Leisure
İT is two days
since ıhave been reading a book
in the garden
without moving a bit
ı have no energy even to rise my arms
the boy of my neighbour..cemile's tenant's is playing a violin
he first began playing
when ı first came here
two years ago
do.re.mi.fa.sol.la.ti, do
and now chaikovsky
it is two years
in these years
he has accomplished a great work
and I
what have I done since now
my years flowed like a sea without fish
and are flowing still so
why do ı live
I do not know
even a small girl on her garandfaher's shoulders
is looking around
to discover the world she lıves in
my mother's crysanthemıums blooming in the garden
in multi colors
is it enough for me
to live leisurely
to claim
to watch the crysanthemiums blooming
to read a book translated by Omer RIZA
and to listen to the neighbour'S VIOLIN
İF ONLY ı could have been the one
who had grown those crysanthemiums
nowadays
perhaps ı can come to visit you
not to chat and talk
but for only
to look at your face
may be ı can find
what ı am searching in your face
all the faces ı see are unaware and senseless
nowadays
how is your face
is it full of sense
and comforting
Nazım HİKMET Translatıon Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Related quotes
The Most Important......
the plane trees
with their paws like a lion; s
live for a thousand years
the chest-nut trees
live for three thusand years
the cypress-trees are upright for five thousand years
even the poplars live for seven hundred years
in greenery and white
how shoprter we live my brethren
how shorter we live
how shorter
this must be an important problem
is adjusted and equal to the
longevity of the lives of the horses yet
even
we are not equally satisfied with
the cworkld as much as them
most of us
bear burdens heavier than the
burdens
which are carried by the labour-horses
Nazım HİKMET
Translatıon metin şahin
poem by Metin Sahin
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Good Neighbour
OH..the good neighbour, we could not find you very easily
we long for in a long year your serene comforting balcony
we stood wineless in the middle of the burning hot plain
all over wearied and our lips dry, cracked and drain
we began our journey towards you when the gypcies were migrating
we stopped on the places flowing brooks and picked up roses in the morning
we drew our cart to slopes with two horses
now we have come to you difficultly on the ungreased axles
there is the most fleshy sheep from our herd
the most fresh and live yogurt from the newly tinned bucket
we prepared the most delicious cheese in the furry-bag for you
we all have come full..it is our turn, the year to offer to you
oh the good neighbour, at last we have found and reached you
let us celebrate this and dance the black sea folk dance horon immediately
before you sweep up and all clean your september balcony
Nedret GURCAN... Translation metin sahin
poem by Metin Sahin
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Dying
ı would like to die before you die
do you think that
the one who comes after
will find the one who has gone before
I do not think so
it is better you burn my body
and put the remnant ashes in an urn
placed on a shelf on the fire-place
the urn must be made up of transparent white glass
so that you can see me in it
you see
how self-sacrificing I am
I do not want to be terracotta
I do not want to be a flower
but want to be ash
to live together with you
and after sometime
when you die too
you will come into the urn also
and we will then live there together
with your ashes mixed in my ashes
till the day
when one of our clumsy brides
or an unloyal grandson without care
throw the urn out from there
but we
till then
we will be mixed with each other completely
our molecules will fall beside each other
side by side
in the wasteland to which we will be thrown
we will then dive into the soil together
and one day out
when a wild flower will sprout
from this little piece of soil
in her stem
there will bloom certainly two flowers
ı am certain
I know
one is you
and the other is me
but I..
