Magin_Edward-thesis
Magin_Edward-thesis
Magin_Edward-thesis
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Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics<br />
Thesis Approval Sheet<br />
This <strong>thesis</strong>, entitled<br />
Northern Kurdish poetic features with an application to translation<br />
written by<br />
<strong>Edward</strong> Harry <strong>Magin</strong> Jr.<br />
and submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of<br />
Master of Arts<br />
with major in<br />
Applied Linguistics<br />
has been read and approved<br />
by the undersigned members of the faculty<br />
of the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics.<br />
__________________________________________<br />
Dr. Brenda H. Boerger (Mentor)<br />
__________________________________________<br />
Dr. Peter Unseth (Mentor)<br />
__________________________________________<br />
Dr. Arden G. Sanders<br />
__________________________________________<br />
[date signed]
Northern Kurdish poetic features with an application to translation<br />
by<br />
<strong>Edward</strong> Harry <strong>Magin</strong> Jr.<br />
Presented to the Faculty of<br />
the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics<br />
in partial fulfillment of the requirements<br />
for the degree of<br />
Master of Arts<br />
with major in<br />
Applied Linguistics<br />
Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics<br />
December 2012
© 2012 <strong>Edward</strong> Harry <strong>Magin</strong> Jr.<br />
All Rights Reserved
CERTIFICATE<br />
I acknowledge that the use of copyrighted material in my <strong>thesis</strong> may place me<br />
under an obligation to the copyright owner, especially when use of such material exceeds<br />
usual fair use provisions. I hereby certify that I have obtained the written permission of<br />
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been copyrighted previously unless properly referenced. I hereby agree to indemnify and<br />
hold harmless the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics from any and all claims that<br />
may be asserted or that may arise from any copyright violation.<br />
___________________________________<br />
Signature<br />
___________________________________<br />
Date
THESIS DUPLICATION RELEASE<br />
I hereby authorize the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics Library to duplicate this<br />
<strong>thesis</strong> when needed for research and/or scholarship.<br />
Agreed: _________________________________________<br />
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ABSTRACT<br />
Northern Kurdish poetic features with an application to translation<br />
<strong>Edward</strong> Harry <strong>Magin</strong> Jr.<br />
Master of Arts<br />
with major in<br />
Applied Linguistics<br />
The Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics, December 2012<br />
Supervising Professors: Dr. Brenda H. Boerger and Dr. Peter Unseth<br />
This <strong>thesis</strong> is a study of poetic features in Northern Kurdish poetry. The corpus, which<br />
represents three periods of Northern Kurdish poetry: Neo-classical, New, and Modern,<br />
was gathered in Iraq during the Fall of 2009. While some studies of Northern Kurdish<br />
poetry exist in Northern Kurdish, this study is the first of its kind in English. The first<br />
part of the analysis is on the phonological level, where I identify verse forms and rhyme<br />
schemes found in the corpus. Much of the information concerning verse forms in<br />
Northern Kurdish poetry was obtained by means of interviews with poets and an editor of<br />
poetry. The second part of the analysis is on the syntactic level, where I identify<br />
deviations from common speech and variations in language that poets capitalize on to<br />
write their lines of poetry. In the final chapter, I apply these insights to the translation of<br />
an English poem into Northern Kurdish. I also analyze a translation of the same poem by<br />
a native speaker, identifying the poetic devices employed.
