My first encounter with Turkish Literature is clouded in mystery and fate. It started with a parcel landing on my doorstep in England, from my wife’s sister containing The Selected Stories of an Aziz Nesin.
One look at the cover and I noticed I had seen him before in Germany, by accident. When acting in a play, I had slipped into the adjacent building to see what all the fuss was about and there he was being lauded by a huge crowd, and now fate had brought him, one of the greatest Turkish writers, back to me.
The book laid in the house for a few weeks, then, as they were short stories I took it with me to accompany me on my journeys to and from work. Here I encountered wonderful, witty and insightful narratives with the underdog defeating the wicked powers that be.
I was starting to get the taste…
Some time passed before the next gem landed in my hand. Though after it landed, for months I ignored it, shame on me, how could I have neglected such a dear friend.
We were visiting my mum in Morecombe in The North of England which contained a cave of second hand books, one such book in the shop was A Useless Man by Sait Faik Abasıyanık, which my wife bought for me. It remained in the house tatty and neglected, until I moved to Turkey and then boom. Like a dark expensive red wine, I sipped on it slowly, I still do. Each story brimming with life, hope, heartaches, the day to day told with such heart and skill. İstanbul and Turkey opened for me.
Time to bang the screen again, there was just one book of each of these writers and I had both!!! Now, there is a second book of Sait Faik translated by some publishing house in North Versocia or something, you can get it for two bags of gold.
The Golden Egg…
His name had been in the wind from early on, but I didn’t quite catch it.
Settled in Turkey, he is everywhere, politicians quote him, singers sing his poems, there are TV programs about him. I casually saw a poem online but dismissed it, yes, you’ve heard right, I ask your forgiveness. Then a casual, random, none thinking time online and I clicked and he, Nazım Hikmet (the poems of) landed on my doorstep a few days later, that cheeky all-knowing smile looking at me. I was intrigued. I was drenched in his words coming up for air between phases of his poetry. Sunny, sad, complex, political, revolutionary, about love, life, and everything else in-between. Moulded that you couldn’t see the cracks, it was if they were written just for you. I did this in tribute:
A new world was opening up for me until it was temporarily closed.
There was another book that intrigued me but it was almost always out of stock or I would need to sell a family member to afford it. Then the stars aligned and at last Memed, My Hawk by Yaşar Kemal eventually dropped on my doorstep.
This was Tolstoyesque in grandeur and space. Like him, he created a canvas of scenery that you could almost touch and smell, it was gorgeous. The characters of folklore and people spoke of the Anatolia of the past but brought all the clans and heroes into my room, heart and soul.
Drum roll….
A note on other worthy works that have landed on my palm.
Cahit Külebi: The Turkish Blue, Selected Poems
He opens his heart to loves, lives and areas he knows. It’s universal, it is me and you, but painted on a different canvas.
Ahmet Ümit: A Memento for Istanbul
The Agatha Christie of İstanbul: The characters are so likable and troubled, they are pieced together here, as they are in all of his books, to lure us down dark alleys and to conclusions that we never saw coming, terrific.
Orhan Pamuk: My Name is Red
The Dickens of İstanbul: The life of the city people and places brought to life, in a story that left me breathless. A well-deserved Nobel prize winner.
Mıgırdiç Margosyan: Infidel Quarter
This really is a gem. The life of the Armenian population in Diyarbakır in the 1950s, their traditions and interactions alongside a diverse population is captured wonderfully. The time maybe lost but with wit and style they are here for all eternity, amen.
Kürşat Başar : Music by My Bedside
A relatively modern book and author set against a political backdrop of turmoil in Turkey in the 1950s. This book is lush centering on a romance which is doomed due to the above. It is romantically cheesy at times and I like cheese, so I looked for some more varieties. As ever a dead end, no more translated.
As you can see my journey into Turkish literature has been mostly satisfying, however, it does not exist in vacuum. Demographics, orientation and most significantly gender is skewed towards males, conscious or unconscious.
This needs to be addressed to ensure the complete landscape of Turkey is painted represented and translated.
But as I stated from the outset, it’s a miracle that any writer makes it on English bookshelf or store. Or that a publisher ever considers translating them. (DM/VK)
