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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poems For Piraye (9 To 10 O’Clock Poems)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Remembering you is good<br>in prison<br>amid the news<br>of victory and death<br>as my fortieth year passes...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Remembering you is good<br>your hand<br>forgotten upon a blue dress<br>your hair<br>with the grave softness<br>of the earth of my beloved Istanbul.<br>This joy of loving you<br>is like a second person inside me...<br>The smell of geranium leaves<br>on your fingertips<br>warm and comforting <br>The invitation of your flesh<br>a hot<br>intense darkness<br>scored by vivid red lines...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Remembering you is good<br>or writing about you<br>as I lie on my back<br>in prison<br>thinking of such and such a day<br>at such and such a place<br>of some words you said<br>not of the words so much<br>but of the world and you within them...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Remembering you is good<br>I must carve some things for you again<br>a jewel box<br>a ring<br>I must weave a length of thin silk<br>then jump up<br>and clutching the window bars<br>shout what I have written for you<br>to the innocent blue<br>of freedom.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Remembering you is good<br>in prison<br>amid the news<br>of victory and death<br>as my fortieth year passes...<br>1942</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">At this late hour<br>on this autumn night<br>I am filled with your words.<br>Eternal<br>like time like matter<br>Naked<br>like an eye<br>Heavy<br>like a hand<br>Words which sparkle<br>like stars.<br>Your words came to me<br>from your heart<br>your head<br>your body<br>Your words delivered you<br>mother<br>woman<br>comrade<br>Your words were sad<br>they were bitter<br>hopeful<br>heroic<br>Your words were human.<br>September 20, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Our son is sick <br>his father in prison<br>your heavy head<br>fallen in your tired palms<br>the laughter drained from your golden eyes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">People<br>will surely carry people<br>on to sunnier days<br>our son will get well<br>his father out of prison<br>your golden eyes<br>will fill with laughter once more...<br>Our fate<br>is the world's fate.<br>September 21, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Reading books<br>you're there inside me<br>Hearing songs<br>you're inside me<br>Eating my bread<br>you're sitting before me<br>Or at my work<br>you're before me.<br>You're my 'silent partner'<br>everywhere.<br>Although we cannot speak<br>Although we cannot hear<br>each other's voices.<br>You're my widow of eight years.<br>September 22, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What is she doing now<br>this second, this very second?<br>Is she at home, outside,<br>working, lying down, on her feet?<br>could she be raising her arm?<br>O my love!<br>how this movement bares<br>her strong white wrist!<br>What is she doing now<br>this second, this very second?<br>Perhaps she has a kitten on her lap,<br>she's petting it.<br>Or, perhaps she's walking, about to step.<br>O those feet I cherish,<br>those feet which bring her to me<br>on tip-toe when days are dark...<br>And what is she thinking about,<br>of me?<br>Or, who knows,<br>why the beans take so long to cook?<br>Or, even,<br>why the majority of men are so miserable?<br>What is she thinking now<br>this second, this very second?<br>September 23, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The loveliest sea<br>is the sea not yet traveled<br>The loveliest child<br>is the child not yet born<br>Our loveliest days<br>are those we have not yet lived through.<br>And the loveliest word I would say to you<br>is the word that I have not yet said.<br>September 24, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Squatting, I look at the earth<br>I look at the grasses<br>I look at the insects<br>I look at the deep blue flowers opening from stems.<br>I look at you, my love,<br>You are like the spring earth.<br>Stretched out on my back, I see the sky<br>I see the tree's branches<br>I see the storks flying<br>I see you, my love,<br>You are like the spring sky.<br>Lighting a night fire, I touch the fire<br>I touch the water<br>I touch the cloth<br>I touch the silver<br>I touch you, my love<br>You are the fire lit beneath the stars.<br>Inside of people, I love people<br>I love action<br>I love thinking<br>I love my struggle<br>I love you, my love,<br>You are a person inside my struggle.<br>1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">9 PM<br>horns blare in the yard<br>soon they will close the cell doors.<br>This prison term<br>is longer than the others<br>nearly eight years now...<br>Living is a labor of hope, my love,<br>living is a serious business<br>like loving you...<br>September 25, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They enslaved us<br>threw us in prison<br>me<br>inside the walls<br>you<br>outside the walls.<br>But that is nothing,<br>the true evil is that<br>knowingly<br>or unknowingly<br>a man carries the prison<br>inside himself...<br>Most of the men<br>fallen to this state<br>are honorable<br>hard-working<br>good men,<br>and deserve to be loved<br>as I love you.<br>September 26, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Thinking of you<br>is a beautiful thing<br>a hopeful thing<br>a thing like hearing<br>the most beautiful song<br>from the world's most beautiful voice...<br>But hope no longer is enough for me<br>I no longer want to hear the song—<br>I want to sing it...