The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest. He is a fellow who thoroughly enjoys his work, just as people who take bird walks enjoy theirs. Each new excursion of the essayist, each new “attempt,” differs from the last and takes him into new country. This delights him. Only a person who is congenitally self-centered has the effrontery and the stamina to write essays.
? by Orhan Veli Kanık
Why when I say harbour
Do cranes come to mind
And sails when I say open sea?
Cats when I say March
Workers when I say rights
And why does the old miller
Blindly believe in God?
And why does rain fall slanted
In windy weather?
translated by George Messo
To Live by Orhan Veli Kanık
I
I know, it’s not easy to live,
To fall in love and sing to the one you love,
To stroll in starlight at night,
To warm yourself by the light of day,
To find time like this to meet
On Çamlıca Hill for half a day
–A thousand blues flowing from the Bosphorus–
To forget everything in these leagues of blue.
II
I know, it isn’t easy to live,
But there
A dead man’s bed is still warm,
Someone’s watch still ticks on his wrist.
Living isn’t easy, brothers,
But neither is dying.
It isn’t easy to leave this world.
translated by George Messo
That’s life by Orhan Veli Kanık
This house had a dog, curly
Called Dingdong–who curled up and died.
There was a cat too: Bluey,
She disappeared.
The daughter got married,
The son finished school.
All these bittersweet things
Happened in a year!
They all just happened like that . . .
That’s life.
translated by George Messo
Illusion by Orhan Veli Kanık
I’m saved from an old love,
Now all women are beautiful,
My shirt’s new,
I’ve washed,
I’ve shaved,
It’s peaceful.
Spring is here.
The sun is out.
I’m in the street, people are relaxed,
I’m relaxed, too.
translated by George Messo
Over it all by Orhan Veli Kanık
Birds pass over the cloud,
And rain pours over it.
Birds pass over a train,
And rain pours over it.
Birds pass over night,
And rain pours over it.
Moon comes, wherever birds go . . .
And sun rises over the rain.
translated by George Messo
Kasida by Orhan Veli Kanık
A Bursa blade in her hand,
A red scarf around her neck.
You whittle sticks all day
In Filya field.
For you I’m digging under walls,
You’re climbing over them.
translated by George Messo
