Popular Turkish Love Lyrics and Folk Legends 9780815650980, 9780815609209

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Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

Middle East Literature in Translation Michael Beard and Adnan Haydar, Series Editors

Selected titles in Middle East Literature in Translation A Brave New Quest: 100 Modern Turkish Poems Talat S. Halman, ed. and trans.; Jayne L. Warner, assoc. ed. Canceled Memories: A Novel Nazik Saba Yared; Nadine Sinno, trans. İbrahim the Mad and Other Plays: An Anthology of Modern Turkish Drama, Volume One Talat S. Halman and Jayne L. Warner, eds. I, Anatolia and Other Plays: An Anthology of Modern Turkish Drama, Volume Two Talat S. Halman and Jayne L. Warner, eds. Moroccan Folktales Jilali El Koudia; Roger Allen, trans.; Hasan El-Shamy, ed. Nightingales and Pleasure Gardens: Turkish Love Poems Talat S. Halman, ed. and trans.; Jayne L. Warner, assoc. ed. Seasons of the Word: Selected Poems Hilmi Yavuz; Walter G. Andrews, trans. Sleeping in the Forest: Stories and Poems Sait Faik; Talat S. Halman, ed.; Jayne L. Warner, assoc. ed. Thou Shalt Not Speak My Language Abdelfattah Kilito; Waïl S. Hassan, trans. The Virgin of Solitude: A Novel Taghi Modarressi; Nasrin Rahimieh, trans.

Popular Turkish

Love Lyrics & Folk Legends Ta l at S . H a l m a n Illustrations by Zek i Fındıkoğlu Edited by Jayne L . War ner

Syracuse University Press

Copyright © 2009 by Syracuse University Press Syracuse, NY 13244-5160 All Rights Reserved First Syracuse University Press Edition 2009 09 10 11 12 13 14

6 5 4 3 2 1

∞ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992. .

For a listing of books published and distributed by Syracuse University Press, visit our Web site at SyracuseUniversityPress.syr.edu.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Halman, Talât Sait. Popular Turkish love lyrics & folk legends / Talât S. Halman ; edited by Jayne L. Warner ; illustrations by Zeki Fındıkoğlu. — 1st Syracuse University Press ed. p. cm. — (Middle East literature in translation) Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-8156-0920-9 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Folk poetry, Turkish—Translations into English. I. Warner, Jayne L. II. Fındıkoğlu, Zeki, 1946– III. Title. IV. Title: Popular Turkish love lyrics and folk legends. GR280.H258 2009 398.2'049433—dc22

2009026983

Manufactured in the United States of America

Contents Preface

vii

Note on Turkish Spelling and Guide to Pronunciation ix

Yunus Emre: “A Wild Duck of Passion” The Black Sheep

19

Pir Sultan Abdal: Poet as Rebel The Empty Cradle

27

39

Köroğlu: Hero in Love

47

The Gourd Bowl That Went Ticktock Karacaoğlan: A Bard’s Life of Love Suggested Further Reading Biographical Notes

1

83

79

57 65

Preface

A

vast repertoire of ancient mythologies that evolved on Anatolian soil teems with creation myths; Babylonian, Assyrian, and Hittite tales; Greek and Roman myths; Christian legends; and Islamic lore. Aesop came from Phrygia, not far from today’s Ankara. Probably born near presentday Izmir, Homer originally told his epic tales along what is Turkey’s Aegean coast. Turks—who began to gain control of Anatolia and its surrounding areas about a thousand years ago—brought with them their Central Asian culture, which was already rich in oral literature (poems, tales and legends, lullabies, and elegies), and their national epic known as the Dede Korkut tales—stories of nomadic life, heroic deeds, and love. The time-honored tradition of Turkish storytelling and folk poetry found fertile ground in Asia Minor. Conversion to Islam brought with it Arab and Persian cultural influences, particularly in the urban areas. In the countryside, however, poets, musicians, and storytellers remained quite loyal to their own conventions. In verse, the forms, rhyming patterns, style, vocabulary, basic themes, and other features of the folk tradition were retained. Tales and legends, too, preserved their established characteristics, although countless stories were adapted from Islamic lore through Arabic and Persian. In the thirteenth century, the greatest figure of Turkish humor emerged in the heartland of Anatolia—the irrepressible satirist, prankster, and story teller Nasreddin Hoca. He has remained ever popular throughout the Islamic world and beyond (China, Israel, and the Balkans) to our day. His vii

popularity is vast in Turkey; as a humorist, he is probably quoted more frequently than all other Turkish humorists put together. Many of his punch lines and gags have become common expressions. Nasreddin Hoca stands as the embodiment of Turkish popular humor and satire. Folk poems, lyrics, tales, and legends—along with music and dance—have accounted for the most important type of creative energy in rural Turkey. This volume brings together the life stories and selected poems of four great folk poets as well as three of the most beloved of Anatolian tales and legends. The seven sections of the book come alive with serigraphs of striking beauty and dramatic power. The artwork belongs to Zeki Fındıkoğlu, a son of Anatolia. Having traveled through many parts of rural Turkey since early childhood, he has an extraordinary sense of the stark and exuberant panorama in which heroes, poets, rebels, lovers, villains, peasants, and nomads enacted scenes from a life of tragedy and joy. Each section features four “visual experiences,” as I like to call them— extraordinary in their delineation of nature and human figures reveling in flowers, vivid in dramatic action, teeming with moods both stirring and sinister. Each series captures not only the splendor of nature in Anatolia, but also the quintessential spirit of the legends and the lyrics. Zeki Fındıkoğlu has gained renown for these and other serigraphs, which he has exhibited in the United States, Europe, and Turkey. Both Fındıkoğlu and I were raised on these legends, tales, and poems. We are grateful to our grandparents, parents, teachers, and others for telling them to us, as well as to the scholars who collected the material. As is usually the case with oral literature, there are many different versions of the stories and a huge number of variants of the poems. Such variation is part of the vitality of oral transmission. My retelling of the tales attempts to streamline them. In the translation of the poems, I try to retain the forms and rhyme sequences as much as possible. Most folk poems are almost impossible to render into any other language. I do hope these versions are not too much of a betrayal and that you will find Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends enjoyable. Talat S. Halman viii

 Preface

Note on Turkish Spelling and Guide to Pronunciation

F

or Turkish authors, place-names, publication titles, and special terms, this volume employs modern Turkish spelling. The pronunciation of the vowels and consonants is indicated in the following guide: a b c ç d e f g ğ h ı i j k l

(like gun); var. â (like are) (as in English) (like jade) (ch of chin) (as in English) (like pen) (as in English) (g of good) (makes preceding vowel longer) (h of half) (like second vowel of portable) (like it); var. î (like eat) (like measure) (k of king) (as in English)

m n o ö p r s ş t u ü v y z

(as in English) (as in English) (like eau in French) (like bird or French deux) (as in English) (r of rust) (s of sun) (sh of shine) (as in English) (like pull); var. û (like pool) (like tu in French) (as in English) (y of you) (as in English)