I do not think of dying yet
my blood is still boılıng and flowing
I will give birth to off-springs yet
life is occupying inside me and overflowing
I will live with you together
more and more
I am not afraid of death also
but I not like the way of our held funeral ceremony
may be it will be changed
till the day we die
ıs there a chance of yours
to be freed and released from the prisons nowadays
some voice from inside me says
''PERHAPS''
1947
Piraye Nazım HİKMET
translation Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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A Phantom In The Mediterranean
a phantom is haunting the mediterranean sea
it is the phantom of an italian soldier
his jacket with torn out buttans on his back filthy
his flesh pierced into pieces
and his temples bloody
fearing to fall intoı the space
his voice is echoing
he is screaming in the mediterranean
and he embraces the sun at daylight
then embraces the stars at night
ı know this soul
he was a fugitive soldier when alive
if he had not been shot to death
he would have lived for many many years now
this is the soul ı know
he fled in arduva from the war-front
he ran away in haste
leaving his fire-arm behind
like an animal running away from fire
neither for his ideas
nor for his claims righteous
he ran away only for not bto die
but only to survive
till then he did not know anything about death
he never read hamlet nor a poem fron dante
he had not ever a slight idea about death
about the mystery of it described in the books
when he was being shot to death
suıddeenly a wedding prayer has come tpo his mind
and he began to recite that prayer
when the guns aimed to him fired
he was not fearing from death
he was fearing from being dead
he wanted most
only to li, ve..only to survive
above all..above everything
he only wanted to survive
with women
without women
satisfied..fed up
or hungry
he only wanted to live
like an ordinary tree
ordinary bird
ordinary cloud
ordinary fish
to live like
water in a glass
or oil
like fistful of soıl
he was fearing from being dead
wanting not to be dead
but he wanted only to survive
only to live a life ordinary
on one morning
when a flower was sprotıng and blooming on his stem
he was being shot to death unknowing and unaware
now
it is his phantom
haunting the mediterranean
him..nobody nobody knows and feels
but only ı can feel and see
nazım HİKMET
translatıon Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Communist Lying In Bursa Citadel
your beloved is a communist
who has been in prison
since ten years
lying in bursa citadel
he lıes ther
improsened
but his chains broken apert
he reached
the ultımate post in the world
but lıes in bursa citadel
his roots are in the country soil
bears the burden like sheik bedreddin
he lies in bursa citadel
his heart has not been drilled
and not sticking
and is brave as before as ever
his song has not been finished or exhausted
full of hope
still not losıng the paradise yet
he lies in the prison
that lies in BURSA CITADEL
Nazım HİKMET Translatıon Metin ŞAhin
poem by Metin Sahin
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A Flower with years
Like a seed
I began in the open firmaments of the heavens
battered by the very elements of nature
to make me strong
in a milieu that
oppresses, dictates, and abuses
but I’ll rise'
like a flower, I bloomed with light’s rays
like a flower, I was groomed by years
like a flower, I unfolded with grace
like a flower, I am the living years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years
I see me with years -
a cistern that absorbs the days
then
replace them with experiences
a price not paid with a few years
so I murmur not
because of these years
yes
I am these years
but I’ll rise'
like a flower, I bloomed with light’s rays
like a flower, I was groomed by years
like a flower, I unfold with grace
like a flower, I live in years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years
I’m
crafted in hurt, misery and pain
A price I paid for younger to listen and fear
yet they see this not
yet I’m not perturbed because of these years
but I’ll rise'
like a flower I bloom with light’s rays,
like a flower I groomed by years
like a flower I unfold with grace
like a flower I live in years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years
poem by Paul Andrew Bourne
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Comparison
sometımes
I recall the best expert poet yahya kemal
of the OTTOMANS
I see him in a window-shop
obesse and unhealthy
and..why I do not know
at the same time
I remember suddenly
The lame poet BYRON
struggling and dying on the GREEK MOUNTAINS
That is not a thing may be to be proud of
But I.in an haste drilled and went out of
my ten years of my imprısonment
and leaving my liver ache aside
my bosom is the same bosom
and my mind is still the same mind
we are alone even when we lie with our beloved
with dear ones side by side
but when we are left all alone and completely lonely
the crowd of the unıverse
with all its people living and unliving
says''I AM HERE''
and to encourage you
taps you on the shoulder
there are sparrows on the telegram wire
poor things ever
they do not know what a telegram is
and unaware of it
you.you.the ones who are doomed to be hanged
by greasy ropes
you you have made our comrades.. our natives
looking but completely blinds
Nazım HİKMET 1947
translation metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Hoary Memories In Winter
a day in january
in winter with hoary and grey clouds
the hoary thistles in the garden up over there
the hoary thistles with hoary poppies
the hoary frost on them
the hoary mist up and down
no finches, no birds of any kind
except the black crows and ravens
crowing up and there
hoaring covered everywhere
a hoary man strolles on them
with unsteady steps and paces
what is he after
what is he looking for
what is he searching
look at the ancient houses there
some tumbling down
some with plasters all gone
what the hoary man looks for
what is he after
his childhood may be
his memories may be
and his lost..gone mother..he tries to see
in this hoary mist
he has so missed
and longed for
he stopped in the hoary mist as if hearing a voice
calling
oh son..come on..come now the meal is ready
he felt himself playing in the hoary garden
this must be his mother call
addressing and calling him from above
calling him to her new home
cause she has missed him too
oh the hoary grasses
oh the hoary houses
oh the hoary man
oh the hoary woman
oh the hoary world
oh the hoary graves
oh the hoary memories
are we not approaching hoariness
why did we live so quickly
how did our lives finished and faded suddenly
metin sahin
poem by Metin Sahin
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I was playing violin for a long time, about 6 years. It takes a while. You need very patient people in your house when you have a violin.
