The turning wheel

How beautiful is the working man Day-laborer, carpenter, shoemaker The reaper in the ocean of waving grain All know this song I sing How beautiful is the working man. Upon this road how beautifully The wheel works while it is singing And takes the earth's abundance Down to the market where all bread is shared How beautifully it turns upon this road. Gardener, guard well those beautiful parks And you, world tailor, sew the new clothes You, poor scales of the neighborhood grocer, Keep weighing a bit of pain, a bit of grace Gardener, guard well the beautiful parks. How beautiful the places where work is done Printshop, factory; laying of rails How beautiful the working of rough lumber As if founding a homeland. Stone-cutter, mason, carpenter How beautiful the places where work is done. I am a working man, a laborer I love working people My friend is the work-bench, the field, the marketplace I am the baker who kneads the dough of good days I am a working man, a laborer. All seamen, divers, sponge fishermen The driver taking the sick person, the wagon of the solitary The Central Anatolian peasant on his barren earth The smith in the town with his flaming forge The brave sailors who work the waters of their own land.

Translated from the Turkish by Yalim/Fielder/Riggs.

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