I am listening to İstanbul

While I was browsing the net I came across with a beautiful translation of a poem written by the famous Turkish poet Orhan Veli Kanik. I can easily say that it is one of my favorite poems and tells the living spirit of İstanbul with wonderful words.

And I took this photo of the man right at the Bosphorus. His little basket was full of small snacks. He was probably trying to sell them to make the ends meet. His strong and fixated gaze affected me so much. He was most probably thinking the hard times he was facing, but I like to think that he was also listening İstanbul..

I AM LISTENING TO ISTANBUL

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;

At first there blows a gentle breeze

And the leaves on the trees

Softly flutter or sway;

Out there, far away,

The bells of water carriers incessantly ring;

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;

Then suddenly birds fly by,

Flocks of birds, high up, in a hue and cry

While nets are drawn in the fishing grounds

And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

The Grand Bazaar is serene and cool,

A hubbub at the hub of the market,

Mosque yards are brimful of pigeons,

At the docks while hammers bang and clang

Spring winds bear the smell of sweat;

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;

Still giddy since bygone bacchanals,

A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep,

Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed,

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

Now a dainty girl walks by on the sidewalk:

Cusswords, tunes and songs, malapert remarks;

Something falls on the ground out of her hand,

It's a rose I guess.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;

A bird flutters round your skirt;

I know your brow is moist with sweat

And your lips are wet.

A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:

I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

Orhan Veli Kanik (1914-1950)

Translated by Talat Sait Halman (1982)