The Chronicles from the German Province: September 2008

I am Listening to Istanbul

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed:
At first there is a gentle breeze
And the leaves on the trees
Softly sway;
Out there, far away,
The bells of water-carriers unceasingly ring;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Then suddenly birds fly by,
Flocks of birds, high up, with a hue and cry,
While the nets are drawn in the fishing grounds
And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
The Grand Bazaar's serene and cool,
An uproar at the hub of the Market,
Mosque yards are full of pigeons.
While hammers bang and clang at the docks
Spirng winds bear the smell of sweat;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Still giddy from the revelries of the past,
A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep.
Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed,
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
A pretty girl walks by on the sidewalk:
Four-letter words, whistles and songs, rude remarks;
Something falls out of her hand -
It is a rose, I guess.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
A bird flutters round your skirt;
On your brow, is there sweet? Or not ? I know.
Are your lips wet? Or not? I know.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

Istanbul'u Dinliyorum

İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı
Önce hafiften bir rüzgar esiyor;
Yavaş yavaş sallanıyor
Yapraklar, ağaçlarda;
Uzaklarda, çok uzaklarda,
Sucuların hiç durmayan çıngırakları
İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı.

İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı;
Kuşlar geçiyor, derken;
Yükseklerden, sürü sürü, çığlık çığlık.
Ağlar çekiliyor dalyanlarda;
Bir kadının suya değiyor ayakları;
İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı.

İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı;
Serin serin Kapalıçarşı
Cıvıl cıvıl Mahmutpaşa
Güvercin dolu avlular
Çekiç sesleri geliyor doklardan
Güzelim bahar rüzgarında ter kokuları;
İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı.

İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı;
Başımda eski alemlerin sarhoşluğu
Loş kayıkhanelerıyle bir yalı;
Dinmiş lodosların uğultusu içinde
İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı.

İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı;
Bir yosma geciyor kaldırımdan;
Küfürler, şarkılar, türküler, laf atmalar.
Bir şey düşüyor elinden yere;
Bir gül olmalı;
İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı.

İstanbul'u dinliyorum, gözlerim kapalı;
Bir kuş çırpınıyor eteklerinde;
Alnın sıcak mı, değil mi, biliyorum;
Dudakların ıslak mı, değil mi, biliyorum;
Beyaz bir ay doğuyor fıstıkların arkasından
Kalbinin vuruşundan anlıyorum;
İstanbul'u dinliyorum.

Orhan Veli Kanik (Translated by Murat Nemet Nejat)

I am back from Istanbul now for about ten days. It was a pretty hard thing taking that plane on early Saturday morning, a bit like ripping myself in half, like leaving most important pieces of me behind.
What is it with this country that it almost creeps under my skin? Why do I feel so enchanted and at times almost bewildered by it? What is it that my middle class, educated snobby mind finds there that Europe will never be able to offer? Going to Istanbul felt like coming home, the mixed smell of sea water, roasted lamb, tobacco, garbage, seasoned fruit and vegetables,
narghile, fish, spices and exhaust fumes welcomed me like the perfume used by my grandma, inhaled 100,000 times, comfortable and familiar, much more of a childhood memory than of new exotic experience.
I came to study Turkish, as I love that language deeply, as I love the country’s music. The sound of Istanbul – its mixture of voices, noises, cars, instruments, rhythms, its shouting and its whispering, the latest pop songs played by the record stores in Istiklal Caddesi and next to it two youngsters with a squalid guitar, but great voices, singing one of their own songs – I can still play it in my head.
I would love to go back, to feel that whole again. Maybe one day I will.