STOPPING EVENINGS
There is no longer light
touching my bedside;
those evenings have aged in my dreams,
one or two lines embracing my eyes,
a revolution in my veins.
I sip the evenings hidden in my dreams,
shadows hurtling into my pupils,
still looking for you
before a statue.
The evenings undulate
like the song of a bird,
my hopes lost,
falling at a stopping;
my sentiments drag along in my heart
and I say that evenings stopping
will never blacken. by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
1975 - Istanbul
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick
APRICOT TREES
The apricot trees
My father planted
Never got a chance to grow…
His only hope…
For years and years he’d given it his all….
Tried everything he could,
Busted his head
Trying to make them grow…
Every now and then
He’d observe the clouds…
Still,
All those years he lost
Wound up secrets in his heart…
The earth bared
All its veins, one by one…
A leaf dropped,
A branch broke
And made a noise...
But they
Never said a thing…
The apricot trees
My Father planted
Never got a chance to grow…by Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Richard Vallance , 2002
THEY HAVE WOVEN A NET AROUND US
A feeling of nearness to suffering
In our hearts
While we reduce the dimensions
Of the essence of light
With our eyes
In a local scuffle
Them
They have woven a net around us.
Bearing the pains of life
While watching the people with sullen faces
And tired thoughts
All along the years
We have heard the whistle of whips...
With well-concealed thoughts
Those
Never thought of us
And... without any mercy
Have woven a net around us.by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by F.J. Bergmann, 2002
THE CHILDREN OF MIDNIGHT
Memory of war is silenced in them
and there is a tiredness in their knees,
the children of midnight kneel before the sun...
this only one
of the many thousands of sorrows
covering their eyes
as if they were thirsty for a drop
of the moon's light
The children of midnight
walk fallen in the dark,
resembling the sky
I cannot leave these sensitive, indifferent ones
I still do not know, after how many years?
I re-examine them
and they still cry,
these children of midnight
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Istanbul - 25.12.1976
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick – 05.12.2004
LAS REALIDADES QUE SE FORMAN EN NUESTROS INSTINTOS
He azotado
Tres veces con mis dedos
La puerta cerrada...
He pensado
que está "Ocupado..."
Enseguida
Abotonando mi chaqueta
Entré...
Mi cabeza estaba inclinada
Temía
Miradas malvadas
Se formaban
En mis instintos...
En ese momento
Suavemente
Volví mi cabeza
Hacía la ventana
Que el viento había abierto...
Los papeles
Colocados sobre el escritorio
Se hallaban esparcidos por el suelo
Mi cabeza inclinada
Uno a uno los junté
Con mucha humildad...
Y los deposité
En el escritorio
A la espera de un rugido
O de una mirada hosca
Alegremente
Levanté mi cabeza
Un ancho sofá vacío
Estaba frente a mí...
De esa oficina de alto desempeño
Donde había entrado
Con ceremonia y temor
He salido reculando...
Mientras saludaba al sofá vacío
Aquellos que aguardaban ante la puerta
Unos tras otros
Hicieron tal como yo...
La precariedad de la vida
Se reflejaba
En las ventanas
Que golpeaban a causa del viento...
by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Los poemas que publicamos fueron
traducidos por Yakup YURT
La traducción, del francés al español,
de estos poemas, es del poeta y narrador Leo Castillo
MON PROFESSEUR
Les vieux enfants
Au bout de l'insensibilité
Sont ton œuvre...
Ils se tiennent aux crochets
De l’égoïsme
Une génération disparaît
En descendant sans cesse plus bas…A chaque mouvement de bord
Des vues qui produisent la révolte
Les puces accouchent des dragons
Sous un établi à peine couvert
Le mois de septembre dans leurs yeux
Est un amoncellement de haines
Un foyer pour opportunistes
Un abri anéantissant l’amour
Et …
Un appui
De confiance
Dont l’arrière est un ravin…
Mon professeur
Avant que ne sèche
La source des valeurs…
Approche-toi des vaisseaux capillaires
De la jeunesse…
Approche-toi
Avant qu’une sensibilité éteinte
Ne soit dispersée par le temps.
Je sais
Il y a deux mains à ton col…
Tu n’es pas libre dans ton for intérieur
Pendant que demain souffrant tombe devant toi…
Les évènements à ta droite,
Les secrets qui t’ébranlent à ta gauche
La source des soucis
Ce sont les lendemains
Qui grandissent en toi…
Tes oeuvres, mon professeur
Ne voient pas que toi
Ils ne se voient pas
Eux-mêmes !..
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Paris – Le 30.04.2001
Traduit par Yakup YURT
VERME DELLA MELA
All'interno della mela
il verme rosicchia il candore
per conseguire
l'essenza della vita.Mentre sobbalza,
nell'oscurità,
come un neonato
succhia il sapore;
l'essenza della natura.
Nel magma della bassezza
straripano le lave
sopra il suo egoismo.
Lui dorme, si risveglia
e niente cambia;
resta con il sapore
nell'essenza dei tempi.
Tesse una tela, con la sua maschera,
mentre si affatica
nelle fosse scavate.
Sinuosi
giochi
restano nel suo occhio nero
quando avvinghia della mela
il verde.
Sente il sole e si addormenta,
lui si nasconde.
La sua natura si putrefà
dentro il proprio stomaco,
ricolmo di semi carbonizzati.
Dei muri che ha costruito
cadono una ad una le pietre
e lui, finalmente,
resta allo scoperto.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Magnanville – 26.05.2000
La poesia pubblicata è stata tradotta da Yakup YURT ;
la traduzione dal francese all' italiano è stata
realizzata dal poeta Enrico PIETRANGELI
A PONTE
A criança duma obscuridade imensa
Faminta / sequiosa
Prescruta sobre uma ponte
As portas que se fecham…Uma multidão de gente
Que se esconde dos dias seguintes
Com pensamentos sem desculpas
Enlaçados uns nos outros
Querem passar
Diante do sol…
Quando vê a queda
Do alto da ponte
As derrotas
Da criança duma obscuridade imensa
Transformam-se em esperanças.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Traducido por: Jean-Paul MESTAS