Of the twenty-nine characters in the Turkish alphabet, six do not exist in English: ç, ğ, ı, ö, ş, ü. The letters q, w, and x are not in the Turkish alphabet, although they may occur in foreign names. The letter ğ has its own ix

capital Ğ, but it never starts a word. The undotted ı and the dotted i are separate vowels whose distinctions are strictly observed in pronunciation and spelling. These two letters have their individual capitals as well: I and İ, respectively. Exceptions include words that have become common in English and appear in English dictionaries in anglicized forms. Proper names have been kept in modern Turkish with one major exception: İstanbul has been rendered with normal English spelling using I rather than İ unless it is part of a title. Considerable confusion persists in the spelling and forms of transliteration of earlier words, terms, and names. For centuries before and during the entirety of the Ottoman Empire, the Turkish language, which had an extensive vocabulary borrowed from Arabic and Persian, employed the Arabic script. The Turkish Republic, established in 1923, changed the orthography to a Latin typescript in 1928. Because no coherent system of spelling was created at the time of the transition from the Arabic to the Latin alphabet, extensive and frequent adjustments were made and continue to be made. The editor cautions that spelling variations persist. One example is the terminal d found in many prerepublican names; some of the same or similar names appear with a terminal t in recent decades.

 Shown phonetically, some of the principal names in this book should be pronounced as follows (′ indicates phonetic stress on syllable): Emre Fındıkoğlu Hacı Bektaş Hızır Karacaoğlan Köroğlu Pir Sultan Abdal Yunus Emre

x

Em-re′ Fın-dık′-oh-lu′ Hah-jı′ Bek-tahsh′ Hı-zır′ Kah-rah-djah′-oh-lahn′ Kö-roh-lu′ Peer Sool-tahn′ Ab-dahl′ Yoo-noose′ Em-re′

 Note on Turkish Spelling and Guide to Pronunciation

Yunus Emre “A Wild Duck of Passion”

Yunus Emre “A Wild Duck of Passion”

Go and let it be known to all lovers I am the man who gave his heart to love. I turn into the wild duck of passion, I am the one who takes the swiftest dive. From the waves of the sea I take water And offer it all the way to the skies. In adoration, like a cloud, I soar— I am the one who flies to the heavens above.

Y

unus Emre, one of the greatest figures of Turkish poetry, was a mystic who lived in Anatolia’s heartland in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries. He composed poems and hymns about the supremacy of human and divine love, as well as about the need for understanding among nations, ethnic communities, and religions. Yunus Emre’s simple, tender, stirring lyrics of love and peace have inspired Turks throughout the centuries. The United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) paid tribute to him by declaring 1991, the 750th anniversary of his birth in 1241, the “International Yunus Emre Year,” during which concerts, readings, symposia,

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lectures, exhibitions, broadcasts, and publications celebrated his memory in many countries. Very little is known about Yunus Emre’s life. There are no reliable documents. What we know about him, aside from what he mentions in his verses, may be found in legends that have come down through many centuries of oral tradition. He was probably a peasant by birth. Perhaps he was unable to read and write in early life. According to one legend, he went in search of seeds in exchange for the wild pear he picked on the Anatolian steppe during a time of famine. He happened to go into the headquarters of Hacı Bektaş Veli, the founder and leader of the Bektaşi sect that was beginning to spread a message of goodwill and tolerance. When Yunus asked Hacı Bektaş, a grand old man and a poet in his own right, if he could barter his wild pear for grain or seeds, Hacı Bektaş responded with a question: “Would you accept a blessing from us in exchange for each handful of wild pear?” Yunus rejected the offer. Then Ηacı Bektaş offered more: “How about ten blessings for each handful?” Yunus refused that offer as well. Thereupon, Hacı Bektaş said: “You don’t have to give us anything at all. But here is a sack full of grain. It is yours. A gift to you.” Yunus was overjoyed. On his way back to the village, he thought about what had happened and said to himself: “Ηacı Bektaş is such a great man. He was so generous to me. Anyone else would have resented my behavior, yet he gave me all this grain as a gift.” Yunus Emre rushed back and said to Hacı Bektaş: “Here’s your sack of grain. Please take it back and give me your blessing.”

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But the spiritual leader replied: “I cannot do that because we have turned over your padlock to Taptuk Emre.” “Padlοck,” among the mystics, implies that the initiate, who must embark on the search for God’s truth, has been assigned to a spiritual guide. Now Yunus had to find his guide and master Taptuk Emre. Taptuk Emre, according to legend, had originally come to Anatolia in the guise of a pigeon. As he was arriving, he was attacked and nearly killed by some fanatic traditionalists who appeared as eagles and refused to give him passage. Although wounded and bleeding, the bird of peace got by the cruel eagles. He was rescued by a peasant woman who showed compassion, healed the wounds, and set the bird in flight again. This is how, it is said, Taptuk Emre’s mystic spirit roamed from one end of Anatolia to the other. After a long and arduous search, Yunus finally found Taptuk Emre and entered his congregation. There, for the proverbial forty years, he led an ascetic life. He toiled, contemplated, prayed, and sought spiritual communion. One day at a gathering of the faithful, Taptuk Emre asked a poet to compose poems extemporaneously, but the poet failed. Then Taptuk Emre asked Yunus to try: “What Hacı Bektaş once told you is at last a reality. Your padlock is now unlocked.” Up to this point, Yunus had not been known to have composed poems, but his poetic gifts had obviously been flowering. He broke into ecstatic verse, and the congregation became rapturous. From that day on, Yunus was recognized as a great poet and mystic. He composed scores of poems in plain, lilting Turkish, expressing the joys

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of love and the triumph of the human spirit. My Lord granted me such a heart, At once, it began to adore . . . Now, one moment it basks in joy; Next moment its tears start to pour. One moment it seems like a bird In the dead of winter, stranded. Next moment it revels—gardens And orchards are born at its core. One moment it becomes tongue-tied And leaves all things unclarified. Next moment, pearls spill from its mouth: To those who suffer, it gives cure. One moment it soars to the heavens— Then it descends into the earth . . . One moment it seems like a drop, Then becomes the ocean whose waves roar. Yunus Emre believed in the godliness of the human being in love and invited everyone to friendship, the good life, and the joy of beauty: God permeates the whole wide world, Yet his truth is revealed to none. You had better seek Him in yourself, You and He aren’t apart—you’re one.

Y u n us E m r e  7

The other world lies beyond sight. Here on earth we must live upright. Exile is torment, pain, and blight. No one comes back once he is gone. Come, let us all be friends for once, Let us make life easy on us, Let us be lovers and loved ones, The earth shall be left to no one. To you, what Yunus says is clear, Its meaning is in your heart’s ear: We should all live the good life here Because nobody will live on. A universalist, Yunus Emre had faith in the equality of all and in the ecumenical spirit: We regard no one’s religion as contrary to ours, True love is born when all faiths are united as a whole. --For those who truly love God and His ways All the people of the world are brothers and sisters. --Mystic is what they call me: Hate is my only enemy; I harbor a grudge against no one, To me the whole wide world is one.

