Turkish poet

What Is Left by Hüseyin Yurttaş

/ zdunno03 / 5 Comments

What is left
of the streets I thundered through like a raging wind
of my youthful steps whose echoes are imprinted on the walls
what is left

in the ravishing summers where docile shadows swayed
the light that flowed through me like a legend
which darkness is it now pursing in the cascade of the years

the lightning flashing distantly on my horizons
what does it now want to reveal of the beyond
which unanswerable questions in this endless inquiry
are reiterated unceasingly in the desolation of my life
in this blinding flood that may never end

yes, in truth, what is left
of my youthful steps whose echoes are imprinted on the walls

translated by Suat Karantay

from The Tale of Tales by Nazım Hikmet

/ zdunno03 / 9 Comments

Here we are at the edge of the water
the sycamore and I, the cat and the sun with all that we are.
The water is cool
the sycamore magnificent
I am writing poetry
the cat dozing.
The sun is warm–
how wonderful to be alive.
The water casts light back on us
the sycamore and me, the cat and the sun and all that we are.

translated by Jean Carpenter Efe

A City and He Himself by Güven Turan

/ zdunno03 / 4 Comments

To dream of the sea
Even when looking at the sea
This is what he has long been doing
And imagining he is in a city
With trams along its streets
On yellow cut-stone edifices
Darkening iron balconies
The sound of pigeons
Pigeon droppings on the windows
But these are dreams
Neither opposite him nor
Anywhere

translated by Suat Karantay

On This Road by Ferit Edgü

/ zdunno03 / 6 Comments

The road’s asphalt
The sea so smooth
Soon, much too soon the day is done

The forest’s dry
Is the water ice
So that we
All of us, all of us have been deceived

The mountain’s steep
The road’s a threat
The sea so rough
How many how many how many
Have gone astray on these roads

translated by Jean Carpenter Efe

YOU’RE by Nazım Hikmet

/ zdunno03 / 5 Comments

You’re my bondage and my freedom
my flesh burning like a naked summer night,
you’re my country.

Hazel eyes marbled green,
you’re awesome, beautiful, and brave,
you’re my desire always just out of reach.

translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk

On The Matter Of Romeo And Juliet by Nazim Hikmet

/ zdunno03 / 4 Comments

It’s no crime to be Romeo or Juliet;
it’s not a crime even to die for love.
What counts is whether you can be a Romeo or Juliet–
I mean, it’s all a question of your heart.

For instance, fighting at the barricades
or going off to explore the North Pole
or testing a new serum in your veins–
would it be a crime to die?

It’s no crime to be Romeo or Juliet;
it’s not a crime even to die for love.

You fall head over heels in love with the world,
but it doesn’t know you’re alive.
You don’t want to leave the world,
but it will leave you–
I mean, just because you love apples,
do apples have to love you back?
I mean, if Juliet stopped loving Romeo
–or if she’d never loved him–
would he be any less a Romeo?

It’s no crime to be Romeo or Juliet;
it’s not a crime even to die for love.

translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk

You Who by Tekin Gönenç

/ zdunno03 / 2 Comments

you who
grow gallows within you

are weeping now leaning
your head against window panes
I know full well

the moon wanders over the night
as the callous city
emerges from its sheath
the child that forsook you
confined in it

and then start endless conflagrations
in the revolving mirrors of your soul
darting looks from every corner
whether you close your eyes
or open them wide

you who
went through so many cross-fires
you who
knew what love is and has been
what you’ve shared
was not a hybrid luminescence

why does this whirlpool
opening to the unknown
force the confines
of the power of imagination

you
pale face
why not let the self you’ve always kept for her
escape through the window

would it be better perhaps
just to shuttle to and fro
at the tip of a clumsy dagger
in the blind alleys of your heart

translated by Ender Gürol

and the poem that led me to this wonderful poet 15 years ago thanks to Ali Rıza Esmen: I Am LIstening To Istanbul by Orhan Veli Kanık

/ zdunno03 / 18 Comments

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
First a breeze is blowing
And leaves swaying
Slowly on the trees;
Far far away the bells of the
Water carriers ringing,
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is passing by,
Birds are passing by, screaming, screaming,
Fish nets being withdrawn in fishing weirs,
A woman’s toe dabbling in water,
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening,
The cool Grand Bazaar,
Mahmutpasha twittering
Full of pigeons,
Its vast courtyard,
Sounds of hammering from the docks,
In the summer breeze far, far away the odor of sweat,
I am listening.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
The drunkenness of old times
In the wooden seaside villa with its deserted boat house
The roaring southwestern wind is trapped,
My thoughts are trapped
Listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A coquette is passing by on the sidewalk,
Curses, sings, sings, passes;
Something is falling from your hand
To the ground,
It must be a rose.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is flying round your skirt;
I know if your forehead is hot or cold
Or your lips are wet or dry;
Or if a white moon is rising above the pistachio tree
My heart’s fluttering tells me. . .
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat