I was born in 1902 I never once went back to my birthplace I don`t like to turn back at three I served as a pasha`s grandson in Aleppo at nineteen as a student at Moscow Communist University at forty-nine I was back in Moscow as the Tcheka Party`s guest and I`ve been a poet since I was fourteen some people know all about plants some about fish I know separation some people know the names of the stars by heart I recite absences I`ve slept in prisons and in grand hotels I`ve known hunger even a hunger strike and there`s almost no food I haven`t tasted at thirty they wanted to hang me at forty-eight to give me the Peace Prize which they did at thirty-six I covered four square meters of concrete in half a year at fifty-nine I flew from Prague to Havana in eighteen hours I never saw Lenin I stood watch at his coffin in `24 in `61 the tomb I visit is his books they tried to tear me away from my party it didn`t work nor was I crushed under the falling idols in `51 I sailed with a young friend into the teeth of death in `52 I spent four months flat on my back with a broken heart waiting to die I was jealous of the women I loved I didn`t envy Charlie Chaplin one bit I deceived my women I never talked my friends` backs I drank but not every day I earned my bread money honestly what happiness out of embarrassment for others I lied I lied so as not to hurt someone else but I also lied for no reason at all I`ve ridden in trains planes and cars most people don`t get the chance I went to opera most people haven`t even heard of the opera and since `21 I haven`t gone to the places most people visit mosques churches temples synagogues sorcerers but I`ve had my coffee grounds read my writings are published in thirty or forty languages in my Turkey in my Turkish they`re banned cancer hasn`t caught up with me yet and nothing says it will I`ll never be a prime minister or anything like that and I wouldn`t want such a life nor did I go to war or burrow in bomb shelters in the bottom of the night and I never had to take to the road under diving planes but I fell in love at almost sixty in short comrades even if today in Berlin I`m croaking of grief I can say I`ve lived like a human being and who knows how much longer I`ll live what else will happen to me This autobiography was written in east Berlin on 11 September 1961 Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)SourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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