Y u n us E m r e  9

Reveling in the nobility of the human spirit, Yunus Emre declared: “Whatever you love—that is your faith.” Some of his most beautiful poems are celebrations of pantheism and ecumenical visions: With the mountains and rocks I call you out, my God; With the birds as day breaks I call you out, my God. With Jesus in the sky, Moses on Mount Sinai, Raising my scepter high, I call you out, my God. For him, pure faith in the heart had greater significance than organized religion: You had better seek God right in your own heart; He is neither in the Holy Land nor in Mecca. With these powerful statements, Yunus Emre had become a force to contend with. So much of what he said went against the dogma of the Middle Ages that traditionalists soon began to regard him as a foe. According to a widely told story, a dogmatist by the name of Molla Kasım decided to destroy the transcriptions of Yunus Emre’s poems. Getting hold of all the poems, he sat on a river bank and started tearing up the

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“heretical” ones and throwing them into the river. After having destroyed about two-thirds of them, he caught a glimpse of a poem whose last couplet had Yunus Emre’s prediction about Molla Kasım’s destructive act. In the couplet, Yunus Emre had warned himself: Dervish Yunus, utter no word that is not true: For a Molla Kasım will come to cross-examine you. When Molla Kasım read this prediction, he realized Yunus’s greatness, and he immediately stopped destroying the poems. It is said that the poems that have come down to us are those that escaped destruction in this way, but, in the process, two-thirds of Yunus Emre’s entire poetic output was presumably obliterated. And Yunus Emre, as a mystic and humanist, continued to challenge the so-called fundamentalists: A single visit into the heart is Better than a hundred pilgrimages. --The man who doesn’t see the nations of the world as οne Is a rebel even if the pious claim he’s holy. --If you break a true believer’s heart once, It’s no prayer to God—this obeisance. --True faith is in the head, not in the headgear.

Y u n us E m r e  11

--The man who feels the marvels of true love Abandons his religion and nation. Although a devout Muslim, Yunus Emre sometimes even questioned God: True, I sinned—brutalized my own being, But what have I done against you, my King? Did I make myself? I’m your creation. Why drench me in sin, Benevolent One? Did your dominion become any less? Did I usurp any of your prowess? Are you hungry? Did I eat your ration? Did I deprive you, cause your starvation? Do you still seek revenge though you killed me, Since I rotted, since darkest soil filled me? You set a scale to weigh deeds, for your aim Is to hurl me into Hell’s crackling flame. Yunus Emre, in the deepest mystical sense, interfused human and divine love: God is the great Beloved, and “Whoever possesses one drop of love shares God’s existence.” The mystic yearns for reunion with the loved one and for communion with God. Many poems in the mystical tradition might be addressed to a human being or to God or to both at the same time:

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 Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

I have these eyes of mine to see your face; I have hands only to seek your embrace. Today I shall set my soul on the road So that tomorrow I can reach your place. The longing for the Beloved is passionate—and often painful: Your love tore me away from me: It’s you I need, it’s you I crave. Night and day, I burn ceaselessly: It’s you I need, it’s you I crave. Wealth and life don’t cause me to thrive, Nor poverty and death to grieve; My only solace is your love: It’s you I need, it’s you I crave. It’s called Heaven or Paradise: It’s some mansions and some houris; Give them to those who desire these. It’s you I need, it’s you I crave. Mystic Yunus: that is my name. Each passing day rouses my flame. My aim in both worlds is the same: It’s you I need, it’s you I crave. One of Yunus Emre’s most dramatic poems tells the story of the mystical search:

Y u n us E m r e  13

Desiring to find the loved one In this world, no matter how vast, Over the earth, hither and yon, Through the heavens, I roamed aghast. The universe was in my ken: I saw God’s throne, tablet, and pen; Science and the Books were proven In revelations I amassed. The Providence that casts this spell And speaks so many tongues to tell, Transcends the earth, Heaven, and Hell, But is contained in this heart’s cast. This yearning tormented my mind: I searched the heavens and the ground; I looked and looked, but failed to find. I found him inside man at last. And with absolute faith, Yunus Emre was able to proclaim: I was born with divine love. Death is for beasts, it is not the lover’s destiny. I love you, so the hand of death can never touch me. Yunus Emre’s humanism emphasizes understanding and mutual forgiveness. He wished well even for people who stood against him:

Y u n us E m r e  15

If some people oppose me as my foes, May God become a loving friend of those: May each one come upon a rose-garden And the spring season wherever he goes. If one of them offers poison to me For food, may he get honey and candy. And he celebrated the world in all its beauty: The world is a young bride dressed in bright red and green; Look on and on, you can’t have enough of such a bride. He spurned worldly possessions and political power, which lacked value in comparison to love: Let all the lovers rejoice: Love is the exalted state. Yunus Emre offered to his people and to the world rhapsodies of powerful love: If I rub my face on the ground, My new moon would rise in the skies, Winter and summer become spring. To me all days are holidays. Let no cloud cast a tall shadow On the gleaming light of my moon, Whose fullness must never grow dim: From earth to sky its glimmer sprays.

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From the heart’s solitary cell Its glitter drives out the darkness. How can that gloom be squeezed into The same cell with the piercing rays? I see my moon right here on earth. What would I do with all the skies? Rains of mercy pour down on me From this ground where I fi x my gaze. What if Yunus is a lover? Many are the lovers of God. Yunus, too, bows his head because The lovers of God are ablaze. UNESCO celebrated Yunus Emre because he declared, “The world is my true ration, / Its people are my nation.” He was also celebrated because he asked for all-embracing affection: “Don’t look down on anyone, never break a heart; / The mystic must love all seventy-two nations.” People who know the excitement of love cherish him because he knew “When love arrives, all needs and flaws are gone” and because he made such powerful statements as “I love you beyond the depths of my soul.” Those who believe in the prospect of world peace and international solidarity admire his humanitarian spirit nurtured in love: I am not here on earth for strife, Love is the mission of my life.

Y u n us E m r e  17

The Black Sheep

The Black Sheep

A

lonesome shepherd sat near the fountain and played his flute as his herd grazed. The lovely daughter of the region’s biggest landowner came to the fountain for a drink of water. She was more beautiful and more graceful than any young woman he had ever laid eyes on. It was love at first sight. The young shepherd played his flute all day long, clamoring for her, and spent many sleepless nights yearning for her. One day he put his flute down and talked to his black sheep: “I tell you, I’ve fallen desperately in love with our lord’s daughter. She has no inkling that I’m in love with her. Actually, she doesn’t even know who I am. Besides, she is the daughter of an important rich man, and I am a nobody.” At that moment, the girl happened to be walking on the other side of the bushes and heard everything the shepherd said to the black sheep. He was saying: “Hope against hope, I wish she would sense my love and give me a single strand of her hair. Even that would make me rejoice.” Next morning, the girl wrapped a single strand of her hair around a red rose and left it on the shepherd’s path. The shepherd was beside himself with joy. Thus began their secret love affair. The lovely girl and the lonesome shepherd met by the fountain . . . by the bushes . . . in the meadows. He recited poems and told stories. And he

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played his flute: joyous melodies, sad strains, lilting tunes. The girl fell in love with him and with his exquisite music. One day the shepherd summoned up enough courage and went before the feudal lord to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. The father was incensed, but his daughter pleaded: “The heart is a strange bird,” she said. “It sometimes perches on the bald mountain, sometimes on a rose shrub. My heart has perched on this man who plays heavenly melodies on his flute.” The lord relented, but set an arduous condition for the marriage. He said to the humble shepherd: “They tell me you are the best flute player anyone has ever heard anywhere. That’s your only asset. You must first prove your worth as a musician.” A test was set up. For three days and three nights, the sheep were given no water—only salt. Then, one morning, as the people lined up, the flock was released and started its thirsty stampede to the stream. The shepherd was expected to play his flute so enchantingly that he would lure the sheep away from the water. As he played desperately, the sheep one by one turned away—except for his one black sheep, which paid no attention and ran headlong. When it was two or three short steps away from the stream, the flute uttered such poignant, sorrowful sounds that the black sheep, too, stopped and ran back to the shepherd. Triumphant, the shepherd could now marry the lovely girl. Having witnessed what the shepherd was able to accomplish with his flute, the people cheered the young couple, wishing them lifelong happiness.

