POET
it snowed all winter a heavy dream
it snowed all winter on our forlorn country
the forest breath merged with the wet earth
the northwest wind raced by, stripping the hillsides
white shrouds relentlessly yellowed and rotted
children lost their flesh, the best of them lost
roses of measles blooming on their shoulders
it snowed all winter
and I thought of you
our country our home
our love our brotherhood
our country our home
our light our childhood
at seven at thirty at seventy
we are united in the salty bones of time
our country our home I mean our unbeatable hope
our country our home I mean our evergreen bride
our writing pens our angry joy
our destiny our unending trial
your country and your home
wet cells narrow rooms heavy keys
so that you would vanish in the forest of stone
so that your ears would burst from the silence
so that your voice would age on the iron bars
so that your bones would turn to chalk and rust
they founded countries and homes for you
made of black keys and cold rooms
it snowed all winter
and I dreamed of you
but you didn't perish, remembering yourself
the lodos rattled on the shutters of your windows
the northwest wind slew the oranges and the strawberries
and your silence became your resistance
from the iron bars you forged telegraph wires of blue steel
from the rattling of the key you composed a folksong
of the keeper of the cell you made a friend
you milked verses from sweat and blood
you wove poems from hope and love
your heart tempered in the high oven of your fight
your exhausted heart bloomed like a poppy field in May
through the years this became your bread and your milk
it snowed every winter
on the forlorn plains
from your way of standing up you seemed a miner
from your feel for village ways you conceived endurance
even though friends were not always friends
even though breadth was measured in meters
you passed the days and nights like a villager, a worker
you were the villager of endurance, the worker of hope
through the years you shared your heart
as glorious as a festival place
you are far from your country
your heart is pierced with a thousand longings
tired indifferent alone in a hotel room
in love tooth and nail
in love tooth and nail with every woman that is loved
in love with the blue dawn, the bubbling waters, the
sprouting grass
the friend of red fish and black-eyed ants
eternal passenger of trains, planes and boats
young at nineteen
young at sixty
in love headlong and tirelessly
perhaps you are in Paris on the quay of St. Michel
an orange streetlight behind you
you are far from your country
your heart is pierced with a thousand longings
Istanbul passes like a pigeon
within your blue eyes
Sarayburnu, Kadıköy, Gülhane Park
pass with a bitter sadness
within your desolate blue eyes
you may be flying over the snowy plain of Ukraine
but the plain of Konya and the Salt Lake are in your mind
eight thousand meters high your country is in your mind
perhaps you are in Prague on the Legionnaire Bridge
with your eyes on the waters of the Viltava River
but your mind is in Beyazit Square in Istanbul
in Bursa, in Çankırı, in Diyarbakır
you lived the hardest of arts
old tired far from your country
dipping your bread into your own blood
increasing like a sad river
far from your own warm friendly deep blue seas
you lived the bloodiest of arts
you, worker in exile far from your country
you, poet wounded by a thousand longings
I learned from you how to fashion words out of hope
I learned from you the sweet language of belief
you were young at nineteen and in love
you were young at sixty and in love
you, worker in exile far from your country
you, poet wounded by a thousand longings
I mean, you
I mean, you who will never be forgotten.
Translated by Larry Clark
[From An Anthology of Turkish Literature, Edited by
Kemal Silay]
