Hourglass
Original version (Turkish):
“Kum Saati” by Nazmi Ağıl
Topraktan yaratılmış olmaya
itirazım yok ama nereden
aklına geldiyse Tanrı’nın
her şeyi bir kum saatinin
işleyişinde ayarlamak!
Haznenin üst katında ben
kendimden hoşnut bütün
oturmuşluğumla yaşar,
zaman aralığından
dökülen her zerrem
yavaş yavaş aşağıda
oğlumu biçimlerken
ve bana ait tüm
özellikler simetrik aynada
onun olurken taklit yoluyla
bir sorun yok aslında.
Ne vakit bir el,
zamanlı zamansız, uzanıp
tersyüz ediyor akışı,
bana, şansım varsa eğer,
bu şiir sayesinde
adını koyabileceğim bir şeyler
oluyor:
Gardırobunu karıştırıp
giysilerini çalıyorum oğlumun,
parfümünü sıkıyorum,
arabadaysam bir ses, “Bas!”
diye fısıldıyor kulağıma
ve ben o an neredeysem,
sanki başka bir yerde
horon tepiyor hayat.
Doğrusu, her dönemde
yaşanıyor bunlar, sık sık,
ama yaşınız bir kere kırk
olduysa, “yaşdönümü” diyorlar.
Gazeteler, kitaplar yazıyor, fakat
bunu herkese anlatmak zor.
Mesela karım,
iki gündür surat asıyor, neymiş?
O ayna önünde ikircimler
yaşarken beyimiz tezgahtar
kızla, ohh, muhabbetteymiş.
Tamam,
çiçekçinin önünde durun lütfen,
bir demet kasımpatı
götüreceğim ona ve “Pardon,”
diyeceğim, “karışıyor bazen,
bendeki oğlumla, oğlumdaki ben.”
English version:
“Hourglass” translated by Mehmet Kaan Eğretli
I don’t object to having been
created from soil but from where
the hell did it come to God’s mind
to set everything in the workings
of an hourglass!
When I live in the top chamber
self-complacent and with
all of my settledness,
as every single particle of me
spilling from the time gap
forms my son
slowly downstairs
and all the features belonging
to me become his in the symmetrical
mirror through way of imitation
there is actually no problem.
But whenever a hand,
in untimely manner,
leans and inverts the flow,
to me, something,
which I can name, if I am lucky,
through this poem
happens:
Rummaging through his wardrobe
I steal my son’s clothes,
I use his perfume,
if I am in the car, “Floor it!”
whispers a voice to my ears
and wherever I am then,
it is as if life
dances somewhere else.
In fact, these things happen
in all stages, quite regularly,
but once you are aged forty,
they call it “climacteric”.
Newspapers, books write it, but
it is hard to explain to everybody.
For example, my wife,
She’s been pouting for two days, and why?
While she was hesitating in front of
the mirror his highness was chatting it up
with the salesgirl, isn’t that nice?
Alright,
stop by the flower shop please,
I will take her
a bouquet of chrysanthemums and “Sorry”
I will say, “it gets mixed up sometimes,
my son in me and me in my son.”
This is the English translation of Nazmi Ağıl’s poem called “Kum Saati”. It is a rather straight forward poem that utilizes an extended metaphor to deal with the issues of parenthood and becoming old. A Writer, poet, and educator, Nazmi Ağıl was born in 1964 in Eskişehir. He graduated from the Department of English Language and Literature at Boğaziçi University. He completed his master’s and doctoral studies in the same department. He is currently working as a faculty member in the Department of English Language and Comparative Literature at Koç University. (This translation was meant to be included on the previous file, however it was left out due to a technical issue, now that it is solved, I aim to do a late submission if it is possible).