"I, Orhan Veli"
I was looking for Nazim Hikmet's poetry on a summer evening in 2001 and arrived by mistake in Orhan Veli Kanik's poetry instead. And I instantly loved him.Not many people know about him or his poetry. Most people, who are (or think they are) intellectuals, like to read Hikmet, due to perhaps (at least, in part) the added aroma that Hikmet spent 19 years in prison and was almost executed. No doubt, Hikmet was a very good poet; but then both Hikmet and Neruda worshipped and praised Stalin (almost liked his ass). Though Veli and Hikmet never perhaps had a duel regarding communism, Jean Paul Sartre's extreme dedication to communism and existentialism made Albert Camus to break their friendship and move towards absurdism. It was, in essence, a Bohr-Einstein debate kind of thing, and I think that history has proved Sartre, Neruda and Hikmet's stand to be wrong, because the whole rosy picture of communism was a false thing!
However, My aim was not a political discourse. All I want to mention here is a few peoms by Veli. I also must confess that I see a lot of similaries between his poetry and Neruda's. For example, his "All On A Sudden" always reminds me of Neruda's "My Crazy Friends".
________________________________________________________________
I, ORHAN VELI
I, Orhan Veli.
The famous author of the poem
"Suleyman Effendi, may he rest in peace,"
Heard that you are curious
About my private life.
Let me tell you:
First I am a man, that is,
I am not a circus animal, or anything like that.
I have a nose, an ear,
Though they are not shapely.
I live in a house,
I have a job.
Neither do I carry a cloud on my head
Nor a stamp of prophecy on my back.
Neither am I modest like King George of England
Nor aristocratic like the recent
Stable keeper of Celal Bayar.
I love spinach.
I am crazy about puffed cheese pastries.
I have no eyes
For material things,
Really not.
Oktay Rifat and Melih Cevdet
Are my best friends,
And I have a lover,
Very respectable.
I can not tell her name.
Let literary critics find it.
I also keep busy with unimportant things,
Only between projects,
How can I say,
Perhaps I have a thousand other habits,
But what is the point of listing them all.
They just resemble these.
FOR THIS COUNTRY
What haven't we done for our country?
Some of us died
Some of us gave public speeches.
FREE
We live free
Air is free, clouds are free
Valleys and hills are free
Rain and mud are free
The outside of cars
The entrances of cinemas
And the shop windows are free
Bread and cheese cost money
But stale water is free
Freedom can cost your head
But prison is free
We live free.
SADNESS
I might have got angry
With those I love
If love
Hadn't taught me
To be sad.
LULU, MY LULU
I also wish to have black friends
With strange unknown names
And sail with them
From Madagascar to ports in China.
I wish one of them to stand on the deck,
Watching the stars, to sing
"Lulu, my Lulu'' every night.
I wish to meet
One of them
In Paris One day.
THE POEM OF BEING LONELY
They don't know,
Those who don't live alone,
How frightening is Soundlessness;
How a person talks to himself,
How he runs to mirrors,
Hungry for a soul,
They don't know it.
MY LEFT HAND
I got drunk
And thought of you,
My left hand
My awkward hand
My poor hand.
TREE
I threw a pebble at the tree.
My pebble didn't fall.
Didn't fall.
The tree ate my pebble,
The tree ate my pebble.
I want my pebble.
(Note: This poem is very similar to one written by Octavio Paz)
EPITAPH II
"To be or not to be"
Wasn't his business.
He went to bed one night.
He didn't wake up.
They came and carried him away.
He was washed, prayed for, and buried.
If the creditors hear
Of his death,
They'll surely cancel his debts,
As for the money owed to him...
Nobody owed him anything,
Poor man.
EPITAPH III
They put his gun in the cupboard.
They gave his clothes to someone else.
No bread crumbs in his bag now
No lip traces on his canteen.
Such a wind
That it blew
And not even a name remained behind.