DEDICATION<br />
to my Naphtili, who has been my support throughout this long endeavor<br />
xiii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS<br />
I would like to acknowledge my committee members, Brenda Boerger, Pete<br />
Unseth, and Arden Sanders, for their much needed guidance and encouragement. I am<br />
also deeply grateful to Shivan Tovi and Perwer Shushi for the many hours they selflessly<br />
gave me, answering my many questions concerning the poems in the corpus and Northern<br />
Kurdish in general. I am also very thankful for the contributions of Nicholas and Denise<br />
Bailey, whose input in the grammar sketch was invaluable. Finally, I would like to<br />
acknowledge the assistance of the Kurdish poets, scholars, and translators mentioned<br />
throughout this study, for it is their people and their culture that inspired me to take on<br />
this project in the first place.<br />
July 12, 2012<br />
xv
Table of Contents<br />
Table of Contents.......................................................................................................xvii<br />
List of Tables .............................................................................................................xxii<br />
List of Figures .......................................................................................................... xxiii<br />
Abbreviations and Other Conventions ....................................................................xxiv<br />
Pronouns in Northern Kurdish................................................................................xxiv<br />
Prefixes, infixes, suffixes, particles: ..........................................................................xxv<br />
1. Introduction .............................................................................................................1<br />
1.1 General ................................................................................................................1<br />
1.2 Historical overview..............................................................................................2<br />
1.3 The people and the language ................................................................................3<br />
1.4 The sociolinguistic situation.................................................................................3<br />
2. Literature review .....................................................................................................5<br />
2.1 History of Kurdish and Kurdish-related poetry, with historical context.................5<br />
2.1.1 Before 1920..................................................................................................7<br />
2.1.1.1 The Botan school....................................................................................7<br />
2.1.1.2 The Goran school .................................................................................10<br />
2.1.1.3 The Nali school ....................................................................................11<br />
2.1.1.4 Early publication ..................................................................................13<br />
2.1.2 1920-1960..................................................................................................13<br />
2.1.3 1960-1980..................................................................................................17<br />
2.1.4 1980 to present day ....................................................................................18<br />
2.2 On translating poetry..........................................................................................19<br />
2.2.1 The translator as reader ..............................................................................21<br />
2.2.2 Qualifications of a metapoet.......................................................................23<br />
2.2.3 Non-ordinary language of poetry................................................................24<br />
2.2.4 Models for making translation decisions.....................................................26<br />
2.2.4.1 Holmes’ meta-literature model―types of interpretation and types of<br />
poetry...................................................................................................26<br />
2.2.4.1.1 Prose translation of a poem ...........................................................28<br />
2.2.4.1.2 Translation into a verse form.........................................................29<br />
2.2.4.1.3 Re-creative translation ..................................................................30<br />
2.2.4.1.4 Apter on Ezra Pound’s “creative” translations...............................33<br />
2.2.4.2 Holmes’ “retention versus modernization” model .................................35<br />
2.2.4.3 Boerger’s principles for translating poetry ............................................38<br />
xvii
3. Interviews .............................................................................................................. 40<br />
3.1 On the development of Northern Kurdish poetry................................................ 40<br />
3.1.1 Neo-classical period................................................................................... 41<br />
3.1.2 New period ................................................................................................ 42<br />
3.1.3 Modern period ........................................................................................... 44<br />
3.2 Sindî on present day poetry................................................................................ 46<br />
3.3 Quçan on poetry and life in the village............................................................... 46<br />
3.4 On themes in Northern Kurdish poetry .............................................................. 47<br />
3.5 Sindî on the use of other Northern Kurdish subdialects...................................... 51<br />
3.6 Sindî on use of end rhyme ................................................................................. 52<br />
3.7 Quçan on imagery in his poetry ......................................................................... 53<br />
4. A grammatical sketch of Northern Kurdish ........................................................ 54<br />
4.1 Introduction....................................................................................................... 54<br />
4.2 Orthography and phonetics ................................................................................ 54<br />
4.2.1 Vowels ...................................................................................................... 55<br />
4.2.2 Consonants ................................................................................................ 56<br />
4.2.3 Diphthongs and sound variation................................................................. 58<br />
4.2.4 Glides ........................................................................................................ 59<br />
4.2.5 Contractions............................................................................................... 60<br />
