Saturday's poem: Nazim Hikmet: Things I didn't know I loved

"I have no silver saddled horse to ride,
no inheritance to live on,
neither riches nor real estate-
a honey pot is all I own.
A pot of honey
               red as fire!"
Nazim Hikmet
About My Poetry

THINGS I DIDN'T KNOW I LOVED

Nazim Hikmet

it's 1962 March 28th
I'm sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
night is falling
I never knew I liked
night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
I don't like
comparing nightfall to a tired bird

I didn't know I loved the earth
can someone who hasn't worked the earth love it
I've never worked the earth
it must be my only Platonic love

and here I've loved rivers all this time
whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
European hills crowned with chateaus
or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
I know you can't wash in the same river even once
I know the river will bring new lights you'll never see
I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow
I know this has troubled people before
and will trouble those after me
I know all this has been said a thousand times before
and will be said after me

I didn't know I loved the sky
cloudy or clear
the blue vault Andrei studied on his back at Borodino
in prison I translated both volumes of War and Peace into Turkish
I hear voices
not from the blue vault but from the yard
the guards are beating someone again
I didn't know I loved trees
bare beeches near Moscow in Peredelkino
they come upon me in winter noble and modest
beeches are Russian the way poplars are Turkish
"the poplars of Izmir
losing their leaves. . .
they call me The Knife. . .
lover like a young tree. . .
I blow stately mansions sky-high"
in the Ilgaz woods in 1920 I tied an embroidered linen handkerchief
to a pine bough for luck

I never knew I loved roads
even the asphalt kind
Vera's behind the wheel we're driving from Moscow to the Crimea
Koktebele
formerly "Goktepé ili" in Turkish
the two of us inside a closed box
the world flows past on both sides distant and mute
I was never so close to anyone in my life
bandits stopped me on the red road between Bolu and Geredé
when I was eighteen
apart from my life I didn't have anything in the wagon they could take
and at eighteen our lives are what we value least
I've written this somewhere before
wading through a dark muddy street I'm going to the shadow play
Ramazan night
a paper lantern leading the way
maybe nothing like this ever happened
maybe I read it somewhere an eight-year-old boy
going to the shadow play
Ramazan night in Istanbul holding his grandfather's hand
his grandfather has on a fez and is wearing the fur coat
with a sable collar over his robe
and there's a lantern in the servant's hand
and I can't contain myself for joy
flowers come to mind for some reason
poppies cactuses jonquils
in the jonquil garden in Kadikoy Istanbul I kissed Marika
fresh almonds on her breath
I was seventeen
my heart on a swing touched the sky
I didn't know I loved flowers
friends sent me three red carnations in prison

I just remembered the stars
I love them too
whether I'm floored watching them from below
or whether I'm flying at their side

I have some questions for the cosmonauts
were the stars much bigger
did they look like huge jewels on black velvet
or apricots on orange
did you feel proud to get closer to the stars
I saw color photos of the cosmos in Ogonek magazine now don't
be upset comrades but nonfigurative shall we say or abstract
well some of them looked just like such paintings which is to
say they were terribly figurative and concrete
my heart was in my mouth looking at them
they are our endless desire to grasp things
seeing them I could even think of death and not feel at all sad

I never knew I loved the cosmos

snow flashes in front of my eyes
both heavy wet steady snow and the dry whirling kind
I didn't know I liked snow

I never knew I loved the sun
even when setting cherry-red as now
in Istanbul too it sometimes sets in postcard colors
but you aren't about to paint it that way
I didn't know I loved the sea
except the Sea of Azov
or how much

I didn't know I loved clouds
whether I'm under or up above them
whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts

moonlight the falsest the most languid the most petit-bourgeois
strikes me
I like it

I didn't know I liked rain
whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass my
heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped inside a drop
and takes off for uncharted countries I didn't know I loved
rain but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
one alone could kill me
is it because I'm half dead from thinking about someone back in Moscow
her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
sparks fly from the engine
I didn't know I loved sparks
I didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty
to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return

19 April 1962, Moscow
Translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)

Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) is considered Turkey's greatest 20th century poet, although his work was suppressed in Turkey for over 50 years. It is only recently that Hikmet's citizenship was restored by the Turkish Government.

