Original Ottoman Turkish Text

Metre: fā‘ilātün fā‘ilātün fā‘ilātün fā‘ilün

Gül-şen-i dehrüñ ki pürdür her güli ḫār-ı cefā
Ḥadd-i ẕātında anuñ ḳonmış degül būy-ı vefā
Ṭurfetü’l-‘ayn içre çarḫ-ı kec-rev itdügi işi
Yıllar ile söyleyüp ḳılmaz kişi hergiz edā
İki büküldügi ol kec-rev tevāżu‘dan degül
Çoḳ ḥavādis̱ yüklenüpdür ḳaddi andandur dü-tā
Bunca çeşm ile cihānuñ ḫalḳını gözledügi
Ḫayr ṣanmaḳdan degül gözler ki cānların ala
Sāye-bān olmaġ içün yücelmemişdür böyle çarḫ
Fikri yüksekden yetişmekdür bize seng-i cefā
Kimsene ol bī-s̱ebātı mesned itmelü degül
Aṣṣı mı ider ḳılan dūd-ı siyāha ittikā
Çāder-i küḥlī felekden rāḥat ummañ zīnhār
Hīc bir dem gitmez andan ṣarṣar-ı bād-ı fenā
Kerkes-i gerdūn-ı merdüm-ḫᵛārı gör kim dem-be-dem
Ṭu‘me diyü kendüye şeh-bāzları ḳılur ġıdā
Kejdüm-i mūẕīdür el-ḥaḳ çarḫ-ı kec-reftār kim
Nīş-i zehr-ālūd ile ḫalḳa ḳılur her dem eẕā
Ādemī-zādı ki şöyle yir dem-ā-dem muttaṣıl
Āḫir ider tīzde bu yidi başlu ejdehā
Zīnhār aldanma dünyā-yı denīnüñ alına
Kim ḳatı keẕẕāb u ser-keşdür be-ġāyet ḫod-nümā
Ṭoldurur nüh kāseyi gerdūn zehr ile müdām
Bizüm içün ḳılmaġa şöyle żiyāfetler dilā
Ẓāhiri vü bāṭını mekr ü ḥaseddür buġż u kīn
İçi ṭaşı ṭoptoludur ḥīle vü rīv ü riyā
Tāze güller ḥāṣıl ider cūybār-ı luṭf ile
Ḫāk ile yeksān idüp yine ḳılur hīc ü hebā
Bir sehī servi hezār i‘zāz ile besler velī
Bād-ı ḳahr ile helāk ider virüp biñ biñ belā
Şerbet-i şehd-i muṣaffā didügidür zehr-i nāb
Ni‘met ü rāḥat didügidür anuñ renc ü ‘anā
Her nevāle kim ṣunar zehr-i helāhildür ṭolu
Devlet anuñ kim anuñla olmaz ey dil āşnā
Bilürem ḫod ḥadd-i ẕātında vefā ḳonmış degül
Billah ey çarḫ-ı sitem-kār u denī digil baña
Ḳurretü’l-aynum ‘Alī birle ciger-kūşem Feraḥ
N’eylediler n’itdiler bilsem hele bārī saña
K’ol iki tāze cüvānuñ ḳanını bir haftada
Ṣu gibi içüp bini biñ derde ḳılduñ mübtelā
Āḫir olmadan yanup dügünleri şem‘i tamām
Mātem odı birle yaḳduñ bizi uş başdan başa
Ellerinüñ gitmeden oñat daḫı ḫınnāları
Al ḳurup yürekleri ḳanından urunduñ ḫınā
Cehdüñ ol kim mātem ile ḫatm idesin ‘āḳıbet
Her kişi bir ḫayr işe itmezden öñdin ibtidā
Yañılup güldürdügüñi bir kez ey dehr-i denī
Aġladursın ‘ömr olduḳca anı aña cezā
Şöyle dāġ urduñ dil-i mecrūḥa kim tā ḥaşre dek
‘Ālemi ser-tā-ser istersem bulınmaz bir devā
Çün söyündürdüñ fenā yiliyle şem‘-i çeşmümi
Ḳalmadı dilde sürūr u dīdede nūr-ı żiyā
Baḥr-i ‘Ummāna yetişdi gözlerüm yaşı meger
