We present this work in honor of the Turkish holiday, Republic Day.
Yahya Kemal Beyatli Turkish 1884 – 1958
The great Itri has of old been called The Patron of our music; How he leads the people far and near, That conqueror of the day-break, On how many holiday mornings early Rattling the heavens with their voices massed together, Have they chanted the magnificent Tekbir. From Budapest to Iraq, even unto Egypt, From the furthest conquered lands, The breeze free-flowing o’er the homeland, Brought with it sound from every blossoming spring. This man of genius collected them So that from the plane trees he heard us, Heard our tale of seven centuries. In his music flowed on one hand Faith, On the other, all of Life; From every side that brightness of the city, the Bosphorus Flowed with the blue Tunca, and proud Euphrates. With what voices, with our sky and earth, With our sadness, our passion, our victories, Flowed that creation, which resembled us. How many times have I listened to the Neva-Kâr, A refrain which is both broad and lively: While scattering the secrets of the mode Neva, Brightness shines from the horizons of the Orient; Drunk with every syllable of his words, By night, one by one they set out, Toward the dawn go fifty million souls. But Chance and Fortune enviously Have hidden more than a thousand of his works, As his inheritance there remain to us but twenty. His Hymn to the Prophet, most awesome and profound, Then appear the flute and kettle-drum, And while the turning of the dervishes grows wilder, His liturgy ascends the seven-tiered Celestial Throne. He who was the master of a splendid world Of voice and string, Remains to us a mystery. Our learned men know not, who was he? Who hides his works today? Are they a treasure kept by Eternity? Does someone know? Where might they be today? Death, which covers up such music Leaves no consolation to mankind. My heart still is blind As in exile it passes many hours, It falls into a pleasant revery: Perhaps those compositions are yet played, On an Ocean which never ship shall pass.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 70th birthday.
Ayten Mutlu Turkish b. 1952
autumn is here the sun and wine are witnesses and the vine leaves yellowing on branches sharpened knives of light are witnesses to the regrets we’ve gathered from the vineyard of time
let’s go to her today, to time to the red Goddess who covers up our memory with her tulle skirt
we’ve somehow already lost more than we have like a jug of wine we poured out without drinking
there are too many things to forget too few to remember the love whose sky we are leaning on, is witness
come on let’s drink the rest of our lives when descending evening like a break-up song let’s the wine spread within our blood slowly by slowly Like a moment of Vuslat
We present this work in honor of the Turkish holiday, Victory Day.
Lale Müldür Turkish b. 1956
to Ömer
For it is written of them, they will not believe even a voice from out of the grave “I, Lazarus, have come from the dead.” Transfiguration! The Holy Prophets Adam, Noah, Abraham, and Jesus As a race that comes from one another! Those who did not see Elijah in John the Baptist How could they ever see Muhammed, Moses, Jesus, each Holy Prophet, A wretch whose every journey begins from the desert One who suffers, one who is always about to be killed! Pitiful human being! Who does not hear the melodies of forest and light Whose eyes are veiled by arrogance Who mutters delusions of infinity Who builds castles and houses, as though to dwell there to infinity Even the disciples Wanting to build a tabernacle of leaves For Moses, Elijah, and Jesus meeting on the mountaintop They were nothing but uncomprehending servants O those who take themselves seriously! Integrals of arrogance! For it is written, they will not believe even a voice from out of the grave
“I, Lazarus, have come from the dead” And the disciples saw Jesus turn to light His garments transfigure in a weird whiteness. Jezebel’s hatred and Elijah Herodias’ hatred and John The Jews’ hatred and Jesus Prophets! Rough drafts of one another! Melodies of forest and light! Behold a swan, For you, Splitting into particles of light!
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 95th birthday.
Turgut Uyar Turkish 1927 – 1985
Let’s say I knock on your door early one morning, And wake you up: That is, the fog still hasn’t lifted off the Golden Horn The ferry boats are blowing off their horns It’s still the wee hours of the dawn The bridge would still be up. If I knock on your door one day early in the morn’ … Let’s say my trip has taken me a while The train has crossed over iron bridges in the night Villages on top of the mountains with five or ten houses, Telegraph poles along the route They were running to keep up with us. Let’s say I sang songs out from the window Let’s say I kept dozing off and waking up again My ticket was third class, So much for poverty. Let’s say I couldn’t afford that meerschaum necklace, So I bought you an apple from Sapanca. “Haydarpasa here I come,” is how I arrived The ferry boat shimmering at the pier, Somewhat of a chill in the air, The sea smelling tar and fishes Let’s say I crossed to the other side with a row boat from the bridge In a single breath I climbed up our hill… If I knock on your door in the wee hours of one morn’ “Who is it?” you’d ask sleepily from the other side Your hair mussed up, still feeling groggy God knows how beautiful you’d look my love, If I knock on your door early one morning, And wake you up from your sleep, That is, the fog still hasn’t lifted off the Golden Horn The factory whistles are blowing.