NAZIM HIKMET
(1901-1963)
 

ANGINA PECTORIS

If half my heart is here, doctor,
     the other half is in China
with the army flowing
     toward the Yellow River.
And every morning, doctor,
every morning at sunrise my heart
     is shot in Greece.
And every night, doctor,
when the prisoners are asleep and the infirmary is deserted,
my heart stops at a run-down old house
                                                         in Istanbul.
And then after ten years
all I have to offer my poor people
is this apple in my hand, doctor,
one red apple:
              my heart.
And that, doctor, that is the reason
for this angina pectoris-
not nicotine, prison, or arteriosclerosis.
I look at the night through the bars,
and despite the weight on my chest
my heart still beats with the most distant stars.

Translated by Randy Blasing - Mutlu Konuk
 

BOR HOTEL

No way you can sleep nights in Varna,
no way you can sleep:
for the wealth of stars
so close and brilliant,
for the rustle of dead waves on the sand,
of salty weeds
with their pearly shells
and pebbles,
for the sound of a motorboat tnrobbing like a heart at sea
for the memories filling my room,
coming from Istanbul,
          passing through the Bosporus,
                             and filling my room,
some with green eyes,
some in handcuffs
or holding a handkerchief-
the handkerchief smells of lavender
No way you can Sleep in Varna, my love,
in Varna at the Bor Hotel.

Translated by Randy Blasing - Mutlu Konuk
 

I LOVE YOU

I kneel down: I look at the earth,
the grass,
insects,
little stems blooming with blues.
You are like the spring earth, my love,
                                 IÕm looking at you.

I lie on my back: I see the sky,
the branches of a tree,
storks on the wing,
a waking dream.
You are like the spring sky, my love,
                                       I see you.

At night I light a campfire: I touch fire,
water,
cloth,
silver.
You are like a fire lit beneath the stars,
                                          I touch you.

I go among people: I love people,
action,
thought,
struggle .
You are one person in my struggle,
                                          I love you.

Translated by Randy Blasing - Mutlu Konuk
 

LETTER TO MY WIFE

My one and only!
Your last letter says: "My head is throbbing,
                                              my heart is stunned!"

You say:
"If they hang you,
              if I lose you,
                         I'll die!"
YouÕll live, my dear-
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course youÕll live, red-haired lady of my heart:
in the twentieth century
                          grief lasts
                              at most a year.

Death-
a body swinging from a rope.
My heart
         can't accept such a death.

But
you can bet
           if some poor gypsy's hairy black
                                            spidery hand
                                                    slips a noose
                                                        around my neck,
they'll look in vain for fear
                              in Nazim's
                                     blue eyes!
In the twilight of my last morning
I
will see my friends and you,

and I'll go
to my grave
             regretting nothing but an unfinished song....

My wife
Good-hearted,
golden,
eyes sweeter than honey my bee!
Why did I write you
                    they want to hang me!
The trial has hardly begun,
and they donÕt just pluck a man's head
                                        like a turnip.

Look, forget all this.
If you have any money,
                   buy me some flannel underwear:
my sciatica is acting up again.
And don't forget,
a prisoner's wife
            must always think good thoughts.

Translated by Randy Blasing - Mutlu Konuk

 

Nâzım Hikmet was born in 1901 in Salonica and died in 1963 in Moscow. He is an internationally acclaimed Turkish poet. He attended the Naval Academy in Istanbul for five years but had to leave due to poor health. Influenced by his grandfather, he started to write poetry in high school and would soon be be known among poets of the syllabist movement ("Hececi Şairler") as a young voice. In 1920, the Alemdar newspaper organised a contest where the jury consisted of famous poets and Nâzım was selected for the award. Between 1925 and 1951 he was in and out of jail several times and upon his release under the 1950 amnesty, he left the country and spent the rest of his life in exile. He was a member of the Communist Party of Turkey (TKP) and died in exile in Moscow. He wrote numerous plays and novels as well as a vast corpus of lyric and epic poetry. He wrote a series of poems collected in five volumes under the title Memleketimden İnsan Manzaraları/Human Landscapes from My Country. His works have been translated into all major languages.