Rumi and the Birth of Turkish Poetry

"Why did he[Rumi] not write more in Turkish? Was he not interested in the emergence of a Turkish literature? If he[Rumi] had been, would he have contented himself with a few simple verses and playful 'macaronic' mixtures of elements from two languages? What was wrong with his attitude towards Turkish? Did he regard it as a vulgar language; and did he even despise the common people speaking it?.." 


The following is an extraordinary literary research paper by the Swedish scholar, Professor Lars Johanson who explains and deciphers the mystery of why Maulana Rumi, despite living for more than 50 years in Turkey, decided-- intentionally or unintentionally-- to write his two "Magna Opera", Divan and Masnavi, and the rest of his works in his "Lengua Materna", Farsi.

Rumi and the Birth of Turkish Poetry
Dr. Lars Johanson
http://www.turkiclanguages.com

Although Jelâleddïn Rumi, as Gibb puts it, "presided at the birth of West-Turkish poetry" , his few Turkic verses, mostly Persian—Turkic mulammas, are usually not considered important enough to make him a Turkish poet . Beneath such and similar statements there are often undertones of regret and sometimes even slight reproach. Though Rumi lived "full half a century in a Turkish city", says Gibb, he "did virtually nothing towards the great work of founding Turkish literature". The questions heap up: Why did he not write more in Turkish? Was he not interested in the emergence of a Turkish literature? If he had been, would he have contented himself with a few simple verses and playful 'macaronic' mixtures of elements from two languages? What was wrong with his attitude towards Turkish? Did he regard it as a vulgar language; and did he even despise the common people speaking it?

Such questions are, of course, wrongly posed. It cannot be concluded from Rumï's choice of language for his poetry whether he looked down on Turkish or not, and whether he was, as it is sometimes formulated, "for" or "against" the people (halktan yana vs. halka karçi). Even the question whether he was "interested" in the emergence of a Turkish literature seems rather naive. It is certainly in the retrospective only that it may appear as if Jelâleddïn Rumi had been confronted with such an option at all.First, it must have been natural for Rumi to use Persian. Born in Balkh, he had, while still a young man, escaped the Mongol invasion by fleeing to Qonya together with his father Behâ'eddïn Veled. In the 13th century, the capital of the Seljuk Turkish Empire of Rum was to a great extent Persian-speaking. The stream of fugitives from the East further reinforced the Persian influence in Anatolia. It is, however, equally probable that Rûmï to some degree mastered Turkic, both the Khorasan Turkic variety spoken in Balkh at that time and "Turkish" proper, i.e., the everyday speech of the Seljuk Turks already living in Qonya. In fact, Rûmï spent the mature part of his life in a naturally multilingual environment, in which even demotic Greek was one component.We may suppose that Jelâleddïn Rûmï brought Persian (P) and East Oghuzic (Khorasan) Turkic (TE) with him, and that he acquired knowledge of West Oghuzic, Anatolian Turkish (TW) and even Greek (G) in Qonya.

We know nothing about the relationship between his competence in TW and TE. Once, however, the author gives us to understand that he does not Turkish (man agar Turk nlstam, dänam man ïn qadar kih baturkïst ab su 'although I am not a Turk, I know so much that su is Turkish for water'; VII). This declaration should certainly not be taken literally. As is well known, even Rûmï's son, Sultan Veled, on several occasions claims the same of himself (Tiirkce eger büeydüm ...'if I knew Turkish', etc.), although his work proves that he has an excellent knowledge of the language. However, the linguistic situation just mentioned is certainly not crucial for Rûmï's choice of a literary language. Nor can his choice be reduced to a simple case of "language loyalty" in a later, nationalistic sense. Languages and their varieties are chosen for specific purposes. In our case, the decisive factors are certain stylistic functions of the languages in question. A language used as a poetic vehicle must be elaborated to fulfill this function. As is well known, the Anatolian Seljuk court culture, including the literary education, was basically Persian. Not only did the poets write in Persian, but they also modeled their work on the poetic tradition of Sana'i, 'Attär and others. A stylistic variety of language such as this kind of literary Persian (P+lit) not only offers a developed vocabulary and other devices of a strict linguistic order but, above all, poetic models and a ready-made diction, a pre-existing style. It is easier to write in a functional dialect that offers such stylistic facilities than to transfer these facilities into another language.