John Berger claims that Hikmet is one the great poets of the 20th Century. Berger wrote;

His work is about the universal nature of love and the fraternity of beauty; he was one of those rare people who matched his actions with words.

Hikmet was born in Thessaloniki, (now part of Greece) and had a Polish grandfather.  After the crushing defeat of the Ottoman Empire in WW1 and the occupation of Turkey by Western, European and Russian powers, Hikmet left Thessaloniki to fight in the Turkish War of Independence in Anatolia. He was unable to return after Thessaloniki became part of the Greek nation state.

He was an outspoken revolutionary and a dedicated political activist and communist who was first jailed in 1924 at the age of 22 for working on a leftist magazine.

In total he spent 18 years in prison in Turkey as a political prisoner.Because he spent so much of his life in prison, Hikmet's poems are the letters of a political prisoner, full of passion, optimism and love.

Hikmet was awarded the World Peace Prize in 1950, the same year he gained his release from prison after 12 years, following an international campaign for his release led by Picasso, Paul Robeson, Bertrand Russell, Pablo Neruda and Jean Paul Sartre. Within a short time of being released he was again forced into exile from Turkey in 1951.

He spent the last 13 years of his life in exile from Turkey. He died in Moscow in 1963, where he is still buried, although there are moves to return his remains to Turkey.

Blog pieces featuring Hikmet's poetry is here.

An article about Nazim Hikmet for a Festival in Amsterdam in 2015 to consider the contemporary relevance of his work is here.

Budgets and freedom for whom in Australia?

Nazim Hikmet's poem A Sad State of Freedom is a reminder of the illusions of freedom hoisted on us by the corporate and political elite. 

The illusion of these 'democratic' freedoms is very real today as Australians and West Australians come to grips with the horror and cruelty of 'austerity' budgets imposed on them by Federal and State Governments. 

These are budgets that dispossesses the less well off, to fund more largess and wealth for the already well off, the rich, the super-rich and the corporations.

A detailed assessment of the Federal budget by Bill Mitchell, one of Australia's leading economists is here.

There has been no time in this country's history when an elected Government has so brazenly dispossessed the less well off, in order that the already well off, the rich, the super rich and big business prosper even more.

A Sad State of Freedom

by Nazim Hikmet

You squander the gleam of your eyes, 

the sparkling toil of your hands, 

to knead  dough for countless loaves of bread

of which you'll taste not a morsel; 

you are free to slave for others-- 

you are free to make the rich richer. 

                                You are free.

The minute you are born, they swarm around you 

and build mills of lies which grind till the day you die.

All this great freedom is yours to bury your head in your hands

                         and rack your brains about freedom of conscience;

                                You are free.

Your head is bent as if they cut it at the nape, 

your arms weigh down at your sides, 

All this great freedom is yours to drift here and there.

                         out of work, jobless,

                                You are free.

You love your country with all your heart,

but some day they might sell it, maybe to America,

All this great freedom is yours so you may be sold

                         or become an air base:

                                 You are free.

Wall St grabs you by the neck with its cursed hands:

You might be shipped out to Korea some day.

All this great freedom is yours to fill a grave

                         or to take the name of the unknown soldier:

                                  You are free.

You say man must live not as a tool, or number or cog,

but like a human being.

All this great freedom is yours for them to handcuff you,

                        yours to be jostled, jailed or even hanged:

                                  You are free

No iron curtain, no bamboo curtain, no lace curtain in your life

No need for you to choose freedom:

                                  You are free.

This freedom is a sad thing under the stars.

Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) is considered Turkey's greatest modern poet.

He was outspoken, revolutionary and a dedicated political activist and communist who was first jailed in 1924 at the age of 22 for working on a leftist magazine. He spent 18 years in prison in Turkey as a political prisoner.

