The Art of Marxism: poetry

Bor Hotel

by Nāzım Hikmet Ran

No way you can sleep nights in Varna,

no way you can sleep:

for the wealth of stars

so close and brilliant,

for the rustle of dead waves on the sand,

of salty weeds

with their pearly shells

and pebbles,

for the sound of a motorboat tnrobbing like a heart at sea

for the memories filling my room,

coming from Istanbul,

passing through the Bosporus,

and filling my room,

some with green eyes,

some in handcuffs

or holding a handkerchief-

the handkerchief smells of lavender

No way you can Sleep in Varna, my love,

in Varna at the Bor Hotel.