Up to the Romantics, the situation in Europe was similar: many poets preferred Latin, since it offered them familiar models of poetic diction, a prepared system of expressions and formula, patterns of wording and versification. Summed up: Rümi simply had, from the beginning, a highly developed, functioning literary instrument at his disposal, by which he could also exert direct influence in Qonya. This statement is, of course, not tantamount to saying that he was an imitator. As we know, Rumi himself developed the available poetic vehicle to a high degree of perfection and created a masterly clear and simple style. It is, in fact, an essential point in our argumentation that Rûmï's activity was poetically productive, whereas that of some of his Turkish successors was largely reproductive, however creative they may have been in a strictly linguistic sense. Since, in Rûmï's situation, the employment of a literary variety of Turkic was not necessary, it appears less important whether such an alternative was at hand at all. It is often claimed that a literary language of a partly Oghuzic character existed in the East, but it must be born in mind that we have extremely scarce information about this idiom. Turkish
originated, like, e.g., Dehhärii, from Khorasan, but it is unknown to what extent the alleged Khorasan Turkic literary language really was in use there, to what degree Rumi mastered it, and Grunina describes the situation in Khorasan as follows: "On constate la formation d'une langue écrit à la base du langue qui pourrait être nommée oghouz d'est dans ces ré-gions avec leur plus grande confusion de la population Oghouz et Qyptchaq par rapport à la périphérie, Anatolie Centrale de cette période-là où, dans l'état plus pur était conservée la première base oghouz. On croit que le principal rôle dans le devenir de cette langue écrite appartient aux koinês urbains des centres d'Iran, Azerbaïdjan, plus tard Anatolie [...]. La littérature et la langue écrite apparues dans cette région probablement pas plus tard du XII siècle à la base de koinè oghouz d'est urbain déteminèrent les traits communs de la langue littéraire d'Anatolie des XIII—XIV siècles".
Whether it could have been used with success in an environment such as Qonya. There are in Rûmî's work no clear signs of contact with a Turkish literary tradition. It is, in this connection, irrelevant that his Persian texts contain a number of Turkic words, since these were common integrated borrowings (v. infra) in the Persian of the period in question.Turkish was not yet a literary medium, elaborated as a functional dialect in the sense of a variety; it was no equivalent poetic tool which Rumi or other poets could have used immediately and adequately for their purposes. This is why it is often considered "rough". European vernaculars in the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance were characterized similarly in comparison with Latin. Poets often wrote Latin with greater ease than their mother tongue. In the same way, the great Navâ'ï, the first major Turkic poet to use his vernacular ("Chaghatai"), testifies, in his Muhäkamat al-luyatain, that it is easier for the beginner to write Persian: the novice gets annoyed with the difficulties connected with composing poetry in Turkic, vä äsänraq sari mäyl qïlur ('and inclines to the easier [i.e., Persian]').

Sultan Veled's previously mentioned dictum concerning his knowledge of Turkish no doubt means that "he did not write Turkish verse with the same facility as Persian" (Gibb 1900:154). Authors' statements on the roughness of Turkish and their own ignorance of it generally refer to its degree of elaboration as a functional dialect and do not necessarily imply any negative judgment on the language as such. Even if Rumi did not master Turkish as a poetic medium, he could, of course, have tried to use it, i.e., to found a variety. We know that languages may be less developed (if used in limited func-tions) but that they are not, as E. Haugen has expressed the situation, "inherently handicapped"; all the great languages of today were once undeveloped. Rumi could have tried to transfer his diction to Turkish, These words are "türkisches Lehngut im Neupersischen, das bei jedem persischen Ver-fasser jener Zeit festgestellt werden kann" (Mansuroglu 1952:106; cf. 1954a.:207: "o za-manin biitiin farsça yazanlannda görülen yeni farsçaya girmis tiirkçe alinma malzeme"). Mehmed §erefeddin (1934) deals both with the Turkic and Persian—Turkic distichs at-tributed to Rûmi as well as the Turkic words occurring in the Persian text of his dìwàn and mattinavi.

European Renaissance poets often wrote in their mother tongue as if it were Latin, profiting from an established style ready for use. However, reformulation of formula acquired in a second language (imitano) may be a difficult task: many authors writing brilliant Latin poems were rather helpless when trying to master their vernacular. The main point, however, is that, even if the transfer is feasible, it must serve a purpose. In Rûmï's case it was not necessary to develop a variety. A new literary language is not likely to emerge if there is already one which meets all requirements. Rûmï's son Sultan Veled had other purposes and, consequently, acted differently. His mattinavi Rebäbnäme and other works contain a considerable number of couplets in Turkish, the earliest important specimen of Turkish poetry. Gibb wonders "what induced the author to break through all precedent, write a series of verses in the Turkish language and incorporate these in a Persian mes-nevi" (1900:152). He finds the 22 couplets in Greek, written in Arabic script, still more remarkable and suggests that the poet has "a fancy for versifying in various tongues". It is, however, important to see that Suljän Veled's situation was entirely different from that of his father. First, he was no immigrant, but born in Qaraman (when his father was still 19 years old). His Turkish competence may have been higher than that of his father. But, more important, he had other, practical aims: to build up the Mevlevi order and to spread and explain his father's ideas among the common people who did not know Persian. As a poet, he necessarily remained in the shade of the great genius. Sultan Veled's "Turkish" has been judged upon very differently, since this issue has two aspects, a poetic and a linguistic one, for which, however, the same terms have been employed. Suljän Veled is poetically reproductive, according to Gibb, "less a poet than a mystic teacher who taught through verse"; he says "what he has to say in the Suljan Veled's Turkish verses "gelten nach wie vor als die älteste iederschrift der türkeitürkischen Sprache" (Adamovic 1985:24). Later on, Turkish poets, as a rule, did not learn and use Greek. He took over the generalship of the order, and founded its first branches at several places.