Many of Hikmet's poems were written in Sultanahmet Jail in Istanbul where he was imprisoned for many years for his political beliefs. Sultanahmet was the first jail built in Istanbul in 1918. It is now a luxury hotel.

Hikmet was awarded the World Peace Prize in 1950, the same year he gained his release from prison after 12 years, following an international campaign for his release led by Picasso, Paul Robeson, Bertrand Russell, Pablo Neruda and Jean Paul Sartre.

Within a short time of being released he was again forced into exile from Turkey in 1951. He spent the last 13 years of his life in exile from Turkey. He died in Moscow in 1963, where he is still buried, although there are moves to return his remains to Turkey.

His poetry was suppressed in Turkey for over 50 years. It is only recently that Hikmet's citizenship was restored by the Turkish Government.

Hikmet's poetry is characterized by a wonderful generosity of spirit and a powerful sense of human solidarity.

My first encounter with the poetry of Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet was in John Berger's book of essays Hold Everything Dear. One of the essays in Berger's book is a dedication to Hikmet and his poetry.

My earlier blog posts on Nazim Hikmet are here

Nazim Hikmet: Fourth Series from Rubaiyat

Nazim Hikmet Fourth Series
from Rubaiyat*
(translated by Randy Balsing & Mutlu Konuk)

1.
To conquer lies in the heart, in books, and in the street,
in mother's lullabies, in the announcer's news:
to know-it's a  great happiness, my love-
to know what's past and what's to come...

2.
Our arms are branches heavy with fruit :
the enemy shakes and shakes us,
and the better to harvest our fruit
they don't chain our feet, they fetter our minds....

3.
As long as you love
and love as much as you can,
as long as you give your all to your love
and give as much as you can, you are young.....

6.
In this business you must be hard and a little proud:
not cruelty, grief or sorrow
but death alone
           must see you surrender ......

Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) is considered Turkey's greatest modern poet.

Hikmet began writing his rubaiyait in prison in December 1945, when he was into his eighth year of a 28 year prison sentence as a political prisoner. 

He was outspoken, revolutionary and a dedicated political activist and communist who was first jailed in 1924 at the age of 22 for working on a leftist magazine.  He spent 18 years in prison in Turkey as a political prisoner.

Hikmet was awarded the World Peace Prize in 1950, the same year he gained his release from prison after 12 years,  following an international campaign for his release led by Picasso, Paul Robeson, Bertrand Russell, Pablo Neruda and Jean Paul Sartre. 

Within a short time of being released he was again forced into exile from Turkey in 1951. He spent the last 13 years of his life in exile from Turkey. He died in Moscow in 1963, where he is still buried, although there are moves to return his remains to Turkey.

His poetry was suppressed in Turkey for over 50 years.  It is only recently that Hikmet's citizenship was restored by the Turkish Government.

Nazim Hikmet on Optimism

"It's this way: being captured is beside the point
the point is not to surrender" 

Nazim Hikmet

 Just back from watching my nephew's Aussie Rules match at a nearby park, where I alternated between football and the poetry of Nazim Hikmet (Hikmet's poetry has featured on this blog before).

Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) is considered Turkey's greatest 20th century poet, although his work was suppressed in Turkey for over 50 years. It is only recently that Hikmet's citizenship was restored by the Turkish Government.

He was outspoken, revolutionary and a dedicated political activist and communist who was first jailed in 1924 at the age of 22 for working on a leftist magazine.  He spent 18 years in prison in Turkey as a political prisoner.

Hikmet was awarded the World Peace Prize in 1950, the same year he gained his release from prison after 12 years,  following an international campaign for his release led by Picasso, Paul Robeson, Bertrand Russell, Pablo Neruda and Jean Paul Sartre. Within a short time of being released he was again forced into exile from Turkey in 1951. He spent the last 13 years of his life in exile from Turkey. He died in Moscow in 1963, where he is still buried, although there are moves to return his remains to Turkey. 

