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Turkish Poetry etiketine sahip yayınlar gösteriliyor

Hayyam’in Sabahi/Morning of Hayyam

by Cahit Koytak, translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer
Hayyam’in Sabahi Ah, bu rüya gibi vadi, bu bahçe, bu havuz!
Bu ezgi kulakta, bu şarap damakta,
toy düğün gecesinden kalan! Bu tan yeri cömertliğinde körpe sine, Bu alev gibi yakan dudaklar,
ah, bu tatlı baş dönmesi! Avuçlarımın arasında tuttuğum bu biçimli baş,
Bu benzersiz güzel gözler,
bu güzel, bu derin, bu zeki… Bunların hepsi, ey Kader, bunların hepsi,
Kıyılarımızı döven bu dağ gibi varlık dalgaları,
bir damla ölümün yanında ne ki? Anlımıza vurduğun o kuzgunî tuğra yanında,
Gözümüze sokmak için değilse onu,
bu çarşaf çarşaf beyazın hükmü ne, Nakkaş? Kopan telden çıkan o detone tınlamanın,
O tek vuruşluk hoyrat sesin yanında
bunca neşidenin hükmü ne, Çengî? O bir yudumcuk zehir zıkkım şarabın yanında
Üzüm şerbetiyle dolu bu billur sürahinin,
bu koca kâinatın hükmü ne, Meyhaneci? Sorası tutuyor işte, aptal mı aptal aklın!
O sorunca da, kafası karışıyor, keyfi kaçıyor,
ödlek mi ödlek nefsin, bedbin mi bedbin yüreğin! * Morning of Ha…

I’m Listening to Istanbul By Orhan Veli

I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed;
At first some wind is blowing slightly
And leaves are swaying slowly on the trees;
Far out, far away
The unceasing bells of the water carriers;
I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed.

I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed;
Birds are passing by, just then
Clouds of birds, crying in the sky,
And nets are drawn in the kiddles;
Some woman’s feet are touching to the water;
I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed.

I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed;
The Grand Bazaar is fresh and cool,
And Mahmutpaşa is chirping;
Courtyards are full of pigeons,
Hammer sounds are coming from the docks,
And in a beautiful spring wind, the smell of sweat;
I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed.

I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed;
The drunkenness of old kingdoms in my head
A mansion with its dusky boathouses,
Is in a clatter of ceased sou'westers
I’m listening to Istanbul, my eyes are closed.
I’m listening to Is…

Salty Water in My Canteen By İsmet Özel

West Indies, Red Apple, Ithaki, China! I’ve been sentenced to set forth for a long journey. I've no more lot in the white man's region I’ve committed an offence against natives’ land I’m a dangerous faction among the despots, an indecorous one among the nationalities.
my atrocity has isolated me from the flavor of languorous fruits I’ve chosen a taste of a bitter root in the world there is no shade to rest nearby I’ve been sentenced to set forth for a long journey.
What is the distant? For me who even lives far from himself How distant the destination could be? My head is open, I divided my hair from the middle whose country I pass through tattoos on my temples shall betray me they’ll call me brave and honored whereas I’m silent and broken-hearted the cascade cry that I’ve captured from pirates is no more useful to me I disgust the farm laborers’ comfortable and sedentary dialect. on my neck jewels that have been made from the shames of people who have judged me on my back the deaf weighbridge o…

I’m Compelled To You By Attila İlhan

I’m Compelled To You

By Attila İlhan

I’m compelled to you, you cannot know
I’m holding your name in my mind like a nail
Your eyes are getting bigger and bigger
I’m compelled to you, you may not know
I’m warming myself up with you.

Trees are getting ready for autumn
Is this city that old Istanbul
Clouds are coming apart in the dark
And street lamps are kindling suddenly
Rain smell on the sidewalks
I’m compelled to you, you are not here

Loving is sometimes dismally apprehensive
And man all of a sudden gets tired in the nightfall
Of living as a captive on the razor’s edge
Sometimes his passion breaks his hands
And he displaces a few lives out of his living
Which door he knocks now and then
Behind him the wicked howl of loneliness.