4.3 Stress................................................................................................................. 61<br />
4.4 Grammar ........................................................................................................... 62<br />
4.4.1 Typology ................................................................................................... 62<br />
4.4.1.1 Morphological typology....................................................................... 62<br />
4.4.1.2 Constituent order typology................................................................... 64<br />
4.4.2 Nouns and the noun phrase ........................................................................ 66<br />
4.4.2.1 Nouns .................................................................................................. 66<br />
4.4.2.2 Noun inflection .................................................................................... 67<br />
4.4.2.3 Personal pronouns................................................................................ 69<br />
4.4.2.4 Noun modification ............................................................................... 70<br />
4.4.2.4.1 Ezafe conjunctive particle............................................................. 70<br />
4.4.2.4.2 Indefinite state particle ................................................................. 73<br />
4.4.2.4.3 Specific reference marker ............................................................. 73<br />
4.4.2.5 Numbers, quantifiers and intensifiers ................................................... 74<br />
4.4.2.6 Demonstratives .................................................................................... 74<br />
4.4.2.7 The adjective phrase............................................................................. 76<br />
4.4.2.8 The noun phrase................................................................................... 76<br />
4.4.3 Verbs and the verb phrase .......................................................................... 77<br />
4.4.3.1 Verb morphology................................................................................. 77<br />
4.4.3.2 Verb agreement.................................................................................... 78<br />
4.4.3.3 Verb stems and their conjugations........................................................ 80<br />
4.4.3.4 Copulas – present, future and past tenses............................................. 80<br />
xviii
4.4.3.5 Irregular verbs ......................................................................................83<br />
4.4.3.6 Complex predicates (complex verbs) ....................................................86<br />
4.4.3.7 Aspect, mood and negation...................................................................88<br />
4.4.3.7.1 Imperfective aspect .......................................................................88<br />
4.4.3.7.2 Negation .......................................................................................89<br />
4.4.3.7.3 Irrealis modality............................................................................89<br />
4.4.3.7.3.1 Modal verbs ............................................................................92<br />
4.4.3.7.3.2 Modal adjectives .....................................................................93<br />
4.4.3.7.3.3 Non-past temporal adverbial clauses .......................................94<br />
4.4.3.7.3.4 Non-past conditional clauses ...................................................94<br />
4.4.3.7.3.5 Reason and purpose clauses ....................................................95<br />
4.4.3.7.3.6 Past tense subjunctive clauses .................................................96<br />
4.4.3.8 Perfect tense .........................................................................................97<br />
4.4.3.9 Past perfect tense ..................................................................................98<br />
4.4.3.10 Passive voice ........................................................................................99<br />
4.4.4 Adpositions ..............................................................................................100<br />
5. Analysis of Northern Kurdish poetry .................................................................103<br />
5.1 Introduction to the corpus.................................................................................103<br />
5.2 The analysis .....................................................................................................104<br />
5.3 On the phonological level.................................................................................105<br />
5.3.1 Verse Forms.............................................................................................105<br />
5.3.1.1 Çuarkî, the Northern Kurdish quatrain................................................105<br />
5.3.1.2 Methnawî – the Northern Kurdish couplet...........................................109<br />
5.3.1.3 Tercîa band ........................................................................................110<br />
5.3.1.4 Innovative form for rhymed verse.......................................................111<br />
5.3.2 Line syllable count ...................................................................................113<br />
5.3.3 Rhyme......................................................................................................118<br />
5.3.3.1 End rhyme..........................................................................................118<br />
5.3.3.1.1 True rhyme .................................................................................119<br />
5.3.3.1.2 Multisyllabic rhyme....................................................................119<br />
5.3.3.1.3 Multisyllabic rhyming sequence..................................................122<br />
5.3.3.1.4 Mosaic rhyme .............................................................................123<br />
5.3.3.1.5 Sound play..................................................................................124<br />
5.3.3.1.5.1 Consonant feature rhyme.......................................................125<br />
5.3.3.1.5.2 Vowel feature rhyme.............................................................126<br />
5.3.3.1.6 End rhyme without meter............................................................130<br />
5.3.3.2 End rhyme in final lines of a prose poem ............................................131<br />
5.3.3.3 Deviation from end rhyme ..................................................................132<br />
5.3.3.4 Head rhyme, internal rhyme and interlaced rhyme ..............................132<br />
5.4 On the syntactic level.......................................................................................136<br />
5.4.1.1 Constituent order ................................................................................136<br />
xix
