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Nâzım Hikmet RAN
Submitted by slavica on Mon, 03/24/2008 - 03:13.
Nâzım Hikmet was born as Mehmet Nazım on January 15, 1902 in Thessaloniki, at that time part of the Ottoman Empire. He grew up in a well-to-do family. His grandfather, Nazım Pasha, also wrote poetry. Hikmet bey, his father, was a government official, and his mother, Cemile hanım, a painter of Polish and Huguenot descent.
The family went to Istanbul, where Hikmet briefly studied at the French language Lycée of Galatasaray. Afterwards he attended the Naval War School, but poor health forced him to leave.
During the war of independence he went to Anatolia to join the troops of Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk) and taught at a school in Bolu in Nationalist territory. He was soon disillusioned and went on to Batum in 1921. The following year he left for Moscow.
Upon Hikmet's arrival in Moscow he was accepted at the Department of Economic and Social Studies of the KUTV (Communist University of the Workers of the East), and soon came under the influence of the futurist poet Mayakowski. In the same years he joined Turkish Communist Party.
After his return to Turkey, in 1924, Hikmet started writing for the Aydınlık and Orak Cekiç newspapers under a pseudonym. He was soon arrested for being involved in illegal publications and sentenced to 15 years in prison. He escaped again to Russia.
A general amnesty in 1928 allowed him to return to Turkey, and the next ten years were fertile ones in which he published nine books of poetry and wrote articles for periodicals, film scripts and plays. In 1938 he was again sentenced to twenty-eight years' imprisonment on trumped-up charges of organizing a revolt in the armed forces. He became a prisoner in Çankırı and Bursa. In 1949 an international campaign was started for his release, led by Tristan Tzara and Louis Aragon. A year later he was awarded a peace prize in absentia in Warsaw, which he shared with Paul Robeson and Pablo Neruda.
The following year the Democratic Party came into power as a result of the country's first democratic elections, and finally a general amnesty was declared. After serving twelve years of his sentence Hikmet was released. But the Turkish state did not want to simply let him go, so, at the age of 49, he was called up for military service! He again fled by ship to the Soviet Union in secret, and was to stay in that country until his death.
Hikmet died of a heart attack in Moscow on the morning of 3 June in 1963. He was buried in Moscow.
His poetry has been translated into more than 50 languages, but it was neither published nor publicly sold in his home country between 1938 and 1965. Only after his death, Hikmet's books began to reappear in Turkey.
Source
Karıma Mektup / Letter To My Wife
Submitted by slavica on Sat, 11/08/2008 - 22:58.Karıma Mektup
11-11-1933
Bursa
Hapisanesi
Bir tanem!
Son mektubunda:
"Başım sızlıyor
yüreğim sersem!"
diyorsun.
"Seni asarlarsa
seni kaybedersem;"
diyorsun;
"yaşıyamam!"
Yaşarsın karıcığım,
kara bir duman gibi dağılır hatıram rüzgarda; yaşarsın kalbimin
kızıl saçlı bacısı
en fazla bir yıl sürer
yirminci asırlılarda
ölüm acısı.
Ölüm
bir ipte sallanan bir ölü.
Bu ölüme bir türlü
razı olmuyor gönlüm.
Fakat
emin ol ki sevgilim;
zavallı bir çingenenin
kıllı, siyah bir örümceğe benzeyen eli
gecirecekse eğer
ipi boğazıma,
mavi gözlerimde korkuyu görmek için
boşuna bakacaklar
Nazıma!
Ben,
alaca karanlığında son sabahımın
dostlarımı ve seni göreceğim,
ve yalnız
yarı kalmış bir şarkının acısını
toprağa götüreceğim...
Karım benim!
İyi yürekli
altın renkli,
gözleri baldan tatlı arım benim:
ne diye yazdım sana
istendiğini idamımın,
daha dava ilk adımında
ve bir şalgam gibi koparmıyorlar
kellesini adamın.
Haydi bunlara boş ver.
Bunlar uzak bir ihtimal.
Paran varsa eğer
bana fanila bir don al,
tuttu bacağımın siyatik ağrısı,
Ve unutma ki
daima iyi şeyler düşünmeli
bir mahbusun karısı.
Nazım Hikmet
Letter To My Wife
11-11-1933
Bursa Prison
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!"
You'll live, my dear-
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course you'll 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 don't 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.
(Translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk) (1993)
*****************************************************
Yalnızlık paylaşılmaz, paylaşılsa yalnızlık olmaz…
Loneliness can’t be shared, if it is shared, it cant be loneliness...