quote by Kevin Eubanks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Poet Ahmet Arif
poetry..was waving hand lighly and hesitantly
like a dying and farewellişng cesarıus to us
ı thought would not return from where had gone
even a day with blackısh face
, they were your poems abundantly
the accasia tree whose flowers blossomed secretly
look at tyhe buds sproutıng at night frequently
how the exploded in the morning suddenly
they were your warmest dreams for years
you have born in your teeth like aches
by your longings you have worn out the fetters fastened on your feet
nedret gürcan
translatıon metin sahin
poem by Metin Sahin
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The Strangest Creature Of The World
you look lıke a scorpion my friend
you live cowardly ın darkness like a scorpion
you look like a sparrow my friend
you are in the haste of a sparrow
you look like a mussel my friend
like a mussel closed and comfortable
and you are terrible my friend
like the muzzel of a volcano
your number not one
you are not five
but unfortunately there are millions of you
on the world
you look like lamb my friend
when well clad cattle dealer with cloak
raises his baton
you immediately join the herd
and proudly
you run to the slaughter house quickly
that to say word by word
you are the strangest creature of the world
you are stranger than the fish living in the sea
but do not know anything about the sea
and in this world
the tyranny overwhelms the world for the sake of you
and if we are hungry
weary and if the blood is shed sparıngly
and if we are pressed and pounded fiercely to yield our wines
ı do not want to say that
and though ı do not intend this
but it is a reality
most of the faults are yours
behold it
and learn this learn
my dear brethren
Nazım HİKMET
translation Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Occupation
when the dawn enlightens by the horns of my oxen
I plow the soıl with my prıde in my patient struggle
under my bare feet ı feel the soil humid and warm
with brilliant lights in my arm muscles
I forge the ıron till noon
the darkness turns to crimson
in the warmth of the afternoon
with the most greennes on their leaves
I gather the newly ripened olives
all my body and my eyes in lights
I have always have visitors in my house in every evening
my door ajar..wide open to every kınd of songs
at night ı go ınto the water knee high
and I pull the nets from the sea
full of fish mixed with the shining stars
now ı am responsible from the world
they ask me
about the human.the soıl, the darkness and the daylight
I think you understand me
I am fully occupied and busy
and you my rose
do you understand me too
I am fully occupied staying in love with you
you just stay there without moving
in the illumination
let the shining sun always stay on your green gown
my wound again has opened suddenly
the blood is fiercely flowing thorough me
in my full occupied body
BURSA 1948
Nazım HİKMET
Translatıon Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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The Mole
Said he: "I'll dive deep in the Past,
And write a book of direful days
When summer skies were overcast
With smoke of humble hearths ablaze;
When War was rampant in the land,
And poor folk cowered in the night,
While ruin gaped on every hand -
of ravishing and wrath I'll write."
Ten years he toiled to write his book,
Yet he was happy all the while;
The world he willingly forsook
T live alone in hermit style.
In garden sanctuaried sweet,
Full favoured by the steadfast sun,
plunged in the Past, a life complete
He lived. . . . At last his work was done.
A worthy book that few would read
Yet all would praise - each precious page
Starred with some truth the rare would heed,
The vivid images of an age,
Then blinking, to the world again
He came a sage, remote, austere . . .
When lo! his eyes were smote with flame,
The wail of war was in his ear.
He shrank and sighed: "Oh can it be
These old iniquities prevail!
That sons of men are still unfree
And time repeats her sorry tale!"
So with a long sad gaze and last,
Seeking his secret garden nook,
He slipped again into the Past
To live - and write another book.
poem by Robert William Service
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Forty-Two Years
From a distant land I came
over an ocean that stretch out.
Relatives at the airport greeted me,
their arms stretched out with love.
Years disappeared beneath our feet.
Then like a magic carpet,
we were transported to a reunion.