<br>September 30, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Above the mountain<br>there is a cloud<br>swollen with sun above the mountain.<br>Another day<br>passed without you<br>with and without the world another day.<br>They will open soon<br>in bursts of red<br>nightflowers will open in bursts of red.<br>Soundless bold wings<br>carry our separation<br>that separation like an exile<br>from the homeland...<br>October 1, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The wind flows by<br>no cherry branch moves<br>with the same wind twice.<br>Birds chatter in the trees:<br>wings poised for flight.<br>A closed door:<br>waiting to be thrown open.<br>I want you<br>I want life to be as lovely<br>and friendly and good as you.<br>I know this feast of misery<br>is not yet finished.<br>But it will be finished...<br>October 2, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Both of us know, my love,<br>they taught us<br>the hunger, the shivering,<br>the withering exhaustion,<br>the separation from each other.<br>Still, we have not been forced to kill<br>nor tasted the moment of being killed.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Both of us know, my love,<br>we can teach them<br>to fight for our people<br>to love each day<br>a little stronger<br>a little more from our souls...<br>October 5, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Clouds pass, heavy<br>and swollen with news,<br>Crushing in my fist<br>the letter that hasn't come yet,<br>Tears in the corners of my eyes,<br>goodbyes said to the endless earth,<br>And I want to shout: Piraye!<br>Pi-ra-ye!<br>October 6, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">At night, the wind carries the cries of men<br>across the open seas<br>At night, there is danger still in straying<br>across the open seas.<br>This field, unplowed for six years,<br>still bears the tracks of tank treads<br>This winter, the snow will cover<br>these untouched tracks of tank treads.<br>Ah, my dearest, the antennas are lying again<br>so that the merchants of sweat can close<br>with 100% profits.<br>But those who have returned from Azrail's feast<br>have returned with their decisions made...<br>October 7, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I've become unbearable again<br>sleepless, petty, cross.<br>You can see<br>I'm working one day<br>like a blasphemous shrew<br>like a raging animal.<br>And then<br>I'm on my back the next day<br>from morning to evening<br>a lazy folksong in my mouth<br>like a cigarette that has gone out.<br>The hate<br>and the pity I feel for myself<br>hold me totally in their grasp.<br>I've become unbearable again<br>sleepless, petty, cross.<br>As always, I'm unfair.<br>Without any reason<br>or any possibility of one,<br>and even though it's a vile humiliation<br>I can't help it,<br>I'm jealous.<br>Forgive me...<br>October 8, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Last night I had a dream:<br>You were sitting at my feet,<br>You raised your head, turned<br>Your enormous golden eyes to me,<br>And asked a question,<br>Your wet lips opened and closed,<br>But I didn't hear your voice.<br>The hour struck as though somewhere<br>There was good news in the night.<br>Whispers of endlessness in the air,<br>My canary in its red cage<br>Singing the Song of Memo.<br>The small cracking sounds of seeds<br>Pushing and lifting the earth,<br>And the just and triumphant humming<br>Of some gathering comes to my ear.<br>Your wet lips still opened and closed,<br>But I didn't hear your voice.<br>I awoke in a nervous uncertainty.<br>I had fallen asleep over my book, it seems,<br>But I am wondering now<br>Whether all those voices were not your voice?<br>October 9, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Looking in your eyes<br>I am drunk with the smell of warm earth<br>lost in a wheat field among the stalks...<br>Your eyes<br>are like an eternal substance, changing endlessly<br>pits without bottom, with flashes of green...<br>whose secret is given up a little each day<br>but never completely surrendered.<br>October 10, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When I leave the prison to meet my death<br>And when we turn for the last time<br>to look at the city,<br>We shall be able to say these words, my love:<br>'Though you never made our hearts rejoice,<br>we worked hard as we could<br>thinking we could make you happy.<br>Roads to happiness lead on, as life goes on.<br>We are content, our hearts are satisfied<br>with the bread we earned;<br>Our eyes bear the afflictions<br>of separation from your light.<br>See, we have come<br>and now we are going.<br>May you be happy,<br>city of Aleppo...'<br>October 18, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We are one half of an apple<br>the other half is this enormous world<br>We are one half of an apple<br>the other half is our people<br>You are one half of an apple<br>I am the other half<br>we are two...<br>October 27, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The smell rises from the geraniums<br>The waves hum on the seas<br>Autumn is here with its full clouds<br>And intelligent earth...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My love, the year has reached its maturity.<br>It seems that we have known<br>Perhaps a thousand years' worth of life,<br>But we are still wide-eyed children<br>Running hand in hand in the sun...<br>October 28, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Forget the flowering almond trees.<br>Why think of that which cannot be regained?<br>Dry your wet hair in the sun,<br>Your hair with the smell of ripe fruit,<br>That shines, heavy and damp, with redness.<br>My love, my love,<br>the season is autumn...<br>November 5, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">From above the roofs<br>of my distant city,<br>passing the tip<br>of the Marmara sea,<br>flying over<br>the autumn earth<br>Came your voice—<br>moist and mature—<br>For three minutes.