lunes, 24 de diciembre de 2012

BEJAN MATUR [8926]


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BEJAN MATUR, poeta y escritora, nació de una familia kurda en septiembre de 1968 en la antigua ciudad hitita de Maras, Turquía suroriental. Estudió Derecho en la Universidad de Ankara.

OBRA:

Rüzgâr Dolu Konaklar (Winds Howl Through the Mansions),1996, Poetry
Onun Çölünde (In His Desert), 2002, Poetry
Ayın Büyüttüğü Oğullar (Sons Reared by the Moon), 2002, Poetry
İbrahim’in Beni Terk Etmesi (How Abraham Abandoned Me), 2008, Poetry
In the Temple of a Patient God, 2003, Poetry-A Collection of her translated works
Doğunun Kapısı: Diyarbakır (The Gate of East: Diyarbakir), 2009, Poetry
Kader Denizi (Sea of Fate), 2010, Poetry
Dağın Ardına Bakmak (Looking Behind the Mountain), 2011




Traducción al castellano de
CARLES DUARTE I MONTSERRAT 



DIÁLOGO CON DIOS

Vi a Alá. Esperaba en un lugar vacío.
Entré en la oscuridad de su alma y me quedé.

I

Alá se despertó en un lago de montaña.
Giró su cabeza soñolienta y miró a su alrededor.
¡Es hermoso el mundo!
Se durmió de nuevo. Era demasiado para su corazón.
Sin corazón. Y nosotros, la lava restante,
empujamos la ola. 
Removemos el lago con una piedra sin reposo
y lo llenamos de nuestra pena.



II

Alá se despertó en un lago de montaña.
"Marchaos" dijo. "Sacad vuestra cepa de mi tierra".
Lo vi. Me miraba lejano, expectante.
Las casas ocultaron sus muertos. 
Los árboles se agitaban.



III

Sin reposo...
Nada ha engendrado, ni existe aún la Tierra.
Cuando se despierte del sueño en el lago
y abra sus ojos anchos,
un glaciar resbalará en la oscuridad del mundo.

Y no habrá hombre alguno esperando. 






SUEÑO DE LA TIERRA

En su soledad, el cielo nocturno
se preguntaba
¿Por qué estas estrellas?
¿Por qué la voz que aúlla en mi corazón de tinieblas?
Cuando las voces se desvanezcan
¿qué quedará
sino la estrechez que ahoga mi alma?

Si la estrella polar se desplazara
un segundo de su sitio,
¿se perdería el pescador?
¿Se olvidaría el pastor de su silbido?
Quizás nada de nada,
nada puede cambiar mi verdad.
Soy el sueño de la tierra.
El hombre que termina su sueño
verá, al despertarse,
que la verdadera oscuridad queda más lejos. 





POEMAS EN TURCO:


ALLAHIN ÇOCUKLUĞU

İnsanın dönüp döneceği yerdir 
Çocukluğu. 
Sabah ezanı 
Bu yüzden 
Müslümanlara 
Allahın selamını öğretir. 
Allahın çocukluğu 
Gündoğumunda 
Ölüleri anmakla başlar. 
Ve anne ölür 
Ezanda ölür anne 
Selamı üzerine olan her çocuk 
Allahı düşünür. 

Dili vardır taşların. 
Sabahları en çok 
Islak bir huzurla 
Yatarken onlar 
İçleri ıslanmış kadınlar 
Pörsümüş yorgun erkekler 
Kutsanmak umuduyla 
Kıvrılır uyurlar. 

Hepsi laf bunların. 
Bana kalsa 
Ağır bir abdest kokusu 
İnce belli sürahiler 
Kadınların nemli apışaraları kokan 
Pazen donları. 
Burada 
Sözolmamış sesin kederiyle 
Başlar gün. 
Ve denir ki; 
Kaderinizi sevin 
Sevin kaderinizi 
Ve hayat için 
Tatlı bir tesadüf deyin. 

