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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

NECİP 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 Beyoğlu 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 Çamlıca.
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…

 

Canım İstanbul
Ruhumu eritip de kalıpta dondurmuşlar;
Onu İstanbul diye toprağa kondurmuşlar.
İçimde tüten birşey; hava, renk, eda, iklim;
O benim, zaman, mekan aşıp geçmiş sevgilim.
Çiçeği altın yaldız, suyu telli pulludur;
Ay ve güneş ezelden iki İstanbulludur.
Denizle toprak, yalnız onda ermiş visale,
Ve kavuşmuş rüyalar, onda, onda misale.
İstanbul benim canım;
Vatanım da vatanım...
İstanbul,
İstanbul...
Tarihin gözleri var, surlarda delik delik;
Servi, endamlı servi, ahirete perdelik...
Bulutta şaha kalkmış Fatih`ten kalma kır at;
Pırlantadan kubbeler, belki bir milyar kırat...
Şahadet parmağıdır göğe doğru minare;
Her nakışta o mana: Öleceğiz ne çare?..
Hayattan canlı ölüm, günahtan baskın rahmet;
Beyoğlu tepinirken ağlar Karacaahmet...
O manayı bul da bul!
İlle İstanbul`da bul!
İstanbul,
İstanbul...
Boğaz gümüş bir mangal, kaynatır serinliği;
Çamlıca`da, yerdedir göklerin derinliği.
Oynak sular yalının alt katına misafir;
Yeni dünyadan mahzun, resimde eski sefir.
Her akşam camlarında yangın çıkan Üsküdar,
Perili ahşap konak, koca bir şehir kadar...
Bir ses, bilemem tanbur gibi mi, ud gibi mi?
Cumbalı odalarda inletir "Katibim"i...
Kadını keskin bıçak,
Taze kan gibi sıcak.
İstanbul,
İstanbul...
Yedi tepe üstünde zaman bir gergef işler!
Yedi renk, yedi sesten sayısız belirişler...
Eyüp öksüz, Kadıkoy süslü, Moda kurumlu,
Adada rüzgar, uçan eteklerden sorumlu.
Her şafak Hisarlarda oklar çıkar yayından
Hala çığlıklar gelir Topkapı sarayından.
Ana gibi yar olmaz, İstanbul gibi diyar;
Güleni şoyle dursun, ağlayanı bahtiyar...
Gecesi sünbül kokan
Türkçesi bülbül kokan,
İstanbul,
İstanbul…

Necip Fazıl Kısakürek

   

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