Translation Therapy

The thing about Tahir and Zühre

There’s no shame in being Tahir, nor in being Zühre
there’s even no shame in dying for love,
it’s all in the ability of being Tahir and Zühre
meaning in having the heart.

For instance, dying fighting in a barricade, 
dying on your way to discover the north pole,
dying trying on a serum in your veins,  
would that be shameful?  

There’s no shame in being Tahir, nor in being Zühre. 
there is even no shame in dying for love. 

You love the world at a full gallop, 
yet the world would not notice  
you wouldn’t want to leave the world  
yet it will leave you
so just because you love the apple  
must the apple love you back? 
So if Zühre didn’t love Tahir any longer, 
or did not love him at all, 
what would Tahir lose of his Tahirness? 

There’s no shame in being Tahir, nor in being Zühre 
there’s even no shame in dying for love. 

Nazım Hikmet (Tahirle Zühre Meselesi, Turkish to English)

I like it that

I like it that you are not crazy about me,
I like it that I’m not crazy about you,
That this heavy ball of soil
Will never slip from beneath our feet.
I like it that we can be funny –
Carefree – and not play with words,
And not turn red with a betraying rush
Upon our sleevs touching slightly.

I also like that you can, in front of me,
Embrace someone else so comfortably,
And you don’t wish me burning in flames
Just because it is not you that I’m kissing.
That my gentle name, my gentleman
You do not say in vain, in daytime or at night…
That never will they be singing above us
In the holy silence of the church: hallelujah!

I thank you with both my heart and hand
For –though not aware of it yourself!-
Loving me: for my peace at night,
For the rarity of our meetings in sunsets,
For our not walking under the moonlight,
For the sun, not above our heads, -
For you being crazy –alas!- not about me,
For me being crazy –alas!- not about you.

Marina Tsvetaeva (“I like it that” Russian to English)

Salty Water in My Flask

West Indies, the holy grail, Ithakē, Măcin! 
I’ve been sentenced to a long haul. 
Nothing left of my share in the country of the whites
I have committed crimes against the lands of the natives 
a dangerous strife among tyrants 
I am unbecoming among the nations
My savagery
has torn me off the taste of plummy fruits
I have chosen myself
a taste of bitter root in this world
there are no nearby shadows for me to rest under 
I’ve been sentenced to the long haul. 

What is distance? 
For me, living in his own remoteness
how far could the destination be? 
My head’s uncovered, I split my hair 
in two down the middle 
no matter whose country I pass through
the tattoos on my temples will betray me 
brave and proud they’ll say 
though I’m mute and mournful 
the thunderous battle cry I picked up from the pirates 
doesn’t work out for me
I loathe that simple
and wonted accent of the farmers  
on my neck 
jewelry made of the shame 
of those loading me with judgment  
on my back deaf scales of secret knowledge 
I added salt to the water in my flask, I have no food 
I’ve been sentenced to the long haul. 

I am leaving a life, a custom made life 
Those who saw me used to say it looks good on you at every glance 
some of my plush items will also be left behind
like the pocket mirror I bought at the military canteen
the brass knuckles I put on with a frivolous smile
when going out on some nights.  
I signed the document ordered by the judges
barring me from carrying away
any smells, any echoes, any colors from this life
my job is now done here, I have no home 
I’ve been sentenced to the long haul. 

İsmet Özel (Mataramda Tuzlu Su, Turkish to English)

take care of yourself

Would nights side by side be forgotten and lost,
Would the torment end suddenly?
Searching for you in the longing for a baby,
Will this never ever stop? 

Would white roses bloom in deserts yearning for water,
Would their thorns pierce the sky? 
Searching for you in the smell of a violet,
Will this never ever stop?

Take care of yourself don’t think of me,
Each stream flows and finds its bed.

Would the storm within me quite down with a stray bullet,
Could fights end without blood?
Searching for you in the shriek of a rifle,
Will it ever stop?

Would this bitch of a world make you into my enemy,
Would friendships end so abruptly?
Searching for you in the greeting of a sibling,
Will it ever stop?

Take care of yourself don’t think of me
Each stream flows and finds its bed.

Ali Çınar, performed by Ahmet Kaya (lyrics Turkish to English)

folk song

I was a dry, wilting tree.
You were the Spring sun.
Your love shone upon me 
And my branches grew,
And my leaves bloomed.
Vay, vay, vay, but now I’m burning.
Vay vay vay, but now I’m melting.
Now I’m melting and burning. 
-Komitas

“Ես մի չոր ծառ էի,
Դու գարնան արեւ,
Քո սիրով ծաղկեցավ
իմ ժյուղն ու տերեւ,
Վայ, վայ, վայ, վառվում եմ,
…Վայ, վայ, վայ, հալվում եմ,
Հալվում, վարվում եմ:” – Կոմիտաս

(Armenian to English translation) by Janna

Like a Breeze

I’ll be the gentlest breeze that
Descends from the mountains to rest at your door.
Like a knight seared by your love
I’ll surrender my sword at your garden’s gate.