An exhibition of photos of Hikmet and his unpublished poems was recently held in Istanbul to commemorate his 109th birthday (a report on the exhibition is here) and a new book on Hikmet and CD of him reading his poems has also been released in Turkey.

His prison poems are deservedly famous, but those from his time in exile, written during the the 1950's- in Budapest, Moscow, Prague, and Warsaw-express his longing for his country of  birth.

His poetry is characterized by a wonderful generosity of spirit and a powerful sense of human solidarity. You can read more about Hikmet  here.

Optimism

by Nazim Hikmet

I write poems
they don't get published
but they will

I'm waiting for a letter with good news
maybe it will arrive the day I die
but it will come for sure

the world's not ruled by governments or money
but by the people
a hundred years from now
maybe
but it will be for sure


2 September
Lepzig

The Optimist

by Nazim Hikmet

as a child he never plucked the wings off flies
he didn't tie tin cans to cats' tails
or lock beetles in matchboxes
or stomp anthills
he grew up
and all those things were done to him
I was at his bedside when he died
he said read me a poem
about the sun and the sea
about nuclear reactors and satellites
about the greatness of humanity 

written 6th December 1958 Baku 

Autobiography

by Nazim Hikmet

I was born in 1902
I never once went back to my birthplace
I don't like to turn back
at three I served as a pasha's grandson in Aleppo
at nineteen as a student at Moscow Communist University
at forty-nine I was back in Moscow as the Tcheka Party's guest
and I've been a poet since I was fourteen
some people know all about plants some about fish
I know separation
some people know the names of the stars by heart
I recite absences
I've slept in prisons and in grand hotels
I've known hunger even a hunger strike and there's almost no food
I haven't tasted
at thirty they wanted to hang me
at forty-eight to give me the Peace Prize
which they did
at thirty-six I covered four square meters of concrete in half a year
at fifty-nine I flew from Prague to Havana in eighteen hours
I never saw Lenin I stood watch at his coffin in '24
in '61 the tomb I visit is his books
they tried to tear me away from my party
it didn't work
nor was I crushed under the falling idols
in '51 I sailed with a young friend into the teeth of death
in '52 I spent four months flat on my back with a broken heart
waiting to die
I was jealous of the women I loved
I didn't envy Charlie Chaplin one bit
I deceived my women
I never talked my friends' backs
I drank but not every day
I earned my bread money honestly what happiness
out of embarrassment for others I lied
I lied so as not to hurt someone else
but I also lied for no reason at all
I've ridden in trains planes and cars
most people don't get the chance
I went to opera
most people haven't even heard of the opera
and since '21 I haven't gone to the places most people visit
mosques churches temples synagogues sorcerers
but I've had my coffee grounds read
my writings are published in thirty or forty languages
in my Turkey in my Turkish they're banned
cancer hasn't caught up with me yet
and nothing says it will
I'll never be a prime minister or anything like that
and I wouldn't want such a life
nor did I go to war
or burrow in bomb shelters in the bottom of the night
and I never had to take to the road under diving planes
but I fell in love at almost sixty
in short comrades
even if today in Berlin I'm croaking of grief
I can say I've lived like a human being
and who knows
how much longer I'll live
what else will happen to me
 

This autobiography was written
in East Berlin on 11 September 1961

Nazim Hikmet: News of Days to come

"I have no silver saddled horse to ride,
no inheritance to live on,
neither riches nor real estate-
a honey pot is all I own.
A pot of honey
               red as fire!"
Nazim Hikmet
About My Poetry

Searching the shelves at the University of WA's Reid Library I was excited to find English translation of three books of poetry by Nazim Hikmet, including Rubaiyat (1985 translation by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk), The Epic of Sheik Bedreddin and other poems (1977 translation by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk) and Things I Didn't Know I Loved (1977 translation by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk).

Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) was the greatest Turkish modern poet, although his work was suppressed in Turkey for over 50 years. He spent 18 years in prison in Turkey as a political prisoner and spent the last 18 years of his life in exile. He died in Moscow in 1963.

