WIND
A wind just blew past this way I ran but could not catch it. Where it has wandered about I could not find out. Obviously coming out of the sea It must have swept along the seashore The smell of salt, tar, sweat Must have nauseated it. Then starting to climb towards the mountains It must have herded the clouds like sheep Caressing the grass on the plains Must have nourished them. If it has stopped by in the villages It must have rocked cradles in humid, dark rooms Must have brought solace To those working under the sun. Then beginning to ascend towards the plains, In the poppy fields pink, lilac, white In the arid soil blue thorns... Dust must have gone into its eyes It must have stopped by at cities since it went past me. Must have seen girls looking like poppies. A smile, a strand of hair, rouge and powder It must have carried away. A wind just blew past this way I ran but could not catch it. Perhaps it would have told me But I could not ask.
Translated by Suat Karantay
SONG Your lips are red, Your hands are white Take my hands, child, Hold them a while. In the village where I was born There were no walnut trees That's why I yearn for coolness. Fondle me a while. In the village where I was born There were no cornfields so scatter your hair, child, Flaunt it a while. In the village where I was born Bandits struck by night. That's why I hate to be alone Speak with me a while. In the village where I was born Men did not know how to laugh. That's why I am still so wretched Make me laugh a while. In the village where I was born The north winds blew. That's why my lips are cracked Kiss them a while. You are light and beauty, like my country, The village where I was born was beautiful too. Now tell me of the place where you were born Tell me a while. translated by Bernard Lewis ON THE ROADS OF SIVAS On the roads of Sivas, at night The oxcarts go in files Their wheels are made of oak What do they carry, those silent peasants Timber, salt, or their sick! Slowly the oxcarts go On the roads of Sivas, at night. No stars swarm in the sky No hearts are warm with love The wind blows sharp as a knife Chill on hands and feet On the roads of Sivas at night Slowly the oxcarts go. Lorries pass back and forth In a cloud of dust Flashing their headlights The oxcarts scatter, the lorry-drivers swear On the roads of Sivas at night The oxcarts go in files. translated by Nermin Menemencioglu