Telḫ-‘ayş oldı döginür ṭurmaz ol ṣubḥ u mesā
Āh u vāveylāyile efġāna tebdīl eyledüñ
Her ne deñlü kim göñülde var idi fikr-i ṣafā
Baña ‘ayş ü zindegānī bes ḥarām oldı ḥarām
‘Ömrümüñ ḥāṣıllarından çün cüdā düşdüm cüdā
Yitigüm var cā-be-cā mülk-i cihānı isterem
Pīş-vā idüp fiġān u göz yaşını reh-nümā
El-vedā‘ ey rāḥat ü ‘ayş ü neşāṭ ü ḫurremī
Çünki sīne cāy-ı ḥüzn oldı maḳām-ı āh u vā
Sīnemi ḳıldı hedef tīr-i belāsına ḳader
Ol kemān-ebrūlara yetişdi çün tīr-i ḳażā
Olmış idi hicrete heştād ü heft ü heşt ü ṣad
Şeş cihetden göstericek baña yüz yüz biñ belā
Cismümi seyl-āb-ı eşke vireli ṭūfān-ı ġam
Ġarḳ-ı ḫūn itdi gözüm merdümlerin bu mā-cerā
Nā-geh ol iki ciger-kūşemden ayru düşeli
Baġrum ile yüregümi ṭutdı baş ucdan uca
Ḫırmen-i ‘ömr-i ‘azīzüm gibi eflāke tamām
Āh-ı dil-sūzumdan od düşdi ser-ā-ser cā-be-cā
Şöyle kim kār itdi cāna zehr-i hicrān u firāḳ
Hīc gitmez dilden aṣlā nāle-i vā-ḥasretā
Ol iki şāḫ-ı gül içün geydi sünbül ḳaralar
Ġoncalar çāk-i girībān itseler n’ola revā
Lāle ḳanlu yaşa ġarḳ oldı perīşān oldı gül
Nergisüñ beñzi ṣararsa bu firāḳ ile n’ola
Derd ile gird-āb-ı eşke düşdi nīlūfer tamām
Göklere batdı benefşe ḳāmeti olup dü-tā
Ol iki serv-i revānuñ kāmetin lām ideli
Dāl gibi ḳaddümi bükse ‘aceb mi bu ‘azā
Ba‘d-ez-ān Rūḳıyye-veş Belḳīs-ı s̱ānī duḫterüm
K’anuñ ādābından iderdi melek gökde ḥayā
Bī-meḥābā füc’e birle anı da ḳılduñ helāk
Ṣūretā bedr olmış iken ḳāmet ile müntehā
Eyledüñ küllī cihāzını anuñ tābūt-pūş
Vay benüm başuma k’irdi bu muṣībetler baña
Yoḳ yoḳ ey çarḫ-ı felek sen daḫı ‘āciz bendesin
Hele bir sözdür direm acıyla bunları saña
Yoḳsa kimüñ ne sözi var ḳul anuñ fermān anuñ
Her ne gelürse Ḫudādandur gelen biñ şükr aña
Oldur ümmīdüm ki dīdārından ıraġ itmeye
Ḳıldısa anlar cemālinden beni şöyle cüdā
Gözlerüm nūrından ayırdıyısa bu gün beni
Yarın anlara bedel şelle cemāl-i Ḥaḳ ola
Ḳālib-i fersūdeden gitdügi dem cān-ı ‘azīz
Cennetü’l-me’vāda yine cem‘ ide luṭf-ı Ḫudā
Ravża-i Ḫuld-i berīn olup maḳāmı anlaruñ
Her dem ervāḥına irsün pertev-i nūr-ı liḳā
Şeh Ḥüseyn-i Kerbelā birle Ḥasan rūḥıyıla
Mesken olsun anlaruñ rūḥına ḳurb-ı Muṣtafā
Zümre-i evlād-ı pāk-i Muṣtafādan ‘add idüp
Yā Rab anlarla bile ḳopar be-ḥaḳḳ-ı enbiyā
Ben siyeh-rūña daḫı ya‘nī Münīr üftādeñe
Raḥmeten li’l-‘ālemīni ḳıl şefī‘ u ilticā
Ḳara yüzlü bendeñ aña gerçi kim lāyıḳ degül
Kendü lüṭfuñdan tecellā-yı liḳāñ eyle ‘aṭā

