Poem - Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı - I Want a Country

  Cahit Sıktı Tarancı, in short: (born Hüseyin Cahit on October 4, 1910 – October 13, 1956) was a Turkish poet and author*. Lived in Paris for a short time before the World War II, then returned to Turkey. Known for his talent in combining European culture with Anatolian values in his poems, Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı has written many poems, some of which are still popular in Turkey. Two of these well-known poems will be included in this article. 

  First poem literally translated as "I Want a Country" is about an ideal country reflected on poet's verses. First English translation of the poem is given below, then the Turkish orijinal version will be added. 

I want a country
Let the sky be blue, the bough green, the cornfield yellow
Let it be a land of birds and flowers

I want a country
Let there be no pain in the head, no yearning in the heart
Let there be an end to brothers' quarrels

I want a country
Let there be no rich and poor, no you and me
On winter days let everyone have hose and home

I want a country
Let living be like loving from the heart
If there must be complaint, let it be of death

Memleket isterim
Gök mavi, dal yeşil, tarla sarı olsun;
Kuşların çiceklerin diyarı olsun.

Memleket isterim
Ne başta dert ne gönülde hasret olsun;
Kardeş kavgasına bir nihayet olsun.

Memleket isterim
Ne zengin fakir ne sen ben farkı olsun;
Kış günü herkesin evi barkı olsun.

Memleket isterim
Yaşamak, sevmek gibi gönülden olsun;
Olursa bir şikayet ölümden olsun.

- Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı

  Second poem literally translated as "Age Thirty-Five" is about the middle of human life. This poem by Taranci is very popular in Turkey, and age thirty-five is widely used in daily life to refer to half of human lifespan in theory. First, English translation of the poem is given below, then the Turkish orijinal version will be added. 

The age is thirty-five! Half of the way!
We're in the middle of life like a Dante.
The fire we felt at the time of our youth,
When complaining is no use any longer,
Goes out without caring about tears.

Did it snow on my temples or what's this?
God, this wrinkled face belongs to me?
Or those purple bulges beneath my eyes?
Why did you become enemy to me,
Oh the mirrors I knew as friends for years.

How the man changes with time!
The man at those pictures is not me.
Oh those days, my desires, and excitement!
This cheerful man is not me.
That I lack of troubles is but a lie.

My first love like only a dream,
Is now strange even as a memory.
Our ways separated, one by one;
With the friends we began our lives,
My loneliness gradually increases.

There was also another colour of sky!
I recognized a stone hard so late.
Water would drown man, fire would burn!
Everyday, rising, is a trouble,
One understands when he comes to this age.

Quince's yellow, pomegranate's red autumns!
Which I accept a little further each year.
Why are the birds still circling around at sky?
Why is this funeral? Who died again?
How many such gardens did I see topsy-turvy?

What can you do, death comes to all us.
You fall asleep; and you don't wake up.
Who knows, where, how, at what age?
You will have a single prayer long sovereignty,
By the grave stone as if it was your throne.

Yaş otuz beş! yolun yarısı eder.
Dante gibi ortasındayız ömrün.
Delikanlı çağımızdaki cevher,
Yalvarmak, yakarmak nafile bugün,
Gözünün yaşına bakmadan gider.

Şakaklarıma kar mı yağdı ne var?
Benim mi Allahım bu çizgili yüz?
Ya gözler altındaki mor halkalar?
Neden böyle düşman görünürsünüz,
Yıllar yılı dost bildiğim aynalar?

Zamanla nasıl değişiyor insan!
Hangi resmime baksam ben değilim.
Nerde o günler, o şevk, o heyecan?
Bu güler yüzlü adam ben değilim;
Yalandır kaygısız olduğum yalan.

Hayal meyal şeylerden ilk aşkımız;
Hatırası bile yabancı gelir.
Hayata beraber başladığımız,
Dostlarla da yollar ayrıldı bir bir;
Gittikçe artıyor yalnızlığımız.

Gökyüzünün başka rengi de varmış!
Geç farkettim taşın sert olduğunu.
Su insanı boğar, ateş yakarmış!
Her doğan günün bir dert olduğunu,
Insan bu yaşa gelince anlarmış.

Ayva sarı nar kırmızı sonbahar!
Her yıl biraz daha benimsediğim.
Ne dönüp duruyor havada kuşlar?
Nerden çıktı bu cenaze? ölen kim?
Bu kaçıncı bahçe gördüm tarumar?

Neylersin ölüm herkesin başında.
Uyudun uyanamadın olacak.
Kimbilir nerde, nasıl, kaç yaşında?
Bir namazlık saltanatın olacak,
Taht misali o musalla taşında.

- Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı

Meo - 2018
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