Poems

HASAN ILDIZ

Hasan Ildiz  was born in Alaşehir on 02.10.1960. He graduated from Horzumkeser Village Elementary School, Kavaklıdere Junior High School, Alaşehir High School, and the Turkish Language and Literature Department of Hacettepe University.
Hasan Ildız taught Turkish language and literature courses at Sarıgöl High School and Sarı Mahmut Elementary School. Between the years of 1998/2001 and 2005/2010, he worked at the Turkish Teaching Center in the city of Biskek, Kyrgyzstan. He taught Turkish language courses at the American University, Slavic University, and Social Sciences University. He returned to Turkey in 2010, and kept working at Salihli İMKB Technical and Industrial Vocational High School until 2017 before getting his retirement.
From 1985 on his poems have been appearing in literary magazines including Türk Dili, Çağdaş Türk Dili, Öğretmen Dünyası, ABC, Kirkit, Ege Layf, İnsancıl, Kardelen, Lacivert, Kurgan, Bireylikler, Yaba Edebiyat, Tmolos, Kasaba Sanat, Kurşun Kalem, Varlık, Yasak Meyve, Şiirden, Edebiyat Ortamı, Yedi İklim, Töre, Amanos, Beşparmak, Kasabadan Esinti, Kara Yazı, Şehir Edebiyat, Tay, Aşkın E Hali, Mavi Yeşil, Akatalpa, Dergâh, Caz Kedisi, Çinikitap.
He received an award of third place in the short story competition entitled “Turkic World Ömer Seyfettin Short Story Contest” jointly organized by the Ministry of Culture and the Turkish Literature Foundation with his short story called “Exile”.
In 2007, he was given an honorable mention prize for his short story called “Joyful Mother” from the short story competition organized by Ümraniye Municipality.
In 2008, he received an honorable mention prize with his short story called “The Kid Selling Roses”, from the competition organized in the name of Mustafa Necati Sepetçioğlu.
In 2011, he was awarded with the first prize for his short story called “The Beauty Sleeping for Dying” in the competition of Novel, Short Story and Essay jointly organized by İLESAM (Professional Union of the Owners of Scientific and Artistic Works) and Akçağ Publishing House.
             
 
HIS LITERARY WORKS:
  1) SORGU / QUESTIONING –1997 (Poetry):Ürün Publishing, Ankara
            2) AKDENİZ’E GİDENLERİN TÜRKÜSÜ / THE BALLAD WHO HEADED FOR THE MEDITERRANIAN – 2009 (Poetry)- Devir Publishing, İstanbul
            3) SEVDA TÜRKÜLERİ / LOVE SONGS – 2012 (Poetry)- Yankı Publishing, İstanbul
            4) SÜRGÜN HİKÂYELERİ - KAFKASYA / EXILE STORIES – CAUCASIA,   1943 (Short Stories)- 2009- Devir Publishing, İstanbul.
            5) ÖLMEYE VATAN YAHŞİ- THE BEAUTY SLEEPING FOR DYING, 2012 (Short Stories)- Akçağ Publishing, Ankara.
6) AŞK ŞEHİRDE KİRLENİR / LOVE GETS CONTAMINATED IN THE CITY, 2014 (Poetry)- Şiirden Publishing, İstanbul.
7) RENKLER KİTABI / THE BOOK OF COLORS, 2018-(Poetry)- Temren Publishing, İzmir.
8) ELLERİ OLMASA HÜZNÜN / IF ONLY SADNESS DIDN’T HAVE ITS HANDS, 2020 (Poetry)- Klaros Publishing, Ankara.
9) AFORİZMALAR / APHORISMS, 2021- Klaros Publishing, Ankara
         10) ANEMON (Poetry)-2022- Klaros Publishing, Ankara
         11) PETUNYA / PETUNIA (Poety)-2022- Klaros Publishing, Ankara
          12) LOTUS (Poetry)-2023-Klaros Publishing, Ankara
          13) Azelya / Azalea (Poetry)-2023-Klaros Publishing, Ankara
          14) Begonvil / Bougainvillea (Poetry) 2024-Klaros Publishing, Ankara

                                                                 
                                                                   



ANEMONE
Hasan ILDIZ

My Alya, my Anemon flower, growing as being loved
Oh the gigantic soul and the wing of the soil will bleed
I will show up on one of the hot days
Every part of your body I touch will begin to talk
Alya, my Anemon flower, growing as being loved

You my love, I am a night, in the tale of Scheherazade
The tale of the one thousand and one, the hour of my birth
Flow me into the waters, sweep me before a gust
The seasons and still warm, see, my flesh smells rose
Love, I am a night, in the tale of Scheherazade

Ah you see, this tedium, I’ve been going through like a bird
A bit steam of love, a bit scent of the heaven
So many seasons I experienced, dreams in dream
A pigeon’s sleep on your left bosom
This tedium, I’ve gone through like a wounded bird

Lilac lips of the season, ah that white night
I’ve been riding a horse maybe for ten-thousand years to grieve
Ah that sacred rain, I felt it on my body
I was your forty-two, scattered on the atlas of my heart
Ah that white night, the season with its lilac lips

You see, the day gets opened like the milk with no yeast added
Love weaves for us, the life in the mouth of the death
This oriental drama and the wedding feast behind
Would take you one night, to my mountains
You see, the day gets opened like the milk with no yeast added