On air we seemed to walk,
years vanished in moments of handshakes,
each face, that of a stranger, now family.
With each new, face recognition of an older past,
something to build on for years to come.
22 August 2001
Author’s Note:
This poem was written on my Aunt’s back porch on my first visit to Canada after 42 years.
DVH.
poem by David Harris
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Please Come Home
It must have been about a 100 years
At least a hundred years
I wish you would just come back
Just come back home
The day we met feels like 100 years ago
And Im still waiting with my hand right by the telephone
Yeah maybe where you are you cannot make that call
Or you cant find the pen I know its not your fault
CHORUS
My friends think Im insane
Cause I've turned old and gray
And Im still waiting and I cannot be alone
Please come home (please come home)
I watch the clock hands tick my hours turn to days
And I cant fall asleep cause I don't want to miss that ring
I know that this year your car will park outside
But I can't put my arms around the girl who took my life
REPEAT CHORUS
Its been so long
Its been about 100 years
And a million dreams since the last time
Ive seen your pretty face I would do whatever it takes
I would wait another 100 years
And if that didnt work
Maybe Ill try and see what forever feels like
But until then and I know you hear me
And whatever your doing wherever you are please come home
That day we met feels like 100 years ago
And Im still waiting for you
Baby baby wont you please come home
Please come home
Wont you please come home
Please come home
Wont you please come home (Please come home)
song performed by by Uncle Kracker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Any Reader
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear; he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Unintentionous Leisure
blac clouds on high sky
gulls..sea gulls..sparrows..swallows
the blue sea
a lizard on the ancient wall
tries to catch the sun
not moving..brown stone
some playing blackgammon
the echoes of dice and pieces
a melody from fifties, may be elvis the pelvis
it is antalya turkey
may be frank sinastra or paul anka
how he did his way
ıo hardly remember
girls gigling
women laughing
where am ı
ı cannot realise
is it a sea garden or heaven or paradise
somwhere near the sea
turning brown
then to yellow..the leaves fallıng
a swallow swervws on the sea again
like my life un intentıonous
people jogging
byxccles running
anglers catching
a poet tries to write a poem
on the roıck near the sea
a woman imitates reading a book
this maY BE LİFE
OF MY LEİSURE
untentıonous
where are my father and mother gone?
how quickly pasess the time
where is my aunt
where has she gone
what the sparrow is lookişng on my feet
how strange we have become to each other
a neighbour knows no neigbour
as though we are living in a harbour
waiting for our last ship for the last voyage
goıng unknown
wher are my my friends
when ı am in need
ı have lost al my friends one by one
saying farewell
how long this leisure will last
how many lives ı have lived
ı have not counted
and cannot remember
towards the stone bier in a mosque yard
to the last resort
when will this leisure end
when and where
I even to think not to dare
poem by Metin Sahin
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Spring
the smoke
which is descending from the mountains
and scattering
is not the winter smoke from now on
look ahead..
in the mist as soft as a child's hand
the grafting cloth of the rose trunks
are wet now in damps
the scars of the pruned trees are healing
in the bare limbs half asleep
but still neither a sprout or a leaflet
the embers have not fallen yet
it rained all night
like singing a victory song in showers
and now still
it is drizzling slightly brave and warm
more and more
and smiling like a brother
but it is still possible
of the south winds to blow again
even it will snow a little
but the SPRING...?
it is more than a herald now
on and on
The SPRING has come
Nazım HİKMET
Translation Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Don Quixote
the warrıor of the eternal youth
obeyed his mind throbbing in his heart
and so
one day in JULY
he went for a warfare
to acquire the claims
of the beautiful...the honest and the righteous
in front of him lay the cruel world
with her malicious and stupid giants
riding on his sad but heroine horse ROSINANTE
I know
what is to be longing deeply for this
what is to be brave with a huge unprevented pounding heart
there is no other way
we do it our way
for me and for DON QUIXOTE
than
to fight with the big giant wind-mills
it is a must for us
you are right DON QUIXOTE
your DULCINA is the most beautiful woman of this world
you certainly scream this truth
to the faces of the dealers and the rich merchants
but they will make you upset and pull you down
and punch you heavily and severely
but you
our thirst's invincible warrior
I am sure
you will insist on
burning like a huge flame
in your heavy..iron armour
and when you do so in favour of all
your DULCINA
will forever become
more and more beautiful
Nazım HİKMET 1947
translation metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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