*****************************************************
Piraye
Submitted by slavica on Sat, 11/08/2008 - 22:56.Piraye Altınoğlu, Nâzım Hikmet’s wife and great inspiration. They’ve got meried in 1935. Three years later Nazim was arrested. During his twelve years long stay in different prisons, inspired by their love he had written some of his most beautiful works. He began to set aside an hour each night devoted to her contemplation, and produced a series of love letters and poems, including famous Piraye Için Yazılmış Saat 21-22 Şiirleri (Poems of 21-22 Hours Written for Piraye). Unfortunately, their marriage didn’t last: while in prison, Nazim had fallen in love with Münevver Berk, his younger cousin, and upon his release he divorced Piraye.
6 Ekim 1945
Bulutlur geçiyor: haberlerle yüklü, ağır.
Buruşuyor hala gelmeyen mektup avucumda.
Yürek kirpiklerin ucunda
uzayıp giden toprak uğurlanır.
Evde mi, sokakta mı,
Benim bağırasım gelir; ---"Piraye,
Piraye!.." --- diye...
6 October 1945
Clouds pass,heavy with news.
The letter that didn't crumples in my hand.
My heart is at the tip of my eyelashes,
blessing the earth that disappears into the distance.
I want to call out : " P i r a y e ,
P i r a y e !.."
translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk
*****************************************************
Yalnızlık paylaşılmaz, paylaşılsa yalnızlık olmaz…
Loneliness can’t be shared, if it is shared, it cant be loneliness...
*****************************************************
Seni Seviyorum / I Love You
Submitted by slavica on Sat, 11/08/2008 - 22:52.Seni Seviyorum
Çömeldim, bakıyorum toprağa.
Otlara bakıyorum, böceklere bakıyorum.
Mavi mavi çiçek açmış dallara bakıyorum,
Sen bahar toprağı gibisin sevgilim
sana bakıyorum
Sırtüstü uzandım görüyorum gökyüzünü,
Ağacın dallarını görüyorum.
Sen, bahar mevsiminde gökyüzü gibisin sevgilim
seni görüyorum
Gece kırda ateş yaktım, ateşe dokunuyorum
Suya dokunuyorum,
Kumaşa dokunuyorum,
Gümüşe dokunuyorum,
Sen yıldızların altında yakılan ateş gibisin sevgilim
sana dokunuyorum
İnsanların içindeyim seviyorum insanları
Hareketi seviyorum
Düşünceyi seviyorum
Kavgamı seviyorum
Sen kavgamın içinde bir insansın sevgilim,
Nazım Hikmet
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.
Translated by Mutlu Konuk
*****************************************************
Yalnızlık paylaşılmaz, paylaşılsa yalnızlık olmaz…
Loneliness can’t be shared, if it is shared, it cant be loneliness...
*****************************************************
Ben içeri düştüğümden beri/Since I have been in jail
Submitted by slavica on Sat, 11/08/2008 - 22:51.BEN İÇERİ DÜŞTÜĞÜMDEN BERİ
Ben içeri düştüğümden beri
güneşin etrafında on kere döndü dünya.
Ona sorarsanız:
“Lâfı bile edilmez,
mikroskobik bir zaman.”
Bana sorarsanız:
“On senesi ömrümün.”
Bir kurşun kalemim vardı
ben içeri düştüğüm sene.
Bir haftada yaza yaza tükeniverdi.
Ona sorarsanız:
“Bütün bir hayat.”
Bana sorarsanız:
“Adam sen de, bir iki hafta.”
Katillikten yatan Osman,
ben içeri düştüğümden beri,
yedi buçuğu doldurup çıktı,
dolaştı dışarlarda bir vakit,
sonra kaçakçılıktan tekrar düştü içeri,
altı ayı doldurup çıktı tekrar,
dün mektup geldi, evlenmiş,
bir çocuğu doğacakmış baharda.
Şimdi on yaşına bastı,
ben içeri düştüğüm sene,
ana rahmine düşen çocuklar.
Ve o yılın titrek, ince, uzun bacaklı tayları,
rahat, geniş sağrılı birer kısrak oldular çoktan.
Fakat zeytin fidanları hâlâ fidan,
hâlâ çocuktur.
Yeni meydanlar açılmış uzaktaki şehrimde
ben içeri düştüğümden beri.
Ve bizim hane halkı
bilmediğim bir sokakta
görmediğim bir evde oturuyor.
Pamuk gibiydi, bembeyazdı ekmek
ben içeri düştüğüm sene.