5.4.1.1.1 Verb-Subject .............................................................................. 138<br />
5.4.1.1.2 Adjective Phrase/Noun Phrase-Copula-Subject........................... 141<br />
5.4.1.1.3 Subject-Verb-Object................................................................... 144<br />
5.4.1.1.4 Object-Subject-Verb................................................................... 150<br />
5.4.1.1.5 Object-Verb-Subject................................................................... 152<br />
5.4.1.1.6 Verb–Object imperative clauses without a declared subject ........ 152<br />
5.4.1.1.7 Position of non-verbal elements in complex verbs ...................... 154<br />
5.4.1.1.8 Adjective before noun ................................................................ 155<br />
5.4.1.1.9 Possessor before noun ................................................................ 156<br />
5.4.1.1.10 Number after noun...................................................................... 156<br />
5.4.1.1.11 Intentional end-rhyme dissimilarity ............................................ 157<br />
5.4.1.1.12 Use of a prepositional phrase in lieu of a possessive ezafe<br />
construction................................................................................ 158<br />
5.4.1.1.13 Word displacements ................................................................... 159<br />
5.4.1.2 Ellipsis............................................................................................... 160<br />
5.4.1.2.1 Ellipsis of anaphoric subject pronoun ......................................... 161<br />
5.4.1.2.2 Ellipsis of anaphoric object pronoun........................................... 162<br />
5.4.1.2.3 Ellipsis of anaphoric pronoun in a prepositional phrase............... 165<br />
5.4.1.2.4 Ellipsis of copula........................................................................ 167<br />
5.4.1.2.5 Ellipsis of ezafe conjunctive particle........................................... 168<br />
5.4.1.2.6 Ellipsis of oblique marker........................................................... 171<br />
5.4.1.2.7 Ellipsis of preposition................................................................. 173<br />
5.4.1.2.8 Ellipsis of irrealis aspect prefix, bi-............................................. 174<br />
5.4.1.3 Free variation..................................................................................... 174<br />
5.4.1.3.1 Use of alternate word forms for reaching syllable count.............. 175<br />
5.4.1.3.2 Use of alternate word forms for rhyming purposes...................... 179<br />
5.4.1.3.3 Use of alternate word forms to vary language ............................. 180<br />
5.4.1.3.4 Use of emphatic words ............................................................... 182<br />
5.4.1.3.5 Omission of conjunctions and relativizers................................... 183<br />
5.4.1.3.6 Placement of temporal adverbs ................................................... 186<br />
5.4.1.3.7 Placement of prepositional phrases ............................................. 188<br />
5.4.1.4 Constructional schemes...................................................................... 188<br />
5.4.1.4.1 Repetition and repetitional schemes............................................ 189<br />
5.4.1.4.2 Grammatical parallelism............................................................. 198<br />
5.4.1.4.3 Syn<strong>thesis</strong> .................................................................................... 203<br />
5.4.1.4.4 Chiasmus.................................................................................... 204<br />
5.4.1.5 Neologisms ........................................................................................ 205<br />
5.4.1.6 Shortened phrases .............................................................................. 206<br />
5.5 Summary......................................................................................................... 207<br />
6. Application and concluding remarks.................................................................. 208<br />
6.1 My version of Allah, after Shushi’s input......................................................... 210<br />
xx
6.2 Shushi’s version of Allah .................................................................................216<br />
6.3 Concluding remarks .........................................................................................221<br />
Appendix A – The Corpus of Northern Kurdish Poems ..........................................224<br />
Appendix B – Interviews ...........................................................................................324<br />
REFERENCES ..........................................................................................................355<br />
VITA ..........................................................................................................................363<br />
xxi
List of Tables<br />
Table 1. Important works on Kurdish literary history................................................. 6<br />
Table 2. Themes of Northern Kurdish poetry........................................................... 48<br />
Table 3. Contractions............................................................................................... 60<br />
Table 4. Personal pronouns...................................................................................... 69<br />
Table 5. Forms of the ezafe conjunctive particle ...................................................... 71<br />
Table 6. Demonstratives. ......................................................................................... 75<br />
Table 7. Verb suffixes ............................................................................................. 79<br />
Table 8. Present tense irregular copulas ................................................................... 80<br />
Table 9. Conjugations of non-past copula b ............................................................. 81<br />
Table 10. Past tense copulas ...................................................................................... 82<br />
Table 11. Non-possessive existential verbs (Thackston 2006:31) ............................... 84<br />
Table 12. Irregular forms of hebû/heb in the present tense (Şirîn 2002:6) .................. 84<br />
Table 13. Past tense subjunctive constructions........................................................... 96<br />
Table 14. Perfect tense constructions ......................................................................... 98<br />
Table 15. Past perfect tense constructions.................................................................. 99<br />
Table 16. Common adpositions................................................................................ 102<br />
Table 17. Poems using çuarkî forms ........................................................................ 109<br />
Table 18. Rhyme scheme of stanzas in BS2............................................................. 112<br />