In English

1. In the rose garden of the world every rose is full of the thorns of cruelty; the scent of faithfulness was never placed in its nature.

2. What the crooked-moving sky does in the twinkling of an eye, a man could not finish telling even if he spoke of it for years. ("Ṭurfetü'l-‘ayn", in its dictionary sense, is the brief moment it takes to blink.)

3. That crooked one is bent double not out of humility; it has taken on its back a great load of calamities, and that is why its stature is bowed. (The dome of the sky is imagined as a body stooping under a burden. "Ḥavādis̱", in its dictionary sense, means events, especially misfortunes that befall a person.)

4. If the sky watches the people of the world with so many eyes, it is not because it means them well; it watches in order to take their lives. (The "eyes" of the sky are the stars. The word "gözler" at the end of the line reads both as the noun "eyes" and as the verb "watches".)

5. The sky has not risen so high in order to give shade; its intent is to send down upon us, from on high, the stone of cruelty. (The Vatican manuscript has "şöyle" in place of "böyle".)

6. No one should take that inconstant sky as a support; does anyone who leans on black smoke gain anything by it? (The dark colour of the sky is likened to black smoke.)

7. Beware of hoping for rest from the sky, that tent the colour of kohl; the gale of the wind of mortality never leaves it for a moment. ("Ṣarṣar", in its dictionary sense, is a cold and violent wind.)

8. Look at the vulture of the man-eating sky, which at every moment makes royal falcons its food, taking them as its prey. ("Şeh-bāz", in its dictionary sense, is a hunting bird of the falcon kind; here it stands for distinguished, gallant people.)

9. The crooked-walking sky is truly a tormenting scorpion; with its poisoned sting it torments people at every moment. ("Kejdüm" means scorpion; a link is also made with the zodiac sign Scorpio.)

10. This seven-headed dragon devours the children of Adam ceaselessly in this way and in the end swiftly finishes them off. (The sky is likened to a seven-headed dragon; in the old picture of the heavens there are seven spheres and seven planets. In the Vatican manuscript the word order is "yir şöyle".)

11. Beware, do not be deceived by the trickery of the base world, for it is a great liar, headstrong and utterly vain. ("Al", in its dictionary sense, means both trickery and the colour red; the world may also be imagined as a woman adorned and rouged. The Vienna manuscript has "Key" in place of "Kim".)

12. O heart, the sky constantly fills its nine bowls with poison in order to give us such banquets. (The nine bowls are the nine spheres of the old picture of the heavens. The Vienna manuscript has "kāse-i eflāki" in place of "kāseyi gerdūn".)

13. Outside and inside it is deceit, envy, hatred and enmity; inside and out it is crammed with trickery, fraud and hypocrisy.

14. It raises fresh roses with the stream of its kindness, then levels them with the dust and turns them to nothing, to vanishing.

15. It nurtures a straight cypress with a thousand honours, but then destroys it with the wind of its wrath, inflicting a thousand thousand afflictions.