T h e Bl ack Sh e e p  23

But the prospective bride’s father announced that the wedding would take place the following spring. The shepherd was taken aback; out of respect, however, he raised no objection. Heartbroken, he went up to the mountains with his flock. Meanwhile, the mean lord decided to marry his daughter to the son of another wealthy landowner. She was shattered, but in those days it was impossible for a daughter to rebel. So she bowed her head and obeyed. Word reached the shepherd up in the mountains on the day of the wedding. (Legend has it that the black sheep got wind of the marriage and gave him the news.) With a bleeding heart and tearful eyes, the shepherd ran down to the valley where the wedding festivity was to take place and caught up with the procession. “Listen, everybody,” he implored. All the riders stopped. “I am too poor to present a gift to the bride. But would you kindly allow the shepherd to play a tune as his gift?” And he played such a heartrending tune that all the riders stood transfi xed. Then the lord shouted: “Ride on!” As the horses began to lunge forward, the shepherd threw himself under the hoofs of the bride’s horse and was crushed to death. His beloved gave a shriek and fell off her horse—and she, too, died instantly. They buried the star-crossed lovers side by side on the meadow. Red roses bloom on her grave, and white roses on his. Every day at dusk, a black sheep visits their graves, and the shepherd’s heart-piercing music echoes through the hills and valleys.

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Pir Sultan Abdal Poet as Rebel

Pir Sultan Abdal Poet as Rebel

n the sixteenth century, Pir Sultan Abdal emerged as a folk hero who raised his poetic voice against oppression and injustice. Among many generations of Turkish rebel poets, he stands as a towering figure. He was a powerful member of a Shiite sect opposed to the Ottoman ruling establishment, which belonged to the Sunni mainstream. (Pir means “sage,” and abdal “a dervish-troubadour”; sultan is a reference not to a monarch, but to a spiritual leader.) There is virtually no reliable document about his life. Only his poems and several legends about him have survived in the oral tradition. Among his students and followers was one Hızır, who asked his master for permission to seek his fortune in the Ottoman imperial capital, Istanbul. Pir Sultan Abdal made the following prediction as he gave Hızır his leave: “I shall give you my permission with my blessings. You will achieve greatness and high status. When you come to a position of power, you will betray me and have me killed.” Hızır vigorously protested. Assuring Pir Sultan Abdal of his lifelong loyalty, he mounted his horse and galloped toward Istanbul, where he swift ly advanced to high ranks in the Ottoman military and eventually earned the title of pasha.

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In the meantime, in the heartland of Anatolia, surrounded by wild roses and enchanting birds, Pir Sultan Abdal spread his message of love, beauty, and justice. His poems were recited in many parts of the Ottoman realm, even during the reign of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent (1520–66) when Ottoman power was at its zenith. Pir Sultan Abdal challenged that power: In Istanbul he must come down: The sovereign with his sultan’s crown. Legend has it that he became the leader of a popular uprising and urged kindred spirits to join the rebellion: Come, soul brothers, let’s band together, Brandish our swords against the godless And restore the poor people’s rights. In his poems, he asked for the overthrow of the Ottoman dynasty and the killing of the sultan. He was equally vehement in lashing out against local officials who suppressed the underprivileged. Some of his strongest denunciations were leveled against religious judges, who in turn handed down harsh verdicts to crush Pir Sultan Abdal’s rebellious movement. But the courageous poet struck back: You great big judge with that big head! Do you have any faith at all? You devour all things good and bad. Do you have any faith at all?

Pİ r Su lta n A bda l  31

Your verdicts are all false, you hack! Like swine you fi lch. You fill your sack. I’d put a saddle on your back— You’re worse than any animal. You talk of faith that you don’t heed, You shun God’s truth, command, and creed; A judge will always feed his greed— Is Satan worse than this devil? I’m Pir Sultan: Our kith and kin, Our famous men are genuine; Our dogs won’t eat food touched by sin. In what I say there is no guile. Dogs hold a special significance in the lore of Pir Sultan Abdal, whose dogs—unlike some officials and judges who devoured anything—refused to eat food tainted by dirty dealings and dishonest money. In the city of Sivas in central eastern Anatolia, where Pir Sultan Abdal lived, there were two judges, one called “Yellow Judge,” the other “Black Judge.” Both took bribes and served the interests of the rulers and feudal lords. According to legend, Pir Sultan Abdal named his two dogs “Yellow Judge” and “Black Judge.” When the judges summoned him to court to interrogate him about this insult, he said defiantly: “My dogs are better than you. You gobble up all sorts of unsavory things. But my dogs never touch anything illegitimate.”

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And he demonstrated to the court that his two dogs would sniff unclean food, sneer at it, and refuse to take a bite. Meanwhile, Hızır Pasha had been appointed governor of the Sivas region. In a gesture of loyalty to his old master, he invited Pir Sultan Abdal to a dinner where sumptuous food was served. The poet, however, sat at the table and would not touch anything. When Hızır Pasha asked why, he explained: “You are on the wrong path. You have done terrible things to poor, defenseless, innocent people. Your food is unclean. I will not touch it. Even my dogs will not touch it.” Again, his dogs proved Pir Sultan Abdal right. Infuriated, Hızır Pasha gave orders to have Pir Sultan Abdal thrown into the Sivas dungeon. Imprisonment did not silence the poet, though. He continued to compose poems about his ideals, defying the judges who threatened to “cut off the tongue” of anyone spreading the message of the sect to which Pir Sultan Abdal belonged. The poet simply refused to yield. He even challenged Hızır Pasha and the reigning sultan: Come on, man! There, Hızır Pasha! Your wheel is bound to snap in two; You placed your faith in your sultan: Someday, though, he will tumble too! As a final resort, Hızır Pasha made an attempt at reconciliation. He had Pir Sultan Abdal brought before him and asked the poet to recite three poems not devoted to the sect’s ideas and heroes.