Only his couplet remained
Above the stove
In the coffee shop,
Written by hand-
"Dying is the wish of God
If parting weren't in it."
MEMORY
The stiletto scar on my forehead
Is due to you;
My police sheet is due to you;
"Drop everything and come,"
Your cable is saying;
My licensed lovely,
How can I forget you?
GOSSIP
You are one kind of beauty
Before the mirror,
Another
In bed;
Forget gossip,
Get dressed,
Put on your mascara,
Come down to the coffee shop
In the early evening
To spite everybody.
People will talk,
Let them;
Aren't we lovers?
DREAM
My mother died
In a dream
Last night
And my waking up
Crying
Reminded me
Of my crying when
One holiday morning
My balloon slipped through my fingers
And I watched it
Rise
Into the sky.
LIVING
I.
I know, living isn't easy,
Falling in love and singing of your sweetheart,
Walking under the stars at night,
During the day feeling the warmth of the sun,
Finding the chance
To go to Camlica Hills for one of two hours,
Watching the Bosphorus run a thousand sorts of blue,
Being able to forget everything in blue.
II.
I know, it isn't easy to live,
True;
But a corpse's bed is still warm,
Someone's watch is still ticking on his wrist;
Living isn't easy, I know;
But dying isn't easy either, guys.
It isn't easy to leave this world.
POEM WITH A TAIL
We can't be seen together. Our paths are separate.
You belong to the butcher, I am an alley cat.
You eat from a nickeled plate.
I eat from the lion's mouth.
You dream of love. I dream of bones.
But your path isn't easy either, pal,
Not easy
To wag a tail every godforsaken day.
TWEEZERS
Neither the atom bomb,
Nor the London conference;
Tweezers in one hand,
A mirror on the other;
Does she care about the world?
?????
I buy old clothes.
I buy old clothes and cut them into stars.
Music is the food of love.
I love music.
I write poetry.
I write poetry and buy old clothes.
I sell old clothes and buy music;
If I could also be a fish in a bottle of booze...
________________________________________________________________
(Note for someone: See, I never talked of this guy either; but I love his poetry!)
________________________________________________________________
Sources:
http://www.cs.rpi.edu/~sibel/poetry/orhan_veli.html
http://www.cs.rpi.edu/~sibel/poetry/books/i_orhan_veli/
http://www.britannica.com/eb/article-9044567
http://www.taximnights.com/html/j_pin.html
http://forum.kusadasi.biz/printthread.php?t=217
However, My aim was not a political discourse. All I want to mention here is a few peoms by Veli. I also must confess that I see a lot of similaries between his poetry and Neruda's. For example, his "All On A Sudden" always reminds me of Neruda's "My Crazy Friends".
________________________________________________________________
I, ORHAN VELI
I, Orhan Veli.
The famous author of the poem
"Suleyman Effendi, may he rest in peace,"
Heard that you are curious
About my private life.
Let me tell you:
First I am a man, that is,
I am not a circus animal, or anything like that.
I have a nose, an ear,
Though they are not shapely.
I live in a house,
I have a job.
Neither do I carry a cloud on my head
Nor a stamp of prophecy on my back.
Neither am I modest like King George of England
Nor aristocratic like the recent
Stable keeper of Celal Bayar.
I love spinach.
I am crazy about puffed cheese pastries.
I have no eyes
For material things,
Really not.
Oktay Rifat and Melih Cevdet
Are my best friends,
And I have a lover,
Very respectable.
I can not tell her name.
Let literary critics find it.
I also keep busy with unimportant things,
Only between projects,
How can I say,
Perhaps I have a thousand other habits,
But what is the point of listing them all.
They just resemble these.
FOR THIS COUNTRY
What haven't we done for our country?
Some of us died
Some of us gave public speeches.
FREE
We live free
Air is free, clouds are free
Valleys and hills are free
Rain and mud are free
The outside of cars
The entrances of cinemas
And the shop windows are free
Bread and cheese cost money
But stale water is free
Freedom can cost your head
But prison is free
We live free.