16. What it calls a sherbet of strained honey is pure poison; what it calls blessing and ease is toil and hardship.

17. Every morsel it offers is full of deadly poison; O heart, good fortune belongs to the one who does not befriend it. ("Helāhil", in its dictionary sense, is the name of a deadly poison. The Vienna manuscript has "ki" in place of "kim".)

18. I know well that no faithfulness was placed in its nature; for God's sake, O cruel and base sky, tell me this. (The Vatican manuscript has "kim" in place of "ḫod" and "ẕātuñda" in place of "ẕātında".)

19. What did my Ali, the light of my eyes, and my Ferah, my darling, do, what wrong did they do you? Let me at least know that. ("Ḳurretü'l-‘ayn", the coolness of the eye, and "ciger-kūşe", a corner of the liver, are expressions used for a beloved child.)

20. Within a single week you drank the blood of those two fresh young ones like water and cast me into a thousand sorrows.

21. Before the candle of their wedding had fully burned down, you set us all ablaze from end to end with the fire of mourning. ("Dügün", in its dictionary sense, is used both for a wedding and for a circumcision feast; which is meant here cannot be told from the text.)

22. Before the henna on their hands had properly faded, you laid a trap and dyed yourself with henna from the blood of their hearts. ("Al", again in its two senses of trickery and red, matches henna and blood.)

23. All your effort is this: that before anyone has even begun a good work, you should seal its end with mourning.

24. O base world, whomever you mistakenly make laugh once, you make weep for the rest of his life as a punishment. (The Vatican manuscript has "dem" in place of "kez".)

25. You have branded the wounded heart so deeply that even if I searched the whole world from end to end until the Day of Judgement, no remedy for it would be found.

26. Since you put out the candle of my eye with the wind of mortality, no joy is left in the heart and no light in the eye.

27. The tears of my eyes must have reached the Sea of Oman; so the sea has come to live a bitter life and beats its breast without rest, morning and evening. (The bitterness of sea water and the pounding of the waves are attributed to the poet's tears mingling with it.)

28. Every thought of pleasure that was in the heart you have turned into sighs, laments and cries.

29. Pleasure and life have become forbidden to me, forbidden, since I have been parted from the fruits of my life, parted.

30. I have lost something; making lament my leader and tears my guide, I search the kingdom of the world from place to place.

31. Farewell, O ease, pleasure, mirth and joy, for the breast has become the home of grief, the station of sighs and woe.

32. Fate made my breast the target of the arrow of affliction, for the arrow of destiny reached those with brows curved like bows. ("Kemān-ebrū", bow-browed, means a fair-faced person; bow and arrow form a congruence of images.)

33. It was the year eight hundred and eighty-seven of the Hijra; from the six directions it showed me a hundred times a hundred thousand afflictions. (The phrase "heştād ü heft ü heşt ü ṣad" in the line means in Persian eighty, seven and eight hundred; the total is 887, that is, 1482-1483. "Şeş cihet", in its dictionary sense, is the six directions, that is, every side.)

34. Since the flood of grief gave my body over to the torrent of tears, this event has drowned the pupils of my eyes in blood. ("Merdüm" means both the pupil of the eye and a human being.)

35. Since I was suddenly parted from those two darlings of mine, pain has seized my breast and my heart from end to end.

36. From my heart-burning sighs fire has fallen upon all the heavens, from end to end and place to place, just as upon the harvest of my precious life.

37. The poison of separation and parting has so worked upon my soul that the moan "alas, the grief of it" never leaves my heart. ("Vā-ḥasretā", in its dictionary sense, is a cry of lament, "alas, what a pity".)

38. The hyacinth has put on black for those two rose branches; it would be fitting if the buds tore open their collars. (The dark colour of the hyacinth is read as mourning dress and the opening of the bud as the tearing of a collar.)

39. The tulip has drowned in bloody tears, the rose is scattered; is it any wonder if the narcissus turns pale at this parting?

40. The water lily, in its grief, has fallen wholly into the whirlpool of tears; the violet, bent double, has sunk into the blue of the skies. ("Gök" in old Turkish means both the sky and the colour blue; the drooping posture and dark colour of the violet are read as mourning.)

