I AM LISTENING TO ISTANBUL

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
At first there blows a gentle breeze
And the leaves on the trees
Softly flutter or sway;
Out there, far away,
The bells of water carriers incessantly ring;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Then suddenly birds fly by,
Flocks of birds, high up, in a hue and cry
While nets are drawn in the fishing grounds
And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
The Grand Bazaar is serene and cool,
A hubbub at the hub of the market,
Mosque yards are brimful of pigeons,
At the docks while hammers bang and clang
Spring winds bear the smell of sweat;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Still giddy since bygone bacchanals,
A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep,
Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed,
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
Now a dainty girl walks by on the sidewalk:
Cusswords, tunes and songs, malapert remarks;
Something falls on the ground out of her hand,
It's a rose I guess.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
A bird flutters round your skirt;
I know your brow is moist with sweat
And your lips are wet.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

Orhan Veli Kanik

Translated by Talat Sait Halman (1982)

ISTANBUL'U DINLIYORUM

Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali
Once hafiften bir ruzgar esiyor;
Yavas yavas sallaniyor
Yapraklar, agaclarda;
Uzaklarda, cok uzaklarda,
Sucularin hic durmayan cingiraklari
Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali.

Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali;
Kuslar geciyor, derken;
Yukseklerden, suru suru, ciglik ciglik.
Aglar cekiliyor dalyanlarda;
Bir kadinin suya degiyor ayaklari;
Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali.

Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali;
Serin serin Kapalicarsi
Civil civil Mahmutpasa
Guvercin dolu avlular
Cekic sesleri geliyor doklardan
Guzelim bahar ruzgarinda ter kokulari;
Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali.

Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali;
Basimda eski alemlerin sarhoslugu
Los kayikhaneleriyle bir yali;
Dinmis lodoslarin ugultusu icinde
Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali.

Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali;
Bir yosma geciyor kaldirimdan;
Kufurler, sarkilar, turkuler, laf atmalar.
Birsey dusuyor elinden yere;
Bir gul olmali;
Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali.

Istanbul'u dinliyorum, gozlerim kapali;
Bir kus cirpiniyor eteklerinde;
Alnin sicak mi, degil mi, biliyorum;
Dudaklarin islak mi, degil mi, biliyorum;
Beyaz bir ay doguyor fistiklarin arkasindan
Kalbinin vurusundan anliyorum;
Istanbul'u dinliyorum.

Orhan Veli KANIK

XLV.
I weep now.... But if your former Tanya
You have still not forgotten even now,
Then know this: the bitterness of your anger
The stern talk, the coldness of your brow,
If it should be but within my power
I would prefer it to this mean passion,
To these tears, these letters that you fashion.
For to my young dreams in that distant hour
You then at least showed some sympathy,
And some respect for my girlish years...
But now! Why here? What foolishness
Brought you here to my feet? What sordidness?
How, with the heart and the mind that you have
Do you display the soul of the meanest slave?

XLVI.
But for me, Onegin, this luxuriance,
This tinsel glare of a harsh existence,
My status in glittering society's whirl,
My modern home and evening parties,
What are they? I would renounce them all,
And all these rags of showy pretence,
This noisy sparkle, this rich incense,
For a shelf of books or a ragged garden,
For our old house, poor and humble too,
And all those places, where long ago,
Onegin, I first set my eyes on you,
And for that graveyard, quiet, retired,
Where a cross under the shade of trees and skies,
Marks where my poor old nurse now lies.

XLVII.
Yet happiness seemed so possible,
So near at hand!... But now the book
Of fate is shut. Inadmissible
Perhaps was the course I took:
My mother with her tears of entreaty
Prayed me to marry; for poor Tanya
All lots were equal and indifferent...
I married. Onegin, leave me,
You must, I ask you, and I know
Within you there are nobler feelings,
Your pride, and your honourable dealings.
I love you ( why should I deceive you?)
But I am given to another now,
And I will eternally keep my vow.

XLVIII.
She left. Yevgeny stood stock still
As if by lightning he had been struck.
And what a storm of feelings fill
His heart, his passions run amok!
But suddenly the sound of spurs:
Tatyana's husband then appears,
And my hero now, at last, dear reader,
In this sad plight (could it be worse?)
We now abandon to his fate,
For aye... till an everlasting date.
Enough we have wandered this lonely path,
Through the vasty world. We congratulate
Each other on arrival. Hooray, hooray!
'And about time too' I hear you say.

