distant eyes

distant eyes! you were birds
and seemed treasuries of sorrow
you've been quiet since the final death
you stopped
and toward
that profound conclusion from within
an amber worm, advanced
beyond carrying its reasons around
like a shell, with its stones
more ruby than a mystery,
more diamond...
distant eyes!
and flocks of pain...

distant eyes! you were birds
or the metaphors of birds...
or else resembled a bit of prose
and those
who came you took one by one:
and the prophet of a storm; of death
it was the spring, skipping
over the spoor of roses
you came... distant eyes!
you! autumn angels...

distant eyes! you were birds,
and seemed treasuries of sorrow


Hilmi Yavuz
Translation by Walter Andrews

TOYS

when a child
is taken into the operation room
his toys
knowing that life is a game
easily spoilt
wait for him
behind the door
weeping

WHAT IS PEACE MY LOVE

do you know
what peace is my love
is it a bridge that collapses shadows fall over it
a company that goes bankrupt
before its shares are sold to the public
is it a tea-break between two wars
or
the last words of a child to ironmonger
when his bicycle is run over
tell me my love
is peace the letter Einstein wrote Roosevelt
is it the telephone call from Lausanne for Mustafa Kemal
or is peace a street whose litter is swept away by science


tell me my love
say that
peace is nestling bird and the balcony it perched on fell
into a precipice
a public clock that cannot be wound
because the clock-maker is in prison
an angel who pulls out the rusty nail stuck in our foot
say that
peace is the song of the fools
the dream of those who are deceived
it is Asian tiger whose teeth are pulled out
in the circus of capitalism


tell me my love
that peace is a hand torch with stale battery in it
the prosphorecent traces of snails on flags
peace is an imaginary white cloud that hits a fortress and disappears
it is notebook soiled by the menacing writings of a blind society
something which one lacks but hopes to find in others
peace
is a state that falls over its own people on difficult curves
it is a letter that dies in a post-box
because no one ever opened it
it is the ball that explodes at the last minute
and kills the spectators


if none but none
of these are peace
tell me my love
in places where war sets up its dreams
what kind of a creature has invented
this word peace favourite of all tongues

(Translated by Cevat Çapan)

FATHER DON'T SHOUT AT ME

to those who open their umbrellas
to keep the road dry...


father don't shout at me
you've driven away the nightingales from my forests
you've blown up the doors of my ears
the doors father the doors have gone away
taking the windows with them
the tenors have run away from the vocal chords
the mini dictators are all over the place
so many sopranos wanted to have you
but we could not part with you

father don't shout at me
tell me the tales of eagles that perch on a flag pole
how they were unable to see the hunters alas
with their piercing eyes
chance is a lie characteristic of the stars father
you've turned the stars into planets by spitting at them
you've hung fighting people on the neck of the world


I've written down the lies in my notebook never forgetting them
the Ministers who mistook radiation for radio station
the ruffian who sealed the ceiling of the Parliament with
raw meat balls
the postnatal pains of women who give birth to dwarf nations


I've never forgotten
the men who forgot their faces in their beards
and their beards in their faces
and the scattered pieces of the bomb in the fields
of stinging nettle
that turned Uğur Mumcu into each one of us
I've never forgotten
all those traps father far and near
you are a toy lorry crushed by the road
a tree of grief broken by the weight of heavy snow
you've lent the spring to the stupid
and they haven't brought it back
how can we understand o father
whatever happened to the sun if we don't have our spring



father don't shout at me
your words enter through one ear
but deafen the other one
I say to myself that I would like to be in Buenos Aires
on Eva's peron
a train that steals birds from darkness
a fugitive from knives
in the city where legs are thrown up by tango
but it's good to be here, here without forgetting anything
here
where knowledge is more painful than ignorance
here, opposite you
time was something like castor oil in prison
hours sailed on like vessels of thick blood in hospitals
somewhere there were men who coucealed
the honour of their wives in their tongues
the children who were lost in TV channels
the fish that clung to the sea in order not to fall into the sky
and there were Lenin statues stored in basements
in Soviet Russia
why don't you put the walls in your head
into your pockets father


father don't shout at me
you are not aware
that the world is a postage stamp
the sticky side of which is wetted by the oppressed
until a black hole in the space swallows us
you are a cat pushed over to the elevator cavity
now is the time to say it
the condition of the country is the work of the parties
you voted for father
but I am here, here without forgetting anything
standing alert for life and our recent history


father don't shout at me
if a poem is wounded on its leg
how far can it get
father don't shout at me
shout at yourself
otherwise everything may come to an end

