FAZIL HÜSNÜ DAGLARCA Seçme Siirler * Selected Poems

Translated by Talat Sait Halman

Çirkin Çirkin, yavrum, dudaklarýndaki kýzýllýk, Kansýz doðaya karþý. Uyurken memleket ve evren uzaktan, Uyurken bir hücre, hücreler içinde, Ekþi. Çirkin, bu satýþlar, Yüzde yirmi, yüzde otuz. Geçer anlarýn tadý içerden ; Anýlar ve sevgiler, çarþýlar üstünde, uçar. Yeniden var oluruz. Sürünür ovalar yaþlý ve boþuna, Çirkin þimdi, yükselmiþ güzellik. Ve kaçar yaþamanýn ölçülerinde; yeni, uzun; Bir avuçluk, bütün dokunduklarýmýz, Bir ellik. Okulumuz, bahçelere, hesaplara dönmüþ, Çirkin. Sonsuz ormanlýðý rahatlýðýn, yüce uzamýþlýðý erdemliliðin, Daðlarda ve sokaklarda. Tedirgin. Yalanla, gerçeklerin sýrrýna varmýþ, Oyunla karýþmýþ, ölmüþlerin akýllarýna; Çirkin, mahkemelerde bir avukat. Gelir bilinmeyen yönlerin namussuz hoþlugu, Körlerden ve topallardan daha sakat. Çirkindir, uzayan erkek vakitlere göre, Gece yarýsý. Aðrýyan kemiklerle, uzaklýklara gizlenmiþ, Acýmakla deðil, korkunçluðuyla büyük, Yýldýzlar yýldýzlar ve yukarýsý. Çirkin deðil midir, dolarken nesillerin hayýrsýzlýðýna, Yavaþ yavaþ. Ninelerin çarpýlmýþ yüzünde, Kabul edilmemiþ duasýnda gelinlerin, Tarihlerden bir savaþ? Bir ekmek kavgasý duyulur ta böceklerden, Uluyan aðaçlar, susan makineler sesi. Ýðrenç hendeseleri gövdenin, bürünür düþlere ; Gezegenler arasýndaki uygarlýða karþý, Çirkin, doymuþlarýn ve doymamýþlarýn nefesi. Nasýl kýmýldamasýn, nasýl uyusun, Sabrýmýz ve ahmaklýðýmýz, derinde ? Güzel deðildir avunmak, kuþlar çiçekler boþunadýr; Çirkindir, küçük mutluluðumuz, Piç dünyalar üzerinde. Ýnsan boyu kadar cüce, insan ömrü kadar kýsa, Güzel neymiþ ki ulu çirkinin yanýnda? Çirkin, bu, bardaklara sýðmayan kederimiz, Çirkin, bu ardý ve önü görünmeyen kader, Karanlýkla ve soysuzlukla yaþar, vatanýnda. Ölüm, karþýlýksýz gülümseme, çaresiz þey, Uðruna efsaneler beyazlýðýnda yürür nefis. Çirkin, bin yýl önceki anam babam, Koyduklarý her taþ, inandýklarý her masal, Pis. Tanrý duymaz, cenazeler duymaz, Göklerde þehrimizin utanmayan saðýrlýðý, Biter, aptalýn türküleri, gömülerde, Aþkýn, havanýn, yerin hafifliðinde ey dost, Çirkindir aðýrlýðým, aðýrlýðýn, aðýrlýðý.

Ugly It's ugly, darling, your lips' scarlet blotch Against bloodless nature. While this land sleeps, and the globe far away, As one membrane sleeps in a throng, It tastes sour. It's ugly, this trading -- Twenty per cent, thirty per cent. The joy of the moments fleets inward. As memories and loves soar over the bazaars, We are reborn, alive, unspent. Meadows crawl, aged and aimless. Beauty aloft turns ugly, banned From life's measures, new and tall, And all we touch fills one palm Of one hand. Molded into gardens and figures, Our school is ugly. Comfort's endless forests and virtue's mighty sprawl On the hills, in the streets, No longer snugly. Lies lead him to the essences of truth, And deceit to the wisdom of the dead: The shyster in court is ugly, Cripplied more than the blind and the lame, The infamous pleasure of darkness descends smugly. Against the valiant times that endure, Ugly is the midnight. Skulking in aching bones along distances, Lie stars, constellations, the whole firmament, Grand not by mercy, but by inspiring fright. As it grips the generations of vice and waste Slowly Over the disfigured faces of crones, And as the prayers of young brides go unanswered, Warfare in history is ugly. Bugs emit the whirrs of the battle for bread. Trees whine and machines die a slow death. The hateful geometry of the flesh is clad in dreams. Though the planets share the same civilisation, The fed and the hungry alike cast an ugly breath. How could our patience and idiocy Sleep and not stir in the abyss? Solace is grim; birds and flowers are futile. On this bastard earth How ugly our petty bliss. As dwarfish as man, as fleeting as life, What is beauty where the hideous stands grand? It's ugly, our pain which no grail can contain. Destiny's ugly from gloom to fearful gloom, Living dark and degenerate in its homeland. Death is an unrequited smile, an inevitable affair; For death's sake we tread on legend's purity. Ugly are my ancestors of a millenium ago. Each stone they placed, each fable they believed in, Is dirty. God lurks numb, and funerals march numb. In heaven, the shameful deafness of our city -- With the burials the idiot's songs end. In the buoyancy of love, soil and air, my friend, It's ugly: my gravity, your gravity, his gravity.