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Turkish Poetry and Literature

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YAHYA KEMAL BEYATLI -1884-1958
1.       Roswitha
4132 posts
 29 Jan 2009 Thu 05:30 pm

End Of September

The days are brief. old folks of Kanlica
Remember all the autumns of the past.

Life is too short to love this district only..
I wish summers to last and days to be longer…

That rare drink quenched our thirst for years…
Ah! Life is too short for such a joy.

Death is our end, we’re not afraid of it.
But it’s hard to be away from the motherland.

Not to return from death’s night to this shore.
Is worse than death, this is the heart’s desire.

http://www.istanbulside.net/

 

2.       kafesteki kush
104 posts
 30 Jan 2009 Fri 11:44 am

 

Quoting Roswitha

End Of September

The days are brief. old folks of Kanlica
Remember all the autumns of the past.

Life is too short to love this district only..
I wish summers to last and days to be longer…

That rare drink quenched our thirst for years…
Ah! Life is too short for such a joy.

Death is our end, we’re not afraid of it.
But it’s hard to be away from the motherland.

Not to return from death’s night to this shore.
Is worse than death, this is the heart’s desire.

http://www.istanbulside.net/

 

 Ross,you teaser lady...{#lang_emotions_bigsmile}now I am longing for Istanbul even more{#lang_emotions_rant}{#lang_emotions_bigsmile}

3.       etimologist
156 posts
 27 Feb 2009 Fri 08:17 pm

NECÝP FAZIL KISAKÜREK-1905-1983

MY DEAR ISTANBUL

They have melted my soul and frozen it in a mould;
They have named it Istanbul, and put it on earth.
There’s something smoking inside me; air, colour, grace, and climate;
That’s my beloved who came from beyond time and place.
Its flowers are golden stars, its water is sweet;
The moon and the sun have always been Istanbullian.
The sea and the earth have reached their union in her
And the dreams have turned to reality in her.
Istanbul is my life;
my motherland…
Istanbul,
Istanbul…
History has eyes, the riddles on ancient walls;
Cypresses, cypresses are of fine stature, they’re the curtains
Of two worlds…
A steed rears up on the clouds;
Diamond domes, perhaps there are billions of steeds…
The minarets are index fingers pointing to the sky.
In every embroidery a meaning: we must die.
Death is more alive than life mercy is greater than sin;
When Beyoðlu is drowing in worldly pleasures,
Karcaahmet weeps…
Seek the meaning, find it!
Find it in Istanbul!
Istanbul,
Istanbul…
The Bosphorus, the silver brazier of the Bosphorus, boils the coolness;
The depths of heaven on earth are in Çamlýca.
Playful waters are the guests in the basement of the sea-side house;
A photo of the sad face of a former diplomat hangs on the wall.
Every evening flames on the windows in Üsküdar,
A haunded house, big as the city…
A song from the Ud or the Tanbour?
It sings “Katibim” behind the bay-windows…
Its women are like sharp knives,
Warm like fresh blood,
Istanbul,
Istanbul…
Time on the seven hills embroiders
Seven colours, seven voices, endless manifestation…!
Eyüp is an orphan, Kadiköy is dressed up, Moda is haughty,
Wind in the Island plays tricks with the girls.
Each dawn, the arrows fly from their bows.
Cries come from Topkapi Palace still.
The mothers are the best of sweethearts, Istanbul is the best of places;
Never mind the cheerful crowd, those who cry are happier.
Its night smells hyacinth,
Its Turkish the nightingale’s voice.
Istanbul,
Istanbul…

 

Caným Ýstanbul
Ruhumu eritip de kalýpta dondurmuþlar;
Onu Ýstanbul diye topraða kondurmuþlar.
Ýçimde tüten birþey; hava, renk, eda, iklim;
O benim, zaman, mekan aþýp geçmiþ sevgilim.
Çiçeði altýn yaldýz, suyu telli pulludur;
Ay ve güneþ ezelden iki Ýstanbulludur.
Denizle toprak, yalnýz onda ermiþ visale,
Ve kavuþmuþ rüyalar, onda, onda misale.
Ýstanbul benim caným;
Vataným da vataným...
Ýstanbul,
Ýstanbul...
Tarihin gözleri var, surlarda delik delik;
Servi, endamlý servi, ahirete perdelik...
Bulutta þaha kalkmýþ Fatih`ten kalma kýr at;
Pýrlantadan kubbeler, belki bir milyar kýrat...
Þahadet parmaðýdýr göðe doðru minare;
Her nakýþta o mana: Öleceðiz ne çare?..
Hayattan canlý ölüm, günahtan baskýn rahmet;
Beyoðlu tepinirken aðlar Karacaahmet...
O manayý bul da bul!
Ýlle Ýstanbul`da bul!
Ýstanbul,
Ýstanbul...
Boðaz gümüþ bir mangal, kaynatýr serinliði;
Çamlýca`da, yerdedir göklerin derinliði.
Oynak sular yalýnýn alt katýna misafir;
Yeni dünyadan mahzun, resimde eski sefir.
Her akþam camlarýnda yangýn çýkan Üsküdar,
Perili ahþap konak, koca bir þehir kadar...
Bir ses, bilemem tanbur gibi mi, ud gibi mi?
Cumbalý odalarda inletir "Katibim"i...
Kadýný keskin býçak,
Taze kan gibi sýcak.
Ýstanbul,
Ýstanbul...
Yedi tepe üstünde zaman bir gergef iþler!
Yedi renk, yedi sesten sayýsýz beliriþler...
Eyüp öksüz, Kadýkoy süslü, Moda kurumlu,
Adada rüzgar, uçan eteklerden sorumlu.
Her þafak Hisarlarda oklar çýkar yayýndan
Hala çýðlýklar gelir Topkapý sarayýndan.
Ana gibi yar olmaz, Ýstanbul gibi diyar;
Güleni þoyle dursun, aðlayaný bahtiyar...
Gecesi sünbül kokan
Türkçesi bülbül kokan,
Ýstanbul,
Ýstanbul…

Necip Fazýl Kýsakürek

   

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