". Some accuse him of "poverty of language"; Vambéry even takes him at his own word, and declares that Sultan Veled did not have any command of Turkish at all.Rûmï's first followers were, as Gibb says, "masters who chose to teach in verse rather than in prose", and their work was "single-minded in purpose, artless and naive in expression"; cf. early Christian texts, written to be understood by less literate persons but regarded as vulgar by the educated. What mattered was the informative aspect. Nevertheless, Turkish had its breakthrough when brotherhoods, dependent upon missionary activities, directed their efforts to the Turkish-speaking people; cf. the Safawids' use of the vernacular for their religious aims, or Luther's linguistically decisive German bible translation. As for Sultan Veled, he shows a remarkable linguistic creativity in forming a new instrument for expressing spiritual ideas, in introducing a genuine Turkish vocabulary including a mystical terminology (see Mansuroglu 1958). When "the Turkish cause" is discussed, it should be born in mind that, in the cultural situation in which Jelâleddïn Rumi and Sultan Veled acted, there was no linguistic nationalism or language loyalty of a later kind, since nation and language were not intertwined in a mod-ern way. None of them is likely to have been influenced by the fear that Turkish was "menaced". It is highly improbable that they wanted to found a national literary language, however desirable this may appear from a modern Turkish point of view. Nor was there—as later on, under the Ottomans—a strong state that required an official prestige language of its own. As in European mediaeval literature, language choice was determined by the genre and not on the author's nationality. The few Turkish verses written by Jelâleddïn Rumi are found in his diwän.According to Vambéry, Sultán Veled is, "wie er selbst eingesteht, der türkischen Sprache gar nicht mächtig [...] Ja, das Türkische ist auch mitunter sehr untürkisch, wenn nicht geradezu fehlerhaft [...]".

Thus it would also be futile to discuss here whether Rumi was a "Turk" or not. According to Mansuroglu, only 10 of the 17 poems published by Mehmed Serefeddin (1934) really belong to Rum!
If, as suggested, Rumi used Persian to produce and did not have to reproduce, as his son did, we may ask why he used Turkish at all, or why he wrote mulammas. The Seljuk state was one of mixed culture; Qonya offered a organically multilingual environment. In such communities, the functions of the individual languages are mostly distinguished: each one is used in specific situations, for specific purposes. Bi- or multilingual poetry, too, gives a functional reflection of the situation. If Rûmï also wrote in Turkic, it certainly means that this language had functions of its own. Rûmï's Turkic and Persian-Turkic verses have little in common with his great Persian poems. In most cases, it dubious whether they express any mystical content at all. The majority make a "playful" im- pression, have an everyday vocabulary, and refer, no doubt, to the private life of the poet.The Turkic element is sometimes confined to a quotation of a trivial phrase: An yakï turki kih äyad-güyadam.'hey geymü sen?' 'Every Turk who comes says to me, »hey, are you well?

On the whole, it seems as if Rûmï simply could not resist using, tentatively, a vernacular with which he had a good deal of practical contact in his everyday life. of work, e.g., Ahmed Faqih's Carxnämä, may be older than Rumi's poems.Among texts with 'un-Ottoman' forms, Doerfer distinguishes such cases from "individuell fremdbeeinflußte Texte" (e.g., the macaronic poem of Seyyäd IJamza). Björkman: "Die Bedeutung dieser weniger Verse ist gering, sie sind mit seinen grossen persischen Werken überhaupt nicht zu vergleichen" (1961:82); the verses appear "recht bescheiden, denn sie sind weder inhaltlich noch der Form nach bedeutend, eher machen sie einen spielerischen Eindruck" (1964:406).

