- Edip Cansever
Edip Cansever [IPA|eˡd̪ip ˡʤan.sevɛɾ] (
August 8 1928 –May 28 1986 ) was a Turkishpoet .Biography
Born in
Istanbul ,Turkey , Cansever attended Trade Academy for some time, and worked as an antiquity salesman inGrand Bazaar, Istanbul . Despite his denial, he is considered to be a member ofsecond new generation:Works
* İkindi Üstü (1947)
* Dirlik Düzenlik (1954)
* Yerçekimli Karanfil (1957)
* Umutsuzlar Parkı (1958)
* Petrol (1959)
* Nerde Antigone (1961)
* Tragedyalar (1974)
* Çağrılmayan Yakup (1966)
* Kirli Ağustos (1970)
* Sonrası Kalır (1964)
* Ben Ruhi Bey Nasılım (1976)
* Sevda ile Sezgi (1977)
* Şairin Seyir Defteri (1980)
* Yeniden (Collected Poems, 1981)
* Bezik Oynayan Kadınlar (1982)
* İlkyaz Şikayetçileri (1984)
* Oteller Kenti (1985)Awards
* Yeditepe Poetry Awards (1958)
*Turkish Language Association Poetry Awards (1977)
* Sedat Simavi Literary Awards (1982)ome of his poems
EYES
It seems nothing can provokeOur inner silenceNo sound no word nothingThe eyes bring out the eyes!
Nothing else but this unites usA leaf touching another leafSo close and so docileThe hands bring out the hands!
In our age love is an oppositionLet us unite to cast two single shadows...
TRAGEDIES
CHORUS
Since they are crumbling, turn on the radio,The streets, dogs, god's all assets
EPISODE
Loosens out of our hands, spills out everythingWe stop, like blood, frozen in a hymnWith sounds and broken nailsFreezes our madness, captains are at no ship,None, since seas are enormous, dead ones largeA chilly moon is heard, coldIn solitude. Loneliness is the season,Where ``flowers themselves bunch up."And times are at each other's throats, each thickerThan the otherRunningTea times crack, memories relic,Seep up dead bodies over white tablesAnd billiard tables, pale, disappearAnd sunglasses are worn againThe pen squeaks stop, telephones are silent, the last stampsAre glued,Some things are missing, gentle, copper rust.
CHORUS
We who are remnants of a fall, we are men, women,Stuffed deer, frightened, flow out.
EPISODE
And our half warmed fright remains; the sky is creaturedOf neglect,Sips its drink, stretches backIn its own glass,A corpse, both deathless and dead; for itA mere novelty, irresolute in its freedom, aloneAn embalmed tale,This corpse.An there is another not dead,Because if something like this is needed among us,It weakends our exile.
From one to another what can move in these times?
CHORUS
When the fright moves for a loss: somethingDarkening its waters slowly into a stone among us,A lexicon of silence.
EPISODE
It is that thing, a bit of hate andPetrified hair, both petrified in those flower shapedOf rocks-dark-painted,HatePainless, endless, all of love in one.That day of sudden disappearance without good, without suitcases,Shadowy, but in that completely labyrinthe stopWith chilly hormonesOne beauty topping one more beautiful than a third, but all understandingFlying,Daly newspapers bulging with street screams,All fished out of the same heart, tired,disnatured, lazy, after longComings and goings, and cracked nails,An image we built suddenly, a mythThat binds us whole in its laws.
CHORUS
We are dead. Dead ones gather themselves here.Age thickens, tenses up, systems get prepared.The bloody hours fall, the markets remain.
EPISODE
Blood. Generated of pain, blood of the obstinate what,And coldAt those hours when our throats change tunes,Those hours when things remain, things inside usRemain the same, and insects, worriless,Change spots; at those hours to become a littleSomethingSome blood!And numberless gestures meet with their muds,In succession, carings and defeatsAnd everything, suddenly everything,Years, cold wishes, hell without firesIn those days of death in those undecorated ritualsBlood rises in piazzasVictorious.
CHORUS
This blood,The most elementary lesson of birth and decay.
EPISODE
Whereas appearing, one day, palmless and without suitcases,Shadowy, but in that completely labyrinthe stop,All days, uneventful, tickets going to numberless spots:Counters, coldWaters and sunglasses,Slipping in tremor,Slipping, unknowingly, and without finally caring,Rid of dimensions, thinnings, helpless like a deer,A stuffed deer, stumbling and shy, in drinksIn drinks,Building, among leaves opening newly,Building its love of nest and indifference.
CHORUS
We are unmade, and our lot is unmade. We just wearNow, the unmourningclothing of you.
HEAD OF CHORUS
We all have remained gods. No one should pretendGladness.
* Translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat
MEDUSA
Deep, silent, good as it isAutumn; birds leaving their deadsIn our country for sorrow there is left no place Deep, silent, good as it isAt noon, twilight glancesNow our glooms is a meeting placeWe are that pale, that lonely, that exiled medusasWe slip away by hanging our words Our country, our land, our everythingCloudy rakis at the edge of the glasses
We draw the world with indifferent footsOur faces fall down as a rain’s heavinessThen without realizing how quickly end the drinks The more we speak, the more silence it becomes We ask one of us our name, he tells us his
*Translated by Coskun TuncerEdip Cansever
ee also
*
List of contemporary Turkish poets
*Objective correlative References
* Ahmet Necdet, "Modern Turk Siiri Yonelimler, Tanikliklar, Ornekler", Broy Publishing, October 1993.
* Poems translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat, [http://www.cs.rpi.edu/~sibel/poetry/poems/edip_cansever/english/from_tragedies Some of his Poems]External links
*http://www.thesis.bilkent.edu.tr/0002273.pdf
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