The Art of Marxism: poetry

Don Quixote

by Nāzım Hikmet Ran

The knight of immortal youth

at the age of fifty found his mind in his heart

and on July morning went out to capture

the right, the beautiful, the just.

Facing him a world of silly and arrogant giants,

he on his sad but brave Rocinante.

I know what it means to be longing for something,

but if your heart weighs only a pound and sixteen ounces,

there's no sense, my Don, in fighting these senseless windmills.

But you are right, of course, Dulcinea is your woman,

the most beautiful in the world;

I'm sure you'll shout this fact

at the face of street-traders;

but they'll pull you down from your horse

and beat you up.

But you, the unbeatable knight of our curse,

will continue to glow behind the heavy iron visor

and Dulcinea will become even more beautiful.