Mansuroglu characterizes seven poems as "love—anacreontic— mystical verses". Some are no doubt "anacreontic" in the sense of dealing in a cheerful way with the delights of love and wine; the content appears to be predominantly worldly. Even if the motifs are partly erotic, a mystical dimension generally seems to be absent. Terms from the current love and wine poetry are used, though not necessarily as symbols carrying mystical significations.Thus, the word cayi'r 'wine' does not seem to be employed in a religious sense (as, e.g., siici 'wine' in the sufic poetry of Sultan Veli and others)
Rüzi nisast xväham yalyuz sentir-- qatur¡da; hem sen cayir icer sen, hem men qobuz calar men. I want to sit alone beside you one day; you will drink wine, and I will play the lute' (VI).

In general, the vocabulary is hardly sufic, even if terms such as Cäläb 'God', cäläbi 'slave master; head of the order', qulavuz 'leader', and yol 'way' (for tariqatl) occur in a couple of poems, e.g., Uzun yolda sarja budur qulavuz 'This is the leader for you on the long way'. (V). In several poems, a "Turk" is mentioned or addressed (VII: turk-i mäh-cihrah 'moon-faced Turk', VIII: marä yärist turk-i jangjüyi I have a quarrelsome Turkish friend', IX: rasld turkam 'my Turk came'). The situation reflected in several of the poems is likely to concern the relationship to central persons in Rumï's life, such as the wandering dervish Semseddin from Tebriz, the uneducated, beautiful gold-smith Salähaddin Zarküb from Qonya, and Rûmï's last "substitute" (naib u xañfa), Celebï Husâmeddïn Hasan from Urmiya, all all them doubtlessly of Turkic tongue. In two poems (VI, VIII), Sems-i Tebriz 16 II, III, IV, VI, VII, VIII and IX. 17 , Semseddin Muhammed Tebrizi appears in Qonya, where Rumi, as Ritter says, "sich in den schönen Derwisch mystisch verliebt", a love which unleashes a "Strom dichterischer Produktivität" (1942:121). Since his neglected murids were dissatisfied, Sems had to leave for Damascus, but this disappearance did not have the wanted effect: "Maulänä war gänzlich verstört und noch weniger zugänglich als vorher" (Ritter 1942:122). After a new stay in Qonya, Sems disappeared for ever. Only after this separation Rumi really began to develop his mystical, Sufi-religious poetry. He found Sems again in himself, i.e. by a process of identification with the beloved. Thus, in several of Rûmi's ghazals the final bayt contains the name of Sems-i Tebriz instead of the author's own name.
Moreover, as Bjòrkman states, Rûmï's Turkic and mixed Persian—Turkic verses can hardly be regarded as an attempt at "propaganda". According to Mansuroglu, however, two of the poems (I, V) are just that, namely "written with the object of spreading religious mystical ideas amongst the Turkish people" . Bom-baci even suggests that, in one of these poems, Rûmï "se proclame être le guide spirituel de tous les peuples du Soufisme et de l'action du prosélytisme défini par lui en Anatolie". This seems to be a somewhat bold overinterpretation of the passage Eger Tat sen, eger Rum sen, eger Turk, zabän-i bizabänänrä biyämüz 'if you are a Persian, a Greek, or a Turk, learn the language of the tongueless' (V). In any case—even if this interpretation should be correct—the element of "propaganda" for religious-mystical ideas is rather limited in these verses. Bilingual poems of the kind found in Rûmï's Diwan are a common phenomenon in multilingual, especially diglossie situations. European bi- and multilingual poetry goes back at least to the Middle Ages; many mediaeval European poems are written in both Latin and a vernacular. Verses composed in two or more different languages are, on the whole, a highly interesting and many-sided phenomenon. The term 'literary language-mixing' seems less appropriate here, since 'language-mixing' has been used for very different language contact phenomena, e.g. for both alternation ("code-switching") and borrow ing ("code-copying"; Johanson 1992:12 sqq. and 1993). It is important to distinguish these concepts, especially since Ottoman-Turkish poetry was, without normally resorting to alternation, extremely absorptive as regards Arabic and Persian lexical elements. The claim that Ottoman poetry, as a whole, looks like an immense corpus of mulamma's is certainly erroneous. In spite of all inserted foreign lexical elements, its basis (including the basic syntax, inflectional endings, etc.) is generally Turkish in a consistent way. The kind of 'mixing' we are concerned with here is language-alter-nation in poetry, which, in itself, comprises different types. Rûmï's poems are certainly mulammas in the sense of "patch-work" poems or "pied verse", but it would be false to characterize them as 'macaronic', since genuine 'macaronic' verses, as introduced by Teofilo Folengo (Merlinus Coccaius) in the 16th century, are based on Latin and mainly contain Latinized Italian words with Latin endings. Thus, the B words are constructed and treated as A words; this is no real alternation. Why did Rumi compose mulammas'? Indeed, as we have seen, a mulamma can be regarded as a kind of planned 'code-switching'. It addresses an audience which is not necessarily educated, but obviously bilingual enough to appreciate it. Even if it is of popular nature, it has an esoteric aspect: it presupposes knowledge of more than one lan-guage. Its complex function makes it less translatable than a mono-lingual poem: it must be rendered in as many idioms as it was composed in, and the functions of these must be reproduced. In some situations, such polyphonic texts can certainly be said to express a wish for privacy of a linguistic group: a special mixture of languages is used to exclude monolingual groups from communication; cf. Stein-er's view on the dialectical, at once 'welding' and 'divisive' nature of speech (1975).

