ATTILA ILHAN (1925-2005)

POEMS

Translated into English by

Nilűfer Mizanoğlu Reddy

ANCIENT MARINE FOLK

we were fifteen over the coffin

of the dead man heave ho a bottle of rum satan and drink made us sink

heave ho a bottle of rum

over there a strange pebble chantssea shepherds have driven their flocks into the open sea mussels’ eyes have harlot’s blue pupilsin the boundless west green galleons of time were sighted unforgettable and greendrenched in blood

in glittery splendoryou can hear the ancient marine folk if you listenin the kinky marine taverns the kinky marine folkspanish songs italian wineand as if you were god you invent curses from the fifteenth meridian

to the twentieth by yourselfyou invent international curses and from the libra mastyou god of curses splashings unknown things you god of lost treasuresyou won’t look back nor spit to the windunless black sails are hoisted on the admiral’s own masts chaste breezes will not kindle sparksin your pirate’s eyes

unless you get used to

chewing the rain and the tobacco

I have not forgotten the mediterranean I have plunged in the flames I cried with passion the joy to createand to be created reverberated in heavens and the prayers opened like enormous sailswhen one looked three crescents spread out all at once hayrettin’s songs flew like falcons from his arms windswept barefoot mariners of the algerian captain were holding messina and septe straits and all the others surrounding the caravans of shipsthey burned them up la-ilahe-il-allahbut your festivities your troubles will not be forsaken by the stars in every constellation

and the lighthouses in every isthmus then you would go to rome with hanniballong before that phoenicians carried the alphabet and the glass when dragons breathed sea monsters appearedthe ghost of a genoese galley slave in rhodes castle his legs in shackles

the whiplash on his backand latin songs pour forth

from the ships of antonius

you areunforeseen unforgettable unbearable and deep as roguish as a deckhand or the mustache of a sailor the wind is blowing unconstrained from all sides your centuries old pirate fateis tattooed on your arms and on your boundless chests angel-faced mermaids and slippery dolphins in green and glittery specklesso what you understand about this world is the same what children understandalthough time is getting older you are still a child you are the ancient graveyard of pirates and sailors you are the graveyard of hayrettin’s songs with your majestic waves you are the big ocean’s

star studded multitudes of plankton life skates and sea anemonesyou are god and you contain countless other gods in your kingdom the master skippers who ruled over the currentssome sailing north north-east some westwardthere was a captain joy we buried him in the arctic sea there was an andersen and a captain kiddskippers salih reis burak reis memi reis bursting in laughter together like canons in salvo being tossed around and scatteredwe died at a festival of giantsthen the fish-garths in kushadasi and surmene to be old and beautiful to defy memory to forget all the stars but recognize the north star at one glance then the italian fishermen with briny beardsthen like in hell in tatters bit by bit to enter a port where the fox spat copper to go ashore feeling like the karakurum desertand wretchedness of returning like a flood of wine o my beloved timesthe times when we sailed toward the south pole from the terra del fuega

from the land of fire

(TURKÇESI ESKI DENIZ HALKI, SISLER BULVARI, ss 19-23 OK

YAYINLARI, 3.BASKI,1970)

the notes of hamdi

“isn’t it a wonder that both the one who doesn’t know the world and the one who knows

talk about it.”

kefevî

1.

I have grown poisonous carnations

in the pots of my alienation

they had a peppery aroma

like a summer evening meal

on a rocky beach by the sea

what I saw was a bloody darkness

was I so wide open or was the world so narrow

the sorrow in me like a wild plant

was opening leaf by leaf

as the trees were diminishing for fall

2.

the mountains are hibernating

at a distance the wind caresses the trees

what passion whirls with the moths

in the dervish light of huge candles

in your eyes the enigmas of stars

in your mouth a jasmine stem

what are you musing about

with your rosary’s sparkling beads

as they roll on to the dark earth

the mountains are hibernating at a distance

the night is flawless with a copper moon

in an enchanted slumber the sounds of incesaz

the songs of bearded ottoman composers

played in hollow spaces

a world-weary

dainty hicazkâr

a frantic şataraban

and some nihavents that sparkle

like magic lamps

the enigma of when it began and when it ended

what passion whirls with these moths

in the dervish light of big candles

who knows where and when it started

who knows with whom

without saying wheat to say bread

without saying tree to say forest

to ascend to the gallows

at the crack of the dawn

3.