( Translated by Cevat Çapan )

LOVE AND A COMET

all the doctors I consulted
said the same thing
- as if they'd planned it:
"you've caught love, a disease
which isn't easy to bear at your age"

whereas I had thought
that I'd simply crashed
into a comet
when my heart brightened up
with a flash
in a blind-alley of life

(Translated by Tarık Günersel)

AUTUMN MELODY

Lycée girls were crossing the avenue
The book of civil law I gently closed tight
It was about an exam, money, a label
I lit a cigarette out of spite.

For example, I said, this world
Spins and spins in a void
This rain, this beastly September rain
Drives a fellow completely insane
Ok, but people, people
What notion do they serve

I thought and thought touched to the heart

Seconds, moments, hours and soon
The days flow like water, my brother
On one hand the text-book, my heart on the other
I didn't know what to do


Ataol Behramoglu
Translation by Walter Andrews

SCHOOLROOM ADVICE AND RESPONSE

-White silver is for blackest days
So save up your money well
-And one who lacks for daily needs
What should he do teacher, pray tell?

-Our elders often said to us
Drop by drop one makes a lake
-But about this lake, please teacher say
How long does the making take

-He who can't do with little can never find a lot
So we should learn to get along with no more than a jot.
-Then you might have also said that one will surely find
In a body of diminished health, a less than healthy mind.

-A tree bends down when it is green
Get this proverb by heart just so.
-But it suits a man to be standing tall
You said just a moment ago.

-Good health is the end of patience
For us to know patience is fine
-But what if the rock of patience
One day cracks, oh teacher mine?

Ataol Behramoglu
Translation by Walter Andrews

I'VE LEARNED SOME THINGS

I've learned some things from having lived:
If you're alive, experience one thing with all your power
Your beloved should be worn out from being kissed
And you should drop exhausted from the smelling of a flower

A person can gaze at the sky for hours
Can gaze for hours at a bird, a child, the sea
To live on the earth is to become part of it
To strike down roots that won't pull free

If you cling to anything, tightly hold a friend
Fight for something with every muscle, whole body, all your passion
And if you lay yourself for a time on the warm beach
Let yourself rest like a grain of sand, a leaf, a stone

To your utmost, listen to every beautiful song
As though filling all the self with sound and melody
One should plunge head-first into life
As one dives from a cliff into the emerald sea

Distant lands should draw you, people you don't know
To read every book, know other's lives, you should be burning
You shouldn't exchange for anything the pleasure of a glass of water
No matter how much the joy, your life should be filled with yearning

You should know sorrow, honorably, with all your being
Because the pains, like joys, make a person grow
Your blood should mingle in the great circulation of life
And in your veins life's endless fresh blood should flow

I've learned some things from having lived:
If you're alive, experience largely, merge with rivers, heavens, cosmos
For what we call living is a gift given to life
And life is a gift bestowed upon us


Ataol Behramoglu
"Yasadiklarimdan Ogrendigim Bir Sey Var"

DOVER HEIGHTS

At the Olympus of Sydney the sun
Takes the darkness away
The pink of foolishness, the yellow of slyness, the greasy dullness of
obedience, acceptance fill up the sky and complete it.
The sky is full with our deads
Among our deads roams the God of Trade
-Destined to New York..
He sniffs the city, the harbour
The wind that fills the harbour..
On his bicycle passes by Hermes
Tired of delivering messages of aids
Artemis sunbathes on her terrace
Her black silk pantyhose on a plum tree branch
The melody from an ice cream van winding through the streets
Even finds the Cupid in the end
A melody similar to the timid touch of crystals
Keeps on echoing in my inner cliffs.
Which roof should I lift
Who is servant, who is slave
Who is the noble master..
Scent of rose at the bosom of gardens in make up
An acacia by the shore
Whenever seas the white bright sails
Regrets for not becoming a sailor
In a hand full of park
The grass with a number three hair cut
Keeps on tickling the tender feet of
The Olympian girls.
A pink kite opposes the wind
Without it doesn't it know its value
Does it ornate the memories
Or the wall of a child's room..

