Life of Nâzım Hikmet

Nâzım Hikmet was born as Mehmet Nazım on January 15, 1902 in Thessaloniki, at that time part of the Ottoman Empire. He grew up in a well-to-do family. His grandfather, Nazım Pasha, also wrote poetry. Hikmet bey, his father, was a government official, and his mother, Cemile hanım, a painter of Polish and Huguenot descent.
The family went to Istanbul, where Hikmet briefly studied at the French language Lycée of Galatasaray. Afterwards he attended the Naval War School, but poor health forced him to leave.
During the war of independence he went to Anatolia to join the troops of Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk) and taught at a school in Bolu in Nationalist territory. He was soon disillusioned and went on to Batum in 1921. The following year he left for Moscow.
Upon Hikmet's arrival in Moscow he was accepted at the Department of Economic and Social Studies of the KUTV (Communist University of the Workers of the East), and soon came under the influence of the futurist poet Mayakowski. In the same years he joined Turkish Communist Party.
After his return to Turkey, in 1924, Hikmet started writing for the Aydınlık and Orak Cekiç newspapers under a pseudonym. He was soon arrested for being involved in illegal publications and sentenced to 15 years in prison. He escaped again to Russia.
A general amnesty in 1928 allowed him to return to Turkey, and the next ten years were fertile ones in which he published nine books of poetry and wrote articles for periodicals, film scripts and plays. In 1938 he was again sentenced to twenty-eight years' imprisonment on trumped-up charges of organizing a revolt in the armed forces. He became a prisoner in Çankırı and Bursa. In 1949 an international campaign was started for his release, led by Tristan Tzara and Louis Aragon. A year later he was awarded a peace prize in absentia in Warsaw, which he shared with Paul Robeson and Pablo Neruda.
The following year the Democratic Party came into power as a result of the country's first democratic elections, and finally a general amnesty was declared. After serving twelve years of his sentence Hikmet was released. But the Turkish state did not want to simply let him go, so, at the age of 49, he was called up for military service! He again fled by ship to the Soviet Union in secret, and was to stay in that country until his death.
Hikmet died of a heart attack in Moscow on the morning of 3 June in 1963. He was buried in Moscow.
His poetry has been translated into more than 50 languages, but it was neither published nor publicly sold in his home country between 1938 and 1965. Only after his death, Hikmet's books began to reappear in Turkey.
(Source: http://www.iisg.nl/collections/hikmet/)

After the official biography, let's see poet's life story, written by himself:

OTOBİYOGRAFİ

1902'de doğdum
doğduğum şehre dönmedim bir daha
geriye dönmeyi sevmem
üçyaşımda Halep'te paşa torunluğu ettim
on dokuzumda Moskova'da komünist üniversite öğrenciliği
kırk dokuzumda yine Moskova'da Tseka-Parti konukluğu
ve on dördümden beri şairlik ederim


kimi insan otların kimi insan balıkların çeşidini bilir
ben ayrılıkların
kimi insan ezbere sayar yıldızların adını
ben hasretlerin
hapislerde de yattım büyük otellerde de
açlık çektim açlık gırevi de içinde ve tatmadığım yemek yok gibidir
otuzumda asılmamı istediler
kırk sekizimde Barış madalyasının bana verilmesini
verdiler de

otuz altımda yarım yılda geçtim dört metre kare betonu
elli dokuzumda on sekiz saatte uçtum Pırağ'dan Havana'ya

Lenin'i görmedim nöbet tuttum tabutunun başında 924'te
961'de ziyaret ettiğim anıtkabri kitaplarıdır

partimden koparmağa yeltendiler beni
sökmedi
yıkılan putların altında da ezilmedim

