20th Century Turkish poetry

Jet-Black by İlhan Berk

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One should describe you starting from your mouth
Youngster, your mouth is silk from China, conflagrations, a jet-black amber

Your mouth, a spring of ice-cold water, a general strike
A foolish sea throwing itself from one place to another

Your mouth is that kid who sells dark blue-winged birds in the Grand Bazaar
It’s a periodical titled Cornfield

These small, unpretentious rivers of ours are what your mouth is
Coming downhill a narrow street every day into a little square

Your mouth is “Time in Bursa City,” shyly roofed flea markets
Night as written in old Arabic

Kids, birds, summer times are all your that mouth is
Your mouth is a silken touch in my mind

translted by Önder Otçu

Glass by Ahmet Haşim

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Don’t think it’s rose, or tulip,
filled with fire, don’t hold it, you burn,
this rosy glass.

Fuzuli had drunk of this fire
Majnun, fallen with its elixir
into the state of this poem.

Those drinking from this cup burning
why, filling the night of love
with moans and mint, end to end.

Filled with fire, don’t hold it you burn
this rosy glass.

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

Staircase by Ahmet Hasim

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Slowly, slowly will you mount this staircase
–A heap of sun-tinged leaves upon your skirts–
And for a while gaze weeping at the sky. . .

The waters darken and your face grows pale,
Look at the scarlet air, for evening comes. . .

Bowed towards the earth, the roses,
Flame-like the nightingales bleed upon the boughs;
Has morning turned to bronze, do waters burn?

This is a secret tongue that fills the soul
Look at the scarlet air, for evening comes. . .

translated by Bernard Lewis

After the Rain by Cevat Çapan

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This time
I brought with me
the chill of the streets
in which we once walked.
Your breath and gaze will be filled with
shadows of the eaves falling upon us
and the smell of sweet basil outside the windows
if you hold my hand.
At this crossroads
where everything is lost
and found again
when we are face to face with all that crowd
you will realize
the further
time takes you away from me
the closer
it draws me to you.

translated by Zeyney Bağcı and Suat Karantay

New Year’s Eve by Nazim Hikmet

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The snow falling hard through the night
sparkled in the starlight.
There is a house on a street in a city,
a wooden house so far away.

The child sleeping on the pillow
is plump and blond–my son.
There are no guests, no one.
Poor Istanbul out the window.

Shrill whistles screamed outside.
Loneliness feels like prison.
Munevver closed her book
and softly cried.

There is a house on a street in a city,
a wooden house so far away.
The snow falling hard through the night
sparkled in the starlight.

translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk

The Key by Ceyhun Atuf Kansu

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Look! I am but a road to you
The road you tread every morning
I am a tree to you, the acacia
In whose shadow you wait for a bus.

Tell me who you are
Let me write at the corners of streets
I’ve lost myself in your town
Your name is my street.

Tell me where your house is
Do you like afternoons or evenings?
Let me knock on your door
Unlock and show me the secret garden.

Give me the padlock of your eyes
Let me close us off from the world
Look, this is my key
Unlock yourself, there is love about to emerge
Please do not hide it.

The Woman with a Pigeon in Her Soul by Tekin Gönenç

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first came your voice
half-opening my doors
then you emerged leaving behind
a blind alley of puzzled clouds
o woman with a pigeon in her soul

your pitch-black hair streaming
you ran to and fro days on end
in the cross-currents of my being

shedding over me
the thousands of stars
concealed in your dimples
now tell me where your journey leads

should we all henceforth
each taking his own poem by the hand
enter from the opposite direction
the dead alley of butterflies

and yet you still abide with me
o woman with a pigeon in her soul