To Nazim Hikmet

To Nazim Hikmet


The way your own walls
could not contain your words,
so did they find us, my brother,
nor could our walls exclude them.
And there came to me
that day in prison,
speaking in the prison whisper
you know so well,
that gentle writer, Albert Maltz-
Like you, his crime was words
that sang of life,
of peace and hope
and the things men cherish-
and told me you were free.
Free, he said, Nazim Hikmet's free,
and walks in freedom
on his own good native ground,
and sings loud and proud,
for all men to hear.
How can I tell you, friend, comrade,
brother too,
whom I have never seen but know so well,
and hold so high,
in such precious esteem-
how can I tell you what this meant?
For in that moment we were free.
For in that moment my heart sang a song
to equal yours,
and I knew you as well as ever
I knew a man,
knew you and all your kind, our kind,
such a brotherhood
that surmounts nations,
and they think to quiet us,
to make us silent behind walls.
A small blow once we struck
in your behalf,
yet I tell you that you freed us,
two writers of a land
five thousand miles from yours,
like yours a land where evil men
do evil things,
like yours a land where freedom
bows her head in shame,
but will awaken yet.
When you went free we understood
the small moment of our own walls,
erected by clowns and smirking killers,
a small moment in the march of man
toward light and glory-
yet do I have to tell you,
when surely you heard
the song our hearts made!


Howard Fast


from Masses & Mainstream - October 1950
Posted over on Hariga