As stated above, Rûmï's non-Persian poems generally make a rather private impression with respect to their content as well. The combination of languages is functional in the sense that it reflects the actual multilingual situation holding in Rûmï's community. But for what literary ends did the poet use two languages in this con- trapuntal way? As Elwert points out, language alternation varies from literature to literature, and, within the same culture, from period to period, according to the tolerance of the audience, the literary genre, the taste of the period and the stylistic intentions of the author. Elwert shows that the use of foreign language elements in poetry is essentially a stylistic problem with a broad diversity of motiva tions. Even if the technique of inserting foreign elements can be read, Foreign elements in poetry do not always presuppose a polyglot audience. Elwert rightly points out that, in some cases of stylistic use of foreign elements (e.g., since the Romantics, for the characterization of a milieu), the understanding of the latter is not essential, or not even intended. Giese states that especially "el exotista Pierre Loti ofrece bellos ejemplos de elementos de lenguas orientales para caracterizar el ambiente", and quotes some Turkish examples. Poets wrote mulamma's in Persian and the Turkic vernacular early on (Caferoglu 1964). In early Armeno-Turkic literature we meet Armenian poems, intercalated by Turkic verses (Berberian 1964:813 sq.). Bilingual poems help activate a literarily non-active popular language, even if not necessarily written with this aim. The mixed structure is highly efficient: it allows the poet to "exercise" the literarily non-elaborated language in the framework of a poem in the elaborated one. The poem is not only a model, but constitutes the structural framework itself. Köprülü suggests that when poets of Khorasan and Transoxania tried to write Turkic poems rather early in 'arüz, they started with Turkic-Persian mulamma's.

As indicated above, Rûmï is not likely to have had such aims, i.e. to adtivate a literary non-active popular language. But his Turkic verses are exponents of a stage in the typical Ausbau process of a new language: first, the language is used for humorous or folkloristic purposes, then lyric writers may adopt it, followed by prose narrators. When Anatolia was divided into principalities, the literary activities continued in different Turkish dialects, without a prestige idiom accepted by all. Later on, the Ottoman dialect became the only recognised literary medium; its resources were supplemented, its functions elaborated. But the domination of Persian continued. The vehicle for poetry was to a large extent modelled on Persian; Ottoman poets adapted its topics, style, diction and metre to the different requirements of Turkish. Some formed their style in the less elaborated language and learned to master its stylistic resources by reformulating in what they had already formulated in Persian; cf. the practice of European poets translating their own Latin poems as an exercise to develop their diction in the vernacular. Similar cases of Turkic poetic activities are known from the Azeñ area. In view of Jeläleddin Rûmï's enormous non-linguistic impact on Turkish poetry, the verdict that he "did virtually nothing towards the great work of founding Turkish literature" is obviously absurd. Much more difficult is the assessment of his purely linguistic contribution. Periods of bi- or multilingualism have, however, been decisive for the emergence of many literary languages. This is one such case. Not only did Jelâleddîn Rumi "preside" at the birth of Turkish poetry; his mixed verses also mark the multilingual starting-point of the following grandiose development.

نمونه هايى از اشعار تركى مولانا
Samples of Rumi's Poems in Turkish

اوسون وارسا ائى عاقيل، زينهار مالا آلدانماغيل

شول نسنه­نى كيم سن قويوب، گئده­سين اول بوندا قالا

ايلك قوشوق- شعر اول

اوسون وارسا ائى عاقيل Usun varsa ey âqil

زينهار مالا آلدانماغيل! Zinhar mala aldanmağıl

شول نسنه­نى كيم سن قويوب Şol nəsnəni kim sən qoyub

گئده­سين اول بوندا قالا Gedəsin ol bunda qala

سن زحمتيني گؤره­سين Sən zəhmətini görəsin

دونيا مالينى دوره­سينDünya malını dürəsin
آنلار قاليرلار خرج ائديب Anlar qalırlar, xərc edib