The pink kite of our youth
Sometimes over the sky of Sydney
Sometimes of Olympus..

Translated from Turkish by Ipek Goldeli

Knowledge is to understand

Knowledge is to understand
To understand who you are.
If you know not who you are
What's the use of learning?

The aim in learning is
To understand God's Truth.
Because without knowledge
It is wasted hard labour.

Do not say: I know it all,
I am obedient to my God.
If you know not who God is
That is sheer idle talk.

Twenty-eight syllables
You read from end to end.
You name the first `alpha''
What can it possibly mean?

Yunus Emre says also
Let me receive what I need.
The best possible thing
Is to find perfect peace.

Yunus Emre (?1238-?1320)

The rough man entered the lover's garden

The rough man entered the lover's garden
It is woods now, my beautiful one, it is woods,
Gathering roses, he has broken their stems
They are dry now, my beautiful one, they are dry

In this square our hide is stretched
Blessed be, we saw our friend off to God
One day, too, black dust must cover us
We will rot, my beautiful one, we will rot

He himself reads and He also writes
God's holy hand has closed her crescent eyebrows
Your peers are wandering in Paradise
They are free, my beautiful one, they are free

Whatever religion you are, I'll worship it too
I will be torn off with you even the Day of Judgement
Bend for once, let me kiss you on your white neck
Just stay there for a moment, my beautiful one, just stay there

I'm Pir Sultan Abdal, I start from the root
I eat the kernel and throw out the evil weed
And weave from a thousand flowers to one hive honey
I am an honest bee, my beautiful one, an honest bee.

Pir Sultan Abdal

GYPSIES

"Do you recall the sea, the deep sea
"Which drives the birds crazy in November?
"The sun, too, that goes sizzling into the sea?
"You don't say? How about the tree under which
"The gypsies were sitting? Thin too slipped your mind?
"How many years since the time of death?

Melih Cevdet Anday

BAREFOOT

The top part of this piece of writing
Couldn't be read; no one knows who wrote it either.
Never mind, what matters is the words, not the sound.

"...Then I ate whatever I found in the house:
"Bread, almonds, dill.
Barefoot I jumped on the horse,
The wine of the morning was raving mad
So I dashed through the people and went away
Full gallop."

Melih Cevdet Anday

ARE WE GOING TO LIVE WITHOUT AGING?

At dawn, a throng came out
Of the skies: Convex shields, glittering
Tattoos, a rose, a daggered
Heart, bows of wheat,
Aquariums emptying out, a king,
A turkey's crest, a fresh corpse,
Brass-footed horses, a wine in a glazed jug
Waiting to be poured into the sea.
A tumult arose from the roots of the trees,
Eyeless monsters emerged from the sea.
What's that? Should we believe in rapacious beaks?
Or in thin axes, in grass burned at night
Or in tree-shaped wings?
I pay no heed to clouds, I don't care
If they go south along the river
Or to the slow lakes set afire by towers.
Let them go...Are we going to live without aging?
Come, let's go and see the dawn's spider.

Melih Cevdet Anday

LAVINIA

I shall not ask you not to go.
You're cold, take my coat.
These are the loveliest hours of the day.
Stay at my side.

I shall not ask you not to go.
Still, you know best.
Lies if you wish, lies I shall tell.
Your feelings would be hurt.

I shall not ask you not to go,
But do not go Lavinia.
I shall keep your name..
You too, don't know, Lavinia.

THAT NIGHT

That night I shall not be.
In the mirrors I can't glance for shame,
You will see yourselves laugh,
You will understand.

Each night is a night when one is not.
More and more it will mix your nights
The increase of your missing ones.
On a night you sense that I am not
Scared you will be.

Even now I think of your last remaining one
On that night of the departing of our last.
Yet there will be one night, a night somewhere in the middle..
You too will not be in it
Moreover.

ÖZDEMİR ASAF

ALEA IACTA EST

Attila crossed the Danube
Hannibal crossed the Alps
Caesar crossed the Rubicon

And I crossed
My self
Burning all the flowers behind me

Can Yucel (1926-)

ALEA IACTA EST

Attila crossed the Danube
Hannibal crossed the Alps
Caesar crossed the Rubicon

And I crossed
My self
Burning all the flowers behind me

Can Yucel (1926-)

THE LEFT EAR OF THE GRAND VIZIER

It itches: the left ear of His Lordship the Grand Vizier
Like nobody's business itches that ear
The Grand Vizier is a most eminent peer
He thinks about the nation sitting here

Now itching is a function of the ear
And thinking behooves the Grand Vizier
Yet it so happens that in our land
What itches is the Grand Vizier
And who thinks is the left ear.