Pİ r Su lta n A bda l  33

So Pir Sultan Abdal recited three poems, but all of them glorified the sect, its doctrine, and its hallowed leaders. Hızır Pasha, who had planned to release the poet, now condemned him to death. As his men were busy putting up the gallows, Hızır Pasha issued another order, asking the people of Sivas to be present at the hanging and to stone the poet. On the eve of the hanging, Pir Sultan Abdal sent word to the people that no one should mourn his death because he was dying for a glorious cause and achieving eternal life. As the noose was placed around Pir Sultan Abdal’s neck, Hızır Pasha’s armed men forced the onlookers to cast stones at him. Ali Baba, one of the poet’s lifelong supporters, threw a red rose. And the poet recited a short verse ending with the following lines: The stones cast by those strangers don’t touch me; I am wounded by the rose of my friend. Legend has it that Pir Sultan Abdal survived the hanging. He had been left on the gallows, and some hours later his disciples came and carried him away, alive. Later, when Hızır Pasha finally arrived, he saw an empty noose and no corpse. When he interrogated the townspeople, one of them said: “I saw him this morning. He was on his way to Koçhisar in the west.” Another said: “I saw him walking south toward Malatya.” And someone else said: “No, he was going north to Yenihan.” Hızır Pasha ordered his men to jump on their horses and find him on one of those roads. By that time, goes the story, Pir Sultan Abdal had crossed the bridge over the Kızılırmak (the Red River, ancient Halys).

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When he saw the men on the other side, he said to the bridge: “Lie low!” The bridge collapsed and sank into the river. Hızır Pasha’s men went back empty-handed. It is said that Pir Sultan Abdal traveled to Khorasan (the northeastern region of present-day Iran) and lived there many, many years. And his poems, so powerful in their defiance of injustice and oppression, have been kept alive by many generations.

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The Empty Cradle

The Empty Cradle

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nomad chieftain and his wife had gone childless for many years. Wise men advised them to move to another steppe or up to a plateau. “A child, an heir might come,” they were told, “on fresh soil, under a brave new sky.” So the chieftain and his wife decided to migrate with their tribe. They roamed the steppes; they went over hill and dale. Everywhere, they prayed for a son and gave their offerings. But their prayers went unanswered. Hoping for a child, the chieftain and his wife and the tribe pressed their search for the promised land. Seven long years later, the couple was blessed with a baby boy. The whole tribe rejoiced. They sent messengers to all the tribes in the region, inviting them to a big feast that would last “forty days and forty nights.” From all over, thousands of horsemen came galloping with their wives and children. The heir’s birth was celebrated with lavish festivities—marvelous food and luscious drinks, music and dancing, games and laughter. . . . Everyone had a wonderful time. Come winter, the tribe moved on. They wrapped the infant in a thick, warm red carpet. They placed him in a cradle that they securely fastened onto a camel’s back.

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The tribe forged ahead singing joyful songs. One day, though, it entered a dark, dense forest where giant trees were intertwined. The tribe trembled with fear. Suddenly, a violent wind wreaked havoc. Even the towering trees began to sway and crackle. Men, women, children, horses, and camels ran every which way. At dawn, the tribe emerged from the treacherous forest. Everyone was happy to see the camel carrying the cradle. But soon they noticed that the baby boy was gone. His mother, nearly out of her mind, dashed back into the forest and was followed by others. They searched high and low. They parted the branches and begged the plane trees to tell them where the baby was. Just as they were about to abandon hope, they saw eagles hovering over an oak tree and the red carpet hanging on one of its branches. They realized that the eagles, pecking away, had torn the poor little child to pieces. Screaming, the distraught mother ran into the darkest part of the forest and was never seen again. But from the heart of the forest, they heard her song of lament. Her song echoed far and wide. Her words were clear: My baby is gone: I have lost my mind; He laid me waste, left my ashes behind. Now there was a glimmer of hope in the eyes of the chieftain and his tribe. They spurred their horses on in the direction of that sad voice. They looked behind all the trees and bushes. They left no stone unturned. But they failed to find her, dead or alive.

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When they finally decided to leave the forest, the chieftain said: “Either I find my wife—or I die.” He rode on toward his wife’s voice. He, too, was never seen again. The tribe returned to its winter campsite to lead a life of sorrow. As soon as spring came, they went searching again. They soon heard the gentle strains of that lament in the distance: “My baby is gone. . . . ” They roamed hills and valleys, meadows and mountains. But they never found their chieftain and his wife. Wherever they went, the song of lament never left them. The mother’s elegy has echoed for centuries all over Anatolia.

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 Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

Köroğlu Hero in Love

Köroğlu Hero in Love

ew folk heroes have been as famous in Anatolia as has Köroğlu, who probably lived in the sixteenth century. Like many Ottomans who achieved fame, he wrote or sang poems. He is remembered for his heroic deeds, his loves, and his lyrics. He was a legend in life, and succeeding generations have celebrated him as a symbol of courage in deed and in words. The name “Köroğlu” literally means “blind man’s son,” and it was given to him as a result of a tragic incident that took place when he was a little boy and his father had worked as a groom for the bey of Bolu, a feudal lord feared as a cruel man. One day the lord asked his groom to buy a young horse, and Hasan the groom selected a gray one that his master thought was too weak. As a result, a henchman was ordered to gouge out Hasan’s eyes. The groom was then put on the horse and sent out into nowhere. At long last, Hasan found his way home—in excruciating pain, exhausted in body and broken in spirit. When his son saw what the lord had done, he made a vow to himself to take revenge in due course. As years went by, the blind man and his son trained the Gray Horse, which became strong and swift and beautiful.

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When Köroğlu was old enough, he asked his father’s permission to leave for the mountains, where he would start his rebel movement against the lord. Köroğlu and his Gray Horse soon became legendary. From the mountains, where he and his followers set up their rebel force, he would sometimes venture into land owned by the bey of Bolu. One time, the bey’s men stopped him, and a fight broke out. Single-handedly, Köroğlu killed half of them, and the other half ran for their lives. This dramatic episode brought even wider fame to the heroic rebel. Then, in a poem (one of the most celebrated poems in Turkish), Köroğlu issued his challenge to the lord of Bolu: Here I send my greetings to the bey of Bolu! He should come up these hills and get his comeuppance As the rustling of arrows keeps echoing through And the clanking of shields resounds off the mountains. The cruel lord assembled a large, well-armed force to confront Köroğlu and his followers. This was a powerful threat because the bey’s men were armed to the teeth with rifles, whereas Köroğlu’s men had only bows and arrows. In the same poem, Köroğlu tells the story: Then we were faced with legions of the enemy And on our brows appeared dark words of destiny. Rifles were invented—that ruined bravery: Now the curved sword has to stay in its sheath and rust. But Köroğlu and his braves never lost their indomitable spirit:

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 Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

Even so, Köroğlu’s heroic fame will glow! Enemies will flee as I deal blow after blow, Covered with all that froth from my Gray Horse’s mouth And with my trousers steeped in the blood of the foe! When people in nearby villages heard that their hero’s forces were vastly outnumbered, they rushed to give Köroğlu their support. Most of them did not even have bows and arrows, let alone rifles, so they brought their pickaxes and shovels. The bey was frightened by this massive turnout of support, by these multitudes ready to give their lives for the rebel cause, and he ordered his army to retreat. Köroğlu rejoiced . . . The hero holds fast, cowards flee, The battlefield rumbles and roars. Supreme king’s court opens its doors: The palace shakes, rumbles, and roars. The proud hero will never yield. His arrows pound the battlefield; When his mace strikes hard at the shield That huge shield shakes, rumbles, and roars. Arrows are shot from his fortress. May God save you from that distress! Hearing Köroğlu’s battle cries, Every place shakes, rumbles, and roars.