آنمايالار سنى بيله Anmayalar səni bilə

سنى اونودور دوستلارين Səni unudur dostların

اوغلون٫ قيزين٫ آروادلارين Oğlun, qızın, arvadların

اول مالينى اوله­شه­لر Ol malını üləşələr
حئساب ائديب قيلدان قيلا Hesab edib qıldan qıla

بير دملييه آغلاشالار Bir dəmliyə ağlaşalar

آندان باريب بايراشالار Andan barıb bayraşalar

سنى چوخورا گؤموشوب Səni çuxura gömüşüb

تئز دؤنه­لر گوله گوله Tez dönələr gülə gülə

قيلمايالار سنه وفا Qılmayalar sənə vəfa

بونلار باي اولا، سن گدا Bunlar bay ola, sən gəda

سنين اوچون وئرمه­يه­لر Sənin üçün verməyələr

بير پارا اتمك يوخسولا Bir para ətmək yoxsula

بوگون سئوينيرسين منيم Bugün sevinirsin mənim

وار دييه آغچام، آلتينيم Var diyə ağçam, altınım

آنمازمىسين اول گونو كيم Anmazmısın ol günü kim

مؤحتاج اولاسين بير پولا؟ Möhtac olasın bir pula

اول مال دئدييين مار اولا Ol mal dediyin mar ola

حاقق´ين گؤزونده تار اولا Haqq’ın gözündə tar ola

هرگيز مدد بولماياسين Hərgiz mədəd bulmayasın

چئوره باخيب ساغا، سولا Çevrə baxıb, sağa sola

ايكينجي قوشوق- شعر دوم

ايلتدين ايسه آندا چيراغ İltdin isə anda çiraq

اولا سنه اول خوش دوراق Ola sənə ol xoş duraq

بوندا نه كيم قيلدين ياراق Bunda nə kim qıldın yaraq

آندا سنه قارشى گله Anda sənə qarşı gələ

مال، سرمايا قيلغيل آزيق Mal sərmaya qılğıl azıq

حاقق´ا اينانيرسان باييق Haqq’a inanırsan bayıq

ياپ آخيرت٫ دونيانى ييخ Yap axirət, dünyanı yıx

تا ائره­سين خوش منزيلهTa erəsin xoş mənzilə

چون اولا الينده ديره­م Çün ola əlində dirəm

يئتديكجه گوج، قيلغيل كرم Yetkicə güc, qılğıl kərəm

اؤيود بودور كى من دئره­م Öyüd budur ki mən derəm

دؤولت آنين اؤيود آلا Dövlət anın öyüd ala

آييتما مال اولدو تلف! Ayıtma mal oldu tələf

حاقق مين بيرين وئره­ر خلف Haq min birinin verər xələf

قيلغيل سلف! قيلما علف! Qılğıl sələf! Qılma ələf

ورنه هامى ضاييع اولا! Vərnə hamı zayi ola

ديله­ر ايسه­ن عئيش-ى ابد Dilər isən eyş-i əbəd

قيل نه دئدييسه اول احد Qıl nə dediysə ol əhəd

اوندان ديله هر دم مدد! Ondan dilə hər dəm mədəd

تا ائريشه­سين حاصيلا! Ta erişəsin hasıla

بئيله بويوردو لم يزل: Beylə buyurdu ləm yəzəl

"بيلين منى! قيلين عمل! Bilin məni! Qılın əməl

ترك ائيله­نيز طول-ى امل Tərk eyləniz tul-i əməl

اويمايينيز هر باطيلا! Uymayınız hər batıla

يوخسول ايسه­ن، صبر ائيله­گيل Yoxsul isən, səbr eyləgil

گر باى ايسه­ن، خئير ائيله­گيل! Gər bay isən, xeyr eyləgil

هر بير حالا شوكر ائيله­گيل! Hər bir hala şükr eyləgil

حاقق دؤندوره­ر حالدان حالا Haq döndərər haldan hala

دونيا او´نون٫ آخرت او´نون Dünya onun, axrət onun

