İsmet Özel

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İsmet Özel
Born	19 september 1944 Kayseri, Turkey

İsmet Özel (born 19 September 1944 in Kayseri) is a Turkish poet and Islamist thinker. He is the sixth child of a police officer from Söke. He attended his primary and secondary school in Kastamonu, Çankırı and Ankara.

Özel attended classes at Political Science Faculty of Ankara University, but graduated from the French Language department of Hacettepe University. He published Halkın Dostları magazine with Ataol Behramoğlu.

İsmet Özel's songs of freedom derived its content from socialism but their structure and symbolism reflected the tastes of the Second New Generation movement in Turkish poetry. In the 1970s, Özel developed a mystic and Islamist view which shocked his leftist audience.

He worked as a French lecturer in the State Conservatory. He spent all his time writing after he retired. Because of both his interesting character and works, he took an impressive place among his contemporaries.

İsmet Özel, who published his early poems in 1963, became salient with densely using images and his meticulous effort to choose words. He collected his early poems in the book called Geceleyin Bir Koşu (A Run in the Night, 1966), in which he searches the truth of being human. His attributions about gathering the innovations and experimental sides of Turkish Poetry with social realism and his success to realize it caused to his second book called Evet İsyan (Yes, Rebel, 1969) made big echoes.

In 1970 he published Halkın Dostları review with Ataol Behramoğlu. In fact, Ataol Behramoğlu purified his poetry by leaving out crude propaganda and naive didacticism. İsmet Özel, perhaps the most talented of the group, turned to Islam for inspiration, but preserved the revolutionary bravura of his Marxist days. In following years, İsmet Özel experienced great changes in his political and philosophical approaches, and dedicated himself to the Islamic thought.

When asked by his friend Murat Belge, a noted socialist intellectual, the reason for his conversion, Özel replied, "a man looks either after his freedom or his security, but he cannot acquire one without the other. All my life has been a search for ontological security. I am convinced that I found this security in the Qur'an. Islam is a healing for me. Those who either have no wounds or are not aware of their wounds will have no need for this healing." However, özel is convinced that mankind is sick. In Three Problems: Technology, Civilization and Alienation and in To Speak in Difficult Times and also It Is Prohibited to Eat the Stones, Özel argues that mankind is from an acute alienation which is a result of destructive technology, artificial division of man and nature, and the enlightened principles of Islam which emphasize the synthesis of the sacred and the profane is the only medicine available for this disease. Three Problems is one of the most influential books of recent times in Turkey.

Another following twenty years, he claimed that he broke the ties with the Islamic Media. His third work called Cinayetler Kitabı (The Book of Murders, 1975) was a perfect example of his quality in writing poems which it emphasizes the dedication to his early works.

In addition to putting his understanding of poetry, the book called Şiir Okuma Kılavuzu (The Handbook of Reading a Poem, 1980) also points an still being a research field: the contemporary position of Turkish Poetry.

In the book called Celladıma Gülümserken (When I Smile at My Executioner, 1984), the main borders of İsmet Özel’s poetic world clarified, he collected all his poems in the book Erbain / Kırk Yılın Şiirleri (Erbain - The Poems of 40 Years, 1987).

Except newspaper works, starting from 1960, he published his poems and works in Devinim 60, Papirüs, Yeni Dergi, Şiir Sanatı, Halkın Dostları (1964-71), Diriliş, Mavera, Gösteri, etc.

The most notable of these is undoubtedly the column he had in newspapers of Yeni Devir (1977-79 and 1981-82), beginning from 1981-82 / 1985 partially in the Millî Gazete, moreover also in the Yeni Şafak newspaper.

Both in these works and his first essay book called Üç Mesele' (In Three Problems: Technology, Civilization and Alienation) (1978), he defended that Muslims had to be dependent to the Islamic sources itself. He claimed that this is the most realistic and rightful effort in the conditions that is far and away from Islamic Sources.

He won the Writers’ Union Turkey’s Essay Award (1985) and Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral Award (1995) with his book Taşları Yemek Yasak (It Is Prohibited to Eat the Stones).