Sonra vesikaya bindi,
bizim burda, içerde, birbirini vurdu millet
yumruk kadar, simsiyah bir tayın için.
Şimdi serbestledi yine,
fakat esmer ve tatsız.
Ben içeri düştüğüm sene
İKİNCİSİ başlamamıştı henüz.
Daşav kampında fırınlar yakılmamış,
atom bombası atılmamıştı Hiroşima’ya.
Boğazlanan bir çocuğun kanı gibi aktı zaman.
Sonra kapandı resmen o fasıl,
şimdi ÜÇÜNCÜDEN bahsediyor Amerikan doları.
Fakat gün ışıdı her şeye rağmen
ben içeri düştüğümden beri.
Ve “Karanlığın kenarından
ONLAR ağır ellerini kaldırımlara basıp
doğruldular” yarı yarıya.
Ben içeri düştüğümden beri
güneşin etrafında on kere döndü dünya.
Ve aynı ihtirasla tekrar ediyorum yine,
ben içeri düştüğüm sene
ONLAR için yazdığımı:
“Onlar ki toprakta karınca
suda balık
havada kuş kadar çokturlar,
korkak, cesur,
cahil, hakîm
ve çocukturlar,
ve kahreden
yaratan ki onlardır,
şarkılarımda yalnız onların mâceraları vardır.”
Ve gayrısı,
meselâ benim on sene yatmam,
lâfü güzaf.
SINCE I'VE BEEN IN JAIL
Since I've been in jail
the world has turned around the sun ten times
And if you ask the earth, it will say:
"It's not worth mentioning,
a microscopic time."
And if you ask me, I will say:
"It's ten years of my life."
I had a pencil
the year I came to jail.
It wore out in a week from writing.
And if you ask the pencil, it will say:
"A whole life."
And if you ask me, I will say:
"It's nothing, a mere week."
Osman who was jailed for murder
completed a seven-year stretch and left
since I've been in jail.
He wandered around outside for a while,
and then got jailed again for smuggling.
He served a six-month term and left again,
and yesterday a letter came saying he's married
and a child will be born in the spring.
Now they're ten years old
the children who fell from their mothers' womb
that year I came to jail,
And the colts of that year who had long thin shaky legs
have long since become docile broad-rumped mares.
But the olive shoots are still shoots
and they're still children.
New squares have opened up in my distant city
since I've been in jail.
And our family
is living in a house I've never seen
on a street I don't know.
The bread was pure white, like cotton,
the year I came to jail.
Later it was rationed out,
And we here on the inside beat one another
for a piece of black crust the size of a fist.
Now it's free again,
But brown and tasteless.
The year I came to jail
The Second One had just begun.
The ovens in Dachau Camp were not yet lit,
The atom bomb was not yet hurled upon Hiroshima.
Time flowed like the blood of a child with his throat cut.
Later that chapter was officially closed,
Now American dollars are talking about a Third.
But in spite of everything, the days have brightened
since I've been in jail,
And about half of them
"put their heavy hands on the pavement
and on the edge of darkness
straightened up."
Since I've been in jail
the world has turned around the sun ten times.
And again I repeat with the same passion
what I wrote for them
the year I came to jail:
"They
whose number is as great
as ants on the earth
fish in the water
birds in the sky
are fearful and brave
ignorant and learned
and they are children,
And they
who destroy and create
it is only their adventure in these songs."
And for the rest,
for example, my lying here for ten years,
it's nothing...
Translated by Larry Clark
To listen:
Ben İçeri Düştüğümden Beri
*****************************************************
Yalnızlık paylaşılmaz, paylaşılsa yalnızlık olmaz…
Loneliness can’t be shared, if it is shared, it cant be loneliness...