UMIT YASAR OGUZCAN

THE DAGGER

Back in the fall we had buried our dagger
In this courtyard covered with square tiles.
That dagger was both precious and sharp.
Its handle must have melted away by now
Looking like the mossy hair of the herdsmen.

The blood of worms and hawks must be clinging
Onto its skeleton lying in the ground.
Spilling all over the blood-tiles of the yard
The blood of the hawks that sent their flight
Deep down in the form of a dishevelled line.

The sea has lit the lamps on its streets.
The dagger received its only defeat from us.
Out of the land of its spouts it gazes at night,
At birds that cling to their wings as they fall.
We received our final defeat from the dagger.

For some reason it frightens the gray silence
Of a beggar's voice and the mountaineers' sky,
It frightens the faces of rope-hearted seamen
Who cross the seas each with a panther on its back:
That noise which the dagger makes while rusting.

ULKU TAMER

DESTINY

It's torturing me:
I am an accountant
but I can't do Maths.
My favourite food is Prophet's Passion Aubergines -
they don't agree with me,
I know a girl with freckles,
I love her,
she doesn't love me.

OKTAY RIFAT

ONCE UPON A TIME

From behind each tree you appeared
in such great numbers that I felt alone,
and amid the gust of your mad movements
my laffer against the fortress whirled away.

I met you at the corner of each street,
you were so absent that I cried, lost myself.
Within clouds reminiscent of ancient seas
floated rocks gnawed down with your blood.

What a pity! You vanished in great numbers
as if coexistent with a time that never was.
I bent and picked up the sky from the ground,
the sky you had carelessly dropped, dropped.

Oktay Rifat

THE CEMETERY FOR TURKISH SOLDIERS

I

I'm a sailor in the navy,
fishes ate my eyes.
Seeing and weeping are over for me.
I was tall in my life,
if you don't believe me
look at my clothes.

Someone says -I'm a soldier too,
no different from the other dead.
Once we lived in houses.
Now we're outside the doors,
we pass through the wall.

And another says -
Don't believe them,
they're all liars,
we don't exist.

II

To enter my room with more ease
they come in the form of dead relations.
I look -it's an uncle or brother.
I look -it's a Polish sergeant
and at once he speaks.

I had a daughter five years old.
She's dead, now we're together.
She's fed-up here,
she can't roll a hoop,
she left her hands behind in Warsaw.

A voice says -
No potatoes to hoe,
no stones to break,
no burdens to carry to market,
I'm at peace here.

One is worried about his wife.
He asks me news from home.

When I died
they took my greatcoat.
I'm cold,
winter's ahead.

Then they speak as one.

III

"We drink water from one glass.
In the evening we eat together,
someone's in love with our loved one,
someone wants to be fostered by our mother."

They come and go at random on the ferries.
They enter our midst on the trams.
It seems they never leave us.
They want to live again a long time.


OKTAY RIFAT

AT MY TOUCH IT TURNS INTO A FADED ROSE

It falls off a lot of people, heaven knows,
Yet no passerby catches sight of it,
I bend and pick it up,
At my touch it turns into a faded rose.

In one of those big cities
He wanders at this or that crowded spot
In the country at a far-off place where he is
In a hotel room or a coffeehouse;
Wherever he goes at this late hour
He sticks his hands into his pockets
And through cigarettes and pieces of paper
It gently slips out and goes,
I bend and pick it up, no one materializes
At my touch it turns into a faded rose.

Or it lingers on the lipstick
That a lonely girl takes off
On the threshold of another weary night
When she rests her head on the pillows
Sometimes at midday it cuddles up to me
You know it's on that same cloud of sorrows
That descends mostly at autumn or at rainfall.
I reach out and clutch it, no one materializes
At my touch it turns into a faded rose.

On hands and lips and desolate inscriptions
It gets caught in nets drawn across the night
Panting like a wounded animal
In anguish, he yearns to escape the net's throes
And to run along the roads or the mementoes.

