CAHİT KÜLEBİ
(1917-1997)

WIND

A wind just blew past this way
I ran but could not catch it.
Where it has wandered about
I could not find out.

Obviously coming out of the sea
It must have swept along the seashore
The smell of salt, tar, sweat
Must have nauseated it.

Then starting to climb towards the mountains
It must have herded the clouds like sheep
Caressing the grass on the plains
Must have nourished them.

If it has stopped by in the villages
It must have rocked cradles in humid, dark rooms
Must have brought solace
To those working under the sun.

Then beginning to ascend towards the plains,
In the poppy fields pink, lilac, white
In the arid soil blue thorns...
Dust must have gone into its eyes

It must have stopped by at cities since it went past me.
Must have seen girls looking like poppies.
A smile, a strand of hair, rouge and powder
It must have carried away.

A wind just blew past this way
I ran but could not catch it.
Perhaps it would have told me
But I could not ask.


Translated by Suat Karantay



SONG

Your lips are red,
Your hands are white
Take my hands, child,
Hold them a while.

In the village where I was born
There were no walnut trees
That's why I yearn for coolness.
Fondle me a while.

In the village where I was born
There were no cornfields
so scatter your hair, child,
Flaunt it a while.

In the village where I was born
Bandits struck by night.
That's why I hate to be alone
Speak with me a while.

In the village where I was born
Men did not know how to laugh.
That's why I am still so wretched
Make me laugh a while.

In the village where I was born
The north winds blew.
That's why my lips are cracked
Kiss them a while.

You are light and beauty, like my country,
The village where I was born was beautiful too.
Now tell me of the place where you were born
Tell me a while.

translated by Bernard Lewis


ON THE ROADS OF SIVAS

On the roads of Sivas, at night
The oxcarts go in files
Their wheels are made of oak
What do they carry, those silent peasants
Timber, salt, or their sick!
Slowly the oxcarts go
On the roads of Sivas, at night.

No stars swarm in the sky
No hearts are warm with love
The wind blows sharp as a knife
Chill on hands and feet On the roads of Sivas at night
Slowly the oxcarts go.

Lorries pass back and forth
In a cloud of dust
Flashing their headlights
The oxcarts scatter, the lorry-drivers swear
On the roads of Sivas at night
The oxcarts go in files.

translated by Nermin Menemencioglu

Cahit Külebi was born in Niksar in 1917 and attended Sivas High School in 1936, before graduating from the Teacher Training School in the Faculty of Letters at Istanbul University. He performed his military service on the Turkey-Bulgaria frontier between 1940 and 1943. He then worked as a teacher of Turkish Language and Literature in 1943 and he was an inspector for the Ministry of Culture, Cultural attaché and Vice Undersecretary in the period from 1956 to 1972. He was also a member of The Institute of Turkish Language (Türk Dil Kurumu) between 1951 and 1983. He was the founder, member of the administrative board, and general secretary of the Journal of Turkish Language and he also founded and became a member of administrative board of SODEP (former Social Democratic Party) and the Social Democratic Populist Party. Külebi passed away in Ankara in 1997.

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