325: On Living
“On Living”
Nazim Hikmet
I.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree that,
for example, your hands tied behind your back, your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and thick glasses,
you'll be able to die for people-
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, most beautiful thing.
I mean you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you will plant olives-
and not so they'll be left for your children either,
but because even though you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.
II.
Let's say we're seriously ill, need surgery-
which is to say there's a chance we won't get up
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see if it's raining,
or we'll still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast ...
Let's say we're at the front,
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which might go on for years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say, before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind-
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if one never dies.
III.
This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest-
a gilded mote on the blue velvet, I mean,
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a heap of ice
or a dead cloud even,
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space ...
You must grieve for this right now,
you have to feel this sorrow now,
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say "I lived" ...
Nazim Hikmet
I.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree that,
for example, your hands tied behind your back, your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and thick glasses,
you'll be able to die for people-
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, most beautiful thing.
I mean you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you will plant olives-
and not so they'll be left for your children either,
but because even though you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.
II.
Let's say we're seriously ill, need surgery-
which is to say there's a chance we won't get up
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see if it's raining,
or we'll still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast ...
Let's say we're at the front,
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which might go on for years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say, before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind-
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if one never dies.
III.
This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest-
a gilded mote on the blue velvet, I mean,
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a heap of ice
or a dead cloud even,
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space ...
You must grieve for this right now,
you have to feel this sorrow now,
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say "I lived" ...