41. Since death bent the stature of those two swaying cypresses like the letter "lam", is it any wonder if this mourning bends my body like a "dal"? ("Lam" and "dal" are curved letters of the Arabic alphabet. The Vatican manuscript has "‘aceb midür" in place of "‘aceb mi bu".)

42. After that, my daughter, like Ruqayya, a second Bilqis, whose modesty made even the angels in heaven abashed, (Ruqayya is one of the Prophet's daughters; Bilqis is the Queen of Sheba mentioned in the Qur'an. "Rūḳıyye-veş" is read as a comparison; whether this was the girl's name cannot be told from the text.)

43. her too you destroyed without scruple by a sudden death, when her face had become a full moon and her stature had reached its utmost height. ("Füc'e", in its dictionary sense, is death that comes suddenly. "Müntehā" means the furthest limit.)

44. You turned all her trousseau into a pall for her coffin; woe is me, that these calamities have befallen me. ("Cihāz", in its dictionary sense, is a bride's trousseau.)

45. No, no, O turning sky, you too are a helpless servant; I say these things to you in bitterness, only for the sake of speaking.

46. Otherwise, who has anything to say? The servant is His and the command is His. Whatever comes is from God; a thousand thanks for what comes. (The Vienna manuscript lacks the word "biñ".)

47. My hope is that, if He has parted me in this way from their faces, He will not keep me far from His own countenance.

48. If today He has parted me from the light of my eyes, may tomorrow, God willing, the countenance of God be granted in their place. ("Şelle", in its dictionary sense, means "God willing".)

49. When the precious soul leaves the worn-out body, may the grace of God bring us together again in the Garden of Refuge.

50. May their station be the meadow of the lofty Garden of Eternity; may the radiance of the light of beholding God reach their spirits at every moment.

51. Together with the spirits of Husayn, king of Karbala, and Hasan, may nearness to Mustafa be the dwelling of their spirits. (The Vatican manuscript has "anlar ervāḥına" in place of "anlaruñ rūḥına".)

52. O Lord, count them among the pure descendants of Mustafa and, for the sake of the prophets, raise them up together with them. (The Vatican manuscript has "olup" in place of "idüp".)

53. To me as well, the black-faced, your fallen servant, that is, Münîr, grant the Mercy to the Worlds, the Prophet, as intercessor and refuge.

54. Though your black-faced servant is not worthy of it, bestow on him out of your own grace the manifestation of your countenance.

Literary and Historical Commentary

Structure of the Poem

The poem is a Turkish elegy (mersiye) of fifty-four couplets and is numbered Kaside 29 in the edition. The mersiye is a poem that expresses grief at someone's death and recalls the virtues of the dead; in divan poetry it is usually written in the kaside (qasida) form. This poem too follows the kaside pattern: all the couplets carry a single rhyme, and both lines of the first couplet rhyme. The metre is "fâ‘ilâtün fâ‘ilâtün fâ‘ilâtün fâ‘ilün". There is no redif (refrain word); the rhyme rests on a long "ā" (cefā, vefā, edā, dü-tā …). Ersoy counts this kaside among the examples of the rhyme type built on the agreement of the final sound alone, which the poet uses especially in his kasides. The poem is found in the Vatican (VT 57a) and Vienna (VY 161a) manuscripts. The heading in the edition is "Mers̱iyye-i evlād-ı Münīr", that is, "Elegy for the children of Münîr"; the heading in the Vatican manuscript, if the letters the edition could not print are completed from the words of the text, means "Elegy for the children of the author of this divan".