Ağır bir abdest kokusu 
İnce belli sürahiler 
Kadınların apışarası nemli pazen donları 
Ve mantarlı ayakları erkeklerin. 
Şadırvanda alaca su: 
Damlar 
Damlar. 
Ellerin beyazlığındadır ölüm 
Gövdenin kıvrımında. 
Benim erkeğimi isterken titreyen 
İçimin suyunda 

Ben unuttum her şeyi. 
Geldiğim yeri 
Annemi, babamı, 
Mezarlığa gitmeyi. 
Orada yapayalnız kaldı meşe 
Ölülerin arasında ölümü en iyi anlatan meşe. 

Bir ağaç nerede duruyorsa 
Benziyor oraya. 
Meşe mesela 
Akdeniz'de taşların arasında 
Farklı mı taşlardan? 
Selvi, ölülerin karanlık bir ah'la 
Durdukları son anın ipidir. 
Salkım söğüt, yaslı söğüt 
Suya kaptırmış içini, kırılgan. 
Benzer her şey baktığına. 


Ben anneme benzerim 
Babama da tabii. 
Ve büyük halamın evinde yaşayan kediye de. 
Aslında şu yeryüzünü denizlerle düşünmemiz yok mu 
Hata ediyoruz. 
Dünyanın nefes aldığı bir ilk andı denizleri yapan. 
Dağları yapan bir öfkeydi 
Böyle söylüyor ilk kitaplar. 
Her dilin kendinden önce, 
Çok önce bir hayatı var. 
Ve onu sadece 
Bu kitaplar konuşuyor. 
Susarak bakıyoruz biz 
Hatırlamayarak. 
Şairler bir bok anlamıyorlar aslında 
Dünyanın çocuk kalmış bir acısı var 
Ve bu ezanda çıkıyor ortaya. 
Allahın selamı ölülerin üzerine oluyor 
Aşk diye bir şeyin farkına varıyor insan 
Dönmeyi öğreniyor 
Yerden kurtularak 
Durmadan dönerek 
Çölde yaşayanlara fısıldanmış bir hakikatle 
Kurur toprak 


Nehir dediğin çölde kaybolur. 
Toprağını gizler nehir dediğin. 
Hiçliği tarif eden hiçliği anlar. 
Yokluğa bürünmek o ilk anda. 
Bir nehir tanıyorum 
Kayboluyor 
Bir çölün şehvetli karnında. 
Bir ayan olma hali belki, 
Ona en yakın göl 
Kayıklarını tutarak içinde, 
Balçığını yutuyor. 
Ama biliyor ki, 
Bir göl yutunca suyunu 
Ortada kalır 
Bir göl yutunca balıklarını 
Kararır. 
Tüm göllerini göremeden yeryüzünün 
Öleceğiz. 
Ne acı. 

Gündoğumuyla gelen huzura da 
Günbatımının sancısına da 
Yabancısın. 
De ki; 
Sabahın efendisi sen değilsin 
Kimse değil. 
Yol gidenin 
Gün dönenindir 
Şiir hayatın 
Ve görenin. 

Allahın selamı 
Müslümanların ülkesinde 
Ölülerin üzerine olsun diyerek 
Kanatır günü. 
İnsanın çocukluğu annenin ölümüyle başlar 
Bitmez çocukluğu annesi ölenin. 

De ki; 
Sabahın efendisi sen değilsin 
Kimse değil. 
Kanamış bir solukla bakmaktan 
Yoruldum. 
Kimsesi yok kimsenin.



POEMAS EN INGLÉS:


IT IS DARKNESS THAT OPENS THE WAY 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


Lean over a well
Lean over and hear Gabriel’s wings
And his lack of wings.
See there
How words exist
How a human being flows into another.
Perhaps it’s darkness that opens the way.
Between you and me
Perhaps it’s just a look.
Where you go
In your search 
For a ring inscribed with Allah
Perhaps before Allah it’s love that you seek
Your search is for love.



PEACEFUL MORNING 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


A time before time
A morning of peace
Of roses
And fountains.
A welcoming
Of the creatures 
Of the latecomer
Rescued from the hand of sleep
In the dappled dawn.
So arms 
Moved away from a statue’s body
And found a human.
Desired.
What belonged
Far more than words
Was love.



