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On Sat­ur­day March 16th, I was the bear­er of a message.

Titi Robin, a musi­cian,  a friend from the Angevin region, a man of heart and com­mon sense, was giv­ing a con­cert at the Chaba­da in Angers. This time, he exchanged his oud and his buzuk for an elec­tric gui­tar. He took us trav­el­ling though his lat­est album “Rebel Diwana.

The con­cert was opened by The Sweet Crim­i­nals (Yves Bar­taud and Fred de Char­co).  An excel­lent cross of blues to folk to young rock, both cool and mov­ing… If ever they come by your place…

Titi Robin and his poet­ry were accom­pa­nied by oth­er local artists, and oth­ers who had come from far away; Arthur Alard on drums, Nicholas Vel­la at the key­board, Natalli­no Neto on base gui­tar, with the mag­i­cal sounds of Murad Ali Khan’s saran­gi and Shuheb Hasan’s mag­nif­i­cent voice…

Once per­formed my mes­sen­ger duties, we drank in the poet­ry of this con­cert and mil­lions of musi­cal thoughts to Zehra and to those who are in still jail so that the cold and grey walls of Turk­ish pris­ons might res­onate with beau­ty and life.

Dear Titi Robin,

I thank you for the sup­port you showed me. I can­not say how much the sligh­est ener­gy com­ing from this life can be mean­ing­ful in those places of con­fine­ment where we are torn away from it. I could receive and feel your ener­gy and your music through the small chinks opened up in those walls. Your sup­port brought and all my friends much strength. Thank you very much.

Zehra Doğan

Longing for you have I worn out shackles
You, to be able to relate you,
To good children, to heroes.
To one without honor, to heartless
Whoring deceit.
How many a dead of winter, over and over,
Would the wolf, would the bird, would the dungeon slumber.
Outside, a world thunderously flowing…
I alone did not sleep,
How many a spring, my love, my darkest night,
Longing for you have I worn out shackles.
Let me fasten blood roses to your hair,
One on that side,
One on this side…
You, if I could bellow you,
To bottomless pits,
To the shooting star,
To one reaching a matchstick,
A matchstick that has fallen
On the ocean’s most uninhabited wave.
They’ve lost their talismanic spark, of first passions,
Lost their spark, those kisses,
They have no part, from the abruptly falling night,
A glass, a cigarette, to one adrift in thought,
You, if I could relate you…
Your absence, it is Hell’s other name
I feel cold, don’t close your eyes…
Ahmed Arif
Translation :

For ear­li­er exchanges between Titi and Zehra (in French) fol­low these links
De Titi Robin à Zehra Doğan: here 
Let­tre de Zehra Doğan, poème de Titi Robin: here

Translation by Renée Lucie Bourges
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Naz Oke
REDACTION | Journaliste 
Chat de gout­tière sans fron­tières. Jour­nal­isme à l’U­ni­ver­sité de Mar­mara. Archi­tec­ture à l’U­ni­ver­sité de Mimar Sinan, Istanbul.