Oh! It looks as pretty suitable place, don't you think, my precious friends

Boop, welcome to the club of poetry lovers

Well...Seems everybody liked Tatyana and her letter to Onegin. So I decided to continue the story.
... Onegin refused Tatyana's love and left the village. But he met her again after couple of years. Shy, poor and simple village girl became beautiful princess, "unapproachable goddess". Onegin felt in love... It was his turn in writting letters...

Letter of Onegin to Tatyana


I foresee all: how the revelation
Of my sad secret will cause offence.
For what a bitter condemnation
Is revealed within your haughty glance!
What do I wish for? And with what aim
Do I open up my soul to you?
And to your spiteful mocking laughter
Perhaps giving cause I'll rue hereafter.

In the past having met you quite by chance,
Seeing in you that spark of tenderness
I did not dare to entrust myself
To it, and shrugged off the sweet romance;
Besides, my repellent liberty
I did not wish then to abandon.
And yet another thing came to part us...
A most stupid sacrifice, poor Lensky ...
From all things that to my heart were dear,
I then had wrenched my heart away;
A stranger to all, bound to no one,
I thought to myself: freedom and rest
Are better than all that happiness.
My God! My God! How was I mistaken!
And how has the heart within me been stricken!

No, no! Each minute to have a glimpse
Of you, to follow you everywhere,
To catch with my adoring eyes,
The smile of your mouth, your looks, your hair;
Only to listen to you, and to understand
In my very soul your complete perfection,
Before you to suffer my crucifixion,
To grow pale, and perish... Ah, that is bliss!

But that is denied me: only for you,
I drag myself hopefully everywhere;
The day is precious, and the hour too,
But I waste in boredom's cruel vanity
The days which by fate are allotted me.
They are such a weary misery!
I know that my days are numbered already,
But in order to give them some small scope
I must in the morning be assured
Of seeing you each day, and of having your word...

I fear that this my humble prayer
By your fierce eye may be construed
As but a cunning trick to lure
You, and I hear your angry sneer.
But if you knew, how terrible
Is the torture of love's rabidness,
To burn ― and yet with reason's curb
To staunch the blood-letting in the soul;
To wish to fall and embrace your knees,
And sobbing, head upon your feet,
To pour forth prayers, confessions, pleas,
All, all, that words can yet control,
Although meanwhile with pretended coldness
To fortify ones looks and speech,
To hold a reasonable conversation,
And look on you with suppressed elation!...

Yet so be it: no longer have I
The strength to fight against this foe;
The die is cast, I am at your mercy,
I submit to my fate, be it yes or no.

http://www.shelales.com/turkey.htm

This is the website which contents whole history of Turkia at one web page.

I would be grateful if someone give me links for some good websites about Turkish history.

Thanks in advance

Thank you so much, Alpha

Great collection an also a great idea

This is my contribution:


http://www.whereintheworldisanna.com/photos/traveling/turkey/


http://www.shelales.com/western_turkey.htm
http://www.shelales.com/istanbul.htm

http://www.pbase.com/dosseman/antalya_turkey

Hello, my dear friends, poetry lovers

I want to remind you to an event, happened 80 years ago: in the night of December 27/28, 1925 great Russian poet Sergey Esenin hanged himself in the Hotel d'Angleterre in Leningrad. Day before his death, Esenin slashed his wrists and wrote with his own blood his farewell poem.

Goodbye, My Friend, Goodbye

Good-bye, my friend, good-bye.
My dear one, you are in my breast.
This predestined parting
Promises a meeting ahead.

Good-bye, my friend, without hand, without word
No sorrow and no sadness in the brow.
In this life, dying is nothing new,
But living, of course, isn't novel either.

(Sergey YESENIN,Translated by Geoffrey Hurley)


AYRILIK ŞİİRİ

HoşÃ§akal, dostum, hoşÃ§akal, mutluluklar.
Sevgili dostum, yüreğimde yaşayacak anın,
Sonunda ayrılık yazgısı olsa da insanın.
HoşÃ§akal dediğimiz gibi buluşmak da var.

HoşÃ§akal, dostum, el sıkışmadan, suskunlukla
Sakın üzülme, nedir bu gözlerindeki hüzün?
Şu yaşamda yeni bir şey değil ki ölüm,
Ama pek öyle yeni sayılmaz yaşamak da.

(Çeviren: Ataol Behramoğlu)


* * *

До свиданья, друг мой, до свиданья.
Милый мой, ты у меня в груди.
Предназначенное расставанье
Обещает встречу впереди.

До свиданья, друг мой, без руки, без слова,
Не грусти и не печаль бровей,-
В этой жизни умирать не ново,
Но и жить, конечно, не новей.
1925

This poem is, in the same time, my farewell from you, my dear friends. I decided not to post threads about World literature anymore, and to try to give my contribution at Turkish Class the other ways.
Thank you all for your cooperation and support.
Wishing you all the best in new 2006 year, I hope we'll meet again at some more suitable place.
With all my love,
Slavica

Oh, thank you, thank you so much, Cyrano
What would we do without you and your precious help!

Dear Sophie, the pleasure is mine

And one more poem for kardoula mou and arkadaşım...

In the garden the chrysanthemums were dying...