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Brave Köroğlu thus put an end to the bey’s oppression in that region of Anatolia. As a dashing young poet, Köroğlu had many love affairs and celebrated a life of dedication to beauty and service. Whenever the people needed protection from injustice, Köroğlu was ready to defend them. The dauntless spirit of the Anatolian people is embodied in the passionate heroism and the resounding poems of Köroğlu, who remains a revered figure in the folklore of present-day Turkey.

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The Gourd Bowl That Went Ticktock

The Gourd Bowl That Went Ticktock

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he woodsman’s wife died, leaving him and their daughter Fatma behind. Some time later, the woodsman took a new wife, but she had a daughter by her previous marriage and wanted Fatma out of the house. The woodsman was a weak man—he let his new wife talk him into abandoning his own daughter. He took his beloved girl to the woods and told her to play by herself among the flowerbeds. Meanwhile, he said he would be cutting down trees: “I’ll be near enough. You can hear my axe.” He walked away. He tied a gourd bowl to the trunk of a tree in the distance and then disappeared. While Fatma played or lay on her back among all those lovely flowers, she felt secure—she thought her father was in the woods nearby chopping down trees. But all she heard was the gourd bowl banging against the tree in the wind. After a while, though, she sensed that there was no one around. She ran to the tree and realized what her father had done. Poor little Fatma was left all by herself:

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The little gourd bowl goes ticktock: It leaves me all alone, in shock. She did not know her way back. She was lost. She walked on and on till she came to another forest, where she saw a mansion owned by an old woman who lived there with her cats. The old woman took a liking to Fatma and hired her to look after the cats. Fatma did a wonderful job. As the years passed, Fatma grew smarter and came up with a plan to find her way back to her father’s house. She asked the old woman for permission to leave. The old woman wished her good luck. “But,” she said, “I’d better wash your hair before you leave.” As soon as she washed and dried Fatma’s hair, gold started to stream down on the right-hand side of her head and silver on the left-hand side. Fatma began to run in the direction she had figured out, until she was finally able to see her family home in the distance. Roosters standing on heaps of garbage crowed to announce her return. The stepmother ran outside and heard Fatma screaming: “We’re going to be rich! Rich!” At first, the stepmother didn’t believe her, but when Fatma washed her hair and the braids rained gold and silver . . . The stepmother was a very greedy woman. She said to Fatma, “I want you to take my daughter to that old woman at once!” Fatma took her stepsister to the mansion. The old woman gave the little girl the same task.

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 Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

But when she noticed that the girl was not taking care of the cats the way she was supposed to, she dismissed her. The girl nevertheless insisted on getting the magic secret. “By all means,” said the old woman, “it’s all yours.” The little girl ran home to her mother, who didn’t waste a moment in washing her hair. As water kept coming down on her head, the right braid turned into a snake, and the left braid into . . . a huge centipede. As the stepmother and her daughter stood there awestruck, the snake and the giant centipede attacked and killed them. With the stepmother and her daughter gone, Fatma and her father lived a life of peace and quiet, enjoying the beauty of the Anatolian soil and sky.

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 Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

Karacaoğlan A Bard’s Life of Love

Karacaoğlan A Bard’s Life of Love

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aracaoğlan was a captivating folk poet who took pleasure in capturing young women’s hearts. He was handsome, with dark features and soulful eyes. His love poems are among the most enchanting in the Turkish language. He accompanied himself on a simple string instrument called the saz as he sang these poems. The poet improvised many of them when he was inspired by the delights of nature or the beauty of women. Some of Karacaoğlan’s lyrics are sad or satirical, though. This “bard of love” lived in the seventeenth century (no one really knows his years of birth and death). He was probably raised among the Turcoman tribes in the southern part of Anatolia, in the Taurus region. But during his long life—he lived to be seventy or possibly eighty—he roamed far and wide, singing his poems in innumerable places. He went to towns and villages in Anatolia and visited Egypt, Tripoli, and the Balkans. His fame spread throughout the rural areas of the Ottoman Empire. His life of love, poetry, and music became legendary. Today, people all over Turkey cherish his simple, melodious, touching lyrics. Few folk poets’ verses, songs, and stories are as popular as Karacaoğlan’s. In his youth, when Karacaoğlan was passing through one town giving his recitals, which held the local people spellbound, and strumming his saz, he came upon a rose-garden at the edge of the town. As he grew

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ecstatic from the vivid colors and the exquisite smell of the roses, his eyes suddenly fell on an indescribably beautiful girl who sauntered among the flowerbeds. She was smelling the roses with great sensual delight. She tenderly stroked some of them as she walked by. Karacaoğlan stood there, bewitched. He was already feeling in his heart the flames of love—and so, unable to restrain himself, he broke into song. It was a song of passion and yearning, a rhapsody of delirium. The lovely young woman took a few steps toward him and listened heart and soul. When the song was over, she started to walk away without uttering a word. Alarmed that he might never lay eyes on her again, the poet implored: “You are the loveliest of all lovely women. Please stay a while. At least tell me your name!” She hesitated. Then, in a barely audible voice, she said: “Elif.” Karacaoğlan was struck by the symbolic significance of “Elif,” a name common among the Turks for many centuries. It is derived from aleph, the first letter of the Arabic alphabet, with the numerical value of 1. Now, for the young poet, this slender girl was the beginning of all things. To him, she was the fount of youth and the source of love. Elif stood there, the epitome of gracefulness, dainty as a leaf. They exchanged a few polite words. Like everyone else in that part of the country, Elif had heard of Karacaoğlan, but this was the first time she had seen him or heard his singing. After a few sentences, she revealed that she was married and had children. Karacaoğlan was distressed—he had found and lost his beloved in the same instant.

