Turkish Poetry and Literature |
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LETTER TO MY WIFE
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1. |
19 Sep 2005 Mon 01:37 pm |
LETTER TO MY WIFE
My one and only!
Your last letter says: "My head is throbbing,
my heart is stunned!"
You say:
"If they hang you,
if I lose you,
I'll die!"
YouÕll live, my dear-
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course youÕll live, red-haired lady of my heart:
in the twentieth century
grief lasts
at most a year.
Death-
a body swinging from a rope.
My heart
can't accept such a death.
But
you can bet
if some poor gypsy's hairy black
spidery hand
slips a noose
around my neck,
they'll look in vain for fear
in Nazim's
blue eyes!
In the twilight of my last morning
I
will see my friends and you,
and I'll go
to my grave
regretting nothing but an unfinished song....
My wife
Good-hearted,
golden,
eyes sweeter than honey my bee!
Why did I write you
they want to hang me!
The trial has hardly begun,
and they donÕt just pluck a man's head
like a turnip.
Look, forget all this.
If you have any money,
buy me some flannel underwear:
my sciatica is acting up again.
And don't forget,
a prisoner's wife
must always think good thoughts.
Nazim Hikmet Ran
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2. |
28 Oct 2005 Fri 11:55 am |
I LOVE YOU
I kneel down: I look at the earth,
the grass,
insects,
little stems blooming with blues.
You are like the spring earth, my love,
I am looking at you.
I lie on my back: I see the sky,
the branches of a tree,
storks on the wing,
a waking dream.
You are like the spring sky, my love,
I see you.
At night I light a campfire: I touch fire,
water,
cloth,
silver.
You are like a fire lit beneath the stars,
I touch you.
I go among people: I love people,
action,
thought,
struggle .
You are one person in my struggle,
I love you.
NAZIM HIKMET
Translated by Randy Blasing - Mutlu Konuk
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YOU
You are my enslavement and my freedom
You are my flesh burning like a raw summer night
You are my country
You are the green silks in hazel eyes
You are big, beautiful and triumphant
And you are my sorrow that isn't felt
the more I feel it.
NAZIM HIKMET
Translated by Larry Clark
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MY FUNERAL
Will my funeral start in our courtyard below?
How will you bring my coffin down three floors?
The lift will not take it
and the stairs are too narrow.
Perhaps the courtyard will be knee-deep in sunlight and pigeons
perhaps there will be snow and children's cries mingling in the air
or the asphalt glistening with rain
and the dustbins littering the place as usual.
If in keeping with the custom here I am to go, face open to the skies
on the hearse, a pigeon might drop something on my brow, for luck.
Whether a band turns up or no, children will come near me,
children like funerals.
Our kitchen window will stare after me as I go,
the washing on the balcony will wave to see me off.
I have been happier here than you can ever imagine,
friends, I wish you all a long and happy life.
NAZIM HIKMET
Translated by Feyyaz Kayacan Fergar
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3. |
03 Nov 2005 Thu 04:58 am |
PLEA
By Nazim Hikmet
This country shaped like the head of a mare
Coming full gallop from far off Asia
To stretch into the Mediterranean
THIS COUNTRY IS OURS.
Bloody wrists, clenched teeth
bare feet,
Land like a precious silk carpet
THIS HELL, THIS PARADISE IS OURS.
Let the doors be shut that belong to others
Let them never open again
Do away with the enslaving of man by man
THIS PLEA IS OURS.
To live! Like a tree alone and free
Like a forest in brotherhood
THIS YEARNING IS OURS.
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