951'de bir denizde gençbir arkadaşla yürüdüm üstüne ölümün
52'de çatlak bir yürekle dört ay sırtüstü bekledim ölümü

sevdiğim kadınları deli gibi kıskandım
şu kadarcık haset etmedim Şarlo'ya bile
aldattım kadınlarımı
konuşmadım arkasından dostlarımın
içtim ama akşamcı olmadım
hep alnımın teriyle çıkardım ekmek paramı ne mutlu bana

başkasının hesabına utandım yalan söyledim
yalan söyledim başkasını üzmemek için
ama durup dururken de yalan söyledim

bindim tirene uçağa otomobile
çoğunluk binemiyor
operaya gittim
çoğunluk gidemiyor adını bile duymamış operanın
çoğunluğun gittiği kimi yerlere de ben gitmedim 21'den beri
camiye kiliseye tapınağa havraya büyücüye
ama kahve falıma baktırdığım oldu

yazılarım otuz kırk dilde basılır
Türkiye'mde Türkçemle yasak

kansere yakalanmadım daha
yakalanmam da şart değil
başbakan filan olacağım yok
meraklısı da değilim bu işin
bir de harbe girmedim
sığınaklara da inmedim gece yarıları
yollara da düşmedim pike yapan uçakların altında
ama sevdalandım altmışıma yakın

sözün kısası yoldaşlar
bugün Berlin'de kederden gebermekte olsam da
insanca yaşadım diyebilirim

ve daha ne kadar yaşarım
başımdan neler geçer daha
kim bilir.

Bu otobiyografi 1961 yılı 11 Eylülünde
Doğu Berlin'de yazıldı.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I was born in 1902
and never went back to the city I'd been born
I don't like to go back
at three I served as a pasha-grandson in Aleppo
at nineteen as a student of communist University in Moskow
at forty nine again in Moskow as a Tcheka Party guest
and since fourteen I serve as a poet

some people know all the kinds of grass some of fish
me of separations
some people recite the names of the stars
me of longings

I've slept in prisons and in grand hotels
I've starved including a hunger strike
and there is almost no food I haven't tasted

at thirty they wanted to hang me
at forty eight they wanted to give me the Peace Prize
which they did

at thirty six I passed for square meters of concrete
in half a year
at fifty nine I flew from Prague to Havana in eighteen hours

I've never seen Lenin but stood watch at his coffin in 1924
his tomb I visit in 1961 is his books

they tried to tear me off from my party
it didn't work
I wasn't even crushed under the falling idols

in 1951 with a young friend in sea I've attacked upon death
in 1952 with a cracked heart flat on my back for four months
I've waited death

I was madly jealous of the woman I loved
I didn't envy Chaplin even a bit
I deceived my woman

I never backbit my friends

I drank but I didn't become a drinker
I always earned my bread with the sweat of my brow
what a hapiness for me

I was ashamed on behalf of others and lied
I lied not to worry others
but I also lied without a reason

I've ridden trains planes cars
majority can not
I've gone to the opera
majority can not
they haven't even heard the name of the opera
and since 1921 I haven't gone
to some places where majority can go
mosques churches temples synagogues sorcerers
but I've had my fortune read on coffee grounds

my writings are published in thirty or forty languages
in my Turkey in my Turkish they're forbidden

I'm not caught by cancer yet
and not supposed to be caught
I'll never be a prime minister and so
I'm not interested in such things
I didn't take part in war
I didn't go down to shelters in midnights
I didn't walk on the roads under diving planes
but I fell in love at nearly sixty
in short comrades
even if today in Berlin I'm dying of sorrow
I can say I lived humanly
and how much longer shall I live
what else shall I experience
who knows.

This autobiography was written
in East Berlin on 11'th September 1961

Translated by Fuat Engin

For more translated poetry of Nâzım Hikmet at this website see Turkish Class Poetry Section

Special recommendation - Nâzım Hikmet's Official Website

Thanks for sharing He is definitely my favourite so far, how gifted that man has been with the written word!

I'm currently reading Nazım Hikmet's 'Insan manzaraları' which I strongly recommend to everybody who likes to read some sort of 'epical poetry' (I don't know if such a genre exists, but that is how I would describe it). Bright, detailed description of persons, written like a circle (with this I mean it hasn't got sharp edges, but is all beautifully shaped), really beautiful.

I hope to read it in Turkish within the next 2 years, to see how much power the Turkish words will add to the story itself

slavica thanks for ur works..great

Nâzım Hikmet

selfportraits

TAHİR İLE ZÃœHRE

Tahir olmak da ayıp değil Zühre olmak da
hattâ sevda yüzünden
ölmek de ayıp değil,
bütün iş Tahirle Zühre olabilmekte
yani yürekte.