He told his views about intellectual agenda in the television program İsmet Özel'le Başbaşa (Alone with İsmet Özel) which was hosted by İsmail Kara on Channel 7.

Özel has aimed at a new awareness of social responsibilities. In the 1970s he adopted a mystical view of life, without losing the strength of expression and inventiveness which he had evolved during his socialist period.

İsmet Özel have drawn upon their knowledge of Western philosophy, Marxist sociology, and radical Islamist political theory to advocate a modern Islamic perspective that does not hesitate to criticize genuine societal ills while simultaneously remaining faithful to the ethical values and spiritual dimensions of religion.

İsmet Özel, a Marxist convert to Islam: "I did not consider myself a part of the society I was in—but as a candidate for the courageous and uncompromising defense of the cause of the just."

"As a political system in Turkey, socialism is possible, Turkism is probable, Islam is certain."

[edit] Works

[edit] Poetry Book

1. Geceleyin Bir Koşu (A Run in the Night)
2. Evet, İsyan (Yes, Rebel)
3. Cinayetler Kitabı (The Book of Murders)
4. Celladıma Gülümserken (When I Smile at My Executioner)
5. Erbain (The poems of 40 Years)
6. Bir Yusuf Masalı (A Fairytale About Yusuf)
7. Çatlıycak Kadar Aşkî
8. Of Not Being A Jew

[edit] Books

1. Üç Mesele
2. Zor Zamanda Konuşmak
3. Taşları Yemek Yasak (It is Prohibited to Eat the Stones)
4. Bakanlar ve Görenler
5. Faydasız Yazılar
6. İrtica Elden Gidiyor
7. Surat Asmak Hakkımız
8. Tehdit Değil Teklif
9. Waldo Sen Neden Burada Değilsin?
10. Sorulunca Söylenen
11. Cuma Mektupları - 1
12. Cuma Mektupları - 2
13. Cuma Mektupları - 3
14. Cuma Mektupları - 4
15. Cuma Mektupları - 5
16. Cuma Mektupları - 6
17. Cuma Mektupları - 7
18. Cuma Mektupları - 8
19. Cuma Mektupları - 9
20. Cuma Mektupları - 10
21. Tahrir Vazifeleri
22. Neyi Kaybettiğini Hatırla
23. Ve'l-Asr
24. Tavşanın Randevusu
25. Bilinç Bile İlginç
26. Şiir Okuma Kılavuzu
27. 40 Hadis
28. Henry Sen Neden Buradasın-1
29. Henry Sen Neden Buradasın-2
30. Kalıntürk

[edit] Interview and Letters

1. Sorulunca Söylenen
2. Genç Bir Şairden Genç Bir Şaire Mektuplar (Letters from a Young Poet to a Young Poet, correspondence with İsmet Özel, 1995),

[edit] Translations

1. Siyasi Felsefenin Büyük Düşünürleri
2. Gariplerin Kitabı
3. Osmanlı İmparatorlugu ve İslami Gelenek
4. Bilim Kutsal Bir İnektir

[edit] Examples From His Poems

LINES WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF THE LAST PICTURES I HAD TAKEN OF ME WHILST I WAS SMILING AT MY EXECUTIONER

I am Ismet Ozel, a poet in his fortieth year.
Everything happened in my lifetime, I want this
to be known by all. I was there when the deluge came

I was present at the re-creation of the world.
I am at peace now, I have seen everything.
I saw the parting of heavens, the coming to life of clay.
All the evidence is at hand now. I can be lynched.
I earned the hatred of prostitutes
and the curses of virgins.
I have words which can’t even help you cross a bridge,
I have words which will not save you from burning fires.
I have lost the sword of my strength, I no longer
respect harvests. I flew but my flight
was detected by radar. I swore heavily:
this too was entered in my police file.

Let everyone know, I am quite a holigan.
Gendarmes and taxmen are after my soul.
In the eyes of the clockwork toilers,
nothing could be blacker than my soul;
if you ask the denizens of laboratories
my soul is a fake.
All the youngsters who sailed through school
with flying colours and an ey efor what is true
will tell you that my soul is a Slovakian snail
whose home was left in Nepal.
I wonder who knows the truth.