Ah, I’we could have not known for whom your hair is flipped
For whom your heart used to flutter at night
I used to wish to die sometimes, but not being able to die
Now it’s an autumn chilliness wherever I touched
I’ve could have not known for whom your hair is flipped

I know, your hands start the day by caressing a dream
Time blossoms in your mouth smiling flowers
Ah Alya, you would bring the second spouse after me
Who knows, what other sorts of evils cross in your head
Your hands start the day by caressing a dream
Saçların kimler için savrulur bilemezdim
Look, the back face of the mountain would get wet should I kiss it
Our love would be recognized in the leaning of the roses
An eastern classic would appear and anoint the lament
It could be called either a pain or grieving the sadness
The back face of the mountain would get wet should I kiss it

O Alya, dogs are howling, there is cunningness in the night
Everyone is looking for their loved ones in a song
A love outliving a life seems contained now in a syllable
A male cat time, eats his kittens
Dogs are howling, there is cunningness in the night

Vigorously call on her and let this hearing be over
Let the migrant girl of the island be kissed from her wound
That curtain-less window is my only witness
Let the mouth of the night speak out whatever it would
Call on her and let this hearing be over

Eventually I come from the bee having lost its offspring
The wall of my mind is punctured constantly
The bird forgot the nest and the flower condemned to its twig
I pay the biggest tribute for love
I come from the bee having lost its offspring

You know, a winter is holding me by the arm and pulls me
Like a horse in the wild, I am trained for pain
Maybe I am supposed to die, and love should kill me
I should attribute every wind of the mountain to your hair
A winter is holding me by the arm and pulls me

The last remaining birds depart as the Fall does
You are nothing but a winter elapsing and causing pain
Look Alya, listen, the mountains talk about demise
Listen so that your skin would be shivered like female wolves
The last remaining birds depart as the last season does

Oh dear, put your hand on my heart for the last time
Drop stones left from the summer inside of me
Had I clay feet, take it because of my being a poet
This is a love story by O’Henry, “The Last Leaf”
Put your hand on my heart for the last time

Uniquely, you had told me that this damned epoch is unity
Standing upright at the merging point of two water streams
You had made love with my shadow just yesterday night
Love was a street dance, for the women inside your body
You had told me that this damned epoch is unity

Suddenly, a bullet is still trying to find its path inside of me
The pigeons of love did not go down the water yet
Kiss me, let the sap of the soil go up to the branch
Call on that holy prophet who anointed us
Abullet is still trying to find its path inside of me

O dear, I am alone, as lonely as your living without a mother
Outside of me my nihilist side, and a Muslim inside of me
A girl I got lost every night in her forest
Colleting her womanhood from the mirror of inside of me
I am alone, as lonely as your living without a mother

My Alya, let orchids do not blossom, I don’t want it anymore
Its blue seemed to be for love, and its white for its innocence
Humans might get used to separation as time pases
Forgive me my rose-adultery, forgive me my magnolia
Let orchids do not blossom, I don’t want it anymore

Unready, my soul couldn’t recognize the captivity in your spirits
I regarded you my mountains as much as my winds
I didn’t become an oppressor resembling Leofric
But it suited you like Godiva on a horseback
My soul couldn’t recognize the captivity in your spirits

Curiously, I am heading to the howling hills, Alya
I am eternally having a falling out with the city I was born in
If there exists God and if making love is considered a rightful share
I am asking for my blessing for the spots I kissed
I am heading to the howling hills, Alya

Hey, you were all the blue, so blue like all the island girls
For me though, my land was the green of these mountains
You see, I gave to you all of your hours
I am not jealous anymore of your friends you looked for
You were all the blue, so blue like all the island girls

Hasan ILDIZ
English Translation by Mesut ŞENOL





THE DAY I FOUND OUT HOW TO LOOK AT YOU
Hasan ILDIZ  

For my Alya
The day I found out how to look at you
A river was flowing under another river
That city didn’t seem to be Istanbul as it were
Such a comfort given by a seasonal sweater
Met with a black person by Bakırköy shore
The black person was able to explain love
In all the oriental languages.

That city didn’t seem to be Istanbul as it were
I saw you looking with a roll of your eyes
At the rose you made it blossomed at the pavement across
Therefore
They hauled to each other animosity stones for years
Nişantaşı in the west, and in the east Üsküdar.


Therefore
I had lived so many twilights
I had suffered so much bitter cold
You may call all of them as a paranoia
But just have a look at this
Does it have a description in medicine?
Like a roll of fabric
They shouldered me near the tunnel
They plundered all my parts
By swearing at my past
That’s why my heart
Keeps burning and burning
As much as a greek house in Galata.

I know they will incriminate me for provocation
They will shout at my back by calling deportation
On every occasion I went out
The day I found out how to look at you
They sucked and wiped away the water of my eyes
That’s why I am not capable of crying
I presume you are my mother when I enter İstiklal Avenue
I start getting scattered like a broken rosary
An old architect introducing his old embroidery
At Yokuşbaşı to me
Saying, these are the original pieces, monsieur
And I drew their sketches with my hands.

Hasan Ildiz
English Translation by Mesut ŞENOL