Original Ottoman Turkish Text

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

Ḥālümi ṣorma benüm cānā nedür senden cüdā
Ḥāli n’olur ‘andelībüñ düşse gülşenden cüdā
Ne ḳara günler gelürse gelsün ey meh başuma
Gitsün ol gün gelmesün kim ben olam senden cüdā
Sevgü olmadı belā oldı senüñ mihrüñ baña
Görmesem bir gün seni cānum olur tenden cüdā
Ṣorma dil ḥālin baña sen yeg bilürsin anı kim
Çoḳ zamāndur ol senüñledür olup benden cüdā
Şehsüvārum gitse Ca‘fer dāġ-ı derd urur dile
Yolda mir‘at kim olur ol na‘l-i tevsenden cüdā

In English

1. O soul, do not ask what my state is when I am apart from you; what becomes of the nightingale if it falls apart from the rose garden?

2. O moon-faced one, let whatever black days may come fall upon my head; only let that day pass and never come on which I shall be parted from you.

3. Your love was no love for me, it became an affliction; if I do not see you for a single day, my soul parts from my body.

4. Do not ask me about the state of the heart, you know it better; for it has long been with you, parted from me.

5. Ca'fer, when my horseman goes, a brand of grief is struck upon my heart, like the mirror on the road that parts from the shoe of that steed. (The second line is read in two different ways in the manuscripts.)

Literary and Historical Commentary

Let It Come, Let It Go

The second couplet turns up twice among Erünsal's examples. In the first he points to a lengthening made for the metre: the word "ne" in "Ne ḳara günler gelürse gelsün" is read long, and so the line comes closer to the stress of everyday speech. In the second he notes the choice of words in the same couplet: the verbs "gel-" (come) and "git-" (go) are used in exactly the same way in spoken Turkish today. "Let whatever black days may come fall on my head, only let that day not come" needs no translation for a Turkish reader five hundred years later. The strength of the ghazal comes from this plainness; the refrain "cüdā" (apart) weighs separation from a different side in each couplet.

The first couplet sets the lover's own state beside the nightingale's: the plight of the nightingale parted from the rose garden is the plight of the lover parted from the beloved. In the third, "mihr" again has two senses; love has turned into an affliction for the lover, and not seeing the beloved for a day means the soul parting from the body. The fourth couplet carries a small conceit: the lover cannot answer someone who asks about his heart, since the heart left him long ago and went to the beloved; the one who can answer the question is the beloved herself. The rhyme is carried by senden, gülşenden, tenden, benden and tevsenden.

Horseshoe, Mirror and Fire

The last couplet is the most obscure place in the ghazal. The beloved is pictured as a horseman; when he leaves, a brand of grief, a scar burned with hot iron, is left on the lover's heart. The second half of the simile reads in Erünsal's 2018 printing "Yolda mir‘at kim olur ol na‘l-i tevsenden cüdā": the mirror on the road that parts from the shoe of that steed. On this reading the bright, crescent-shaped print the shoe leaves where it strikes the ground may have been likened to a mirror. The Paris, Hâlet Efendi and Ayasofya copies, however, have "yolda her od kim" according to the thesis: every fire on the road that breaks from the shoe of that steed. In this second reading the sparks struck from stones by the galloping horse's shoes become the fire that brands the lover's heart, and the simile becomes clearer. The rendering follows the printed text; it is enough here to note that the couplet can be understood in two ways. The thesis also records that the Manchester and Cairo copies read "āh kim" instead of "anı kim" in the fourth couplet.

Bibliography

Online sources