Some Poems Translated into Crimean Tatar by Taner Murat

 

Stranger

 

I don’t know where I lived

in my former existence

but the hell I’ve breathed

for three decades here

couldn’t adapt my soul:

I remain a stranger

to them and to the cold walls

that put out the candle lights

in my roofless house

 

Yabanğî

 

Eskí barlîgîmda

ka-yerde yaşaganîmnî bílmem

ama mínda kîrk senedír

íşíme tartkan ğehennem

ruhumnî heş alîştîra-almadî:

olar úşún, tóbesíz úyúmnúñ

mayşîraklarîn sóndírgen

salkîn duwarlarî úşún

men bír yabanğî kalîrman

 

Solitude

 

 

I don’t seek the stone bowl

Buddha used while here:

She dwells on moon beams

 

I can see her smiling

with wind-chiseled breast

in sexless solitude

 

her light is not priced

but gifted to enlighten

the silver-linings

 

Ğañgîzlîk

 

Buda bo yaklarda ekende kullangan

taş sawutnuñ peşínde tuwulman:

o aynîñ nurlarînda yaşar

 

onîñ kúlúmsúremesín kóre-alaman

ğel ğontkan kókíregí men

21

 

ğínsiyetsíz ğañgîzlîgînda

onîñ ğarîgîñ kîymetí píşílmez

aydînlatuwğîdîr

kúmúş kaplamasî

 

Gleam of Light

 

Late August:

clouded midnight, sneezing

restless in bed

 

all negative vibes

well up the mind

 

jackals yell outside

I read Hsu Chicheng

for a gleam of light

 

Ğîltîrîm

 

Awustos soñî:

bulutlî keşe yarîsî, hapşıruwlar

tóşekte kiyípsízlík

 

bútún bolîmsîz sílkínúwler

akîlnî totîralar

 

tîşarda şógel-bóríler bakîrîşa

bír ğîltîrîm úşún

Kîsuw Çiy Çeñní okîyman

From the Window

 

Tall houses appear

to grow like trees from the plane

slowly rising high

 

people turn tiny

with cars water birds and beasts

in the summer flame

 

nervously worried

watch the moving mass of clouds

from the window

 

eternal patterns

nature’s wonder on the edge

a streak of orange

 

thousands of lights

twinkle in colors like stars—

seat belt fastened

 

Penğíreden

 

Yawaş-yawaş yúkselgen tayyareden

tereklíktiy ósíp ketken

ónder úyler kórínír

 

yaz álewúnde

maşinalar, kuşlar, haywanlar man

insanlar kíşkene kalîr

 

kaárete-kaárete

penğíreden

hareketlí bulut súrúwúne karap kalaman

 

soñsîz nakîşlar

zewuklî tuwa ğazibesí

portakal rengínde bír sîzîk

 

biñlerğe ğarîk

renklí- renklí yîldîzday ğalpîldar,

emniyet kemerím taguwlî

 

Who Cares?

 

Death hides in the body

but who sees? it’s obscure

 

living on the edge

seeking space into swamp

 

they all talk about the sun

swelling in the sky

 

and close eyes to the spider

spinning waves on the ceiling

 

all alone, but who cares?

suspicion and distance

 

like lovers they pretend

to leave, yet stay longer

 

dishing out luxuries

showing off generosity

 

on the heart’s fancy table

waiting to welcome the guest

 

Kím dert etsín?

 

Ólím kewdeníñ íşínde ğaşînîr

ama kím kórsín? íşí karañgî

 

yîkpalga asîlîp yaşamak

bataklîkta kurî ğer karamaktîr

 

herkez kókyúzúnde şíşíp kabargan

kúneşní lap etíp

 

tawanda egírílgen órímğek ğîlîmîñ dalgalarîna

 

kóz ğumar

ğap-ğañgîzlîk, ama kím dert etsín?

 

şúphe men mesafe

yáreler gibí ayîrîşkan kíşí bolîrlar

 

ama gene barabar kalîrlar

kaálbíñ húliyalî sîprasînda

 

sápír beklep turganda

artkan mollîk, ğumartlîk kósteríp

 

 

Published in KNOT Magazine, Spring/Summer 2021

 https://www.knotliteraturemagazine.com/ram-krishna-singh