*****************************************************
Otobiyografi/Autobiography
Submitted by slavica on Sat, 11/08/2008 - 22:47.Otobiyografi
1902'de doğdum
doğduğum şehre dönmedim bir daha
geriye dönmeyi sevmem
üçyaşımda Halep'te paşa torunluğu ettim
on dokuzumda Moskova'da komünist üniversite öğrenciliği
kırk dokuzumda yine Moskova'da Tseka-Parti konukluğu
ve on dördümden beri şairlik ederim
kimi insan otların kimi insan balıkların çeşidini bilir
ben ayrılıkların
kimi insan ezbere sayar yıldızların adını
ben hasretlerin
hapislerde de yattım büyük otellerde de
açlık çektim açlık gırevi de içinde ve tatmadığım yemek yok gibidir
otuzumda asılmamı istediler
kırk sekizimde Barış madalyasının bana verilmesini
verdiler de
otuz altımda yarım yılda geçtim dört metre kare betonu
elli dokuzumda on sekiz saatte uçtum Pırağ'dan Havana'ya
Lenin'i görmedim nöbet tuttum tabutunun başında 924'te
961'de ziyaret ettiğim anıtkabri kitaplarıdır
partimden koparmağa yeltendiler beni
sökmedi
yıkılan putların altında da ezilmedim
951'de bir denizde gençbir arkadaşla yürüdüm üstüne ölümün
52'de çatlak bir yürekle dört ay sırtüstü bekledim ölümü
sevdiğim kadınları deli gibi kıskandım
şu kadarcık haset etmedim Şarlo'ya bile
aldattım kadınlarımı
konuşmadım arkasından dostlarımın
içtim ama akşamcı olmadım
hep alnımın teriyle çıkardım ekmek paramı ne mutlu bana
başkasının hesabına utandım yalan söyledim
yalan söyledim başkasını üzmemek için
ama durup dururken de yalan söyledim
bindim tirene uçağa otomobile
çoğunluk binemiyor
operaya gittim
çoğunluk gidemiyor adını bile duymamış operanın
çoğunluğun gittiği kimi yerlere de ben gitmedim 21'den beri
camiye kiliseye tapınağa havraya büyücüye
ama kahve falıma baktırdığım oldu
yazılarım otuz kırk dilde basılır
Türkiye'mde Türkçemle yasak
kansere yakalanmadım daha
yakalanmam da şart değil
başbakan filan olacağım yok
meraklısı da değilim bu işin
bir de harbe girmedim
sığınaklara da inmedim gece yarıları
yollara da düşmedim pike yapan uçakların altında
ama sevdalandım altmışıma yakın
sözün kısası yoldaşlar
bugün Berlin'de kederden gebermekte olsam da
insanca yaşadım diyebilirim
ve daha ne kadar yaşarım
başımdan neler geçer daha
kim bilir.
Bu otobiyografi 1961 yılı 11 Eylülünde
Doğu Berlin'de yazıldı.
Nâzım Hikmet RAN
Autobiography
I was born in 1902
and never went back to the city I'd been born
I don't like to go back
at three I served as a pasha-grandson in Aleppo
at nineteen as a student of communist University in Moskow
at forty nine again in Moskow as a Tcheka Party guest
and since fourteen I serve as a poet
some people know all the kinds of grass some of fish
me of separations
some people recite the names of the stars
me of longings
I've slept in prisons and in grand hotels
I've starved including a hunger strike
and there is almost no food I haven't tasted
at thirty they wanted to hang me
at forty eight they wanted to give me the Peace Prize
which they did
at thirty six I passed for square meters of concrete
in half a year
at fifty nine I flew from Prague to Havana in eighteen hours
I've never seen Lenin but stood watch at his coffin in 1924
his tomb I visit in 1961 is his books
they tried to tear me off from my party
it didn't work
I wasn't even crushed under the falling idols
in 1951 with a young friend in sea I've attacked upon death
in 1952 with a cracked heart flat on my back for four months
I've waited death
I was madly jealous of the woman I loved
I didn't envy Chaplin even a bit
I deceived my woman
I never backbit my friends
I drank but I didn't become a drinker
I always earned my bread with the sweat of my brow
what a hapiness for me
I was ashamed on behalf of others and lied
I lied not to worry others
but I also lied without a reason
I've ridden trains planes cars
majority can not
I've gone to the opera
majority can not
they haven't even heard the name of the opera
and since 1921 I haven't gone
to some places where majority can go
mosques churches temples synagogues sorcerers
but I've had my fortune read on coffee grounds
my writings are published in thirty or forty languages
in my Turkey in my Turkish they're forbidden
I'm not caught by cancer yet
and not supposed to be caught
I'll never be a prime minister and so
I'm not interested in such things
I didn't take part in war
I didn't go down to shelters in midnights
I didn't walk on the roads under diving planes
but I fell in love at nearly sixty
in short comrades
even if today in Berlin I'm dying of sorrow
I can say I lived humanly
and how much longer shall I live
what else shall I experience
who knows.
This autobiography was written
in East Berlin on 11'th September 1961
Translated by Fuat Engin
*****************************************************
Yalnızlık paylaşılmaz, paylaşılsa yalnızlık olmaz…
Loneliness can’t be shared, if it is shared, it cant be loneliness...
*****************************************************