A swallow a puddle a piece of sky
They must have fallen off a poem.
Someone passing by thus said.
translated by Omer Kursat
20th Century Turkish poetry
For A Hopeful Ending by Turgut Uyar
one day I leave what is to remain of me
everything left unfulfilled remains
who would want to die in summertime
everything I left unfulfilled remains
my life seems to be of a whiteness
everything I left unfulfilled remains
I expand I scatter I am white
one day I leave, what is to remain of me
one day I leave oh vigorous horse
something of mine will surely remain
translated by Omer Kursat
I woke Up Three Times Loving You by İlhan Berk
I woke up three times loving you
I then changed the water in the vase
I could see a cloud that had taken off, drifting away.
Your face looked at if it fell off a part of the morning.
I paced the street the balcony and a half finished poem
I was bored I cooked for myself I dried herbs
I could hear a voice say “My Laurel!”
Your face was like the first days of the Republic.
I got up then walked up and down
Read poems, I reached the age of the poems
I felt your breath of clove gum on me.
I run through it over and over until only your beauty remains.
translated by Omer Kursat
At An Old Street Of Pera by İlhan Berk
Birds ascend from Hagia Irene
A stalk of grass behind their ears.
I tell myself that I am here finally
Here at this place, intersecting wth an old atlas.
A cat is gazing into your eyes
And the sky further below, as low as it can be.
And a woman trying to cross the street
I think of you and her incredibly thin neck that I do not see.
Peddlers, soldiers, knife sharpeners pass in front of me
And the sulky laborers of our world.
A voice says we are on the same peninsula
And vanishes down an old street of Pera.
I tread an old street of Pera like this every night
Every night with your mud on my soles.
translated by Omer Kursat
Rose by Cemal Süreya
I cry in the middle of the rose
Every night when I die in the middle of the street
I do not know my front or back
When I sense your eyes diminish in the dark
The eyes that keep me standing
I hold your hands, caress them till dawn
Your hands are white, white again and again
I am scared of your hands being this white
They are briefly a train at the station
I am a man who sometimes cannot find the station
I pick up the rose, brush it against my face
Had fallen on the street somehow
I break my arms, my wings
There is blood, a ruckus and music
And a new gypsy playing the horn
translated by Omer Kursat
Even Though We Lived Briefly by Cemal Süreya
When I struck the match
Everything was red as was your face
When I struck the match
Because every face is a country
When I lit my cigarette
Because every cigarette is an utterance
When I lit my cigarette
It was the autumn days as a song
A dove, when I die
Layered with small sorrows
A dove, when I die
translated by Omer Kursat
Is It Spring by Turgut Uyar
I said if it was spring
upon seeing the basil bloom suddenly
an undeniable eternity
hand in hand with heartbreaking feelings
winter
winter of course
or so
or fall
ask that to lovers
but if you ask me
it’s like the summer sweat on a child
that dries and fades away
translated by Omer Kursat
If I Come By Now by Turgut Uyar
if I come by now, you’ve bathed
combed your hair.
droplets on your forehead,
a lightness in your face.
like the stars after a mist
your fingers have turned pink
you’re sprawled on the bed . . .
I wrote this as a love song, my bride
rain is now falling on the roads, on the leaves.
if I come by you are home,
together with all the warmth.
your bosom covered
your lips apart.
if you would breathe upon and warm my hands.
. . . .
but where are you now. . .
translated by Omer Kursat
Pale Blue by Aslı Durak
Hold my hand
Not to carry me far away . . . no
My roots and branches
Will strain for distant clouds
Maybe my eyes
Are in that same pavilion of loneliness now
Let my face again be the statue of sadness
When you beautify me
Maybe
I’m a pale blue woman now
translated by George Messo
A Windless Poppy by Aslı Durak
Touched-leaves still on the floor
It danced with wind
Swayed in her bloody shawl
Wind cut dead
And the dance half done
In coarse, dark rasping pain
The poppy sheds its leaves
translated by George Messo
Leonard Durso 