A pauper gramophone is playing in Fatih
A Friday is playing from the old times
If I stop at the corner and listen carefully
And bring a brand-new sky to you
Weeks are chipping off in my hands
Whatever I do whatever I hold wherever I go
I’m compelled to you, y…

Expected By Necip Fazıl Kısakürek

Expected

By Necip Fazıl Kısakürek

Neither patient waits for the morning
Nor the grave for the fresh deceased
Nor the devil for a sin,
As I wait for you.

It passed; I don’t want you to come
I’ve found you in your absence
Leave your silhouette in my fantasy
What’s the use of it, don’t come anymore.

Translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer

11 July 2009 Islamabad

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Beklenen

Ne hasta bekler sabahı
Ne taze ölüyü mezar
Ne de şeytan bir günahı
Seni beklediğim kadar

Geçti istemem gelmeni
Yokluğunda buldum seni
Bırak vehmimde gölgeni
Gelme artık neye yarar


Source: Çile (Ordeal)



NECIP FAZIL KISAKUREK (1904-1983)


Necip Fazıl Kısakürek was born on May 26, 1904 in Istanbul. He wrote under various pseudonyms such as Ahmet Necip, Ne-Fe-Ka, Hi-Ab-Kö, Ha-A-Ka, Prof. Ş.Ü., Be-De, Adı Değmez, Neslihan Kısakürek, Ahmet Abdülbaki, and Ozan. Necip Fazıl Kısakürek was the member of a prominent family, and grew up in a crowded mansion. During his frequently interrupted educational …

Burn with the Equivalent by Cemal Süreya

Burn with the Equivalent

by Cemal Süreya

While walking alongside with the equivalent
To be an individual in the hell street,
And after being gentle-most
To speak with you with primitive words.

Five o’clock ironmongers from the windows
Are showing metallic coins,
And asking about solitude, solitude
Is something like a plain lowland.

I have nothing but the outgoing street
I wish I had loved you for this alone.

Translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer

03 July 2009 / Islamabad


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Eşdeğeriyle Yan

Eşdeğeriyle yanyana yürürken
Cehennem sokağında birey olmak,
Ve en inceldikten sonra
İlkel sözcüklerle konuşmak seninle.

Saat beş nalburları pencerelerden
Madeni paralar gösteriyorlar,
Yalnızlığı soruyorlar, yalnızlık,
Bir ovanın düz oluşu gibi bir şey.

Hiçbir şeyim yok akıp giden sokaktan başka
Keşke yalnız bunun için sevseydim seni.

Two Hearts

Two Hearts

by Cemal Süreya

The shortest way between two hearts:
Stretched to each other and now and then
Reaching to other only by finger tips
Two arms.

I’m running toward the stairs,
Waiting is the body-gathering of the time;
I had come too early I can’t find you,
As if something is being rehearsed.

Birds are gathered and emigrating
I wish I had loved you for this alone.

Translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer

1 July 2009 / Islamabad

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İKİ KALP

İki kalp arasında en kısa yol:
Birbirine uzanmış ve zaman zaman
Ancak parmak uçlarıyla değebilen
İki kol.

Merdivenlerin oraya koşuyorum,
Beklemek gövde kazanması zamanın;
Çok erken gelmişim seni bulamıyorum,
Bir şeyin provası yapılıyor sanki.

Kuşlar toplanmışlar göçüyorlar
Keşke yalnız bunun için sevseydim seni.


Walnut Tree

Walnut Tree

Nazım Hikmet (1902 - 1963)

Foam by foam, my head is a cloud, my inside outside is a sea
I am a walnut tree in the Gülhane Park,*
Knar by knar, shred by shred an old walnut.
Neither you are aware of this nor the police.

