FAZIL HÜSNÜ DAGLARCA Seçme Siirler * Selected Poems

Translated by Talat Sait Halman

Destan Önü Ýþte zamanýn karanlýðý, gece gibi, Geçer bir gölge komadan. Ýþte Tanrý nefesli sahiller, Ýþte Bizans kopmuþ Romadan. Sakallarý uzamýþ keþiþler sýrtýnda, Bahar halinde bir yük: Sur örülmüþ kýyýlarda yokluða taraf, Taþlarla, kýskançlýkla aðýr ve büyük. Eski Ýstanbul, ruh kadar eski, Ýnsan daha fazla eskiyemez ki. Bir boþluk ki göller tadýnda uzun, Ya hiçe uzanmýþ vaktimiz, ya hepe. Yedi meçhul üstüne açýlmýþ, Yedi tepe. Haliç, dünya öküzünün boynuzu, hiç kýmýldamaz, Kýmýldar bir kapalý su. Geçer, asýrlar gövdesine, aydýnlýk, Uyumayanlarýn uykusu. Eski Ýstanbul, hatýralardan eski, Göresin usul usul gez ki. Tarümar olmuþ, Daradan, Sardanapaldan anlar. Gemilerle, kervanlarla dolmuþ, çýrýlçýplak, Aþký kaybedenler, bulanlar. Devir devir kapýlarýnda durmuþ, Nesilleri Asyanýn, bu bakýþ ahu diye. Sormuþ sýcak rüyasýný, Peygamberin ordularý, Hu, diye. Eski Ýstanbul, eski, Geçmiþ günleri kimse söyletemez ki. Saz nameleri gelir, din uðruna çarmýha gerileceklerden, Belki çarmýhsýnýz, belki sazsýnýz. Ölümlerden hangisi gerçek, Anlýyamazsýnýz. Farkedilmez Doðu ve Batý. Hayaller dolusu cenaze, düþüncelerden. Ayaklarýnýzýn, ayaklarýnýzýn, Ayrýlýþý yerden. Eski Ýstanbul, yakýn ve eski Öyle bir ses ki. Can ile ten susamýþ, susamýþ, Geçmiþ de nice güzeller aradan. Osmanlý padiþahý Sultan Mehmet, Bir seher, kadýrgalarýný yürütmüþ karadan. Aþk ile dizdiði toplarý bir bir dizmiþ. Çevirmiþ hülyanýn her yanýný. Lâle gibi vermiþ, bir akþam güneþinde, Yiðit yeniçeri canýný. Eski Ýstanbul, çok eski, Rüzgar, þahadete varasýn, es ki. Dil farký, din farký iyice azalmýþ o demlerde, Bir sis ki bahçeleri, yüzu, cihaný kaplar. Tekrar güne çýkmýþ, tekrar hayata, mahzenlerden, Nur ve hayal olmuþ ellerin yazdýðý kitaplar. Yürümüþ yürümüþ hilâlleri Türklerin, Allahýn havalarýna, yalnýz ve tek. Serdengeçtilerle, akýncýlarla Buradan baþlamýþ dünyayý sevmek. Eski Ýstanbul, hem rahat, hem eski, Yaþamasý 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.