نئعمت او´نون٫ مئحنت او´نون Ne’mət onun, mehnət onun

دامو او´نون٫ جننت او´نون Damu onun, cənnət onun

دؤولت اونون كاني بولا Dövlət onun k’ani bula

حاق´دان منه نه مال گره­ك Haq’dan mənə nə mal gərək

نه قيل گره­ك٫ نه قال گره­ك Nə qil gərək, nə qal gərək

ديله­ييم اييى حال گره­ك Diləyim iyi hal gərək

كندؤزونو بيله­ن قولا Kəndözünü bilən qula

اول كيم گئده اوزاق يولا Ol kim gedə uzaq yola

گره­ك آزيق آلا بيله Gərək azıq ala bilə

آلماز ايسه يولدا قالا Almaz isə yolda qala

ائرمه­يه هرگيز منزيله Erməyə hərgiz mənzilə

وئردى سنه مالى چلب Verdi sənə malı Çələb

تا خئيره قيلاسين سبب Ta xeyrə qılasın səbəb

خئير ائيله­گيل، حاق قيل طلب! Xeyr eyləgil, Haq qıl tələb

وئرمه­دن اول مالى يئله! Vermədən ol malı yelə

آس ائتمه­يه مالين سنين As etməyə malın sənin

خوش اولمايا حالين سنين Xoş olmaya halın sənin
نسنه­رمه­يه الين سنين Nəsnərməyə əlin sənin

گر سونمه­دينسه ال اله Gər sünmədinsə əl ələ

من بير بيچاره ائى ايلاه! Mən bir biçarə ey İlah

ياولاق چوخ ائيله­ديم گوناه Yavlaq çox eylədim günah

يازيقلاريمدان آه، آه! Yazıqlarımdan ah ah

ما شرح ائده­م، گلمز ديله Ma şərh edəm gəlməz dilə

ائى شمس، ديله حاق´دان حاق´ي! Ey Şəms, dilə Haq’dan Haq’ı

بيز فانىبيز ، اولدور باقى Biz fanibiz. Ol’dur baqi

قامولار او´نون موشتاقى Qamular O’nun muştaqı

تاخوده­كو (؟) كيمين اولا! Taxudəki (?) kimin ola

كيچكينن اوغلان٫ هئى بيزه گلگيل! Kiçkinən oğlan, hey bizə gəlgil

داغلاردان داشدان٫ هئى بيزه گلگيل! Dağlardan daşdan, hey bizə gəlgil

آى بيگى سندين٫ گون بيگى سنسين Ay bigi səndin, gün bigi sənsin

بيمزه گلمه! بامزه گلگيل! Biməzə gəlmə, baməzə gəlgil

كيچكينن اوغلان٫ اوتاغا گيرگيل! Kiçkinən oğlan, otağa girgil

يولو بولمازسان٫ داغلاردان گزگيل! Yolu bulmazsan, dağlardan gəzgil

اول چيچه­يى كيم، يازىدا بولدون Ol çiçəyi kim yazıda buldun

كيمسه­يه وئرمه! خيصمينا وئرگيل! Kimsəyə vermə, xısmına vergil
گله­سن بوندا سنه يئى٫ غرضيم يوخ٫ ائشيديرسين Gələsən bunda sənə yey, qərəzim yox, eşidirsin

قالاسان آندا ياووزدور٫ يالينيز قاندا قاليرسين؟ Qalasan anda yavuzdur, yalınız qanda qalırsın

چلب´يندير قامو ديرليك٫ چلب´ه گل! نه گزه­رسين؟ Çələb’indir qamu dirlik, Çələb’ə gəl nə gəzirsin

چلبى قوللارين ايسته­ر٫ چلبى´نى نه سانيرسين؟ Çələbi qulların istər Çələb’ini nə sanırsın

نه اوغوردور٫ نه اوغوردور٫ چلب آغزيندا قيغيرماق Nə uğurdur, nə uğurdur Çələb ağzında qığırmaq

قولاغين آچ! قولاغين آچ! بولا كى آندا دويارسين Qulağın aç, qulağın aç, bola ki anda duyarsın



