(1914-1950)
TOWARD FREEDOM
Before dawn, While the sea is still snow-white, you will set sail; The grip of the oars in your palms, And in your heart the joy of toil and vigor, You will go. In the roll and sway of the nets, you will go. For welcome, fish will appear on your course Delighting you. As you shake the nets, Scale by scale, the sea will journey into your hands. When silence pervades the souls of seagulls In the cemetery of the rocks, All of a sudden, All hell will break loose on the horizon: Mermaids will scuttle and birds scurry... Saturnalia and festivals, orgies and carnivais, Bridal processions, masquerades, revelries, carousals... Heeeyy! Whaddya waiting for, man, jump in the sea! Forget who's waiting for you back there. Don't you see: Freedom is all around you. Be the sail, the oar, the rudder the fish, the water, And go, go wherever you can.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed: At first there is a gentle breeze And the leaves on the trees Softly sway; Out there, far away, The bells of water-carriers unceasingly ring; I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; Then suddenly birds fly by, Flocks of birds, high up, with a hue and cry, While the nets are drawn in the fishing grounds And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water. I am Iistening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. The Grand Bazaar's serene and cool, An uproar at the hub of the Market, Mosque yards are full of pigeons. While hammers bang and clang at the docks Spring winds bear the smell of sweat; I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, intetnt, my eyes closed; Still giddy from the revelries of the past, A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep. Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed, I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. A pretty girl walks by on the sidewalk: Four-letter words, whistles and songs, rude remarks; Something falls out of her hand It is a rose, I guess. I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. A bird flutters round your skirt; On your brow, is there sweat? Or not? I know. Are your lips wet? Or not? I know. A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees: I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing. I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
For you, my fellow humans, Everything is for you, Nights are for you, days are for you; Daylight is for you, moonlight is for you; Leaves in the moonlight; Wonder and wisdom in the leaves, Myriad greens in daylight, Yellow is for you, and pink. The feel of the skin on the palm, Its warmth, Its softness, The comfort of lying down; For you are all the greetings And the masts winnowing in the harbor; Names of the days, Names of the months, Fresh paint on rowboats is for you Mailman's feet, Potter's hands Sweat on foreheads, Bullets fired on battlefronts; Graves are for you and tombstones, Jails and handcuffs and death sentences Are for you Everything is for you.
Vessels sail along my dreams, Over the roofs, ships in a feast of color, And poor me, Yearning for the sea year in year out, I gaze and weep. I recall my first sight of the world Through a mussel shell I pried open: The greenest water and the bluest sky And the rippliest of lump-fish... My blood still flows salty Where the oysters slit my skin. What a madspeed plunge was ours Into the high seas on the whitest foam! Foam bears no malice, Like lips Whose adultery with men Is no disgrace.
Vessels sail along our dreams Over the roofs, ships in a feast of color, And poor me, Yearning for the sea year in year out.
(111 Poems by Orhan Veli Kanik, 1997, Istanbul)