Table 19. Actual or average syllable counts. ............................................................ 113<br />
Table 20. Additional instances of multisyllabic rhyming sequence........................... 123<br />
Table 21. Orthographic consonant chart................................................................... 125<br />
Table 22. Deviations................................................................................................ 132<br />
Table 23. Pronoun ellipsis. ...................................................................................... 167<br />
xxii
List of Figures<br />
Figure 1. Meta-literature concerning a poem.................................................................27<br />
Figure 2. Northern Kurdish vowel chart......................................................................127<br />
Figure 3. IPA vowel chart...........................................................................................127<br />
xxiii
Abbreviations and Other Conventions<br />
Pronouns in Northern Kurdish<br />
gloss definition form<br />
1D first person, direct case, singular ez<br />
1DP first person, direct case, plural em<br />
1O first person, oblique case, singular min<br />
1OP first person, oblique case, plural me<br />
2D second person, direct case, singular tu<br />
2DP second person, direct case, plural hîn, hûn, hûîn<br />
2O second person, oblique case, singular te<br />
2OP second person, oblique case, plural we, hewe<br />
3D third person, direct case (singular or plural), far ew<br />
demonstrative<br />
3DN third person, direct case (singular or plural), near ev<br />
demonstrative<br />
3OF third person, oblique case, singular, feminine wê<br />
3OFN third person, oblique case, singular, feminine, near vê<br />
3OM third person, oblique case, singular, masculine wî<br />
3OMN third person, oblique case, singular, masculine, near vî<br />
3OP third person, oblique case, plural (or far<br />
wan<br />
demonstrative)<br />
3OPN third person, oblique case, plural, near van<br />
REFL reflexive xwe, xu, xwo<br />
xxiv
Prefixes, infixes, suffixes, particles:<br />
gloss definition<br />
1 first person<br />
2 second person<br />
3 third person<br />
ACT<br />
ADJP<br />
COP<br />
DEM<br />
DIR<br />
EMPH<br />
EZ<br />
EZ2<br />
F<br />
IMP<br />
IND<br />
INDF<br />
INF<br />
INTRG<br />
IPFV<br />
IRR<br />
EZP<br />
M<br />
NEG<br />
NP<br />
NUM<br />
OBL<br />
OPT<br />
active<br />
adjective phrase<br />
copula<br />
demonstrative<br />
directional enclitic<br />
emphatic marker<br />
ezafe conjunctive particle<br />
ezafe conjunctive particle for<br />
secondary constructs<br />
feminine<br />
imperative<br />
indicative<br />
indefinite<br />
infinitive<br />
interrogative<br />
imperfective<br />
irrealis<br />
ezafe phrase<br />
masculine<br />
negative<br />
noun phrase<br />
number<br />
oblique case marker<br />
optative<br />
xxv
PASS<br />
PL<br />
PPFT<br />
PRF<br />
QP<br />
passive<br />
plural<br />
past perfect<br />
perfect participle<br />
question particle<br />
xxvi
1. Introduction<br />
1.1 General<br />
The purpose of this <strong>thesis</strong> was to gather and analyze a corpus of Northern Kurdish<br />
poetry, discuss its poetic features, and apply what was learned to poetic translation. To<br />
date very little has been written about Kurdish poetry. This survey and analysis helps to<br />
fill the gap of knowledge about one literary art form of the Kurdish people and their rich<br />
cultural heritage.<br />
The corpus I collected primarily consists of poems written during the last sixty<br />
years 1 in the Northern Kurdish-speaking area of Northern Iraq. The language of this area<br />
is often referred to as Bahdini, 2 which comes from the name of the region where its<br />
speakers dwell, Badinan. One poet from the Kurdish area of Syria, Cegerxwîn, is also<br />
included because of his renown in Iraq and abroad. Translations are presented in<br />
Appendix A and interlinear translations, parsed according to Leipzig Glossing Rules<br />
(Bickel, Comrie and Haspelmath 2008), are provided wherever useful in the analysis.<br />
Chapter 2 surveys what has already been written on Kurdish and Kurdish-related<br />
poetry. It also discusses what scholars have written about the matter of translating poetry.<br />
Chapter 3 contains information gleaned from interviews about Kurdish poetry and the<br />
history surrounding its development. To help the reader delve into the language and the<br />
1 Some of Ahmed Nalbend’s poems are likely older. They were not formally published until 1998.<br />
2 I use the term Bahdini in this paper when I am distinguishing how a certain aspect of the spoken variety of<br />
Northern Kurdish in northern Iraq is or may be different from other varieties of Northern Kurdish. The<br />
language varies greatly over a large region and some speakers have difficulty understanding one another.<br />
1
2<br />
translations, I have provided a brief grammar sketch of Northern Kurdish in Chapter 4.<br />
Chapter 5 is the analysis of the corpus. In Chapter 6, I apply what has been learned from<br />
the analysis to the matter of translation. In the concluding remarks, I also raise questions<br />
concerning future study on the subject.<br />
1.2 Historical overview<br />
One popular myth about the Kurds’ beginning says that, “Centuries ago, Solomon<br />
threw 500 of the magical spirits called jinn out of his kingdom and exiled them to the<br />
mountains of the Zagros. These jinn first flew to Europe to select 500 beautiful virgins as<br />
their brides and then went to settle in what became known as Kurdistan” (Kahn 1980:xi).<br />
According to many historians, however, the Kurdish people are descendents of the<br />
Medes, who during the sixth century B.C. built an empire (Lawrence 2008:11). Whatever<br />
their beginnings, the Kurds are an ancient people who have lived in their homeland since<br />
before recorded history.<br />
After Mohammed’s death in 632 A.D, Abu Bakir, the first caliph, began his<br />
campaign against the Byzantines, Sassanians, and other ruling empires within the area of<br />
Mesopotamia. By 637 the Arab armies reached the Kurdish area. By 644 the Kurdish<br />
leaders, who had joined the Sassanian resistance, began succumbing to the new religion,<br />
Islam (McDowall 2005:21).<br />
At the start of the nineteenth century, the Ottoman and Safavid empires ruled the<br />
Kurdish area. Once Turkey was defeated in World War I, each non-Turkish minority<br />
expected to achieve statehood, as Woodrow Wilson’s “Programme of the World’s Peace”<br />
stated that each group should be “assured of an absolute unmolested opportunity of<br />
autonomous development” (Short and McDermott 1975:7). However, after the Treaty of<br />
Sèvres was signed in 1920 by the Sultan and the Allies, it was never affirmed by the<br />
Turkish National Assembly. The Treaty of Lausanne was signed in 1923 without the<br />
mention of an independent Kurdistan, and the international community has never again<br />
reevaluated the issue (Short and McDermott 1975:7).
