Gillian · 3 April 2001

I love this guest theme. In response to this theme you will probably recieve commentary refrencing Iron Maiden. Please post it.

Thanks,
Gillian Rocks

Julian Tepper · 5 April 2001

A wonderful poem, “I Come and Stand.” Re your “I’m somewhat puzzled by the choice of the word “fight” in the child’s plea in the final stanza; “work” sounds more right to me. Could any Turkish reader familiar with the original please comment upon this?”: I am not Turkish, and, therefor, cannot vouch for translation accuracy. However, I do think that “fight” is not only right, but perfect, for at least four reasons. First, the death came from a fight (and the poet’s implication is that it was not a fight for peace). The dead child is imploring the world, if it is going to fight for anything, to fight for peace. Second, most large mass efforts of reform have been characterized as a “War” on something (e.g., the War on Poverty), and a war comprises fights. Third, the events that lead to war at not totally random; there are forces at work that welcome war. To get peace or to keep peace, those forces must be neutralized. They will not accede without a (and thus the need for a) fight. And, finally, substitute the word “work” and then read the entire poem. The word just doesn’t work. It is not apt. It does not sound like the ghost anymore.

JT

Engin Gunduz · 30 July 2001

You said: “I’m somewhat puzzled by the choice of the word “fight” in the child’s plea in the final stanza; “work” sounds more right to me. Could any Turkish reader familiar with the original please comment upon this?”

The translator seems to have translated the poem in a quite free manner. The original poem and my (as close to literal as possible) translation are here (also making use of the above translation):

Kiz Cocugu Little Girl

Kapilari calan benim It’s me who knocks kapilari birer birer. the doors one by one. Gozunuze gorunemem You can’t see me goze gorunmez oluler. –the deads are invisible.

Hirosima’da oleli It has been around ten years oluyor bir on yil kadar. since I’ve dead in Hiroshima. Yedi yasinda bir kizim, I’m seven years old buyumez olu cocuklar. –dead children do not grow.

Saclarim tutustu once, First my hair caught fire, gozlerim yandi kavruldu. my eyes burnt. Bir avuc kul oluverdim, I’ve turned into a handful of ash, kulum havaya savruldu. and that was scattered into the air.

Benim sizden kendim icin I don’t ask you for anything hicbir sey istedigim yok. for myself.
Seker bile yiyemez ki A child who burns like a piece of paper kagit gibi yanan cocuk. cannot eat even candy, anyway.

Caliyorum kapinizi I knock your door, teyze, amca, bir imza ver. dear lady, dear sir, give me your signature Cocuklar oldurulmesin so that children won’t get killed, seker de yiyebilsinler. so that they can eat candy.

So, I did not quite understand why the translator used “fight” in his/her translation.

Whenever I listen to the song of the original, by Livaneli, I hardly keep myself from crying.

-engin

John Shaw · 9 November 2001

Thank you, Mr. or Ms. Gunduz, for your translation of the original. I’ve always loved the song, and have read Hikmet (in translation) for some years, and only recently learned that the song was adapted from a poem of his. “Live and grow and laugh and play” sounded a little mawkish – it works in the song, but it didn’t sound like Hikmet. “Eat candy” is what a 7 year old would ask for, speaking from memory of myself at that age. Hikmet got it right. And play baseball, maybe. “Growing” was not on the agenda. Still, it’s a beautiful song.

John Shaw

*

bytie · 20 January 2002

This Mortal Coil, a side project from the 4AD label including many of their artists, made a cover of this song on the album “Blood”. Not as psychedelic as Byrds’ own version of course, but very cold and haunting, and to my more contemporarily inclined ears it suits the lyrics just fine.

Bytie

EReddy · 30 March 2002

The first English version of the song I found was in Masses and Mainstream, monthly, New York, June 1955. It printed three songs of Nazim Hikmet, under the title “Poems for Peace,” with the following note:

“These three songs of peace were written for the World Assembly of Peace by the famous Turkish poet, Nazim Hikmet. They were set to music by Czech composers, and the music as well as literal translations of the Turkish original was sent to Paul Robeson and Howard Fast in New York.

“What follows are the texts which Howard Fast wrote to the Czech music, basing himself as nearly as possible within the musical framework upon Nazim Hikmet’s original version. They will be recorded by Paul Robeson, whose voice will be heard in Helsinki by the men women of the world assembly.”

The song, as rendered by Howard Fast, in the following:

THE LITTLE DEAD GIRL

A little girl is at your door,
At every door, at every door,
A little girl you cannot see
Is at your door, is at your door

And for me, there will never be
The love and laughter you have known.
At Hiroshima, do you see,
My flesh was seared from every bone.

My hair was first to feel the flame,
Hot were my eyes and hot my hands,
Only a little ash remained,
Where I had played upon the sands.

Stranger, what can you do for me,
A little ash, a little girl?
A human child like paper burned,
An ash for the cooling wind to swirl.

A little dead child, burned by strife,
Oh, stranger please do this for me,
Your name on the scroll, peace and life,
And peace and life for all like me.

The World Peace Council was at that time trying to get hundreds of millions of signatures for an “appeal for peace.” That why the reference to the “scroll” towards the end.

I do not know how the song was redone since then. Nazim Hikmet himself might have revised the song and there might have been a new translation.

The other two “songs for peace” were: “The Japanese Fishermen” and “The Clouds.” Here they are in case you are interested.

