FAZIL HÜSNÜ DAGLARCA Seçme Siirler * Selected Poems

Translated by Talat Sait Halman

Destan Önü Iste zamanin karanligi, gece gibi, Geçer bir gölge komadan. Iste Tanri nefesli sahiller, Iste Bizans kopmus Romadan. Sakallari uzamis kesisler sirtinda, Bahar halinde bir yük: Sur örülmüs kiyilarda yokluga taraf, Taslarla, kiskançlikla agir ve büyük. Eski Istanbul, ruh kadar eski, Insan daha fazla eskiyemez ki. Bir bosluk ki göller tadinda uzun, Ya hiçe uzanmis vaktimiz, ya hepe. Yedi meçhul üstüne açilmis, Yedi tepe. Haliç, dünya öküzünün boynuzu, hiç kimildamaz, Kimildar bir kapali su. Geçer, asirlar gövdesine, aydinlik, Uyumayanlarin uykusu. Eski Istanbul, hatiralardan eski, Göresin usul usul gez ki. Tarümar olmus, Daradan, Sardanapaldan anlar. Gemilerle, kervanlarla dolmus, çirilçiplak, Aski kaybedenler, bulanlar. Devir devir kapilarinda durmus, Nesilleri Asyanin, bu bakis ahu diye. Sormus sicak rüyasini, Peygamberin ordulari, Hu, diye. Eski Istanbul, eski, Geçmis günleri kimse söyletemez ki. Saz nameleri gelir, din ugruna çarmiha gerileceklerden, Belki çarmihsiniz, belki sazsiniz. Ölümlerden hangisi gerçek, Anliyamazsiniz. Farkedilmez Dogu ve Bati. Hayaller dolusu cenaze, düsüncelerden. Ayaklarinizin, ayaklarinizin, Ayrilisi yerden. Eski Istanbul, yakin ve eski Öyle bir ses ki. Can ile ten susamis, susamis, Geçmis de nice güzeller aradan. Osmanli padisahi Sultan Mehmet, Bir seher, kadirgalarini yürütmüs karadan. Ask ile dizdigi toplari bir bir dizmis. Çevirmis hülyanin her yanini. Lale gibi vermis, bir aksam günesinde, Yigit yeniçeri canini. Eski Istanbul, çok eski, Rüzgar, sahadete varasin, es ki. Dil farki, din farki iyice azalmis o demlerde, Bir sis ki bahçeleri, yüzu, cihani kaplar. Tekrar güne çikmis, tekrar hayata, mahzenlerden, Nur ve hayal olmus ellerin yazdigi kitaplar. Yürümüs yürümüs hilalleri Türklerin, Allahin havalarina, yalniz ve tek. Serdengeçtilerle, akincilarla Buradan baslamis dünyayi sevmek. Eski Istanbul, hem rahat, hem eski, Yasamasi öyle tez ki.

Epic Prologue Now the darkness of time, like the night, Passes where no shadows roam. There, the shores that breathe with God And Byzantium torn apart from Rome. Spring is the burden The monks with their dangling beards must bear Huge and heavy with rocks and grudge On the crenellated banks flanking nowhere. Ancient Istanbul, as old as the soul, Defies man's age and recall. A void that spreads along the flavor of the lakes, Our time has plunged into all or nothing. Over seven unknowns The seven hills fling. The Golden Horn of the world's ox makes no move, But the water, hemmed in, flurries. The sleep of the sleepless Passes bright into the bulk of the centuries. Ancient Istanbul, beyond the reach of memory, Should be savoured gently, without hurry. The moments of Darius and Sardanapalus Have come to ruin. By ships and caravans, teeming, starknaked, Those who lost and found love have poured in. Asian generations stopped at her gates, age by age. Adoring the eyes of the antelope. The Prophet's armies sought her warm dreams With resounding outcries of hope. Ancient Istanbul, truly old Where history remains untold. Hear the tunes of the faithful condemned to be crucified. Maybe you are the music or the cross. Which death is real, Remains your private loss. East or West cannot be told apart. The mind heralds the funeral whose images abound. Your feet, your feet Are swept off the ground. Ancient Istanbul, a voice Both remote and close. Body and soul yearning, in the pangs of thirst, Past the time that all the beauties spanned... Sultan Mehmet, the Ottoman Emperor, One day at dawn marched his galleons overland. He placed his cannons row by row, in love, Facing fancy on each side. In the evening sun, like a tulip, The brave janissary died. Ancient Istanbul, city of the past, Whose winds reach God with each gust. A fog that cloaks the gardens, faces and the world, Tongues and creeds came closer in those days. Out of dungeons, restored to life and light, Handwritten books rejoice in dreams and rays. Toward the skies of God, alone and solitary, Turkish crescents marched on and on. With the raiders and the volunteers for death Here the love of the world has begun. Ancient Istanbul, serene and bygone, Where life frantically dashes on.