XLIX.
Whoever you are, my dearest reader,
Friend, enemy, n'importe qui,
Let me part with you equitably.
Farewell. Whatever you have sought from me
Here in this book of carefree verses:
The recollection of burly times,
Or rest from toil, or but to slake
Your thirst for life, or comedy,
Or some grammatical mistake,
God grant that within these open rhymes
For your amusement, or your dreams
Your heart, or journalistic schemes,
I hope you will find a grain or two.
With that we part. And farewell to you!

L.
Farewell you also, my stranger friend,
And you my true ideal, and pure,
And you, my lively, constant care,
My trivial work. From you I learnt
All that a poet's heart might want,
Retreat far-flung from the worlding's storms,
Sweet conversation of one's friends.
Now many, many days have flown,
Since the time when young Tatyana first,
In a misty dream with her Yevgeny
Both dimly appeared in front of me,
And the outspread distance of a story
Through the magic of a crystal ball
I scarcely could discern at all.

LI.
But those to whom in a friendly meeting
The first verses of the poem I read...
Some like the rose are fast retreating,
As Khayam long ago has said.
Without them Onegin is now pictured.
But she, the original from whom
Tatyana's features were first formed...
Ah, how our wretched fate constricts us!
Happy is he who from life's play
Steps back and drains not to the lees
The wine glass full of cheap rosé,
Who the end of the novel never sees
But puts it aside quite carelessly,
As I from Onegin part nonchalantly.

The End

For you, my friends.
Now it is better if you tell what you like to see here.I prefer to post your favourites here.
And thank you for your interest in russian poetry.
Do you remember in the begining I was asking to write your favourite native poems.I'll be happy to see them here.
And I want to ask Cyrano to help us with translation.We all appreciate his great job here.
Best regards to all.

Happy birthday, Fatih!


It's that special day
when we honor you
Wish you lots of happiness
in everything you do
Sending wishes of good cheer
as you celebrate a special day
May your dreams all come true
and good things come your way.
Wishing you the best in all that you do,
On this special day, best wishes,
I wish for you!

With best regards Bliss

Hello my dear friends,
Thank you Mella for this beautiful song.It is one of my favourites.I will try to find the translation too.
Dear Sophie, you are very welcome.Yes, you are right. "What goes around comes around".
Here is the the continuation of the poem(novel)

XXXVII.
So gradually in a drowsy lack
Of thought and feeling he declines,
While fancy in his slumbering mind
Deals out the colourful tarot pack.
At first he sees, in the melting snow
As if resting there for the night,
A youth unmoving, a sorry sight,
And a voice he hears: "He's dead you know."
Then next some ancient enemies,
Slanderers and malicious cowards appear,
And a swarm of young and faithless beauties,
And a circle of comrades seems to leer;
Then, at the window of a rural home
She sits, always she, and she alone!

XXXVIII.
He was so accustomed to lose his way
In this that he almost went doolally,
Or else took up the poet's staff.
And truly, that would have been a laugh!
But indeed, by some hypnotic folly,
The structure of a Russian verse
He nearly at that time had grasped,
(This foolish, wooly headed scholar).
As a poet he even looked the part
When alone, and seated in a corner,
In front of him the chimney flamed,
While he crooned softly: Benedetta
Or Idol mio, and dropped his slipper
Or book in the fire, and ate his supper.

XXXIX.
The days sped past ― and with the warmth
Went winter, spring began to rally.
He did not become a poet or corpse,
And neither did he go doolally.
The spring revives him. At long last
His close pent rooms where he had passed
The long winter like a mouse or marmot,
With its cosy fire and double windows,
One bright clear morning he leaves, and goes
Along the Neva in a fast sledge.
The sun reflects on the criss-crossed ice
In sparkling blues; the dirty sludge
Is melting in the trampled street.
But where are hastening his horses' fleet

XL.
Horses? Reader, you have guessed it
Already, and it is as you conjecture.
He hastens to her, to his Tatyana,
This incorrigible freak and romancer.
He enters like one already dead,
There is not a soul in the entrance hall.
To the next room. Further. But ahead all
Is empty. He opens a door. What's this?
He stands on the edge of a precipice.
The princess is before him and alone,
Sitting, in simple clothes, and ashen,
Some letter she is reading, silently,
And the tears fall from her continually;
Her cheek is leaning upon her hand.



Enjoy for now.

I wish to have Turkish transaltion.