THE JAPANESE FISHERMAN

Man from Japan, Oh, fisherman, poor young man, At work out at sea, and death dropped our of the sky, And here is the song that your comrades sing
A song of death, of those whose faze is to die.

Who eats of the fish, will perish,
Who touches our hands, will perish,
Our boar is a scow of anguish,
Who comes on our boat, will perish.

Who eats of our fish, will perish,
And not at once, but, oh, so slowly,
For slow is the rot that eats their flesh,
Who eats of our fish will perish.

Who touches our hands, will perish,
These hands that worked ‘till work was done,
Made dry by salt and burned by sun-
Who touches our hands, will perish,
And not at once, but, oh, so slowly,
For slow is the rot that eats their flesh.
Who touches our hands will perish.

Man from Japan, Oh, fisherman, poor young man, At work our at sea, and death dropped out of the sky, And here is the song that our comrades sing
A song of death, of those whose fate is to die.

Forget me, oh, love, forget me,
This boat is but death to float me,
Who comes on this boat will perish,
For death in a cloud caressed me.

Forger me, oh, love, forget me,
My darling you must not kiss me,
Now only dark death may kiss me,
Forget me, oh, love, forget me.

Our boat is a scow of sorrow,
For us, oh, my love, no morrow.
No child of our love, my darling,
No flesh of our flesh, my darling,
Our hope is a boat of sorrow-
My people, where are you, oh, where?
Oh, don’t forsake me, not now, good comrades, the fate of man you must share.

THE CLOUDS

Our mothers rustle us in the pain of labor,
My mother, mother, light the night with your love- Oh, men of death, you, too, once knew a mother, And have you no memory of her sweet love?
Stop the dark cloud of atomic death!

Enuga S. Reddy

TheCoodies · 15 September 2002

When i was young, around 7 or so myself, my sister sang this song to me. I will never forget how sad I felt and how much I cried. I could not hold back the tears. It touched me so deeply then and now.

I am so grateful to find the words again! It is the most beautiful, heart opening, raw emotional, tear jerking, core touching, brilliant, effective anti-war poem/song i have ever heard. What a perspective from the child! It completely opens every cell in my being.

Steve Edge · 20 February 2003

Simply the best anti-war poem ever - it still makes me cry after all these years…

Steve
www.wsr.org.uk

Nancy Schimmel · 2 August 2003

According to the songbook Rise Up Singing, the translation of I Come and Stand at Every Door at the top of the page is by J. Turner.

I’m glad to have the original and a more literal translation.

Nancy

www.sisterschoice.com

Sébastien BOUCHE · 4 November 2005

Joan,

You will find this mortal coil’s version perfectly fitting the needs of your exhibition.

It’s sung by a woman (Is it Liz Frazer?) a capella, then her haunting voice is joined by cellos.

It’s very powerful and moving. Brilliant, really.

<SEB>

Sinan Erdem · 3 August 2006

There was that bombing of Hiroshima then… One of our poets (probably one of the greatest) wrote a poem feeling the pain from thousands of kilometers away. Now, everything is same. There are bombings in Lebanon. We can do nothing. So we write poems, songs. A human is a human if he/she feels others’ pain.

Zeljko Cipris · 18 November 2006

Another excellent musical version of Nazim Hikmet’s poem ‘I Come and Stand at Every Door’ was recorded in the 1960s by Odetta, the great Afro-American singer (born 1930). Various musicians have performed it since then, including Sakamoto Ryuichi (b. 1952).

Z

Francis GAYTE · 16 March 2007

The person who translated Hikmet’s poem from turkish to english is Jeanette Turner, a friend of Pete Seeger’s.

She did the job at Pete Seegr’s request. She might have been a teacher of English literature during the sixries or so.

Here’s my tranlation in French, which I sang thousands of times around :

Je passe devant chaque porte
Mais nul n’entend mon pas feutré
On n’ouvre pas j’ai beau frapper
Car je suis mort car je suis mort

Hiroshima j’avais sept ans
En plein mois d’août il y a longtemps
J’aurai jamais un an de plus
Quand on est mort on grandit plus

Le feu a tordu mes cheveux
Les flammes m’ont crevé les yeux
La mort m’a réduit en poussière
Et dispersé dans l’univers

Je n’ai besoin d’aucun sorte
De riz d’oranges ni de pain
Pour moi je ne demande rien
Car je suis mort car je suis mort

Je veux seulement que pour la paix
Les hommes se décident à lutter
Et que les enfants de la Terre
Grandissent et jouent dans la lumière

---

It is a little difficult for French people to understand what the narrative setting of this song is about,
as it refers to a specific anglo-saxon tradition : kids visiting neighbors on Halloween Day
and asking for “trick or treat”. It has become a little clearer today though, since Halloween
witches and pumpkins have been adopted in France, mainly to serve commercial purposes.

F. GAYTE

Rev. Dudley E. &amp; Elizabeth H. Sarfaty · 6 August 2007

I am not sure from this posting of how to gain access to the music with this song -

can you be more explicit for me?

Thanks.
Elizabeth Sarfaty

Fran Claggett · 10 March 2008

I’m looking for information on how to obtain permission to use some material from your website, specifically the information from EReddy@ regarding Hikmet’s poem about the dead child. This is the most information I have found, but I want to credit it properly. It will be published in a textbook (Houghton/Mifflin, Great Source) called Daybook of Critical Reading and Writing, focusing on contemporary world authors.

Any help you can provide will be much appreciated.

Fran Claggett (author of above text)