I
see AHMET has brought his saz,
illustrative of his story.
He draws himself up to impress
his brooding presence upon us.
Glances at his handwritten notes
show us no improvisation
but rehearsed memorization.
“All who wander far are not lost–
All who sing blues have not lost hope–
All who lost all are not alone.
I will speak of Âşık Veysel,
his life, his songs, how he was brave
in the face of savage assaults
Fortune, Kismet threw at his eyes.
When the boy Veysel turned seven,
smallpox spread in Sivas, blinding
his left eye. And in his right eye,
a film became a cataract.
After an accident, blindness.
Are you counting the misfortunes?
His father wished to counteract
life’s cruelties. A bağlama
consoled the boy, who recited
epic poems of the ozans
taught to him by his loving dad.
Poets dropped by the house to sing.
Verses and tales, visions of love
Veysel took care to memorize
as song began to cauterize
his wounds.
When the First World War put Turkey
under attack, Veysel felt pride,
then loss, as his brothers and friends
rushed to the front. His bağlama,
left him, at age twenty, alone,
distant from combat’s great unknown.
Veysel became a family man
through Esma his wife, who bore him
a daughter and a son. Ten days
after birth, his son died. Dead, too,
his mother. Eighteen months passed by.
His father, grieving, passed away.
Then Esma ran off with a servant
from his brother’s house, and left him
their six-month old daughter, who, too,
died shortly. Sick, dizzy and dazed,
Veysel felt numb, empty, and crazed.
Ten years passed.
The time was 1931.
Fate placed Ahmet Kutsi Tecer
in Veysel’s path. Teacher, mover,
patriot, Tecer shined a light
on the forgotten road Veysel
rambled on. Association
for Folk Poets’ Preservation
sponsored Fest of Folk Poets.
These three days of music and song
turned around Veysel’s aimless life–
Music had healed him of his strife.
Nineteen thirty-three. Tecer Bey
exhorted all his folk poets
to write poems about the fledgling
Turkish Republic, 10 years strong.
Veysel submitted a poem
with a paean to the founder:
“Atatürk is the revival
of Turkey…” Hard to top that line…
Here’s a tale that backed up his claim
enshrined his singing, made his fame.
Ali Riza Bey the mayor
loved Veysel’s poem and urged him
to forward it to Ankara.
Naive and bold, Âşık Veysel
wanted to visit the leader
Mustafa Kemal in person.
Faithful friend Ibrahim, and he
set out in winter conditions
on foot. Three months walking, walking.
They arrived. “What to do? Where to go ?”
There lived a Pasha from Erzurum.
He put them up hospitably,
but only for a few days.
Another man, Hasan Efendi,
let them stay for forty-five days.
“We have a tale! And a mission!
We aren’t here to ramble around.
How can we see Mustafa Kemal?”
And their request was met by this:
“My God! This is not the right time
to lose time with poetry. Go.
Play, sing somewhere else.”
“No, we won’t!
We’ll sing our tale to Mustafa Kemal.”
A deputy replied to me,
“Then sing it to me first! Right now!
This should be in the newspaper!”
No luck, and worse, missing saz strings.
At the bazaar to buy some strings,
we hobbled up with worn sandals,
wearing woolen, baggy trousers,
woolen jackets, braced on our waists
a big cummerbund. Then the police.
“Do not enter! It is forbidden!
Too crowded. You will get lost and hurt.”
We pretended to turn away
and circled back to the bazaar.
“Are you crazy? Don’t go in there!
I’ll break your neck! Forbidden there!”
“We won’t obey you. We’ll buy our strings there.”
“Make it quick! Sit the blind man down there.”
So we bought the strings and strung my saz.
Next day, we found the printing house.
“What do you want?” said the Director.
“We have a tale. Please publish it.”
“Play it to me first. I want to hear it…
Woo! Well done. I liked it a lot.
It will be published tomorrow.”
Next morning, we went back to the bazaar.
Policemen again. More trouble?
“Oh, are you Âşık Veysel? Relax!
Get in the coffeehouses. Sit!”
My song appeared for three straight days.
But still no Mustafa Kemal.
Back to our village we must go.
Fame, but no money to travel.
The municipality refused us.
“You are artisans. You can walk.
Go the way you came. You must walk.”
We tried the Community Center.
“What are you doing here? Go home!”
Our newspaper photo worked.
“Let them in. These are well-known men.
This is Âşık Veysel, come sing.”
Then we departed in the spring.
Uzun ince bir yoldayım,
Gidiyorum gündüz gece,
Bilmiyorum ne haldeyim,
Gidiyorum gündüz gece.
A long and narrow road I’m on.
Day and night I’m walking.
What state I’m in I do not know.
Day and night I’m walking.
The time I came into the world
then I started walking.
At a country inn with two doors
Day and night I’m walking.
Even sleeping I am walking
I look for a reason to stay.
I always see the ones I left.
Day and night I’m walking.
For forty-nine years I’ve been walking
in valleys, mountains, deserts.
In strangers’ lands I make my way.
Day and night I’m walking.
If I think about it deeply,
my destination’s out of sight.
Only a minute seems the road.
Day and night I’m walking.
Surprised at his state, Veysel sings–
Smiles or frowns, which will it be?
My destination’s far way
Day and night I’m walking.”
***
DOĞA İÇİN ÇAL 2 – UZUN İNCE BİR YOLDAYIM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UcbHrcFN7c