Meselâ bir barikatta dövüşerek
meselâ kuzey
kutbunu keşfe giderken
meselâ denerken damarlarında bir serumu
ölmek ayıp olur mu?

Tahir olmak da ayıp değil Zühre olmak da
hattâ sevda yüzünden ölmek de ayıp değil.

Seversin dünyayı doludizgin
ama o bunun farkında değildir
ayrılmak istemezsin dünyadan
ama o senden ayrılacak
yani sen elmayı seviyorsun diye
elmanın da seni sevmesi şart mı?
Yani Tahir'i Zühre sevmeseydi artık
yahut hiç sevmeseydi
Tahir ne kaybederdi Tahirliğinden?

Tahir olmak da ayıp değil Zühre olmak da
hattâ sevda yüzünden ölmek de ayıp değil.


Nazım HİKMET

Very good job!!!
Thank you Slavica and all my friends here.
Here is my contribution.Thise poems are my favourites.I just put one of them and if you are interested you can find them here:


http://www.nazimhikmetran.com/turk_main.html

Piraye İçin Yazılmış :

SAAT 21-22 ŞİİRLERİ

Ne güzel şey hatırlamak seni :
ölüm ve zafer haberleri içinden,
hapiste
ve yaşım kırkı geçmiş iken...

Ne güzel şey hatırlamak seni :
bir mavi kumaşın üstünde unutulmuş olan elin
ve saçlarında
vakur yumuşaklığı canımın içi İstanbul toprağının...
İçimde ikinci bir insan gibidir
seni sevmek saadeti...
Parmakların ucunda kalan kokusu sardunya yaprağının,
güneşli bir rahatlık
ve etin daveti :
kıpkızıl çizgilerle bölünmüş
sıcak
koyu bir karanlık...

Ne güzel şey hatırlamak seni,
yazmak sana dair,
hapiste sırtüstü yatıp seni düşÃ¼nmek :
filânca gün, falanca yerde söylediğin söz,
kendisi değil
edasındaki dünya...

Ne güzel şey hatırlamak seni.
Sana tahtadan bir şeyler oymalıyım yine :
bir çekmece
bir yüzük,
ve üç metre kadar ince ipekli dokumalıyım.
Ve hemen
fırlayarak yerimden
penceremde demirlere yapışarak
hürriyetin sütbeyaz maviliğine
sana yazdıklarımı bağıra bağıra okumalıyım...

Ne güzel şey hatırlamak seni :
ölüm ve zafer haberleri içinden,
hapiste
ve yaşım kırkı geçmiş iken...


"9-10 P. M. POEMS WRITTEN FOR PIRAYE"


How lovely it is to remember you :
in the midst of the news of death and victory,
in prison
and over forty years of age...

How lovely it is to remember you :
your hand forgotten on a blue cloth
and in your hair
the grave softness of my beloved Istanbul earth...
It is like a second human in me
the happiness of loving you...
The smell of geranium leaf on the fingertips,
a sunny ease
and the call of flesh :
parted by quite red lines
a warm
deep darkness...

How lovely it is to remember you,
to write about you,
to lie back in prison and think of you :
that day, that place, the words you said,
not the words themselves
but the way you said them...

How lovely it is to remember you.
I should carve something for you out of wood :
a drawer
a ring,
and I should weave three meters of fine silk.
And jumping right up
from my place

grabbing the iron bars at my window,
to the milk-white blueness of freedom
I should shout out the poems I wrote for you.
How lovely it is to remember you :
in the midst of the news of death and victory,
in prison
and over forty years of age...
tr. by Fuat Engin

PIRAYE – Nâzım Hikmet's love and inspiration

Nâzım Hikmet had met Piraye Altınoğlu in 1930, and in 1931 he decided to get married, but he couldn't manage because of indictments, interrogations and arrests. He married her on 31 January 1935. But three years later, on the night of 17 January 1938, he was arrested and next twelve years he stayed in different prisons. During those twelve years Piraye was his most important lifeline to the outside world and in her honor he had written some of his most beautiful works. He began to set aside an hour each night devoted to her contemplation, and produced a series of love letters and poems, including famous Piraye Için Yazılmış Saat 21-22 Şiirleri (Poems of 21-22 Hours Written for Piraye).
Unfortunately their real life romance was to suffer, and after surviving so many years of tribulation together, they were divorced.