In the garden the chrysanthemums were dying
like desires when you came. Calmly
you laughed, like little white flowers.
Silent, I made a sweetest song
out of the darkness deep within me
and the petals sing it up above you.

Kostas Kariotakis

As I promised, here's Russian original:

ПИСЬМО ТАТЬЯНЫ К ОНЕГИНУ

Я к вам пишу - чего же боле?
Что я могу еще сказать?
Теперь, я знаю, в вашей воле
Меня презреньем наказать.
Но вы, к моей несчастной доле
Хоть каплю жалости храня,
Вы не оставите меня.
Сначала я молчать хотела;
Поверьте: моего стыда
Вы не узнали б никогда,
Когда б надежду я имела
Хоть редко, хоть в неделю раз
В деревне нашей видеть вас,
Чтоб только слышать ваши речи,
Вам слово молвить, и потом
Все думать, думать об одном
И день и ночь до новой встречи.
Но, говорят, вы нелюдим;
В глуши, в деревне все вам скучно,
А мы... ничем мы не блестим,
Хоть вам и рады простодушно.

Зачем вы посетили нас?
В глуши забытого селенья
Я никогда не знала б вас,
Не знала б горького мученья.
Души неопытной волненья
Смирив со временем (как знать?),
По сердцу я нашла бы друга,
Была бы верная супруга
И добродетельная мать.

Другой!.. Нет, никому на свете
Не отдала бы сердца я!
То в вышнем суждено совете...
То воля неба: я твоя;
Вся жизнь моя была залогом
Свиданья верного с тобой;
Я знаю, ты мне послан богом,
До гроба ты хранитель мой...
Ты в сновиденьях мне являлся
Незримый, ты мне был уж мил,
Твой чудный взгляд меня томил,
В душе твой голос раздавался
Давно... нет, это был не сон!
Ты чуть вошел, я вмиг узнала,
Вся обомлела, запылала
И в мыслях молвила: вот он!
Не правда ль? я тебя слыхала:
Ты говорил со мной в тиши,
Когда я бедным помогала
Или молитвой услаждала
Тоску волнуемой души?
И в это самое мгновенье
Не ты ли, милое виденье,
В прозрачной темноте мелькнул,
Приникнул тихо к изголовью?
Не ты ль, с отрадой и любовью,
Слова надежды мне шепнул?
Кто ты, мой ангел ли хранитель,
Или коварный искуситель:
Мои сомненья разреши.
Быть может, это все пустое,
Обман неопытной души!
И суждено совсем иное...
Но так и быть! Судьбу мою
Отныне я тебе вручаю,
Перед тобою слезы лью,
Твоей защиты умоляю...
Вообрази: я здесь одна,
Никто меня не понимает,
Рассудок мой изнемогает,
И молча гибнуть я должна.
Я жду тебя: единым взором
Надежды сердца оживи
Иль сон тяжелый перерви,
Увы, заслуженным укором!

Кончаю! Страшно перечесть...
Стыдом и страхом замираю...
Но мне порукой ваша честь,
И смело ей себя вверяю...

This is the link for those who would like to read "Onegin" in Russian
http://www.friends-partners.org/friends/literature/19century/pushkin25.html(opt,mozilla,pc,russian,koi8,new)

Now we need Turkish translation. Cyrano, my friend?

Oh, and this is for you, Cyrano… from your big passion, Ritsos:
Forgetfulness

The house with the wooden staircase and the orange trees,
facing the azure, big mountain. The countryside gently
walks around inside the rooms. The two mirrors
reflect the singing of the birds. Only
that in the middle of the bedroom lie abandoned
two fabric slippers for the old. So,
when the night falls, the dead visit the house again
in order to collect something of theirs left behind,
a scarf, a vest, a shirt, two socks
and then, possibly due to short memory or carelessness,
they take along something of ours. Next day,
the postman passes our door without stopping.

Giannis Ritsos

And this is for kardoula mou:

Down the Seashore

Watching an entire Sunset
As the colours were dying upon her eyes
Through the raving sounds of seashells
Through the marks of the wind on her body
She deeply understood
the way people set
like weak suns
like passing summers
Swallowing the pain
bearing no complain
for the coming darkness,
sacrifice.

Argyro Mantoglou

This is my contribution for my another homeland…

"Kostas Karyotakis lived in the years after the First World War and expressed the pain of the lonely man, the pain of the melancholic spirit, with the most dramatic way.
From the depths of his soul he gave us his crying heart.
Until annihilation. Until Death..."


Tonight the moon...

Tonight the moon will fall upon
the strand, a heavy pearl.
And over me will play the mad
mad moonlight.

The ruby wave will shatter
at my feet, and scatter all the stars.
From my palms two doves
will have been born;

they'll rise -- two silver birds --,
be filled -- two cups -- with moonlight,
sprinkle moonlight on my shoulders,
on my hair.

The sea is molten gold.
I'll launch my dream to sail
upon a ca&idieresis;que. I'll tread a diamond
into gravel, glistening.

The encircling light will seem to pierce
my heart, a heavy pearl.
And I shall laugh. And then I'll weep... And there,
there's the moonlight!

Kostas Kariotakis

For more poetry of Kostas Kariotakis, this is the link:

http://users.otenet.gr/~lost/english