I gathered the sunlight

from the reflection of the leaves

I saved it in the lens of my glasses

to light my nights

it smelled like burning cloves

4.

with the weight of snow-blue fogs on their tops

pale poplars contain

the enormous sadness of autumn

in my soul the loneliness of water

water’s loneliness

suddenly from the electric cables

high voltage current like blood

comes to the city

in my soul the loneliness of water

water’s loneliness

no matter how much my age gets closer to death

isn’t it strange that

I also feel closer to my childhood

the swallows are alighting into my hands

5.

those are the plane trees of rugged lives

smoky and hazy they are found

in the magnificent western horizons

when you look at them at a distance

you can’t make out whether they are clouds or plane trees

as soon as they loom up their mysterious leaves

they vanish behind a sheet of rain

a song in my heart

the same one I sang

the day I was arrested

the birds abandon the woods

dragging behind

their chirping like a swarm of sparks

and the water lilies smile

in their dreamy whiteness

with heavy sighing

a song in my heart

the same one I sang

the day I was arrested

somehow girls loved in november

tend to be dainty and shy

in the reflection of the leaves perhaps

they seem to blush a lot

their eyelashes spray silver mists

water drips from their finger tips

their words dispersed by the winds

they are all alone in death

a song in my heart

the same one I sang

the day I was arrested

the weight of loneliness bears heavily on the rushes

because it cannot be stopped

only occasionally like a gilded thread

glisten the whistles of the invisible geese

6.

the seagull swoops down so quickly

its whiteness suspended

in the air

if it can’t catch the fish it kept an eye on

it struggles with hunger

in the water

7.

the icy brightness of the cold seas

where only erratic winds roam

and ghost ships whose crews are dead

seen through the icebergs

seem like silent fish

perhaps only the whistling of sails

and the albatrosses there

from the icy brightness of the cold seas

in the memories of the last fishermen with harpoons

are the old whales going down and coming up

with their exhausted sprays

shiny like silver fountains

in a way life is without before or after

in a way who knows how many autumns pile up on each other

8.

appearing in the deserted quiet of distant shores

with their refined elegance

secretly gloomy

silvery herons

like fine brooches

birds’ hearts are under strain

with worries like humans

they may be feeling the approaching the storm

they may be getting old

they may not be able to fly any more

the sky is forbidden to them

are these the sailing ships

that darken the west

or are they the piles of clouds

what are these fumes

whose heart’s hazes

which melancholy’s drizzles

they look like a thousand years of suffering

the moment they touch

the seas

the birds

and the trees

ah if I could see

if I could see the dolphins with their bubbly gaiety

how docile they are

how serene

they are farmers of hope

doggedly roam the dark oceans

night and day

as soon as I put my glasses on I see

that beach in büyükada where barefoot Trotsky strolled

he was sad as an extinguished volcano

he had a fishing rod in one hand

and a gun in the other

because he was exiled from his own revolution

9.

the night is an owl of cloudy feathers

its quills are all grounded glass

its gaze is a window

perched on my right shoulder

outspread and huge

if darkness seems devastating at first sight

sovereign of everything and everywhere

somewhere inside it

a kernel of light is growing secretly

that kernel contains the enlightened

forest of dialectics

BIRDS OF IMAGINATION

the most frightening crimson ones hit the windows of my sleep with pointed beaks shiny like the scales of fish

their loneliness is untamed their eyes are heavy maharajah eyes their magnetic crests like a handful of sparks

their slender necks reach out to all kinds of daydreams you think they’re the red velvet holders of purple hubble-bubbles

when they open their wings the clouds change their colors in their complicated feet they wear cloven slippers of lightning

the echo of their horrible green screech narrows the horizons their shrieks pierce the bloody palms of the tyrants

they’re the birds of imagination elusive turn into dust when touchedto exist in freedom only is their most unforgivable crime.

Tutuklunun Gűnlűğű, S. 45. Imgelem Kuşlari

MEHMET SIRAGADLARI

if there’s a vacant stone in this land jam on top of it heaving and restless like a factoryif there’s an empty fathom in this sea I am on top of itfoggy and smoky like a boat in februaryI come out of the september mines blackened I am the evening light at the school of economicsfalling on the books respectfully through the rainwashed windowsof all the mehmets existing it is my name doubtlessfrom yunuz emre on I am mehmet siradağlaribecause I listened to the earth understood the iron felt the coalsthe drums beat up in the skies my invincibility in wars because I was hit with many bullets and wounded in the name of god.if I got up one mehmet I sat down a thousand mehmets I brought the turk from asia to europe volcanoes are jealous of my inextinguishable fires every bayonet against imperialism is my name from mustafa kemal on I am mehmet siradağlari no matter how tight they were bound in my wrists the bloody handcuffs enslaving me to myself are unshackled the dark field is dizzy the factory is hungryfor some reason the last windows always face the prison yardseven if the sun is shining inside rne outside is all winter but the gates are wide open and the chains are brokenmost majestic ideas are rousing the massesevery step toward a free socialism is my name from nazim hikmet on I am mehmet siradağlari

Yasak sevişmek, 1961, p. 73

connectives

in the last few cool days of summer in september

one thinks of the arrival of fall on the horizon

like a ship with tattered sails

for some reason fall is the time to think of one’s own death

the covering of the dead body by yellowed leaves

like a photo of a forgotten fight in the magazines

1.

