UMUT
Bütün iyi kitapların sonunda
bütün gündüzlerin,
bütün gecelerin sonunda
meltemi senden esen
soluğu sende olan,
yeni bir başlangıç vardır..

Parmağını sürsen elmaya,
rengini anlarsın..
Gözünle görsen elmayı,
sesini duyarsın...
Onu işitsen, yuvarlağı sende kalır.
Her başlangıçta yeni bir anlam vardır.

Nedensiz bir çocuk ağlaması bile,
çok sonraki bir gülüşÃ¼n başlangıcıdır...
Edip Cansever


EXPECTATION
At the ends of all good books
At the ends of all nights and mornings
There are new beginnings
A beginning whose breeze blows from you
A beginning whose voice belongs to you

When you touch an apple with your finger
you feel its color
When you see the apple
you hear its voice
When you hear it
Its roundness passes on to you
And in all beginnings there is a new meaning

Even the casual cry of a baby child
could herald a laughter to come much later
Translated by Akin Ilicali

Bir Masalda Türkü
Gözlerini kapasan hafifçe
Süzülür bakışların aralıktan
Bir savaşı sürdürür kendince
Bir savaş ki yalnızca güzellikten yana
Bir savaş ki aşar gider usulca
Afşar Timuçin


A Song in a Fairy Tale
When you close your eyes softly
Your gaze flies through the opening
It puts up a fight of its own right
A fight whose sole cause is beauty
A fight that goes yonder quietly
Translated by Akin Ilicali

Fahriye Abla
Hava keskin bir kömür kokusuyla dolar
Kapanırdı daha gün batmadan kapılar
Bu afyon ruhu gibi baygın mahalleden
Hayalimde tek çizgi bir sen kalmışsın sen!
Hülyasındaki geniş aydınlığa gülen
Gözlerin , dişlerin ve akpak gerdanınla
Ne güzel komşumuzdun sen fahriye abla

Eviniz kutu gibi küçücük bir evdi
Sarmaşıklarla balkonu örtük bir evdi
Güneşin batmasına yakın saatlerde
Yıkanırdı gölgesi kuytu bir derede
Yaz kış yeşil bir saksı ıtır pencerede
Bahçede akasyalar açardı baharla
Ne şirin komşumuzdun fahriye abla

Önce upuzun sonra kesik saçın vardı
Tenin buğdaysı , boyun bir başak kadardı
İçini gıcıklardı bütün erkeklerin
Altın bileziklerle dolu bileklerin
Açılırdı rüzgarda kısa eteklerin
Açık saçık şarkılar söylerdin en fazla
Ne çapkın komşumuzdun sen fahriye abla

Gönül verdin derlerdi o delikanlıya
En sonunda varmışsın bir Erzincanlıya
Bilmem şimdi hala bu ilk kocandamısın
Hala dağları karlı Erzincanda mısın
Bırak geçmiş günleri gönlüm hatırlasın
Hatırada kalan şeyler değişmez zamanda
Ne vefalı komşumuzdun sen fahriye abla
Ahmet Muhip Dranas



Fahriye
There would be a thick smell of coal in the air
The doors would be closed well before the dusk
You are the only one who remains in my dreams
From that half-dead half-numbing district
You'd smile from that broad sunlit opening
With your eyes, teeth and your pale neck
Such a beautiful neighbor you were Fahriye

Yours was a small house that looked like a box
and its balcony was covered with ivy
just about the sunset hour
its shadow would bathe in a calm creek
And in the window there would be a scented flower
In the spring acacias would bloom in the garden
What a beautiful neighbor you were Fahriye

First you had long hair then you shortened it
Your complexion was wheat and you were as tall as grain ears
Your hands full of golden bracelets
would give tickles to men
When the wind blew your skirt would open
You'd sing those nasty songs
What a scamp you were Fahriye

They said you fell for a young boy
but in the end, married to that man from Erzincan
I don't know if you are still with your first husband
or if you are still in snow covered Erzincan?
Let my heart remember all those bygone days
for memories will not change by time
What a beautiful neighbor you were Fahriye
Translated by Akin Ilicali

Slavica, so nice to see you! I definitely agree with your suggestion.

Thanks but I don't consider them finished yet. Many of them are just 5-10 minute translations. When I have time, I will take another look at them.

The poetry of Bulent Ozcan:

is unique not only because poetry and music entwine with each other in his poetry but also its doors are open to philosophy; it has its own subtle mathematics, its own colourful metaphysics. The mystical workmanship that we see in his poetry can almost be compared to an aesthetics which is almost flawless, like we find in a diamond. This mystical realism which does not give itself away so easily becomes even more tasteful as times goes by, like a bottle of aged wine, combined, of course, with his Anatolian, spotless personality. He sometimes creates his own dreams of what he would write down on paper. He takes a deep breath of their smell and finds shelter in the bosom of poetry. The perfume of his poetry oozes out of many different places, which are quiet and secluded... He is both a goldsmith and a porter of his poetry. With so much labour, little by little, sometimes painful, he weaves his poetry like a silkworm... He listens to that tinkling voice in complete silence. The poetry of Bulent Ozcan has its own unique colours, its own unique personality; together with air, wind and earth. As Bilsen Basaran pointed out in the "Poetry of Bulent Ozcan": "...In all of his poems there is magic and charm. Their colour, taste and sound are very very special and these poems are decorated with extraordinary things unique to Ozcan." He processes life like a goldsmith. He questions life itself but he believes that his poetry too must be consistent with his questioning, and he stubbornly insists that one cannot separate a poet's workmanship from his own being as a poet in this world. One needs to see that the overwhelming problems in the society in which we live are very much part of our own realities, and yet one also needs to weave his or her own philosophy of life around those realities. It is probably for this reason that the poetry of Bulent Ozcan are full of Mesopotamian colours. The true colour of Ozcan's poetry is based on those colours... He steps on each word, then he turns his face toward Nile and pours out his words... His poems are like a well-steeped tea brewed with the clear waters of Ararat...

"Every bird
carries on her wings
the geography
of her own country..."

Bulent Ozcan does not see any higher love than love for humanity.