Muhibbi, Suleiman the Magnificent (1494-1566)

He was the twelfth sultan of the Ottoman dynasty. In 1520, after his father Yavuz Selim's death, he ascended to the throne and remained in power for forty-six years. It was during his reign that the Ottoman state became a world empire. In addition to his well-known successes as a military figure, he was also a great poet and lover of the arts. He used the pseudonym Muhibbi in his poems and a voluminous divan by him has come down to us. Talât Sait Halman says the following of Süleyman's poetry: "Human and divine love, the paramount theme of classical Turkish poetry, constitutes the quintessence of Süleyman's poetic art. His verses run the gamut from adoration of God the Beloved in the highest aspirations of Sufism (Islamic mysticism) to profane love, including eroticism. Süleyman's moods are many—desperate, optimistic, bleak, joyous, sorrowful, playful, pious, lustful, masochistic, narcissistic... Many of Süleyman's poems concern deeply personal matters—his love for his wife Hürrem and his chastisement of his rebel son Bayezid" (Süleyman the Magnificent Poet [İstanbul: Dost Publications, 1987], p. 18).

I AM THE SULTAN OF LOVE

I am the Sultan of Love:

                a glass of wine will do

                                for a crown on my head,

and the brigade of my sighs

                might well serve as the dragon's                                   

                                fire-breathing troops.

 

The bedroom that's best

                for you, my love,

                                is a bed of roses,

for me, a bed and a pillow

                carved out of rock

                                will do.

 

My love, take a golden cup

                in your hand and drink wine

                                in the rose garden;

as for me, to sip blood from my heart,

                it is enough

                                to have the goblets of your eyes.

 

If, my beloved, you ride

                the horse of coyness

                                and trot in the polo grounds,                                            

this head of mine                                                                                      

                will do                                                                                                                     

                                as a ball for your mallet.

 

Come, don't let

                the army of sorrow

                                crush the heart's soldiers;

if it is my life you demand

                just send those looks of yours

                                that should be enough.

 

The heart can no longer

                reach the district where you live,

                                but it yearns for reunion with you:

don't think Paradise and its rivers

                can satisfy

                                the lover of the adorable face.

 

Lover, I have enough tears

                to sprinkle

                                over the ground you walk on

and my own pallid face

                will do for me                                       

                                as silver or gold.                                                                                  

 

Translated by Talât Sait Halman

MY VERY OWN QUEEN, MY EVERYTHING

My very own queen, my everything,

                my beloved, my bright moon;

My intimate companion, my one and all,

                sovereign of all beauties, my sultan.

My life, the gift I own, my be-all,

                my elixir of Paradise, my Eden,

My spring, my joy, my glittering day,

                my exquisite one who smiles on and on.

My sheer delight, my revelry, my feast,

                my torch, my sunshine, my sun in heaven;

My orange, my pomegranate,

                the flaming candle that lights up my pavilion.

My plant, my candy, my treasure who gives

                no sorrow but the world's purest pleasure;

Dearest, my turtledove, my all,

                the ruler of my heart's Egyptian dominion.

My Istanbul, my Karaman, and all the

                Anatolian lands that are mine;

My Bedakhshan and my Kipchak territories,

                my Baghdad and my Khorasan.

My darling with that lovely hair, brows curved like a bow,

                eyes that ravish: I am ill.

If I die, yours is the guilt. Help, I beg you,

                my love from a different religion.

I am at your door to glorify you.

                Singing your praises, I go on and on:

My heart is filled with sorrow, my eyes with tears.

                I am the Lover—this joy is mine.

 

Translated by Talât Sait Halman

ALL OF A SUDDEN, MY GLANCE FELL UPON HER

All of a sudden, my glance fell upon her:

                Like a cypress, she was standing slender;

Right then and there,

                tears rushed out of my eyes like a river.

Ah, her gold-embroidered robe,

                and the unruly horse she was riding!

The arrows out of my quiver got nowhere:

                they fell into far-off Iraq trailing her.

My beloved, if those slashing locks of your hair

                strike me down and wound me, is it any wonder?

I sucked your lips which are so used to kisses:

                All that gave my soul health and vigor.

If, Lover, your tears stream down,

                there is nothing to ponder:

After all, suddenly my glance fell upon her—

                like a cypress, she was standing slender.

My heart, be satisfied

                with one morsel to eat and a simple cloak to wear;

Don't you see how possessions

                drag the people of the world into warfare.

 

Translated by Talât Sait Halman

 

[From An Anthology of Turkish literature, Edited by Kemal Silay]