Time and time again I take it along, it stays awake all night
Stirring in darkness, whenever I touch it
At my touch it turns into a faded rose.

BEHÇET NECATİGİL

SECRET LOVE

It was seven or eight years ago.
Remember the girl you had?
Yesterday I ran into her,
She seemed very glad.

We stood on the sidewalk
And made small talk and so on:
She's married and has kids,
A daughter and a son.

She asked how you were.
I said he hasn't changed a bit,
Same as ever.
She knew it.

She's happy and loves her husband;
The house is their own property.
She sent you her greetings
Looking crushed as if she felt guilty.

TO DIE IN BOOKS

His name,last name
Open paranthesis
His year of birth, dash, his year of death, the end.
close paranthesis.

Now he's a name in books, surname
Within paranthesis his year of birth and death
Down at the bottom of the page, or just a little on
His works, when they were printed.
A list, short one or long.
The names of books. Like birds in agony of death within your hand.

In the parantheses, a dash.
All that he was is there.
His hopes, his fears, his teas, his joys.
All that he was is there.
Now he remains inside these books
A prisoner in that dash.
Does he still live? He can't fight back.
You can kill him, just there.
Behçet Necatigil

I AM LISTENING TO ISTANBUL

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
At first there blows a gentle breeze
And the leaves on the trees
Softly flutter or sway;
Out there, far away,
The bells of water carriers incessantly ring;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Then suddenly birds fly by,
Flocks of birds, high up, in a hue and cry
While nets are drawn in the fishing grounds
And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
The Grand Bazaar is serene and cool,
A hubbub at the hub of the market,
Mosque yards are brimful of pigeons,
At the docks while hammers bang and clang
Spring winds bear the smell of sweat;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Still giddy since bygone bacchanals,
A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep,
Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed,
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
Now a dainty girl walks by on the sidewalk:
Cusswords, tunes and songs, malapert remarks;
Something falls on the ground out of her hand,
It's a rose I guess.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
A bird flutters round your skirt;
I know your brow is moist with sweat
And your lips are wet.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

Orhan Veli Kanik

FINE DAYS

These fine days have been my ruin.
On this kind of day I resigned
My job in ``Pious Foundations.''
On this kind of day I started to smoke
On this kind of day I fell in love
On this kind of day I forgot
To bring home bread and salt
On this kind of day I had a relapse
In my versifying disease.
These fine days have been my ruin.

Orhan Veli Kanik

AS DEATH APPROACHES

Toward the coming on of evening, in winter time,
At the window of a sick man's bedroom-
I'm not the only one to be so alone;
It's dark on the sea, the sky is dark, too.
Funny, how the birds are behaving tonight!
Don't mind that I'm poor, that I'm alone in the world;
-Toward the coming on of evening in winter time-
I too in my time have had my love affairs.
To be famous, to have women, to make money-
In time one gets to know the world as it is.

Is it because we're to die that we have these regrets?
What were we, what happened to us in this world,
In this mortal old world, except evil?
We shall be rid of our dirt at our death,
With death we'll get to be good men at last.
Being famous, having women, making money, and all-
We'll forget all that when we die.

Orhan Veli Kanik

ALL OF A SUDDEN

Everything happened all of a sudden.
All of a sudden daylight beat down on the earth;
There was the sky all of a sudden;
All of a sudden steam began to rise from the soil.
There were tendrils all of a sudden, buds all of a sudden.
And there were fruits all of a sudden.
All of a sudden,
All of a sudden,
Girls all of a sudden, boys all of a sudden.
Roads, moors, cats, people...
And there was love all of a sudden,
Happiness all of a sudden.


Orhan Veli Kanik

HALIM THE THIRD

Majestic and sacred, I am Halim the Third,
Ruler of Rulers.
Here in my white hands
The morning of my people begins.

Every moment I breathe
Carries my warmth to unknown virgins;
In my continuance I unveiled
The taste of time.

The world as dimensions
Hangs upon my dispensation.
In the peace of my body
Castles find their peace.

I freed poetry, science, victory
In the wake of great eagles.
On seas and on lands,
Let generations rejoice.

The dark and blue skies
Are meant for my head,
To my endless blood
My love is an endless parallel.