Even I, busy as I am hiding my soul
in every crack and cranny
what do I know? Whata do I possess
that could possibly tempt the devil down my throat?
Dishevelled by anxiety, I selected a state secret
for myself. With a state secret in hand
one could lead a cinematic life,
one could enjoy refined living,
those secret trips to the fleshpots
of whore-houses, not to mention
high-class restaurants or simple bucolic walks.
Who knows, it might all end
on the platform of an aesthetic execution.
Yes, yes, but a soul is not enough
to rake in all these goodies.

If this verdict,
this conclusion,
this inference is right,
why is it that a conference postponed
or a late coach
muddles everything,
why are the trains of national leaders always white,
why are the Russians marching on Berlin?

How absurd, how stupid!
Of the four bibles why do I choose to follow
the gospel according to John?

But here I am,
one out many, like everyone else
standing at this station
next to this spy in his black coat
waiting with my most legible face.
I stay in the game, I play it
for fear that I might miss my turn,
that my ticket might expire.
There are heaps of azaleas
and passion flowers lying before me
like corpes with rigid valves,
there are thousands of flowers before me.

I am afraid it might be my cue to step in:
what if they tell met o begin in order to make an end?
Oh no, not me,
the world mustn’t do this to me.
Tell me, when all is said and done
how many of us went as close as seeing?
their own skeleton in the mirrors?

Come now, humanity,
let’s strike a bargain:
give me all the derelict thoughts
you left behind,
all the days you deserted, your past mistakes
all the moments of despair triggered
by your shortcomings, give them all to me,
give me your sorrows, the jokes you no longer
find funny, all the things you think
you have quelled, give them, give them to me,
the worries you tried to make light of, all the fallen,
broken dreams and the wild, failed ventures,
give them all to me,
give me also your crimes
documented with their entire premeditations.
I know, it wouldn’t be
the done thing if ý were
to hand out cheque exchange,
money is too coarse a unit
to measure the intricacies
of all these sustained plunders.

Look, apart from my usual tricks
I can find other interesting ways of repayment.
When it comes to repayment I am a peerless expert.
For instance, what would you say
to a lecture at one of your club’s meetings?
A lecture: on the shining ideals of humanity.
Or else I could arrange a raffle on your behalf.
With vertigos, nostalgias
and festering loves to be shared
by prize winners.

Let a just bargain be struck
at long last!
Again all your past offences
I have lined up all the crimes
I intend to commit.
No matter what I do
I’ll have to bear the brunt
of every impregnating, pestilent wind.

If still waters cry deep
let them run into me.
The forging strength of fire
and the wisdom of earth
shall not fail to restore
my sword to me.

(Translated by Zeyd Gulesin)


A SHROUD FOR MY DARLING

The shrine of a woman whose hair blazes in henna
soars overhead in an undertone
these violet autumn days inflict their madness
driving you out of your senses and books
tumors, dead ants

chills and shivers cover me
curiosity
is the genesis of a revolutionary
and above me in an undertone fly
cancer, begonia, death.

White gauze behind the windowpane
and eyes plucked out
real human eyes heavy like rocks
a mother endures all the agony
and the dust stirred up by her corpse,
you warden of anguish, you autumn days.

Under the rain of the rebel leader
I clobber my own scorched and paltry beauty
Saturday afternoons pierce like a cramp
my hope
is a ferocious animal
which keeps toppling the banknotes and mass meetings
and chokes the houses we live in
with the aroma of cinnamon and with weariness,
curiosity
is the genesis of a revolutionary

in the bazaars some coppersmiths wash
and women who knead dough are dragged with clangs
in their mortars they pound their stubborn streak
and their vile hopes too.

I cannot love a girl secretly
a thousand curiosities prick me all over
those gloomy smells of incense our mothers
craving food in pregnancy must eat dirt
unite the ropes of my heart against the moon
my heavenly pain throbs in my wrists
sawdust convulsing sawdust
sawdust of the sledge that beats on my temples.

(Translated by )