And I’ll watch for you, night and day.
Only hurry back to your garden
So I can see your face, put my heart to rest.
Drunk with your love, I would die at your door.

Disguised as Spring I’ll enter your garden
to cling to your rose like the singing nightingale.
I’ll kneel by your door as a sacrifice for your life.
I’m your Shahen; I’ll sing you a thousand songs.

Again I’ll watch for you, night and day
Only hurry back to the garden
So I can see your face, get drunk with your love.
Put my heart to rest so I can die at your door.

This is the Armenian phonetically spelled out: 

Zepyuri Nman

Zepyur kdarnam meghmik annman,
Sarerits kijnem nstem qo dran,
Sirutsd varvats aspeti nman
Tur@s kdnem qo aygu dran.

U qez khskem gisher u tserek,
Menak te, yar jan, shut-shut aygin yek,
Vor nayem yes qez karots arnem,
Sirutsd arbats mernem qo dran.

Garun kdarnam mtnem qo aygin,
Blbuli nman parvem qo vardin,
Qo Shahenn em, yar, hazar xagherov
Yekel em durd, matagh qo kyanqin.

Eli khskem gisher u tserek,
Menak te, yar jan, shut-shut aygin yek,
Vor nayem yes qez, karots arnem,
Sirutsd arbats mernem qo dran.

folk song, Gusan Shahen (guest translation from Armenian to English by chotai)

Konut Kıtlığı

Az az yaşamaya çalıştım.
Dar bir yatak aldım.
Dirseklerimi bitişik tuttum kendime.
Dikkatlice adım atmaya
Usulca düşünmeye
Ve havanın payıma düşen kısmında
Üstünkötü nefes almaya çalıştım.
Ve kimseyi rahatsız etmemeye.

Ama bak nasıl yayılıyorum ve elimde değil.
Gitgide daha çok alıyorum kendime, ihtiyacım olmayan
Hiçbirşeyi almasam da, ihtiyaçlarım büyüyor yabani otlar gibi,
Her tarafı kaplıyor; dağıtıyorum ortalığı
Yaşamanın bütün alet edevatıyla.
Senin her gün ayağın takılıyor bunlara.

Ve sonra ciğerlerim alabildiği kadar hava alıyor.
Sana nefes yetmiyor sonra.

Yaşadığım için kusuruma bakma,
Ama, madem ki yaşıyorum,
Santim verilince metre alıyorum
Metre alınca kilometreleri düşlüyorum
Ve bir manzarayı, sınırsız
Uçsuz bucaksız terkedilmişliğinde.
Bir de seni, aynı şeyi düşlerken.

Naomi Replansky, Housing Shortage (English to Turkish)

Epilogue

Treasure this water 
Gliding down your throat  
Don’t ignore the blue 
As much of it as you can see from the window 
Treasure the sky
Treasure the blooming almond tree  
The sunlit room the slushy street 
The white the black the green 
Treasure the pink 
Such is the heart’s vitality
Fluttering with joy 
Humans dream of castles in the sky
Humans get angry get furious they war 
In the war waged for the People 
Treasure that frightening joy 
Treasure the fury 
Know that this 
Is it 
The sun only warms the living 
Treasure the sun

Oktay Rıfat (Sonsöz, Turkish to English)

Carnation of gravity

You know, you live within me in tiny little bits
And yet there is being merry with you
We’re drinking, for example, as if a carnation is falling into us
A tree is working next to us, rattling on
My stomach my mind all is dwindling.

You are inclined to that carnation and there I am giving it to you
And you’re giving it to an other more beautiful
From that someone to the next
The carnation passes on.

You see there’s a love we are raising with you
I keep touching upon you, warming up to you, this is not it
See how, like the seven colors turning into white
We are melding silently.

Edip Cansever (Yerçekimli Karanfil Turkish to English)

Hours, Deers

a woman, her face covered with tulle
slits her wrists
getting out of the cab
you’re so cool!

as for me
I’m happy without you
don’t know why, I just am.
my body doesn’t seem to know the aorta/amor.
because I’ve been aware of more terrifying things
like madness
wrists aren’t slit in the land of madness
deer blood doesn’t flow from hours
in the land of madness, nothing really happens.
hours keep lingering.
all the hours are like diamond-cut
wrists when the deer are
wailing in metaphysical pain.
spleen,
it’s like a construction worker fainting in the sun
going down the hours with aorta/amor.

spleen
is like the slit neck of a fish
as the vapidity of the world crystallizes
in a chemical solution.
you can’t solve anything.
you can’t slit your wrists either.
you only wish to escape to the anti-matter
when drugs numb your blood
in plasma hours.
sometimes though something happens with someone
something brief
like deer jumping and kissing in air
with some people
even if you see them for years
nothing happens.

Lale Müldür, Hours, Deers (Saatler Geyikler Turkish to English)