Fazil Husnu Daglarca

HALIM THE THIRD

Majestic and sacred, I am Halim the Third,
Ruler of Rulers.
Here in my white hands
The morning of my people begins.

Every moment I breathe
Carries my warmth to unknown virgins;
In my continuance I unveiled
The taste of time.

The world as dimensions
Hangs upon my dispensation.
In the peace of my body
Castles find their peace.

I freed poetry, science, victory
In the wake of great eagles.
On seas and on lands,
Let generations rejoice.

The dark and blue skies
Are meant for my head,
To my endless blood
My love is an endless parallel.

Fazil Husnu Daglarca

LETTER TO MY WIFE

11-11-19933
Bursa Prison
My one and only!
Your last letter says:
``My head is throbbing,
my heart is stunned!''
You say:
``If they hang you,
if I lose you,
I'll die!''
You'll live, my dear-
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course you'll live, red-haired lady of my heart:
in the twentieth century
grief lasts
at most a year.

Death-
a body swinging from a rope.
My heart
can't accept such a death.
But
you can bet
if some poor gypsy's hairy black
spidery hand
slips a noose
around my neck,
they'll look in vain for fear
in Nazim's
blue eyes!
In the twilight of my last morning
I
will see my friends and you,
and I'll go
to my grave
regretting nothing but an unfinished song...
My wife!
Good-hearted,
golden,
eyes sweeter than honey-my bee!
Why did I write you
they want to hang me?
The trial has hardly begun,
and they don't just pluck a man's head
like a turnip.
Look, forget all this.
If you have any money,
buy me some flannel underwear:
my sciatica is acting up again.
And don't forget,
a prisoner's wife
must always think good thoughts.

Nazim Hikmet

A SAD STATE OF FREEDOM

You waste the attention of your eyes,
the glittering labour of your hands,
and knead the dough enough for dozens of loaves
of which you'll taste not a morsel;
you are free to slave for others-
you are free to make the rich richer.

The moment you're born
they plant around you
mills that grind lies
lies to last you a lifetime.
You keep thinking in your great freedom
a finger on your temple
free to have a free conscience.

Your head bent as if half-cut from the nape,
your arms long, hanging,
your saunter about in your great freedom:
you're free
with the freedom of being unemployed.

You love your country
as the nearest, most precious thing to you.
But one day, for example,
they may endorse it over to America,
and you, too, with your great freedom-
you have the freedom to become an air-base.

You may proclaim that one must live
not as a tool, a number or a link
but as a human being-
then at once they handcuff your wrists.
You are free to be arrested, imprisoned
and even hanged.

There's neither an iron, wooden
nor a tulle curtain
in your life;
there's no need to choose freedom:
you are free.
But this kind of freedom
is a sad affair under the stars.

Nazim Hikmet

TODAY IS SUNDAY

Today is Sunday.
For the first time they took me out into the sun today.
And for the first time in my life I was aghast
that the sky is so far away
and so blue
and so vast
I stood there without a motion.
Then I sat on the ground with respectful devotion
leaning against the white wall.
Who cares about the waves with which I yearn to roll
Or about strife or freedom or my wife right now.
The soil, the sun and me...
I feel joyful and how.


NAZIM HIKMET

The Walnut Tree

my head foaming clouds, sea inside me and out
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
an old walnut, knot by knot, shred by shred
Neither you are aware of this, nor the police

I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
My leaves are nimble, nimble like fish in water
My leaves are sheer, sheer like a silk handkerchief
pick, wipe, my rose, the tear from your eyes
My leaves are my hands, I have one hundred thousand
I touch you with one hundred thousand hands, I touch Istanbul
My leaves are my eyes, I look in amazement
I watch you with one hundred thousand eyes, I watch Istanbul
Like one hundred thousand hearts, beat, beat my leaves

I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
neither you are aware of this, nor the police


Nazim Hikmet

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.



Yasamak sakaya gelmez,
buyuk bir ciddiyetle yasayacaksin
bir sincap gibi mesela,
yani, yasamanin disinda ve otesinde hicbir sey beklemeden,
yani butun isin gucun yasamak olacak.
nazım hikmet
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Is Isten Geçtikten Sonra

Önce aynalar farkedecek yoklugumu
Sonra elbiselerim
Sonra pencere
Sonra yatak
Sen farkina vardigin zaman
Is isten geçmis olacak

Ümit Yasar Oguzcan