Istanbul – lives on – within its dead poets
From Nedim to Orhan Veli
It is blended with air – water – and soil
But – who said – it’s hard to find
The immortal poets of Istanbul are real
Istanbul – lives on – within its dead poets
Look – every morning Sait Faik’s1 drowsiness
Blooms – cool and fresh – in Çiçek Pasajı2
Here’s Abdülhak Hamid – with Lady Lüsyen 3
Sipping afternoon tea at Löbon4
A song – from afar, and a white boat
God knows – it’s Nedîm Efendi passing by
Orhan Veli – right now – in a seaside tavern
Guaranteed to be tipsy
A house painted a warm color (with flowers all over)
From its door Ziya Osman5 steps out
Yahya Kemal – lost in new inspiration
Occasionally glances at Kanlıca6
Again – engrossed in a poem of struggle and freedom, here is Tevfik Fikret
While the beautiful Bosphorus – flows by in front of him – in vain7
And Nüzhet – with these lines – places flowers they loved
On each one of their graves.
Nüzhet Erman
From Another Hill
Yesterday, I looked at you from a hill, dear Istanbul!
Nowhere I haven't seen, nowhere I haven't roamed, nowhere I haven't loved.
As long as I live, settle comfortably on the throne of my heart!
Loving even a simple neighborhood of yours is worth a lifetime.
Many splendid cities are witnessed in the world,
Yet, you are the one creating enchanting beauties.
I say, they have lived the most pleasant and prolonged dream, Those who have lived in you, died in you, and lie in you.
On the Street Down From Atik-Valde
To Nihad Sami Banarlı
Before iftar8, I went to the Atik-Valde neighborhood9,
How many times I’ve passed through these streets, yet again today,
They were quiet. But the spirituality of Ramadan
Turned the tranquility into a sweet anticipation;
The fasting people of the neighborhood, with refined faces,
Quietly return home from the market one by one;
The poor girls waiting at the grocery store
Give away the time and the iftar closely.
No one is left in the square anymore;
With the sound of a cannon10, the day ends on this shore.
Since the cannon roared and broke the fast,
A luminous joy has enveloped the adobe houses.
Oh Lord, how serene is this world, how pure!
I remained in the deserted street, without fasting and joy.
The sorrow of being distant from the iftar of my homeland
Imposed boundless exile on my soul this evening.
One thought became solace for my grief;
I found some comfort and said to myself:
“The separation from them is a constant sorrow for me;
But for still having these feelings, I am grateful.”
Saying in the Fog
Suddenly, curtains closed one after another...
Kandilli, Göksu, Kanlıca, İstinye11, where are they?
In the midst of pure emerald, flowing triumphantly,
Where is the turquoise river? Why is it hidden today?
I wouldn't dare compare you with no other place ;
But at the end of September, lakes in Switzerland are like this.
The fog of the poet who stifles an era with its curse
Is the most poisonous of conscience and soul's sorrows.
It reflected once more like a torment to my dream;
-Cover yourself! Sleep forever! Oh city! -That curse...
No, this state cannot last long, you are near;
You are behind this fog that still hasn'yet dispersed.
Emerge, glittering from the white darkness,
In your clarity, know not what's a week, month, and year.
May your sorrow and relief be ours in winter, summer...
May fate never separate us from you my dear.
For Istanbul
April
It’s impossible
To write poetry,
If you are in love;
And not to write,
If it is April.
Desires and Memories
Desires are one thing,
Memories another.
In a city that never sees the sun,
Tell me, how does one live?
Insects
Don’t think,
Just desire!
Look, that’s what the insects do.
Invitation
I am waiting.
Come, during such a weather
That turning back won’t be an option.
This City Istanbul
This city Istanbul, unmatched and priceless it is,
For one of its stones, Persia's realm is a sacrifice.
A unique jewel between two seas, it lies,
If weighed against the world's sun, it justifies.
A mine of blessings, its gem is fortune, bright,
An Irem garden, its roses are honor's height.