3<br />
1.3 The people and the language<br />
Northern Kurdish is often called Kurmanjî. 3 The total number of speakers,<br />
including those residing outside the main Kurdish area, has been estimated to be between<br />
fifteen and seventeen million (Thackston 2006:vii, viii). However, due to a long history<br />
of political and socioeconomic upheaval, combined with a lack of research, a trustworthy<br />
estimate has yet to be determined. The largest group of speakers is found in an area that<br />
spans the borders of Turkey, Iraq, Syria and Iran. There are also pockets of Northern<br />
Kurdish speakers in other areas of Turkey, Iran as well as in Armenia, Azerbaijan,<br />
Georgia and Turkmenistan.<br />
Northern Kurdish is one of several languages that are considered to be Kurdish.<br />
Others include Sorani and even Dimili (or Zaza), which, according to Todd (2002:vi) and<br />
other scholars, is too distinct to be called Kurdish. Dimili speakers, however, identify<br />
themselves as being Kurdish (Todd 2002:vi). Speakers of Northern and Central Kurdish<br />
make up the larger portions of the population that identify themselves as being Kurdish;<br />
however, these are considered by scholars to be separate languages. It is not until a<br />
speaker of one of these languages is exposed to the other’s language for some time that<br />
there is any marked comprehension ability. Hence, the factors contributing to whether<br />
one considers oneself to be Kurdish depend not just on language but on psychological,<br />
social, cultural, economic and political factors (Hassanpour 1989:25).<br />
1.4 The sociolinguistic situation<br />
The peoples who have resided in Mesopotamia and its surrounding regions have<br />
long been influenced by societies that spoke different languages, had different customs,<br />
and practiced different religions. The brief historical sketch in § 1.2 provides only a few<br />
3 Other names for Northern Kurdish are as follows: In Iraq—Badinani, Bahdini, Behdini, Kirmancîa Jori,<br />
Kurmanji; in Turkey—Kermancî, Kirmancî, Kurdi, Kurdî, Kurmanji. There are a few other names used in<br />
Syria and Iran (Lewis 2011:458, 534). A myriad of dialect names are also used as reference for one’s<br />
speech type. Such names refer to the region or tribe one is from.
4<br />
highlights of the events that happened within this ‘cradle of civilization.’ In recorded<br />
history, we see that Kurds have likely had contact with Greeks, Romans, Persians, Arabs,<br />
Turks, and many others beside. So one can only imagine that the Kurdish worldview(s)<br />
must have been challenged throughout the centuries.<br />
The greatest influence on Northern Kurdish in Northern Iraq has been through<br />
contact with Arabic speakers. Decades before Saddam Hussein’s rise to power in the<br />
1970s, the medium of instruction for speakers of Northern Kurdish was predominantly in<br />
Arabic. Currently, although there is movement to purify the language, speakers of<br />
Northern Kurdish still use many Arabic loan words in both spoken and written language.<br />
Since the 1990s, schools in the Kurdish area have been free to use their mother tongue as<br />
the medium of instruction. In the Northern Kurdish area, students are also learning to<br />
read and write in the more widely spoken Kurdish language in Iraq, Central Kurdish, also<br />
known as Sorani. Much of the curriculum available is written only in Central Kurdish.
