It Was Paris

Written by Ataol Behramoglu

 Translated from the Turkish by Walter G. Andrews 

Narrated by Bill Wolak

 It was Paris, night, and I was young

Thick and coal-black flowed the Seine

I was high, was wet, was drunk

On love, on poetry, on pain 

It was Paris, Paris of a thousand faces

Which was my beloved once upon a time

When September kissed my lips

One early evening as if to make them bleed 

It was Paris, take sorrow over sorrows,

I wanted to die right there

I was dragging behind me

All of my unwritten poems 

It was Paris, the Paris of my love

Every smile, each word a jar of secrets

As if I were all heart below to above

Shrouded in longing 

It was Paris, the Paris of what time

Flying off with my fly-away life

Suddenly everything turned to memory

Love turned to lament 

It was Paris, the Paris of night, of sorrow

Of the rain and of youth

Many thanks, for everything

That you withheld and offered