those are the girls

with tired eyelids

and blue pulses

they search an alla turca tune

with languorous fingers in the keys of a piano

their continence has a somber elegance

those are the girls who live

with the memory of an unlived love

they are like ghosts

abducted from a dream

2.

those are the eyes that are wild

and terrible with the redness of fires

with their dark eyelashes

they thicken a bloody love affair

they are not eyes

but sprays of bullets

shot by the barrel of a gun

those are the eyes that are

the flame of the lighter

the tip of the poisoned dagger

they stand like a ruby chandelier in our loneliness

wherever we go they find us

they come

and they find us

3.

those are the summers that rise

from the sea with a golden haze

like the songs of love

every day one melody fades away

from our memory

a secret wind scatters

the purple sands of the beach

those are the summers that

take the oleanders of abandoned gardens for a stroll

like shimmering candles

gliding in starlight

4.

those are the words that are bitter

crackling like iron whips

in the prison yards

those are the words at times

like a pomegranate tree in bloom

the light of the sea reflected

in a mountain’s horizon like mysterious knives

those are the words that are

the roses of fire

of an endless imagination

they are born and they die with the flutterings of butterflies

we carry those words in our hearts

like a loaded gun

until the day we die

for those words that we uttered once

we are prepared to die

“what I wrote and how you understood is a curious story.” muallim naci

A SONG IN MY HEART

those are the plane trees of rugged lives smoky and hazy they are found

in the magnificent western horizons

when you look at them at a distance

you can't make out whether they are clouds or plane trees as soon as they 100m up with their mysterious leaves they vanish behind a sheet of rain

a song in my heart

the same one I sang

the day I was arrested

the birds abandon the woods dragging behind

their chirping like a bunch of sparks and 'the water lilies smile

in their dreamy whiteness

with heavy sighs

a song in my heart

the same one I sang

the day I was arrested

somehow girls loved in November tend to be wary and delicate

in the reflection of the leaves perhaps they seem to blush a lot

their eyelashes spray silver mists

water drips from their finger tips

their words dispersed by the winds they are all alone in death

a song in my heart

the same one I sang

the day I was arrested

the weight of loneliness bear& heavily on the rushes because it cannot be stopped

only occasionally like a gilded thread ,-;- (, glisten the whistles of the invisible geese

BOYLE BIR SEVMEK'TEN gőzlüklü hamdi'nin notlari,5, ss 93-95, BILGI YAYINLARI 1977-79

POEM WITH THE SOUND OF “CH” AS IN SELCHUK(Kochaklama, Eulogy)

how many suns the selchuk shepherds lift up with their pitch forks shouting heave ho how many naked suns of spun glasstheir iron beards igniting sparks more tribes are coming from central asiawith twenty five hundred sixty five hundred tents a poled dome pitched to perfectionto the shrieks of the avshars1 on the heights underneath the crickets the black crows cracked mountain holes full of eels underneath konya bayshehir sivrihisar2 and far away the byzantine hyenas more tribes are coming from central asia they are light like a playful hearttheir teeth are strong their eyes slanted a bit in their ears no sound of the non-existing seas in their palates the taste of the snow blue milk freshly drawn from their robust mares and fragrant a few elderly men of broken hopes with bits of’ salt in the roots of their hair their lips are sealed tight you can’t open with a knife in their eye sockets constantly dwindling a sandy river eaten up by the pebbleswith its dried up beds moaning in the wind

a long hoofed animal climbs up a tree a lark touches with its glazed wings the thorns like a scimitar thrown oguz women with their strong faces break up loneliness and turn it into dusttheir breasts are full with nipples like blackberriesTheir muscles are tightly bound to their bonestheir voices full of forgivenessthey laugh out biting hard the sun of tart pears quinces bitter oranges they make a yogurt so thick even a knife can’t cut

1 Avshar – the name of a Turcoman tribe in South Turkey and South Iran2 Konya, Bayshehir and Sivrihisar – cities in central Anatolia

a wild honey resting in their metal buckets

more tribes are coring from central asiawith their fishbone eyelashes and leather hatsmen carved into hollows sword and macetheir exhaustion dripping into their hoary mustaches their heaving while passing through the forests is the same as the hungry axes they cut tree by tree under a spreading crackling firetheir herds a dusty cry in front of them pulled and carried away by the shepherd dogs between the shimmerings of the poplar treesperhaps from khorasan perhaps from the steppes of pamirinto the inlands of sakarya3 with flesh hoof and horns

welcome turk!... to your right and to your left water all over your earth is trembling with a mad abundancehow much lead how much sulfur can you extract your fingers draw wine if you stretch your handfrom the seeded grapes a vineyard fulla greenish olive oil is shining in many pots the smell of the cottage cheese is for you to savor many mountain goats are falling into your firedrawing delicate crescents with their horns in the night welcome turk... cloudy a bit dreamy perhapsall your hopes are raised at onceyou gave your name to this land and pledged your existence

3 Sakarya – a river in central Anatolia