2. Literature review<br />
2.1 History of Kurdish and Kurdish-related poetry, with historical context<br />
Among Kurds there is no clear distinction between oral and written cultures.<br />
Historically, these cultures are intermingled, despite separation of literate elite from the<br />
larger illiterate class in society. Additionally, the language groups making up the Kurds<br />
borrow from one another and from other influential cultures, i.e. Arabic and Persian<br />
narratives. As well, some poets and writers have utilized oral ballads, traditional Kurdish<br />
stories, in their written compositions (e.g. Dimdim, Mem û Zîn, and Khaj û Siyamend)<br />
(Hassanpour 1996:50).<br />
Before the 20 th century, literature written by Kurds consisted mostly of poetry.<br />
Kurds predominately wrote in Arabic, Persian and Turkish, the nearby prestigious<br />
languages, rather than in their own language. The earliest Kurdish poetry so well<br />
reproduced that of Arabic and Persian poetry that it is safe to propose that such imitative<br />
styles were refined by the time of the earliest known poets. Folk poetry, such as song,<br />
was more prominent than literature in Kurdish society, and “Kurdish poetry and prose<br />
narratives were transmitted orally” (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
Throughout history wherever Kurds have resided, there have been social and<br />
political situations that have encumbered the development of Kurdish society and culture.<br />
To this day, a full record of Kurdish literature has not been produced (Shakely 2002).<br />
According to Shakely (2002), the list in Table 1 embodies the best of the works dealing<br />
with the history of Kurdish literature.<br />
5
6<br />
Table 1.<br />
Important works on Kurdish literary history<br />
Year Author Resource<br />
1860 August Jaba,<br />
Russian consul<br />
The Kurdish literature given by Mala Mahmûd Bayazîdî in<br />
Erzurûm, Turkey at the end of the 1850s. The texts were recorded<br />
and published by Jaba.<br />
1920 Amîn Fayzî Anjumanî Adîban (Assembly of Writers), Istanbul. This book<br />
describes in 147 pages the lives of some Kurdish poets with<br />
quotations from their poetry.<br />
1941<br />
&<br />
1956<br />
Rafîq Hilmî Shi’r û adabiatî Kurdî (Kurdish poetry and literature), Baghdad.<br />
Vol. I, 1941 and Vol. 2, 1956. This work is normally classified as<br />
literary criticism. However, it also includes historical materials, like<br />
biographical data and descriptions of periods in Kurdish literature.<br />
1952 Alaudîn Sajadî Mêzhûy Adabî Kurdî (Kurdish literary history), Baghdad. 2nd ed.<br />
1973. This has been one of the most important sources of Kurdish<br />
literary history to the present day. Apart from studies on 24 Kurdish<br />
poets, it also includes studies on Kurdish history, the tradition of the<br />
Kurdish epic, Kurdish mythology, Kurdish journalism and a series<br />
of comparative literary studies of old Egyptian, Persian, Chinese,<br />
Indian and Hebrew literature.<br />
1968 Dr. Izudîn<br />
Mustafa Rasûl<br />
Realism in Kurdish literature, Beirut. This is an Arabic translation<br />
of Dr. Rasûl’s Russian doctoral <strong>thesis</strong>, describing Kurdish literature<br />
from a Marxist point of view.<br />
1980 Sadiq Baha’ Udîn<br />
Amedî<br />
Hozanvanet Kurd (Kurdish poets), Baghdad. This book contains<br />
biography and poems by 19 Kurdish poets who wrote in the<br />
Northern Kurdish dialect.<br />
1983 Prof. Qenate<br />
Kurdoev<br />
Tarixa Edebiyeta Kurdî (Kurdish literary history), Stockholm. 2<br />
vol. This is similar to Sajadî’s Kurdish literary history.
7<br />
2.1.1 Before 1920<br />
The division of the Kurdish homeland continues to complicate the production of a<br />
comprehensive treatise on the history of Kurdish literature. There are still linguistic<br />
debates concerning the origin of the Kurdish language and the classification of its dialects<br />
and related languages. For example, most Kurdish literary critics and historians “agree<br />
that Kurdish art poetry began with Baba Tahir Hamadanî (935-1010)” (Shakely 2002).<br />
However, Hamadanî’s language was Lurî (or Lorî), which is regarded by European<br />
Orientalists to be a southwestern Iranian language (see 1.3), unlike Northern and Central<br />
Kurdish (Shakely 2002).<br />
2.1.1.1 The Botan school<br />
Most historians believe that Northern Kurdish poetry was established during the<br />
16 th century when war began between the Ottoman and Safavid Empires. After defeating<br />
the Safavids in the Chaldîran war in 1514, the Ottomans began to reinforce existing<br />
Kurdish principalities. They also founded new principalities in order to strengthen the<br />
border. The area of Botan, which lies in Turkey at the border of Iraq and Syria, was one<br />
of the more significant of the principalities. It was in Botan’s capital city, Cezîra, that the<br />
first school 4 of classical Kurdish poetry in the Northern Kurdish dialect developed. The<br />
leading representative of this school was Malayê Cezîrî who lived between 1570-1640<br />
(Shakely 2002), and who is considered by many to be the “father of Kurdish literature”<br />
(Kreyenbroek 1996:95).<br />
Cezîrî, like other early writers, was proficient in Arabic, Persian and Turkish<br />
(Blau 1996:21). While his syntax was Kurdish, he drew from his large lexicon of these<br />
other languages, as well. Much of his work consists of qashidas (longer odes) and<br />
ghazals (shorter lyric poems) (Kreyenbroek 2005). During this time, Classical Kurdish<br />
4 When the idea of a ‘poetic school’ is used, it is meant to refer to a group of people, including poets, who<br />
have a common belief about what good poetry should consist of.