Is paradise above or below it, who can say?
Truly, its state and sweet air are heaven's way.
Each garden, a meadow of elegance, delight,
Each corner, a gathering full of grace, bright.
It's unjust to trade it for the world's sight,
Comparing its rose gardens to heaven is not right.
Everyone there finds their desire fulfilled,
Its courtyards are refuges for the hopeful and skilled.
In its markets, knowledge is sold and bought,
Art's bazaar is a mine of wisdom, thought.
Each mosque is a mountain of divine display,
The angels' eyebrows, the prayer niches convey.
Each mosque, a sea of light, so bright,
Its lamps overflow with moon-like light.
Its fountains flow with life-giving streams,
Its hot baths bring joy and health it seems.
All its people are esteemed and refined,
Though some say a bit loveless, unkind.
Now the new, joyous world's elegance is here,
Its qualities deserve a book to make clear.
As its name suggests, it's both fortunate and prosperous.12
In Istanbul, pride and honor are continuous.
Its hills, gardens, palaces seem to be
Filled with joy, pleasure, and gaiety.
Is it possible to count Istanbul's features?
My aim is to try and list some of its leaders.
(...)
Istanbul
I see you again, Istanbul,
As if embracing you with my eyes, from afar
Minaret by minaret, house by house,
Street, square.
From the Bosphorus,
Comes the sound of a departing ferry,
On the blue waters again,
The pure white Maiden’s Tower.
On one side, with the cool morning,
The shores where I was born: my Beşiktaş.
As I look, neighborhood by neighborhood,
My five years, my fifteen years, oh my twenty years!
On a hill where I once studied,
Beyond is the barracks where I served.
The marriage office that one day,
Made one of your daughters mine.
Aren’t those places mine too?
Like holding my hands from both sides,
Küçüksu where my father lies,
Eyüpsultan, my mother’s resting place.
In front of me, with open arms, the Bosphorus,
From Çengelköy to Rumelihisarı.
Istanbul, my Istanbul,
Kadıköy, Üsküdar…
There are days I stand on the bridge
Remembering the pines' slumber in the islands.
There are days I long for Beyoğlu,
Wishing to smell the aroma of Tünel.
A cloud passes over,
A ship docks,
An old folk song whispers in my ear,
“The inside is full of laundry.” it goes.
I recognized the fourteenth moon in your sky.
I know the spring in your meadows,
Everything, within me, everything,
Is an Istanbul memory.
Once more, I see you with the eyes of the world,
Your sky always above me, your air in my lungs.
Oh city where I was born and lived, where every stone
I want to kiss and place on my head!
Istanbul’s Ballad
In Istanbul, in Bosphorus
I am a poor Orhan Veli,
I am the son of Veli,
In an unspeakable melancholy.
I sat on the Rumeli Fortress;
I sat and hummed ballads:
‘Istanbul’s marble stones;
They perch on my head, the seagulls;
I break into tears of sorrow;
My coy love
I am like this because of you.
A cinema in the middle of Istanbul;
Do not tell my mother my oddness, sadness;
People talk, make love; for all I care.
My love,
I am the sin lying on your neck!’
In Istanbul, in Bosphorus
I am a poor Orhan Veli;
The son of Veli;
In an unspeakable melancholy.
Orhan Veli
Don’t Push Me, Istanbul
I came to you, my heart full of hope
Don’t intoxicate me, Istanbul, please
One day I might melt in your streets
My bones decay, my name forgotten
Still, you’ll remain vibrant, warm
Your sky, your clouds, your seas will stay
Don’t play with me, Istanbul, don’t toy
One day this sorrow, this grief will kill me
My head crushed between my worn hands
No other way out for me in this world
Here I am, standing at your doors
Like a crumbling wall before you
Don’t make me drunk, my head spins
Don’t push me, Istanbul, let my sorrow be.