XXXIII.
There is no reply. He composes another.
To a second and yet to a third letter
Still no reply. He goes to a soirée,
She is there. As the room he enters freely
She walks towards him, and so fiercely!
She ignores his presence, no word is spoken,
Alas! How is she now fortified
With the deepest winter's cold and pride!
She scarce holds back the indignation
Behind her lips' enforced compression!
Onegin devours her with his looks:
Where, where is compassion, where confusion?
Where a trace of tears? .. No stain, no sign!
In her face only the remnants of anger shine.

XXXIV.
And perhaps there was a secret fear
That her husband or the world would guess
Her foolish folly or her past tenderness...
All that Onegin knew of her.
There was no hope. He leaves the gathering
Cursing his hopeless lunacy,
And plunging more deeply into madness
He renounces the world and its society.
Then locking himself in his silent study
He remembers the time, not so long since,
When cruel depression and bitterness
Had pursued him through the world's noisiness,
Had caught him and dragged him by the collar,
And shut him away in the darkest corner.

XXXV.
He started to read without much thought.
He got through Gibbon and Rousseau,
Manzoni, Herder and Chamfort,
De Staël and Bichat and Tissot,
The sceptic Bayle he read also,
And all the works of Fontenelle,
And of Russians many whom we know,
Not one rejecting - all were well.
He read the periodicals and journals
Which tell us how we ought to think,
But now they tell me my work stinks,
Although in the past some madrigals
Of criticism would come my way:
E sempre bene, as they say.

XXXVI.
What then? It was the usual tale.
His eyes were reading but his mind
Strayed far; dreams, wishes, melancholy,
Crowded into his wandering brain.
Between the rows of printed lines
He read with spiritual eyes
Alien meanings. And in them he
Was plunged in reverie completely.
Secret traditions, half-lost memories
Of passionate gloomy histories,
And totally disconnected dreams,
Threats, explanations, premonitions,
Or from a long tale some lively nonsense,
Or a young maiden's letter's innocence.

.......................................

Enjoy Sophie!

I don't want to separate from you, my love.I love you very much.Think about it and tell me.(Think about it and send me a message)
Good luck but ask native speakers.I wanted to help.

Merry Christmas to all my Ortodox Christian Friends!
I wish you all the best.

My dearest classmates!!!

We entered the year with baby steps,
Ending it with a weary trudge.
So much has happened,
Just in a year’s time.

A year of growth and learning,
A year of bitter and sweet,
A year of old and new,
A year to place in our scrapbook of life.

Now a new book is waiting,
It's pages pure and white.
New baby steps again,
A New Year to write.

This little poem comes with a wish,
That your New Year will be bright.
That it's pages will be filled,
With memories of much delight.

Happy New Year!


And this is for my russian classmates:


NOVOGODNIE POJELANIYA

Vot stishok moy novogodniy,
Pojelayu vam segodnya:

V Yanvare luchey Aprelya,
Chtobi vas poluchshe greli.

Chtobi vetri chashe duli -
Da ne v Marte, a v Iyule.

Chtobi den' vash bil bez nochi
Ili noch' bila koroche.

Chtobi v more dni i godi
Ne bivalo nepogodi.

Chtob ves' god ne znali draki
Vashi koshki i sobaki.

Chtobi skolko khleb ne rejem,
Bil on myagkim, bil on svejim.

Chtobi slivkami fontani
Napolnyali vam stakani.

Esli eto slishkom mnogo,
Ne sudite slishkom strogo.

A nagradi mne ne nado.
Vasha radost -- mne nagrada!

S Novim Godom!

My dear friends!


On New Years Eve we have to leave
Another year behind.
We wonder what the future holds
What changes we will find.

When the bells ring out a midnight
And a new path is there to tread,
Go forward with hope in your heart
And welcome the New Year ahead.


Happy New Year



And this is for my russian classmates:


NOVOGODNIE POJELANIYA

Vot stishok moy novogodniy,
Pojelayu vam segodnya:

V Yanvare luchey Aprelya,
Chtobi vas poluchshe greli.

Chtobi vetri chashe duli -
Da ne v Marte, a v Iyule.

Chtobi den' vash bil bez nochi
Ili noch' bila koroche.

Chtobi v more dni i godi
Ne bivalo nepogodi.

Chtob ves' god ne znali draki
Vashi koshki i sobaki.

Chtobi skolko khleb ne rejem,
Bil on myagkim, bil on svejim.

Chtobi slivkami fontani
Napolnyali vam stakani.

Esli eto slishkom mnogo,
Ne sudite slishkom strogo.

A nagradi mne ne nado.
Vasha radost -- mne nagrada!

S Novim Godom!