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MY TEACHERSuperannuated children At the tether of insensitivity, These are your work - Born of selfishness, Each generation slips away Further and further. From every sideways glance Aimed at revolt Fleas give birth to dragons And they do it from the underside Of workbenches only partially covered with tablecloths. The month of September in their eyes Piles their up their hatreds day in and day out, An anteroom for opportunists A shelter annihilating love And - A prop For confidence, Whose opposite face falls into a ravine. My teacher, Before the wellspring of your values dries up... Draw near, and you'll see the capillary vessles Of youth. Draw near, Before the last vestiges of your sensibilities Are snuffed out, scattered by the winds of Time. Oh, I know, No matter what you plea, Your inner Tribunal doesn't leave you free So long as tomorrow drops suffering into your lap. Events fall out on your right, Secrets shake you up on your left The source of worrying Is in every tomorrow Looming inside you... Your accomplishments, my dear teacher, Only see you They can't see themselves!... Üzeyir Lokman CAYCI Paris - 30.04.2001 Traduit par Yakup YURT en français French free verse translated into English free verse by Richard Vallance, 2002 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 ÖĞRETMENİM Eserin senin Duyarsızlığın ucundaki Yaşlı çocuklar… Tutunmuşlar bencilliğin Çıkıntılarından İne ine aşağılara Bir nesil tükeniyor… Kırpıldıkça kenarlarından İsyan üreten görüntüler Üstü örtülü bir tezgah altında Ejderhalar üretiyor pireler Eylül onların gözlerinin içinde Kinle oluşmuş bir yığınak Fırsatçıların odağı Sevgiyi imha eden bir sığınak Ve… Umut bağladıkları Arkası uçurum olan Bir dayanak... Öğretmenim Kurumadan Değerleri kaynağı… Yaklaş kılcal damarlarına Gençliğin… Yaklaş Sönmüş bir duyarlığı Zaman savurmadan. Biliyorum Yakanda iki el var… Özgür değilsin iç dünyanda Acılarla önüne düşerken yarın… Sağında olaylar, Solunda seni hırpalayan sırlar Endişelerin kaynağı Senin içinde büyüyen Yarınlar... Eserlerin Sadece seni değil, Kendilerini de göremiyorlar Öğretmeniml… Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI Paris - 30. 04. 2001 MEIN LEHRER Dein Werk sind es Alte Kinder am anderen Ende der Gefühlslosigkeit... Sie halten sich am Eigeninteresse fest, Nach unten stirbt eine Generation ab... Je mehr sie von der Kannte verschnitten werden Erscheinen Rebellion erzeugende Bilder Unter einer gedeckten Theke Produzieren die Läuse die Drachen... Der September ist in ihren Augen Mit Hass erfüllt Das Nest der Leute, Die eine günstige Gelegenheit zu nutzen suchen Eine Bleibe, in der die Liebe vernichtet wird Und... Woran sie eine Hoffnung anknüpfen Ist eine Stütze Hinter dem der Abgrund liegt... Lieber Lehrer, Bevor die Quelle der Werte ausgeht Versuche dich anzunähern An die Kapillargefäße Der Jugend... Komm näher An die ausgehende Sensibilität Bevor die Zeit davon läuft... Ich weiß An deinem Kragen sind zwei Hände... Du bist in deiner inneren Welt nicht frei Während der Morgen Mit Sorgen vor dir erscheint... Rechts von dir die Geschnisse Links die Geheimnisse, die dich übel zurichten Die Quelle deiner Sorgen Ist der, in dir wachsende Morgen... Deine Werke Können nicht nur dich nicht sehen, Sie sehen sich selbst auch nicht... Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI Paris - 30. 04. 2001 Übersetzung : Nuray LALE A été publié dans : Yer aldığı yayınlar : 00.11.2001 ÇORUMLU 2000 DERGİSİ N°32 (TURQUIE) FLEUR SERAP SEVGI SERRAN CIELAT SERCOTAR BOR GEDICHTE ABC BEDIA GÜR Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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