Nazim Hikmet (January 17, 1902 – June 3, 1963) was a Turkish poet and best known as a romantic revolutionary. His works were banned in Turkey from 1938 to 1965 because of his political views.

Most of his adult life was spent in prison, and intellectuals worldwide, including Jean-Paul Sartre and Pablo Picasso, campaigned for his release. He spent his last days in Moscow. 

It was the well-known story writer Mr. Gyanranjan who introduced the poet to the Hindi readers when, in 1994, he published some of his translated works in his prestigious magazine Pahal.

I am grateful that Gyanranjan was the first to publish my poems in Pahal (Pahal 46). Therefore, I have very fond memories of the magazine and great respect for its editor, Gyanranjan (our beloved Gyan Ji). 

Pahal was akin to Granta or Paris Review in Hindi — an outstanding magazine. 

Gyan Ji is with us, hale and healthy. 

The poems were translated by Viren Dangwal (August 5, 1947 – September 28, 2015), another very talented Hindi poet.

Although my favorite is his poem Jeene Ke Bare Me (About Living), that’s a lengthy poem and will take time to translate, so read here Mera Janaza - 

मेरा जनाज़ा

मेरा जनाजा क्या हमारे आंगन से उठेगा? 

तीसरी मन्जिल से कैसे उतारोगे मुझे? 

ताबूत अंटेगा नहीं लिफ्ट में 

और सीढ़ियाँ निहायत संकरी है

शायद अहाते में घुटनों भर धूप होगी और कबूतर, 

शायद बर्फ बच्चों के कलरव से भरी हुई, 

शायद बारिश अपने भीगे तारकोल के साथ

और कूड़ेदान डटे ही होंगे आंगन में हमेशा की तरह 

अगर, जैसा कि यहाँ का दस्तूर है, 

मुझे रखा गया ट्रक में खुले चेहरे 

हो सकता है कोई कबूतर बीट कर दे 

मेरे माथे परः यह शुभ संकेत है 

बैण्ड हो या न हो, बच्चे आयेंगे मेरे करीब 

उनमें उत्सुकता होती ही है मृतकों के बारे में

हमारी रसोई की खिड़की मुझे जाता हुआ देखेगी

हमारी बालकनी मुझे विदा देगी तार पर सूखते कपड़ों से 

इस अहाते में मैं उससे ज्यादा खुश था 

जितना तुम कभी समझ पाओगे 

पड़ोसियों, 

मैं तुम सबके लिये दीर्घायु की कामना करता हूँ

My Funeral

Will my funeral procession depart from our courtyard?

How will you get me down from the third floor?

The coffin won't fit in the elevator

And the stairs are extremely narrow.

Perhaps the courtyard will be flooded with knee-high sunlight and pigeons.

Perhaps the snow will echo with children's chirping,

Perhaps the rain will be accompanied by its own wet tar.

And the trash cans will be standing in the courtyard as always.

If, as is customary here,

My body is laid face-up and uncovered in a truck.

Maybe a pigeon will poop

on my forehead: it's a good sign.

Whether there's a band or not, 

the children will come close to me

They're always curious about the dead.

Our kitchen window will see me go.

Our balcony will bid me farewell 

with clothes drying on the wire.

I was happier in this yard than you will ever know.

Neighbors,

I wish you all a long life.

(Top Photo courtesy coop.co.uk with thanks)