HOME 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


A house
Our home where we talk
A house of stone
And the steppe.
Of death and the tyrant father
Of the father becoming a father.
A home which is just for us
Like rocks whose being is buried deep in earth.
One night a fire will be lit
And a woman, her skirt undulating in the sighing wind,
Will learn a gaze is her whole life
A hand is her being.
Now the morning of leaving you
Will be as though never lived.
Your parting from days and nights
Your arriving at that house.
Remember
You were the one who built the walls of our home
With mud and dust.
When your hands were your own
Questions began and never ended
‘A moment’, you asked
‘What’s a moment?’
Then ‘Does it hurt?’
Mountains can rise between you and me
When I said so you didn’t believe,
But look how they grow.
The steppe ends and mountains begin
Sorrow begins.
It’s the night
When we wept together for our past
When a sister departed
And stones were cast
To ensure we’d meet again.
What a sister taken from us
Has opened up in our hearts
Will certainly return and never end.
An event unresolved
Lasting through all time.
When it makes us cry
We know
We’re already grown up.
Before you can even look
It’s acquired a name.
Now we must be strong
What’s expected of us is courage.
When you speak of a moment
Before all moments
What must be repeated is the becoming.
A father becoming a tyrant
Your sleeping in blood
Your waking.
That night you were left in blood.
For what reason?
To arrive at this day
This very day.
Your looking 
Like death
In one moment
Of those countless moments in time
And then came fear.
Fear of leaving
Fear of being abandoned.
Don’t leave me you said
Hold me close I wanted to say
Hold me.



WHEN THE WHEAT IS CUT 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


Of your leaving a home at night
Of caressing its pillar
Of your speaking
That night I was turning around you.
The hand that caresses the wheat remembers.
Circling you
A name uttered from a mouth.
Names carry memory.
Childhood is not just about lying side by side
That’s not how it is.
y burden belongs to me
Like the shower of rain now falling
On Istanbul, rain falling on that moment
And your sleeping there.
In a sleep like the world you’re tied to.
You covered me up and departed
To become prey for wolves in the snow
And the night.
A deep blue light
Rain now over the straits.
A poet speaks of hands
Of the poetry your hands knew
Your hand that understood
A pillar
A dark house.
Circling with you is the cosmos
Whispers of being.
When the wheat is cut
What will appear from now on
Is not loneliness
But the daily bread that falls to our lot.



THE NORTH GATE 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


Draw the curtains again
This flight of mine
Is not a flight
Nor finally an arrival.
Who’s waiting there?
A stone courtyard
A fountain
History a river flowing away.
Only time which hasn’t yet passed.
You spoke of the old ones
Who stopped the sun in a mosque courtyard
Of the men who gathered all the old beliefs
With little stones in their hands.
Will it happen again?
What will it open in the heart?
Time that draws lines on fingers
I wish I’d asked the question.
For answers grow in your sleep.
I wish I’d come unexpected
And opened your curtains.
In our country
A look
A wave of the hand
Means the world.
In our country are no terraces of paradise
No rewards.
And always what lived and fretted away
At a little girl’s mind in the dark 
Was knowing about existence.
She says
‘I asked one night when the moon came up,
Why do human beings exist?
You’ve spoken of water and Adam.’
When I asked which she believed
‘In Adam of course’ she said.
‘Even if he comes from water
He’s there from the beginning.
It grows dark and existence fills the house.
I draw the curtains
She curls up close
All one big eye.
A while ago a man
Buried his father in his country
And lying in the same coffin
He has nightmares.
But when the old ones approach
Goodness begins again.
What will begin are lines that grow on their hands.
‘What a blood-red country,’ I say
‘Are we near the sea?’
‘I’m not sure’ says the little girl.
‘Can you smell it?’
Then she speaks of a smell
That belongs only to Adam and human beings.
‘It was waiting on his table. You saw it’ she says.
I make my way through the desert far from the sea.
The little girl sleeps
She dreams of existence and Adam.
Darkness is far from her.
What things your curtains hide.
As I cross the desert the courtyard waits
And prepares many things.
And through which gate will you enter the city
From the gate looking south?
But you would say north.
How will you pass through the city’s north gate
Without your heart being broken and bruised
How will you enter?