6 Ekim 1945

Bulutlur geçiyor: haberlerle yüklü, ağır.
Buruşuyor hala gelmeyen mektup avucumda.
Yürek kirpiklerin ucunda
uzayıp giden toprak uğurlanır.
Evde mi, sokakta mı,
Benim bağırasım gelir; ---'Piraye,
Piraye!..' --- diye...

6 October 1945

Clouds pass,heavy with news.
The letter that didn't crumples in my hand.
My heart is at the tip of my eyelashes,
blessing the earth that disappears into the distance.
I want to call out : ' P i r a y e ,
P i r a y e !..'

translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk

1945 yılı Aralık ayının dördü

İlk göz göze geldiğimiz günkü elbiseni çıkar sandıktan,
giyin, kuşan,
benze bahar ağaçlarına...
Hapisten
mektubun içinde yolladığım karanfili tak saçlarına,
kaldır, öpülesi çizgilerle kırışık beyaz, geniş alnını,
böyle bir günde yılgın ve kederli değil,
ne münasebet,
böyle bir günde bir isyan bayrağı gibi güzel olmalı Nâzım Hikmetin
kadını...

The fourth day of December 1945

Take out of the box the dress you had on when our eyes met
the first time,
look your best,
look like spring trees.
Set in your hair
the carnation I'd sent you in a letter from prison,
raise your white, broad forehead wrinkled with kissable lines,
in such a day, not daunted and sorrowful,
why, on what pretext
in such a day as beautiful as a rebel-flag she should be, Nazim
Hikmet's woman...

tr. by Fuat Engin

12 Aralık 1945

Ağaçlar ovada son bir gayretle pırıldamakta :
pul pul altın
bakır
tunç ve tahta...
Öküzlerin ayakları yaş toprağa gömülüyor yumuşacık.
Ve dağlar dumana batık
kurşunî, sırılsıklam...
Tamam,
sonbahar belki bugün bitti artık.
Yaban kazları hızla gelip geçti demin
herhal İznik gölüne gidiyorlar.
Havada serin
havada is kokusu gibi bir şey :
havada kar kokusu var...

Şimdi dışarda olmak,
dörtnala sürmek dağlara doğru atı.
«— Ata binmesini de bilmezsin,» —- diyeceksin ama
şakayı bırak ve kıskanma,
yeni bir huy edindim hapiste :
seni sevdiğim kadar değilse de
hemen hemen ona yakın seviyorum tabiatı...
Ve ikiniz de uzaktasınız...

12 December 1945

The trees on the plain make one last effort to shine :
spangled gold
copper
bronze and wood...
The oxen's hooves sink softly into the moist earth.
And the mountains are plunged in fog :
lead-gray, soaking wet...
That's it -
fall must be finally over today.
Wild geese just shot by,
probably headed for Iznik Lake.
The air is cool
and smells like soot :
the smell of snow is in the air.

To be outside now,
to ride a horse at full gallop toward the mountains.
You'll say, 'You don't know how to ride a horse,'
but don't laugh
or get jealous :
I've picked up a new habit in prison,
I love nature nearly as much
as I love you.
And both of you are far away...

tr. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk


14 Aralık 1945

Hay aksi lânet, fena bastırdı kış...
Sen ve namuslu İstanbulum ne haldesiniz kim bilir?
Kömürün var mı?
Odun alabildin mi?
Camların kıyısına gazete kâadı yapıştır.
Gece erkenden yatağa gir.
Evde de satılacak bir şey kalmamıştır.
Yarı aç, yarı tok üşÃ¼mek :
dünyada, memleketimizde ve şehrimizde
bu işte de çoğunluk bizde...

14 December 1945

Damn it, winter has come down hard...
You and my honest Istanbul, who knows how you are?
Do you have coal?
Could you buy wood?
Line the windows with newspaper.
Go to bed early.
Probably nothing's left in the house to sell.
To be cold and half hungry :
here, too, we're the majority
in the world, our country, and our city...

tr. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk

Nazim and Piraye