Cyprus-Forum.com

[CopperLine]

How about Nazim Hikmet ?

[zan]

How about 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

Best kind of meditation to get him through.

[BirKibrisli]

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

Comrades, if I don't live to see the day
- I mean,if I die before freedom comes -
take me away
and bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia.

The worker Osman whom Hassan Bey ordered shot
can lie on one side of me, and on the other side
the martyr Aysha, who gave birth in the rye
and died inside of forty days.

Tractors and songs can pass below the cemetery -
in the dawn light, new people, the smell of burnt gasoline,
fields held in common, water in canals,
no drought or fear of the police.

Of course, we won't hear those songs:
the dead lie stretched out underground
and rot like black branches,
deaf, dumb, and blind under the earth.

But, I sang those songs
before they were written,
I smelled the burnt gasoline
before the blueprints for the tractors were drawn.

As for my neighbors,
the worker Osman and the martyr Aysha,
they felt the great longing while alive,
maybe without even knowing it.

Comrades, if I die before that day, I mean
- and it's looking more and more likely -
bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia,
and if there's one handy,
a plane tree could stand at my head,
I wouldn't need a stone or anything.

Nazim Hikmet, 27 April 1953
Moscow, Barviha Hospital

Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)

They once asked Pablo Neruda if he would include Nazim Hikmet in an anthology of world poetry if there was room for only 10 poets....
His reply :" I would include Nazim Hikmet even if I had room for only 1 poet!!!!"

[BirKibrisli]

ANGINA PECTORIS

If half my heart is here, doctor,
the other half is in China
with the army flowing
toward the Yellow River.
And, every morning, doctor,
every morning at sunrise my heart
is shot in Greece.
And every night, doctor,
when the prisoners are asleep and the infirmary is deserted,
my heart stops at a run-down old house
in Istanbul.
And then after ten years
ALL I HAVE TO OFFER MY POOR PEOPLE
IS THIS APPLE IN MY HAND, DOCTOR,
ONE READ APPLE:
MY HEART.
AND THAT, DOCTOR, THAT IS THE REASON
FOR THIS ANGINA PECTORIS-
NOT NICOTINE, PRISON, OR ARTERIOSCLEROSIS.
I look at the night through the bars,
and despite the weight on my chest
MY HEART STILL BEATS WITH THE MOST DISTANT STARS.

NAZIM HIKMET
[1948]


Bloody Turk...

[zan]

Bloody Turk indeed!!!!


This one is my favourite so far I think Bir. I have had moments of peacefulness like this where only nature can take you away from everything that hurts. Who needs booze!!! You have to take out the fact he is in prison though but if you leave it in you can see the importance of this moment even moree.




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

[BirKibrisli]

Bloody Turk indeed!!!!


This one is my favourite so far I think Bir. I have had moments of peacefulness like this where only nature can take you away from everything that hurts. Who needs booze!!! You have to take out the fact he is in prison though but if you leave it in you can see the importance of this moment even moree.




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

Try reading him in Turkish too,Zan.
It loses so much in translation...

Here it is:


Bugun pazar.
Bugun beni ilk defa gunese cikardilar.
Ve ben omrumde ilk defa gokyuzunun
bu kadar benden uzak
bu kadar mavi
bu kadar genis olduguna sasarak
kimildamadan durdum.
Sonra saygiyla topraga oturdum,
dayadim sirtimi duvara.
Bu anda ne dusmek dalgalara,
bu anda ne kavga, ne hurriyet, ne karim.
Toprak, gunes ve ben...
Bahtiyarim...

[zan]

Makes my hair stand on end. Thanks Bir. I will have to read more in Turkish.

[BirKibrisli]

Makes my hair stand on end. Thanks Bir. I will have to read more in Turkish.

You are welcome...It would make my hair stand on end too.If I had any...

[zan]

A timely reminder of my two poems. Deniz asked if I was a poet and I have to say no but these are for him.
Bir, Perhaps you can translate these into Turkish for me. I seem to find it easier the other way around.


Before we left.

by zan

At best I can remember bullets

Fireflies travelling at the speed of light in the night

At best I can remember babutsa

Invisible needles that burn in your hands for days




At best I can remember waking up

Seeing a Greek doctor and my mother by my bed

I cannot remember the ice cream they gave me to soothe my tonsilless throat




At best I can remember gunfire

Single shot for Turkish

Machine gun for Greek



At best I long for the smell of dusty donkeys and fig trees

At best I can remember the smell of the hamam

I can remember the well-ordered and expensive possessions of our English neighbour that was never there

I long to sleep under the trees on an old iron bed in the middle of summer



I long for the Cyprus that was but never to be





As they retreated.

By Zan

They lit the olive trees

Whole orchards burned

Two-three hundred-year-old woods
Fizzing and popping
In the night
Moaning and groaning
About being alight
The beauty of the flames
Hiding the tragedy


I put the rifle
To my ear
I can hear the sea
The waves crashing
In my mind
Too far away
To put out the pyre

A devils island
The orchard burns
An oasis of death
Yet life abundant
As embers fly
Like evil nymphs.


The houses smoulder
But with less innocence

More deserving
They fall to their knees

They! die quickly.

[denizaksulu]

A timely reminder of my two poems. Deniz asked if I was a poet and I have to say no but these are for him.
Bir, Perhaps you can translate these into Turkish for me. I seem to find it easier the other way around.


Before we left.

by zan

At best I can remember bullets

Fireflies travelling at the speed of light in the night

At best I can remember babutsa

Invisible needles that burn in your hands for days




At best I can remember waking up

Seeing a Greek doctor and my mother by my bed

I cannot remember the ice cream they gave me to soothe my tonsilless throat




At best I can remember gunfire

Single shot for Turkish

Machine gun for Greek



At best I long for the smell of dusty donkeys and fig trees

At best I can remember the smell of the hamam

I can remember the well-ordered and expensive possessions of our English neighbour that was never there

I long to sleep under the trees on an old iron bed in the middle of summer



I long for the Cyprus that was but never to be





As they retreated.

By Zan

They lit the olive trees

Whole orchards burned

Two-three hundred-year-old woods
Fizzing and popping
In the night
Moaning and groaning
About being alight
The beauty of the flames
Hiding the tragedy


I put the rifle
To my ear
I can hear the sea
The waves crashing
In my mind
Too far away
To put out the pyre

A devils island
The orchard burns
An oasis of death
Yet life abundant
As embers fly
Like evil nymphs.


The houses smoulder
But with less innocence

More deserving
They fall to their knees

They! die quickly.

Bravo Zan,

I can feel what you felt and
realise what you were thinking
whilst you were writing the above.

If you wrote them in Englih, its best to stay that way. They might lose the spirit in translation.

Regards
Deniz