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 Popular Turkish Love Lyrics & Folk Legends

He also found out that she came from a well-to-do family and could read and write. She certainly would not respond easily to just any man’s advances. She frowned—and Karacaoğlan was shattered. Desperately in love at first sight, the young minstrel began to serenade this exquisite woman. He chanted a lyric poem that has enchanted the Turks for more than three centuries now. The poem celebrates her among the many splendors of nature and bemoans the pain inflicted by unrequited love: With its tender flakes, snow flutters about, Keeps falling, calling out “Elif . . . Elif . . . ” This frenzied heart of mine wanders about Like a minstrel, calling out “Elif . . . Elif . . . ” Elif’s robe is embroidered all over; Her eyes—like a baby goshawk’s—glower. She smells lovely like a highland flower, With those scents calling out “Elif . . . Elif . . . ” When she frowns, her glance is a dart that goes Into my heart: I fall into death’s throes. In her white hand she holds a pen—she knows What she writes, calling out “Elif . . . Elif . . . ” Right in front of her home a trellis stands; There’s Elif, holding glasses in her hands. It’s as if a duck whose head has green strands Gently floats, calling out “Elif . . . Elif . . . ”

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I am the Minstrel: your slave for my part. There’s no love for other belles in my heart. Unbuttoning the shirt, I tear apart The collars, calling out “Elif . . . Elif . . . ” Rumors were afoot among the people who heard these poems and songs that the handsome minstrel lavished on Elif. When her husband heard the rumors, he asked the region’s feudal lord to take action. Already in trouble because of his satirical poems criticizing the powers that be, Karacaoğlan was forced to leave town and his beloved Elif. During his travels, he fell in love again—this time with the daughter of another lord. He had just arrived in a town where he noticed a large gathering in front of a luxurious mansion. They told him that the lord was holding a contest among poets. Karacaoğlan went in and sang a few of his love lyrics. Everyone was spellbound, and he was declared the winner. The lord became his patron and often invited him to recite and sing. Karacaoğlan found the lord’s daughter Suna adorable, but he was cautious and circumspect. One day, when he was strumming his saz in the garden, Suna came to him and said, “I just love your poems. Would you please compose a poem for me? Please . . . ” Karacaoğlan broke into song immediately. For his Suna, he sang a poem that started with Loveliest of all, how lovelier you are now Since no one else saw you, no one laid eyes on you: That black lovelock of yours is curled up on your brow Since there is no braid on it, just no braid on you.

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And it ended with Call, go on, keep calling out, Karacaoğlan: The rock weighs heavy only in its own place. The brave young man might cool off if his loved one Gives him no embrace, gives him no loving embrace. So a passionate love affair started between Suna and the poet. Before long, however, her father heard about the affair and was so furious that he had Karacaoğlan thrown into jail. After some time, Suna found a way of helping him escape. About to leave, Karacaoğlan begged her to elope with him, but she was reluctant to abandon her family’s life of wealth and power for a wandering poet’s life of hardship. So Karacaoğlan bade farewell and went on the road all by himself. Wherever he went, he was never without the company of beautiful women. They took a fancy to him . . . many of them chased him . . . they cherished his love lyrics. Karacaoğlan always responded affectionately. When he ran into three wonderful beauties who did a special dance for him, he mused heartily and a bit naughtily: If I were to love the elders the best, Wouldn’t that be unfair to the youngest? The great Anatolian minstrel spent the rest of his life roaming villages and towns, hills and valleys. He had countless love affairs and composed tender lyrics as well as erotic poems for the women he loved.

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Some of his poems, however, also express a chilling fear of death. It was as if the poet kept traveling far and wide to make it impossible for death to catch up with him: Death, do not tire yourself out by stalking me; Be gone for a while, Death, come some other time. You won’t spare me, you shall have me in the end; Be gone for a while, Death, come some other time. I often roamed from this highland to that plain Where I would eat, drink, be merry, entertain. I kept fleeing from you, yet you came again. Death, be gone for a while, come some other time. Howling like the gray wolf has not been my fate. This false world I can neither praise nor berate. With friends and loved ones I failed to congregate. Be gone for a while, Death, come some other time. I am the Minstrel who is gripped by dismay In the garden where nightingales sing and play. Stop! You snatched my father and mother away— Be gone for a while, come some other time, Death. The people of Anatolia feel that Karacaoğlan has escaped death because his lovely poems and songs have achieved immortality.

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Sug gested Further Reading Biographical Notes

Sug gested Further Reading nglish-language publications relating to Turkish folk literature are scarce, but by and large of an admirably high quality. The Dede Korkut tales—twelve interrelated tales of nomadic life, heroic deeds, and love—is the major Turkish national epic. It has twice been translated into English: The Book of Dede Korkut: A Turkish Epic, edited and translated by Faruk Sümer, Ahmet E. Uysal, and Warren S. Walker (Lubbock: University of Texas Press, 1972; reprint, 1991), and The Book of Dede Korkut, translated by Geoffrey Lewis (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1974). Hundreds of other tales have also appeared in reliable, readable editions. The gaping void is in folk poetry, which is inherently very difficult, in many cases impossible, to translate. As a result, this vital tradition that spans a millennium remains a terra incognita in English. Among the most accessible collections of Turkish tales are Barbara K. Walker’s two-volume The Art of the Turkish Tale (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 1990, 1993) as well as Warren S. Walker and Ahmet E. Uysal’s Tales Alive in Turkey (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1966) and More Tales Alive in Turkey (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 1992). Interesting collections, mainly for juvenile readers, include Fairy Tales from Turkey (London: Routledge, 1946) by Margery Kent; Turkish Fairy Tales (Chicago: Follett, 1963; reprint, 1968) by Eleanor Brockett; and Turkish Fairy Tales (Princeton, New Jersey: Van Nostrand, 1964) by Selma Ekrem. Barbara K. Walker produced several enchanting children’s books, including Just Say Hiç (Chicago: Follett, 1965); Hilili and Dilili (Chicago: 79

Follett, 1965); Stargazer to the Sultan (New York: Parents Magazine, 1967); Once There Was and Twice There Wasn’t (Chicago: Follett, 1968); Watermelons, Walnuts, and the Wisdom of Allah and Other Tales of the Hoca (New York: Parents Magazine, 1967); Korolu, the Singing Bandit (New York: T. Y. Crowell, 1970); and A Treasury of Turkish Folktales for Children (Hamden, Connecticut: Linnet, 1988). Interest in Nasreddin Hoca, the thirteenth-century wit and raconteur, has steadily grown since the first English-language collection of his tales published in the mid–nineteenth century. Several dozen Hoca collections in English have been published in England, the United States, Turkey, and elsewhere. Among them is a retelling by Aziz Nesin, Turkey’s foremost modern satirist, The Tales of Nasrettin Hoca, translated by Talat S. Halman and illustrated by Zeki Fındıkoğlu (Istanbul: Dost, 1988), and Nasreddin Hoca: Folk Narratives from Turkey, by Seyfi Karabaş (Ankara: Middle East Technical University Press, 1996). A charming collection of traditional Turkish tales is The Delights of Turkey (New York: New Directions, 1977), edited and translated by Edouard Roditi. The Turkish Folklore Reader (1971), edited by İlhan Başgöz, features prose and poetry in Turkish with analyses and annotations in English. Studies in Turkish Folklore (1978), essays in honor of the late Professor Pertev Naili Boratav, renowned as “the dean of Turkish folklorists,” edited by İlhan Başgöz and Mark Glazer, includes a number of excellent scholarly articles. Both volumes were published by Indiana University Press. İlhan Başgöz’s Hikâye: Turkish Folk Romance as Performance Art (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2008) provides vivid descriptions of a selection of engaging tales and the singers who perform them. For a small selection of folk poems from the thirteenth through the twentieth century, see the sections entitled “Popular Mystic Poetry” (pp. 123–39) and “Folk Poetry” (pp. 143–57) in The Penguin Book of Turkish Verse, edited by Nermin Menemencioğlu (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1978). Since the publication in 1972 of Talat S. Halman’s The Humanist Poetry of Yunus Emre (Istanbul: RCD Cultural Institute), translation work relating 80