I am a walnut tree in the Gülhane Park.
My leaves are glint by glint like a fish in the water.
My leaves are taintless like a silk hankie,
Tear off, my rose, wipe your eyes' teardrops.
My leaves are my hands, exactly I've one hundred thousand hands.
I touch you with hundred thousand hands, to Istanbul.
My leaves are my eyes, I see with surprise
I watch you with hundred thousand eyes, Istanbul.
My leaves beat, beat like one hundred thousand hearts.

I am a walnut tree in the Gülhane Park.
Neither you are aware of this nor the police.

Translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer


*An old historical park in the European side of Istanbul





CEVİZ AĞACI

NAZIM HİKMET (1902 - 1963)

Başım köpük köpük bulut, içim dışım deniz,
ben bir ceviz ağacıyım Gülhane Parkı'nda,
bu…

PİNG-PONG TABLE

PİNG-PONG TABLE

Sezai Karakoç (1933 - )

White thread stiff thread and rat-tat-tat
Round ball small ball and rat-tat-tat
Ping-pong table between existence and nothingness
I, my hands are cut between existence and nothingness
….. Cheerio to your kiss and rat-tat-tat
Together to the cinema… yes… and rat-tat-tat
Ping-pong table between existence and nothingness

Ox's eye or calf's tail
Kadifekale or river of Sen
Either Sezai or ping-pong table
Either ping-pong table or empty rifle
A high sign cheerio and rat-tat-tat
How your eyes are beautiful how good
How beautiful how warm
Rat tat tat rat tat tat tat

Translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer


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PİNG-PONG MASASI


Beyaz iplik sert iplik ve tak tak
Yuvarlak top küçük top ve tak tak
Ping-pong masası varla yok arası
Ben ellerim kesik varla yok arası
...... Öpüçüğüne eyvallah ve tak tak
Beraber sinemaya ... evet ... ve tak tak
Ping-pong masası varla yok arası

Öküzün gözü veya dananın kuyruğu
Kadifekale …

Goodness

Goodness

Poem by Mehmet Aycı

A river loving another river don’t panic
A sea on the upbeat for months don’t worry
Inside buds are blowing you’re witnessing of that sound
Thousands of sparrows are playing on the branches of trees
Such you’re experiencing things, beautiful, ephemeral
There is no place for anxiety, life is short anyway...

You know these things too, don’t let the poet speak
As much as I am your guest I’m bonded to you
There is no place for anxiety,
Besides world...

I am also a stranger to you as much as I am close
As much as foreign I am close to you
I don’t complain for life, when you are not here
I say stop to the pain of my left side
Though it doesn’t stop…

So we are growing my dear
Living for today, from the fire
A clover with twenty-nine blades

Translated by Mustafa Burak Sezer


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İYİLİK
Mehmet Aycı

Bir ırmak bir ırmağı seviyor sakın heyecan yapma
Bir deniz aylar boyunca yükselme halinde endişelenme
İçinde tomurcuklar patlıyor…

the idea of being a phantom in Istanbul

-->I
a crackpot among old phantoms your hair is dry and teeth are wet a weirdo symphony orchestra sliding the time from its fingernails you've lived in ages before christ-
and if time is a rattlesnake being a ghost isn't virtuous anymore- and blood doesn't' stop on your gashed head this is a curse / however you bend you're a spitted out dead to the aborted womb of the city
now with incoherent matters gypsies go crazy in the moonlight irons rust in the dirt of drains houses tipped out from belongings where their soul stinks intriguer genies settle inside them yearning for smoke and sour wine demons, addicts and cancerous cheap sluts brothels planted all over the face of rotten cities how their asses on fire such the dead are scared of.
II
murder is freedom, in the back street for instance a junkie would be killed by a syringe. this could be a banker instead of a prostitute pickpockets, godfathers, traitors, and bribe taker cops should be added to calculat…