The poem moves in four sections. The first eighteen couplets are a complaint against the sky and the world: the sky is a crooked-moving, man-eating vulture, a poisonous scorpion and a seven-headed dragon; the world is an adorned but lying host. With the address "tell me" in couplet 18 the poet turns to his real subject, and in couplets 19-44 he tells of the death of his children. Couplets 45-46 are a turning point: the poet takes back his reproach to the sky, says that it too is a helpless servant and that everything comes from God, and gives thanks. Couplets 47-54 are a prayer; the pen name (mahlas) "Münīr" appears in couplet 53.

Meaning and Figures of Speech

The first section of the poem treats the theme, common in divan poetry, of complaint against the sky, but here the complaint prepares the grief that is to follow. The images chosen for the sky grow steadily harsher: a porter bent double (3), an eye watching people through its stars (4), someone throwing stones from on high (5), black smoke (6), a vulture (8), a scorpion (9), a dragon (10) and a host who fills nine bowls with poison (12). The word "gözler" in couplet 4 is a pun that denotes both the eyes of the sky, that is, the stars, and the verb "watches". In couplets 14-15 the sky is likened to a gardener who raises roses and cypresses only to destroy them; these two couplets prepare in advance the images of the section that tells of the children's death.

The most striking feature of the mourning section is the setting of wedding beside death. In couplet 21 the fire of mourning blazes before the wedding candles have gone out; in couplet 22 the sky dyes itself with henna from the young people's heart blood before the henna on their hands has faded. The likeness in colour between henna and blood, and the double sense of "al" as both trickery and red, turn this couplet into a harsh antithesis. In couplet 26 "the candle of my eye" expresses both the light of the eye and the dead child; "the light of my eyes" in couplet 48 repeats the same expression. Because the word "merdüm" in couplet 34 means both the pupil of the eye and a human being, the eye drowning in blood also suggests people weeping blood.

In couplets 38-40 the spring flowers go into mourning: the hyacinth puts on black, the buds tear their collars, the tulip drowns in bloody tears, the narcissus turns pale, the water lily falls into a whirlpool of tears, the violet bends double. The familiar colour or posture of each flower is tied to an act of mourning; this is a dense example of hüsn-i talil, the invention of a fanciful cause. Couplet 41 uses a comparison drawn from letters: death has bent the two cypress-tall children like the letter "lam", and mourning has bent the father's body like a "dal". In couplet 29 the repetitions "ḥarām oldı ḥarām" and "cüdā düşdüm cüdā" carry the weight of the grief into the words themselves.

In the prayer of the last section the poet asks God to bring his children together in paradise, to make their spirits near to the Prophet together with the spirits of the Prophet's grandsons Hasan and Husayn, to count them among the Prophet's pure descendants and raise them up with them, and for himself he asks for the Prophet's intercession. Also worth noting is the way the date is set into the line in couplet 33 with Persian number words: "heştād ü heft ü heşt ü ṣad", that is, eighty, seven and eight hundred, gives the Hijri year 887.

Historical Context

This kaside is one of the poems that give the most concrete information about Münîrî's life. According to Ersoy, the poet lost two of his children in 887 (1482-1483) and wrote this fifty-four-couplet elegy on their death. The article on Münîrî in the TDV İslâm Ansiklopedisi states that in this elegy the poet writes that he lost two children named Ali and Ferah, a week apart, in a plague epidemic. The children's names appear in couplet 19 ("Ḳurretü'l-aynum ‘Alī birle ciger-kūşem Feraḥ"), their deaths within a single week in couplet 20, and the year in couplet 33. The poem does not explicitly say that the cause of death was plague; this information belongs to the encyclopaedia article.

Couplets 42-44 of the poem also speak of a daughter. Beginning with "after that", the poet says that his daughter, whose modesty abashed even the angels, also died suddenly and that her trousseau was made into a pall for her coffin. Ersoy and the TDV mention two children; the daughter's death is not mentioned separately in these sources, and her name is not given explicitly in the text. The words wedding and henna in couplets 21-22 suggest that the young people who died had recently had a wedding feast, but the nature of the celebration cannot be told from the poem.

Bibliography

Online sources