ABRAHAM'S LAKE 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


I.
The city that hears the saint’s words
Is haloed in such darkness,
No enemy tribes can enter.
The city is blind.
A ring of darkness
And Abraham’s lake.
The moon goddess’s sceptre
Shows other directions.
So on the hilltops
Altars to Satan and
Filling with the blood of sacrifice,
Abraham’s lake
Abraham’s lake.
II.

Abraham’s lake
Abraham’s lake
When a woman
Folds her hands on her breast
What is she asking?
Is there something she wants?
It’s time, not man that writes in cuneiform.
My pilgrimage is over
I’ve made the journey
Where the first signs were sun and moon 
And knowledge came man progressed
From the truth of snakes.



REMEMBERING 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


At night
The man
On horseback
Following the river
Thinks of all he left behind
Now what he can’t remember 
Is his own face on the coins.



ARID AMAZEMENT 
Translated by Ruth Christie and Selçuk Berilgen

From the collection Ibrahim'in Beni Terketmesi (Abraham Abandoned Me, Metis, 2007)


He counted the prophets’ years
Before their names,
His amazement would be less
If he had enough fingers
Even if not.
‘Old’ he said with gloomy joy,
Of the arrival of man
Who invented signs
And of the river that rose at the world’s end.
Bones turning to stone
The sky always the same.
Trees loneliness 
Leaves whisper of the cosmos.
Sun lifts their branches
As though to reach God
But the trees don’t remember their roots.
Now your amazement will begin
Your arid
Sunless amazement.
But it seems you’re too late
For humanity
Shadows
And dust
You’re too late.



WOMEN 

Translated by Suat Karantay 

With their blue tattoos
And bruises from endless mournings
They stand still looking at the fire
They all shiver when the wind blows
Their breasts bend to the earth

Carrying burning wood in their hands
Old as black rusty cauldrons
Women continue their wandering
When the fire bursts in a rage
Voices multiply
The fire burns incessantly there
Extinguishing it is such a hassle

Women with shrunken breasts
Are thinking of the hardness of the wood
They'll hold in their uncommonly slender hands
And keep silent
It is hard to guess their age when they are silent
They smell of the earth when they cry out

Unable to recollect where to direct their glances
They let their eyes rest upon the earth
As clouds are not permanent in the sky
They relinquish themselves to the earth
Cordially
And occasionally exude a fragrance 


THE EAST WITH ITS ACRID WIND 

Translated by Ruth Christie 

I came
Silent and sad
I abandoned myself to the earth
My heart was saying Wait
Hurry and find a temple
But I was too late
The shadow of the walls remained
But they themselves had gone

Sometimes I say the east
The east with its acrid wind
Is surely enough for me to understand
For comfort
I packed in my bag
Quatrains and maps
I gathered pebbles
I let my hair down in sorrow

In the midst of that strange crowd
Talking of you
I looked into the deep sleep of mountain lakes
I looked at all the roads in sight
I had no power
To ask about their aching wounds

There
The birds of god are known
Women know the birds of god
And they ask him
God what have we done to you
Did we break your birds' wings
What harm have we done you

God silent
Silent as my mother
Looked
And said to those who were left
Why do you linger here

Ah dear flesh
Why do you linger here
Follow its scent and go
Go
After that acrid wind 


EVERY WOMAN KNOWS HER OWN TREE 

Translated by Suat Karantay 

When I came to you
I would open my wings
Woven with black stones
In that desolate city
I would perch on the boughs of a tree
And I would cry with pain

Every woman knows her own tree

That night I flew
Over the city which frightens even the darkness, I passed.
A soul without a shadow is alone. I howled. 


TIME AND ILLUSION 

Translated by Suat Karantay 

Flying into the field of clouds
With the taste of sun and water
There is no night out there
Night does not fall in the distance

A silver cage around my neck
Like an unfaithful concubine
I lay down and curled up
In the middle of the moon
It is a grandpa
I am a goddess
For days we flew in the twilight

My neck was weak
My heart was empty
I rubbed my face against the trees
Painfully I let my eyes touch the clouds
The roads I traveled over
And that nightless sky
I flew through
Whispered
As weary as God
Sitting in the field of clouds:

Time and illusion
Time and illusion 









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