<br>Then, the telephone<br>was closed down<br>like pitch darkness...<br>November 8, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The last southwinds have begun to blow<br>warm and humming<br>like blood pouring from a vein.<br>I listen to the weather:<br>it's pulse is slowing down.<br>There is snow on Olympia's peak.<br>On the Kirezli plateau<br>the bears with great charm and majesty<br>lie down on the chestnut leaves to sleep.<br>The poplars on the plain undress.<br>Silkworm eggs will be taken soon<br>to their winter shelter.<br>Autumn is about to end,<br>The earth to enter its pregnant sleep.<br>And we will pass again one more winter<br>with this great rage inside,<br>warming ourselves in the fire<br>of our sacred hope...<br>November 12, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They say<br>it doesn't allow description—<br>the misery of Istanbul.<br>They say<br>the people are crushed by hunger.<br>They say<br>tuberculosis lurks everywhere.<br>And the young girls, they say,<br>are taken in the ruins<br>and in theater loges.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This black news comes<br>from my distant city,<br>from the city of hard-working<br>honest people,<br>from the real Istanbul,<br>My love,<br>from the city which is your home,<br>which I carry on my back in a bag<br>wherever I am exiled<br>wherever I am in prison<br>Which I bear in my heart<br>like the grieving for a lost child<br>like your image<br>which I hold in my eyes...<br>November 13, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Although you'll find carnations still<br>in vases now and then,<br>seeds are being scattered in the fields<br>plowed up long ago for planting<br>and olives, stuffed with oil,<br>are being picked now.<br>On one side we're moving into winter<br>on another the earth is being opened<br>for the seedlings of spring.<br>As for me<br>filled with longing<br>and heavy with impatience<br>for great travels,<br>I am lying in Bursa<br>like a ship at anchor...<br>November 20, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Take out from your chest<br>the dress you wore<br>the first time I saw you<br>and dress up<br>like the spring trees.<br>Put in your hair the carnation<br>I am sending you from prison,<br>Lift your broad forehead<br>white and creased with those lines<br>that should be kissed,<br>And by no means look tired<br>or worried on such a day.<br>The wife of Nazim Hikmet must be beautiful<br>like the flag of a rebellion<br>on such a day!<br>December 4, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A hole wore through the ship's hull<br>the slaves cut to pieces their chains<br>the wind from the northeast blew<br>about to hurl the ship upon the rocks.<br>This world<br>this pirate ship<br>will sink.<br>Whatever happens<br>it will sink.<br>And we will create<br>a free, spacious, hopeful world<br>like your face<br>my Piraye...<br>December 5, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They are the enemies of hope, my love,<br>the enemies of a life<br>that grows and develops<br>of a tree that bears fruit<br>of water that flows.<br>Because death is stamped on their foreheads—<br>their teeth rot<br>their flesh decays—<br>They'll disappear<br>and never come back.<br>And surely, my love,<br>surely this lovely country of mine<br>will be a garden of brothers<br>without masters or slaves...<br>December 6, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Enemy to Receb<br>the towel-maker in Bursa<br>Enemy to Hasan<br>the fitter in Karabük factory<br>Enemy to the woman Hatçe<br>the village peasant<br>Enemy to Süleyman<br>the worker<br>Enemy to me<br>Enemy to you<br>Enemy to thinking men.<br>My love, they are the enemy<br>of the country which houses them.<br>December 7, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">On the plain<br>trees burn in a final effort<br>spangles of gold<br>copper<br>brass and bronze.<br>Hooves of oxen<br>slowly, softly<br>two by two sink<br>in dampened earth.<br>And the mountains are soaked and gray<br>submerged in mist...<br>It's finished.<br>Perhaps this day is all<br>that is left of autumn.<br>And now the wild geese wing past<br>heading for Iznik lake.<br>Something cool in the air<br>like the smell of soot in the air<br>the smell of snow in the air...<br>Now to be outside!<br>Now to charge a horse straight for the mountains!<br>'But you don't know how to ride,' you'll say.<br>Don't laugh at me<br>and don't be jealous<br>This new love of nature<br>I've acquired in prison<br>I love almost<br>but not as much<br>as I love you...<br>And both of you so far away...<br>December 12, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Snow suddenly set in at night<br>morning began with crows<br>scattering from white branches.<br>Winter on the Bursa plain<br>past the eye's reaching<br>recalling endlessness.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My love, the season<br>burst through to change<br>after continuous struggle,<br>And proud,<br>working hard beneath the snow<br>Life<br>still pushing on<br>and up...<br>December 13, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Damn, the winter has come down hard.<br>Who knows what's happened to you<br>and to my Istanbul.<br>Have you coal?<br>Can you get wood?<br>Stuff newspaper in the window cracks,<br>and go to bed early.<br>There's nothing in the house to sell,<br>I know...<br>Even when we shiver<br>half hungry<br>half full<br>Even in this we are in the majority<br>in our country<br>in our city<br>in the world.<br>December 14, 1945</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Nazim+Hikmet">Nazim Hikmet</a></strong></div>

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