods habitation
I’d not have known you, therefore I
would have been spared this laceration.
In time, who knows, the agitation
of inexperience would have passed,
I would have found a friend, another,
and in the role of virtuous mother
and faithful wife I’d have been cast.

“Another!... No, another never
in all the world could take my heart!
Decreed in highest court for ever...
heaven’s will – for you I’m set apart;
and my whole life has been directed
and pledged to you, and firmly planned;
I know, Godsent one, I’m protected
until the grave by your strong hand:
you’d made appearance in my dreaming;
unseen, already you were dear,
my soul had heard your voice ring clear,
stirred at your gaze, so strange, so gleaming,
long, long ago... no, that could be
no dream. You’d scarce arrived, I reckoned
to know you, swooned, and in a second
all in a blaze, I said: it’s he!
“You know, it’s true, how I attended,
drank in your words when all was still –
helping the poor, or while I mended
with balm of prayer my torn and rended
spirit that anguish had made ill.

At this midnight of my condition,
was it not you, dear apparition,
who in the dark came flashing through
and, on my bed-head gently leaning,
with love and comfort in your meaning,
spoke words of hope? But who are you:
the guardian angel of tradition,
or some vile agent of perdition
sent to seduce? Resolve my doubt.
Oh, this could all be false and vain,
a sham that trustful souls work out;
fate could be something else again...

onegin letter to tatyana

I know it all: my secret ache
will anger you in its confession.
What scorn I see in the expression
that your proud glance is sure to take!
What do I want? what am i after,
stripping my soul before your eyes?
I know to what malicious laughter
my declaration may give rise!

I noticed once, at our chance meeting,
in you a tender pulse was beating,
yet dared not trust what I could see.
I gave no rein to sweet affection;
what held me was my predilection,
my tedious taste for feeling free.


No, every minute of my days,
to see you, faithfully to follow,
watch for your smile, and catch your gaze
with eyes of love, with greed to swallow
your words, and in my soul explore
your matchlessness, to seek to capture
its image, then to swoon before
your feet, to pale and waste...what rapture!

But I'm denied this: all for you
I draq my footsteps hither, yonder;
I count each hour the whole day through;
and yet in vain ennui I squander
the days that doom has measured out.
And how they weigh! I know about
my span, that fortune's jurisdiction
has fixed; but for my heart to beat
I must wake up with the conviction
that somehow that same day we'll meet...

how fearful is my obsession
to clasp your knees, and at your feet
to sob out prayer, complaint, confession,
and every plea that lips can treat;
meanwhile with a dissembler's duty
to cool my glances and my tongue,
to talk as if with heart unwrung,
and look serenely on your beauty!...

But so it is: I'm in no state
to battle further with my passion;
I'm yours, in a predestined fashion,
and I surrender to my fate.

haydi durma söyle


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