Hikmet began writing Rubaiyat in 1945 during WWII. At the time he was into the eighth year of a 28 year prison sentence as a political prisoner.

Rubaiyat
by Nazim Hikmet (translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk

Fourth Series

1

To conquer lies in the heart, in books, and in the street,

in mother's lullabies, and in the announcer's news;

to know-its a great happiness, my love-
to know what's past and what's to come....

2
Our arms are branches heavy with fruit:
the enemy shakes and shakes us,
and the better to harvest our fruit
they don't chain our feet, they fetter our minds......

3
As long as you love
and love as much as you can,
as long as you give your all to your love
and give us much as you can, you are young...

6
In this business you must be hard and a little proud:
not cruelty, grief or sorrow
but death alone
must see you surrender.....

Nazim Hikmet from On Living

 

This earth will grow cold
a star among stars,
and one of the smallest too,
a gilded granule in blue velvet, I mean,
I mean this tremendous world of ours.

This earth will grow cold one day,
and not like a chunk of ice
or a dead cloud-
it'll roll like an empty walnut shell
endlessly in the pitch black.

One must lament this now,
must feel this pain now.
This is how you must love the earth                     
so you can say "I've lived"......

Translated from the Turkish by Deniz Perin.

Nazim Himet is Turkey's most loved and most famous poet.

Sunday's poems by Nazim Hikmet

Poems for Sunday- Boxing Day- written by Turkey's greatest poet Nazim Hikmet.

Many of Hikmet's poems were written in Sultanahmet Jail in Istanbul where he was imprisoned for many years for his political beliefs. Sultanahmet was the first jail built in Istanbul in 1918. It is now a luxury hotel.

Today is Sunday.
For the first time they took me out into the sun today.
And for the first time in my life I was aghast
that the sky is so far away
and so blue
and so vast
I stood there without a motion.
Then I sat on the ground with respectful devotion
leaning against the white wall.
Who cares about the waves with which I yearn to roll
Or about strife or freedom or my wife right now.
The soil, the sun and me...
I feel joyful and how.

Translated by Talat Sait Halman
(Literature East & West, March 1973)

Invitation

Galloping from Far Asia and jutting out
into the Mediterranean like a mare's head
this country is ours.
Wrists in blood, teeth clenched, feet bare
and this soil spreading like a silk carpet,
this hell, this paradise is ours.
Shut the gates of plutocracy, don't let them open again,
annihilate man's servitude to man,
this invitation is ours..
To live like a tree single and at liberty
and brotherly like the trees of a forest,
this yearning is ours.

"The point is not to surrender"- the poetry of Nazim Hikmet

My first encounter with the poetry of Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet was in John Berger's book of essays Hold Everything Dear. One of the essays in Berger's book is a dedication to Hikmet and his poetry.

Hikmet (1902-1963) was a Turkish communist, poet, poet, playwright, novelist and political activist who spent most of his adult life in prison or exile for his political beliefs. His poetry is characterized by a wonderful generosity of spirit and a powerful sense of human solidarity. You can read more about Hikmet on this website.

Hiroshima Child
By Nazin Hikmet

I come and stand at every door
But none can hear my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead for I am dead

I'm only seven though I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I'm seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow

My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind

I need no fruit I need no rice
I need no sweets nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead for I am dead

All that I need is that for peace
You fight today you fight today
So that children of this world
Can live and grow and laugh and play

yON LIVING

I

Living is no laughing matter :

you must live with great seriousness

like a squirrel, for example -

I mean without looking for something beyond and above

I mean living must be your whole occupation

III

This earth will grow cold, a star among stars

and one of the smallest

a gilded mote on blue velvet-

I mean this, our great earth.

This earth will grow cold one day.

not like a block of ice

or a dead cloud even

but like an empty walnut it will roll along

in pitch-black space.

You must grieve for this right now

-you have to feel this sorrow now-

for the world must be loved this much

if you're going to say "I lived"......

by Nazim Hikmet