 Suggested Further Reading

to the medieval Turkish mystic Yunus Emre has gained momentum. See also Talat S. Halman’s Yunus Emre and His Mystical Poetry (Bloomington: Indiana University Turkish Studies, 1981; 2nd ed., 1989; 3rd ed., 1991), featuring articles by İlhan Başgöz, Talat S. Halman, Mehmet Kaplan, Annemarie Schimmel, Andreas Tietze, and John R. Walsh, as well as dozens of poems in translation; Edouard Roditi (in collaboration with Güzin Dino), The Wandering Fool: Sufi Poems of a Thirteenth-Century Turkish Dervish (San Francisco: Cadmus Editions, 1987); The Drop That Became the Sea: Lyric Poems of Yunus Emre, translated by Kabir Helminski and Refik Algan (Putney, Vermont: Threshold, 1989); and The City of the Heart: Yunus Emre’s Verses of Wisdom and Love, translated by Süha Faiz (Dorset, England, and Rockport, Massachusetts: Element, 1991). The year 1991, proclaimed the “International Yunus Emre Year” by UNESCO, ushered in a spectrum of activities—symposia, lecture series, and publications in more than a dozen languages. Among the latter was the deluxe book Yunus Emre: Selected Poems, edited and translated by Talat S. Halman (Ankara: Ministry of Culture, 1990; 2nd ed., 1993).

Suggested Further Reading

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Biographical Notes tal at s. h alm a n is a critic, a scholar, and a leading translator of

Turkish literature into English. His books in English include Contemporary Turkish Literature, Modern Turkish Drama, Süleyman the Magnificent Poet, three volumes on Yunus Emre, Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi and the Whirling Dervishes (with Metin And), A Brave New Quest: 100 Modern Turkish Poems, Shadows of Love (his original poems in English), A Last Lullaby (his English/Turkish poems), Living Poets of Turkey, A Millennium of Turkish Literature: A Concise History, and many books featuring modern Turkish poets (Dağlarca, Kanık, Anday). He edited A Dot on the Map: Selected Stories and Poems and Sleeping in the Forest: Stories and Poems by Sait Faik, and coedited the two-volume work An Anthology of Modern Turkish Drama, volume one: İbrahim the Mad and Other Plays, and volume two: I, Anatolia and Other Plays. His book Nightingales and Pleasure Gardens: Turkish Love Poems was named one of the ten best university press books of 2005 by ForeWord Reviews. He is also the general editor of a four-volume history of Turkish literature published in Turkish in 2006. Among Halman’s books in Turkish are twelve volumes of his own poetry (including the latest, Ümit Harmanı, his collected poems published in 2008), a massive volume of the poetry of ancient civilizations, the complete sonnets of Shakespeare, the poetry of ancient Anatolia and the Near East, Eskimo poems, ancient Egyptian poetry, the rubais of Rumi, the quatrains of Baba Tahir Uryan, two anthologies of modern American poetry, and collections of the selected poems of Wallace Stevens and Langston 83

Hughes. Halman was William Faulkner’s first Turkish translator; he has also translated works by Mark Twain and Eugene O’Neill. Halman has published nearly three thousand articles, essays, and reviews in English and in Turkish. He has also served as a columnist for the Turkish dailies Milliyet, Akşam, and Cumhuriyet. Many of his English articles on Turkish literature are collected in Rapture and Revolution: Essays on Turkish Literature. Selections from Halman’s Turkish articles and essays are collected in two volumes, Doğrusu and Çiçek Dürbünü. His English reviews of works of Turkish literature are collected in The Turkish Muse: Views and Reviews, 1960s–1990s. Some of his books have been translated into French, Hebrew, Persian, Urdu, Hindi, and Japanese. For his work as a translator, he won Columbia University’s Thornton Wilder Prize. Talat Halman served as Turkey’s first minister of culture and later as its ambassador for cultural affairs. He was a member of the UNESCO Executive Board (1991–95). Between 1953 and 1997, he was on the faculties of Columbia University, Princeton University, the University of Pennsylvania, and New York University (where he was also chairman of the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Literatures). In 1998, he founded the Department of Turkish Literature at Bilkent University, Ankara, and has since been its chairman. He also serves as Bilkent’s dean of the Faculty of Humanities and Letters. He is currently serving as president of the Turkish National Committee for UNICEF and editor in chief of the Journal of Turkish Literature. Halman’s honors and awards include many literary prizes, two honorary doctorates, a Rockefeller Fellowship in the Humanities, the Distinguished Service Award of the Turkish Academy of Sciences, the UNESCO Medal, and Knight Grand Cross (GBE), the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, conferred on him by Queen Elizabeth II. zek i fındıkoğlu spent his childhood and formative years in rural

Anatolia; there he absorbed the colors of stark, stunning nature and learned the rich tradition of legends, tales, and folk poems. His art is firmly rooted in Turkish culture and folklore. He has produced a series of Nasreddin Hoca illustrations and conducted research on traditional Turkish designs and their application to contemporary art. 84

 Biographical Notes

He was born in 1946 in İznik (ancient Nicaea, founded more than twentythree centuries ago and synonymous with the Ottoman art of ceramic tiles). After graduation from the Academy of Fine Arts in Istanbul with an M.F.A. (specializing in painting), he moved to the United States in 1973. In Washington, D.C., he attended the Corcoran School of Arts and later earned an M.F.A. in visual communication design at George Washington University. Fındıkoğlu was a professor of fine arts at the University of the District of Columbia and at Trinity College. He is currently a professor of fine arts at Montgomery College in Germantown, Maryland, where he also serves as chairman of the Department of Art and Computer Graphics. He has received prestigious awards for his art, and his original prints and serigraphs have been exhibited in numerous shows and many juried exhibitions in the United States, Turkey, and Europe. He maintains a studio in Washington, D.C. jayne l. warner is director of research at the Institute for Aegean

Prehistory in Greenwich, Connecticut. She holds a B.A. in classics, an M.A. in ancient history, and, from Bryn Mawr College, a Ph.D. in Near Eastern and Anatolian archaeology. Her publications include Elmalı-Karataş II: The Early Bronze Age Village of Karataş. Warner has served as assistant editor of the American School of Classical Studies in Athens and executive director of the Poetry Society of America (New York). She has also served as director of the American Turkish Society (New York) and director of the New York Office of the Board of Trustees of Robert College of Istanbul. She is the editor of A Millennium of Turkish Literature: A Concise History, published in 2008, Cultural Horizons: A Festschrift in Honor of Talat S. Halman, The Turkish Muse: Views and Reviews, 1960s–1990s, and Rapture and Revolution: Essays on Turkish Literature. She is the associate editor of Sleeping in the Forest: Stories and Poems by Sait Faik, Nightingales and Pleasure Gardens: Turkish Love Poems, and A Brave New Quest: 100 Modern Turkish Poems, as well as coeditor of the two-volume work An Anthology of Modern Turkish Drama, volume one: İbrahim the Mad and Other Plays, and volume two: I, Anatolia and Other Plays, published in 2008.

Biographical Notes

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