Orhan Veli Kanik, the great, offhanded modern Turkish poet. His translator, Murat Nemet-Nejat, describes Orhan Veli as a "funny, compassionate, rakish, sad, down-to-earth guy," which pretty much sums up why he is such an irresistible lyricist for scruffy rock songs
Murat also writes:
In November 1950, Orhan Veli Kanik died of a brain hemorrhage in Istanbul at the age of 36. He had fallen into a ditch drunk a few days beforehand. It was assumed that his falling unconscious and his ensuing death were the result of that accident. He had also been in a coma for twenty days in 1939 after an automobile accident. The short life, the heavy drinking, the love affairs, more than one coma in a lifetime hint at a life lived on the edge. They project the persona of a Romantic poet exploring new experiences.

The reality is different. Orhan Veli Kanik's poetry strikes one with its ordinariness and the aggressiveness of this ordinariness. His poetry is a mixture of daily life, streetwise humor and an undercurrent of lyricism. To me the most enduring image in the poem on himself, "I, Orhan Veli," is that he likes "puffed cheese pastries"; he admits to having lovers, but delicacy prevents him from mentioning any names. His poetry is a poetry of little details, a Hungarian restaurant, low level civil servants, alley cats, pets, etc.

This reminds me of the most famous Russian bard Vladimir Visotsky, Shakespeare-with-a-guitar as Russians called him.
I found many similarities in their lives.


I, ORHAN VELI


I, Orhan Veli.
The famous author of the poem
``Suleyman Effendi, may he rest in peace,''
Heard that you are curious
About my private life.
Let me tell you:
First I am a man, that is,
I am not a circus animal, or anything like that.
I have a nose, an ear,
Though they are not shapely.
I live in a house,
I have a job.
Neither do I carry a cloud on my head
Nor a stamp of prophecy on my back.
Neither am I modest like King George of England
Nor aristocratic like the recent
Stable keeper of Celal Bayar.
I love spinach.
I am crazy about puffed cheese pastries.
I have no eyes
For material things,
Really not.
Oktay Rifat and Melih Cevdet
Are my best friends,
And I have a lover,
Very respectable.
I can not tell her name.
Let literary critics find it.
I also keep busy with unimportant things,
Only between projects,
How can I say,
Perhaps I have a thousand other habits,
But what is the point of listing them all.
They just resemble these.

Orhan Veli
Translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat, 1989

Joe-rdl and Derya!
You are great. Thank you both!
The poem is great. Can you share with author's name?

Thank you Ramayan!
Great job!
This is for you.Hope you like it.


PERDELER

Perdeler, hep perdeler...

Her yerde, her yerdeler.

Pencerede, kapıda,

Geçitte, kemerdeler...

Perdeler, hep perdeler...


Ya benim sevdiklerim,

Şimdi nerde, nerdeler?

Onu bomboş perdenin;

İçerde, içerdeler!

Perdeler, hep perdeler...


Gönülde asıl perde;

Onu hangi göz deler?

Surat maske altında,

Sis altında beldeler.

Perdeler, hep perdeler...


Perdeye doğru akın;

Atlılar, piyadeler.

Yollar, yönler dolaşık;

Değişik ifadeler.

Perdeler, hep perdeler..


Bir tohumda bin gömlek.

Giyim giyim fideler.

Kalbler dilini yutmuş;

Bangır bangır mideler.

Perdeler, hep perdeler...


Son noktada son perde;

Çevrilmiş seccadeler.

Orada işte işte,

Olumden azadeler!

Perdeler, hep perdeler...



CURTAINS
Curtains, curtains all they are...
Here and everywhere they are.
In the windows, at the door,
In passages and vaults they are...
Curtains, curtains all they are...

And what about the things I love,
Now where are they, now where are they?
Before the curtain it's so empty;
All inside, inside are they!
Curtains, curtains all they are...

The original curtain's in the heart;
Pierced through only by which gaze?
Beneath the mask of outward form,
Cities lie beneath the haze.
Curtains, curtains all they are...

Toward the curtain onward rushing;
Horsed they are, on foot they are.
Roads, directions aimless wander;
Expressions elsewise put they are.
Curtains, curtains all they are...

A seed it wears a thousand shirts.
Seedlings all dressed up they are.
Hearts amazed are stricken dumb;
Bellies crying out they are.
Curtains, curtains all they are...

The final point, the final curtain;
Ringed with rugs for prayer they are.
Over there you see, you see,
Free, set free from death they are!
Curtains, curtains all they are...

Translated by Walter G. Andrews

"My father is in Holland since 30 years." This is not correct. The correct sentence will be "My father is in Holland for 30 years."
If you mean he lives there then better to use 'lives' instead of 'is' -- "My father lives in Holland for 30 years."

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

Novruz
The Azerbaijanis are proud of their customs and look forward to participating in the holiday celebrations throughout the year. Perhaps the most joyful holiday is Novruz, the New Year, which falls on March 21 with the arrival of spring. For two weeks before Novruz, musicians and dancers perform in the streets to the delight of children and grown-ups alike. On the last Wednesday before Novruz, children in rural areas build bonfires. Then everyone jumps across the fire, asking for blessings of good fortune and health. In towns, children knock on doors and leave empty hats by them to receive sweets - nuts, raisins, and cookies made especially for Novruz. On Novruz Eve - March 20, all families in Azerbaijan assemble in their houses to celebrate at a table decorated with many traditional meals. It is strongly believed that lots of food on Novruz Eve brings prosperity and wealth in the coming year.

Thank you Janisarry!
Here is my contribution.
Once Nasreddin Hodja was going to the trip with his favourite donkey. He had watermelon with him as well. On the half of the way he got tired and wanted to rest. He cut the watermelon and ate half of it. Left behind the other half and said to himself "Let people think here was the effendy and left the half of watermelon".
When he was on the road again he got tired and thirsty again and went back where he left half of the watermelon. He ate the other half and said "Let people think the effendy had a servant".
He went on again. After a while he changed his mind again and came back, ate the rind and said "Let people think that the effendy had donkey too".

One night the crowd outside was very loud. Nasreddin Hodja was in the bed already. His wife asked him to go out and find out what happened there. Hodja covered himself with his old blanket and went out. Just he got out somebody took his blanket and was gone. At once crowd was gone too.
Hodja went back in the house. His wife asked what was the problem there.
He told that the crowd wanted his blanket he thinks because as soon as somebody took it the crowd was gone.

Thank you very much!!!

Dear Moongirl,
Since I read your post, I couldn't sleep. This all night I was awake and talking to my friends. They were worry that I am not going to sleep but to tell the truth I was waiting for your answer. Thank God I heard good news now and can rest. Believe in my sincerity, dear. I am glad you are fine and ask God to make you whole.
Take good care of yourself and gain your health soon.
I wish you all the luck and happiness.
With best regards Bliss.

Hello Moongirl,
I read the letter and got very sad. I totally can imagine the situation. Wanted just know who is sick. I am sorry for asking , it is not just curiosity.
I wish God will help.
With best regards Bliss.