SADNESS
I might have got angry
With those I love
If love
Hadn't taught me
To be sad.
LULU, MY LULU
I also wish to have black friends
With strange unknown names
And sail with them
From Madagascar to ports in China.
I wish one of them to stand on the deck,
Watching the stars, to sing
"Lulu, my Lulu'' every night.
I wish to meet
One of them
In Paris One day.
THE POEM OF BEING LONELY
They don't know,
Those who don't live alone,
How frightening is Soundlessness;
How a person talks to himself,
How he runs to mirrors,
Hungry for a soul,
They don't know it.
MY LEFT HAND
I got drunk
And thought of you,
My left hand
My awkward hand
My poor hand.
TREE
I threw a pebble at the tree.
My pebble didn't fall.
Didn't fall.
The tree ate my pebble,
The tree ate my pebble.
I want my pebble.
(Note: This poem is very similar to one written by Octavio Paz)
EPITAPH II
"To be or not to be"
Wasn't his business.
He went to bed one night.
He didn't wake up.
They came and carried him away.
He was washed, prayed for, and buried.
If the creditors hear
Of his death,
They'll surely cancel his debts,
As for the money owed to him...
Nobody owed him anything,
Poor man.
EPITAPH III
They put his gun in the cupboard.
They gave his clothes to someone else.
No bread crumbs in his bag now
No lip traces on his canteen.
Such a wind
That it blew
And not even a name remained behind.
Only his couplet remained
Above the stove
In the coffee shop,
Written by hand-
"Dying is the wish of God
If parting weren't in it."
MEMORY
The stiletto scar on my forehead
Is due to you;
My police sheet is due to you;
"Drop everything and come,"
Your cable is saying;
My licensed lovely,
How can I forget you?
GOSSIP
You are one kind of beauty
Before the mirror,
Another
In bed;
Forget gossip,
Get dressed,
Put on your mascara,
Come down to the coffee shop
In the early evening
To spite everybody.
People will talk,
Let them;
Aren't we lovers?
DREAM
My mother died
In a dream
Last night
And my waking up
Crying
Reminded me
Of my crying when
One holiday morning
My balloon slipped through my fingers
And I watched it
Rise
Into the sky.
LIVING
I.
I know, living isn't easy,
Falling in love and singing of your sweetheart,
Walking under the stars at night,
During the day feeling the warmth of the sun,
Finding the chance
To go to Camlica Hills for one of two hours,
Watching the Bosphorus run a thousand sorts of blue,
Being able to forget everything in blue.
II.
I know, it isn't easy to live,
True;
But a corpse's bed is still warm,
Someone's watch is still ticking on his wrist;
Living isn't easy, I know;
But dying isn't easy either, guys.
It isn't easy to leave this world.
POEM WITH A TAIL
We can't be seen together. Our paths are separate.
You belong to the butcher, I am an alley cat.
You eat from a nickeled plate.
I eat from the lion's mouth.
You dream of love. I dream of bones.
But your path isn't easy either, pal,
Not easy
To wag a tail every godforsaken day.
TWEEZERS
Neither the atom bomb,
Nor the London conference;
Tweezers in one hand,
A mirror on the other;
Does she care about the world?
?????
I buy old clothes.
I buy old clothes and cut them into stars.
Music is the food of love.
I love music.
I write poetry.
I write poetry and buy old clothes.
I sell old clothes and buy music;
If I could also be a fish in a bottle of booze...
________________________________________________________________
(Note for someone: See, I never talked of this guy either; but I love his poetry!)
________________________________________________________________
Sources:
http://www.cs.rpi.edu/~sibel/poetry/orhan_veli.html
http://www.cs.rpi.edu/~sibel/poetry/books/i_orhan_veli/
http://www.britannica.com/eb/article-9044567
http://www.taximnights.com/html/j_pin.html
http://forum.kusadasi.biz/printthread.php?t=217
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