اگر يئىدير قارينداش٫ يوخسا ياووز Əgər yeydir qarındaş, yoxsa yavuz

اوزون يولدا سنه بودور قيلاووز Uzun yolda sənə budur qılavuz

چوبانى برك توت! قوردلار اؤكوشدور Çobanı bərk tut, qurdlar öküşdür

ائشيت مندن قارا گؤزوم٫ قارا قوز! Eşit məndən qara qözüm, qara quz

اگر تات´سان و گر روم´سان و گر تورك Əgər Tatsan, vəgər Rumsan, vəgər Türk

زبان بىزبانان را بياموز! Zəbani bizəbanan ra biyamuz


از ملمعات تركي-فارسي مولانا
Turkish and Farsi mixed poems of Rumi


دانى كه من به عالم٫ يالنيز سنى سئوه­رمن
چون در برم نيايى٫ اندر غمت اؤله­رمن
من يار باوفايم٫ بر من جفا قيليرسين
گر تو مرا نخواهي، من خود سني ديله­رمن
روئى چو ماه دارى٫ من شاددل از آنم
زان شكرين لبانت٫ بير اؤپگونو ديله­رمن.تو همچو شير هستى ٫ منيم قانيم ايچه­رسين٫
من چون سگان كويت٫ دنبال تو گزه­رمن
فرماى غمزه ات را٫ تا خون من نريزد
ورنه سنين اليندن من يارغي‌يا بارارمن
هر دم به خشم گويى: بارغيل منيم قاتيمدان!من روى سخت كرده٫ نزديك تو دورارمن
روزى نشست خواهم٫ يالقيز سنين قاتيندا
هم سن چاخير ايچه­رسين٫ هم من قوپوز چالارمن
روزى كه من نبينم آن روى همچو ماهت
جانا! نشان كويت٫ از هر كسى سورارمن
آن شب كه خفته باشى٫ مست و خراب و تنها
نوشين لبت به دندان٫ قاتى قايى يارارمن
ماهى چو شمس تبريز٫ غيبت نمود و گفتند:از ديگرى نپرسيد٫ من سؤيله­ديم٫ آرارمن



ماهست نمىدانم٫ خورشيد رخت يانه

بو آيريليق اودونا٫ نئجه جيگريم يانه؟

مردم ز فراق تو٫ مردم كه همه دانند

عئشق اودو نهان اولماز٫ يانار دوشه­جك جانه

سوداى رخ ليلى٫ شد حاصل ما خيلى

مجنون كيمى واوئيلا٫ اولدوم گينه ديوانه

صد تير زند بر دل٫ آن ترك كمان ابرو

فيتنه­لى آلا گؤزلر٫ چون اويخودان اويانه

ائى شاه شجاع الدين٫ شمس الحق تبريزى!

رحمتدن اگر نولا٫ بير قطره بيزه دامه؟

مرا ياريست ترك جنگجويى

كه او هر لحظه بر من ياغى بولغاى

هر آن نقدى كه جنسى ديد با من

ستاند او ز من تا چاخير آلغاى

بنوشد چاخير و آنگه بگويد:

تلا لالا تلا ترلم٫ تلا لاى

گل ائى ساقى٫ غنيمت بيل بو دم­نى!

كه فردا كس نداند كه نه بولغاى

الا ائى شمس-ى تبريزى نظر قيل!

كه عشقت آتش است و جسم ما ناى



اى ترك ماه چهره! چه گردد كه صبح تو

آيى به حجره من و گويى كه : گل برى!؟

تو ماه تركى و من اگر ترك نيستم

دانم به اين قدر كه به تركيست آب سو

آب حيات تو گر ازين بنده تيره شد

تركى مكن به كشتنم اى ترك ترك خو

رزق مرا فراخى از آن چشم تنگ توست

اى تو هزار دولت و اقبال تو به تو

مكش از بهر خون من اى آرسالان قيليچ

عشقت گرفته جمله اجزام مو به مو

نام تو ترك گفتم از بهر مغلطه

زيرا كه عشق دارد صد حاسد و عدو

گؤيچه­ك باخيشلارين بر ما فسون بخواند

اى سيز ديشى تو سئىره ك و دسيز ديش هانى بيجو ؟

تكتور شنيده ام از تو و خاموش مانده ام

غماز من بس است در اين عشق رنگ و بو



رسيد تركم با چهره اى گل وردى٫ بگفتمش

چه شد آن عهد؟ گفت: اول واردى

بگفتمش كه: يكى نامه اى بدست صبا بدادم

اى عجب آورد؟ گفت: گؤسته­ردى

بگفتمش چرا به يكه آمدى اى دوست؟

سئييرتدى يولداشيم يولدا٫ ائردى





من كجا، شعر از كجا؟ ليكن به من در مىدمد

آن يكي تركي كه آيد، گويدم: هئي كيمسين؟





يا اوحدالجمال٫ يا جانيم مىسين؟!

تو از عهد من اى دوست مگر ناديمسين؟

قد كنت تحبنى٫ فقل: تاجيك´سين

واليوم هجرتنى٫ فقل: سن كيمسين؟


آن ترك سلامم كند و گويد "كيمسين"

گويم كه "خمش كن كه نه كي دانم ني بي


گفتم فضولى من: اى شاه خوش و روشن!

اين كار چه كار تست؟ كو سنجر؟ كو قوتلو؟

مست است دماغ من، خواهم سخنى گفتن

تا باشم من مجرم، تا باشم يازيقلى


آن پسر پينه دوز٫ شب همه شب تا به روز

بانگ زند چون خروس: اسكى پاپوچ كيمده وار؟


اوزون ائى يار-ى رؤوحانى

وئرير ايسسى كيمى جانى

سنين اول اييىلييين هانى؟

اگر من متهم باشم؟


به صلح آمد آن ترك تند و عربده جو

گرفت دست مرا و گفت: تانرى يارليغاسين