Ümit Yaşar Oğuzcan
Spring Intoxication
Isn’t the breeze like my first love’s smile,
A hint of April in the air?
Defying chains and shackles,
It’s time to spread my wings;
Goodbye, sidewalks.
Let those who wear tight clothes worry;
Measured words, calculated steps
I’m free from being a caged bird;
I fly as if reigning in glory,
Till the day the elder tree becomes a bride.
I admire this city’s chimneys.
Big and small, all together,
How silently they sing
A song deep towards the sky!
May the beautiful chimney always smoke!
The swallow’s nest stays in the eaves,
The sparrow’s nest entrusted to the branches.
Then, over the mosques, pigeons,
Passing by the minarets,
I traverse the “sky neighborhood” of Istanbul.
I’m a milk-white seagull in the open sea.
I guide ships,
Ships laden with wheat and medicine.
With a single flap, I’m in the clouds;
With a glide, in my homeland: the waves!
I am Listening to Istanbul
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed:
At first there is a gentle breeze
And the leaves on the trees
Softly sway;
In the distance, far away,
The incessant rattling of water peddlers' bells.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed;
Then suddenly birds fly by;
From high above, flocks, with a hue and cry.
Nets are being drawn in the fishing grounds;
A woman's feet begin to dabble in the water;
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed;
The Grand Bazaar is serene and cool
Lively Mahmutpaşa13
Courtyards full of pigeons
While hammers bang and clang at the docks
Spring winds bear the smell of sweat;
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed;
Still giddy from the revelries of the past,
A waterfront mansion with dim taverns;
Amid the muted roar of southern winds,
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed;
A pretty girl walks by on the sidewalk;
Curses, songs, melodies, catcalls.
Something falls out of her hand
It must be a rose;
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed;
A bird flutters around your skirts;
On your brow is there sweat, or not? I know.
Are your lips wet, or not? I know.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees
I can sense it all in your heart's beat.
I am listening to Istanbul, my eyes closed.
- Sait Faik Abasıyanık was one of the greatest Turkish writers of short stories and considered an important literary figure of the 1940s. He famously had a house in the Prince Islands which is now a museum. ↩︎
- A passage in the Beyoğlu district known for its restaurants and taverns (in Turkish: meyhane) ↩︎
- Abdülhak Hâmid Tarhan was an early 20th-century Ottoman playwright and poet. He was one of the leading writers of the Turkish Romantic period. He is known in Turkish literature as “Şair-i Azam” the Great Poet. and his wife Lady Lüsyen was a modern Belgium women who fell in love with Tarhan while he was a diplomat in Brussels:
↩︎ - The Lebon Patisserie & Café (Turkish: Löbon Pastanesi, Beyoğlu) was a historic pastry shop and café in the Beyoğlu district of Istanbul. Originally opened in 1810, it went out of business in the 1960s ↩︎
- A poet from Beşiktaş, Istanbul. Known by his involment in the Seven Torchbearers (Yedi Meşaleciler) movement in literature who seeked “sincerity, liveliness and constant innovation” in poetry. ↩︎
- A small village or rather a neighborhood in the Anatolian side of the Bosphorus. ↩︎
- Tevfik Fikret’s House called “Aşiyan” has one of the most beautiful views of the Bosphorus yet he has writen from this enchanting location mostly poems on freedom, struggle etc. ↩︎
- Iftar is the fast-breaking evening meal of Muslims in Ramadan ↩︎
- A historic neighborhood in Üsküdar, Anatolian Side of Istanbul. ↩︎
- As an Ottoman tradition when the time of Iftar comes a cannon shoots an empty shell and the sound of that cannon heralds the arrival of iftar. ↩︎
- These are all villages in Istanbul. ↩︎
- “Sa’dabad” was a palace complex in Istanbul where the elits gathered for liesure and art during the “Tulip era” when Nedim wrote these lines. Its name literally translates to “fortunate and prosperous place”. ↩︎
- A Shopping district. ↩︎