8<br />
literature was greatly influenced by the imagery of the mystical sect in Islam called<br />
Sufism (Kreyenbroek 1996:95). Cezîrî’s poetry is also considered to be a “fine<br />
representative of classical oriental 5 poetry” (Shakely 2002). Shakely writes:<br />
His ties to this tradition are expressed through the strong Sufi elements<br />
and through the concept of love in his poetry. In his universe there are no<br />
clear borderlines between human and divine love. Thus the reader is often<br />
led to ask whether it was the love of God or the beautiful Selma (said to<br />
have been the daughter or the sister of the prince of Jezira [Cezîra]) which<br />
brought fire to the poet’s heart. (Shakely 2002)<br />
Romantic patriotism is also expressed in much of Cezîrî’s poetry, where the name<br />
Kurdistan appears frequently, and he wrote many of his poems in tribute to princes of<br />
Kurdistan. These elements make his poetry different from the court poetry written for<br />
non-Kurdish rulers in the area (Shakely 2002). During this time, court poets were hired<br />
by a ruler to produce poems that praised the ruler’s high position, decreeing his authority<br />
over an area (De Bruijn 2011).<br />
As mentioned, most of the early Kurdish literature was poetic. Kurdish prose, for<br />
the most part, did not develop until newspapers and magazines were created in the 20 th<br />
century (Blau 1996:23). Other great poets between the 15 th and 18 th centuries, such as<br />
‘Ali Harîrî (1425-90?), Faqî Tayran (1590-1660), Mala Ahmed Batayî, Selîm Silêman<br />
(16 th century), Ahmed Xanî (1651-1707), and Khanay Qubadî (1700-59), expressed the<br />
need for Kurdish linguistic freedom―for Kurds to write in their native tongue<br />
(Hassanpour 1996:49). Faqî Tayran, whose pen name means, ‘the bird’s jurist,’ is<br />
considered to be a disciple of Cezîrî. He, too, wrote qashidas and ghazals and is known<br />
as the first Kurdish poet to use the masnavî (couplet) form for a narrative poem<br />
(Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
5 Shakely’s exact meaning of ‘oriental’ is unknown. It seems likely that he is referring to Middle Eastern<br />
and Indo-Iranian literature rather than Asian literature, which would encompass literature from the entire<br />
continent.
9<br />
The most revered poet among Kurds of Northern Kurdish is Ahmed Xanî. He was<br />
born around 1650 in the town of Khan in the Hakari province of southeastern Turkey, and<br />
most scholars believe that he died in 1707 in Bayazid, Turkey. While he played an active<br />
role in intellectual life, having established a Kurdish school of literature and worked to<br />
build unity in the society, he is best known as the “unrivalled pioneer of the Kurdish<br />
national ideology” (Saadalla 2008:11).<br />
When Xanî wrote his long romantic epic Mem û Zîn in 1694 (Shakely 2002),<br />
which seems to have been inspired by a Kurdish epic called Meme Alan (Kreyenbroek<br />
2005), he introduced into Kurdish society the idea of Kurdish nationalism (Hassanpour<br />
1996: 21). Xanî desired for the Kurds to have their own leader who had an appreciation<br />
for science, art and poetry, books and dîwan 6 (Shakely 2002). While Mem û Zîn is<br />
certainly a love story, Xanî addresses many other facets of society in the poem (Saadalla<br />
2008:10, 11). In an interview with the Kurdish Globe, Farhad Shakely (2002) stated:<br />
He not only told a most beautiful love story, but also expressed his own<br />
political and philosophical ideals and described the political, economic,<br />
social and cultural aspects of a very important period in Kurdish history.<br />
Concerning the methnawî (or masnavî) form of the poem, Hassanpour (1996:49) writes,<br />
“Although the poetic form is borrowed from Persian literature, the details of the plot,<br />
names, characters and setting are mostly Kurdish.” 7 In the preface to his English<br />
translation of the story, Salah Saadalla (2008:10) writes:<br />
The poetical story is more than a tragic Romeo and Juliet…The pages of<br />
the book are full of thoughts, often dominated by philosophy, particularly<br />
sufism, in which shades of meanings, double-meanings, metaphors, and<br />
symbolic expressions, play a major role, and require extra care in<br />
interpreting.<br />
6 Dîwan means ‘an anthology of poems’ (Chyet 2003:161).<br />
7 The story takes place in Cezîra, Turkey. Scholars have inferred that, due to the detailed descriptions of the<br />
geography of the city, Xanî must have lived in Cezîra at some point in his life (Saadalla 2008:10).
10<br />
In an early section of the poem, Xanî makes the first ever reference to Kurdish literature<br />
by mentioning the older poets Malaye Cezîrî, ‘Alî Hariri and Faqi Tayran. It would be<br />
another century before a more complete record would be made of Kurdish literature<br />
(Shakely 2002).<br />
In addition to Mem û Zîn, Xanî produced the first dictionary in Kurdish, called<br />
Nubara Biçûkan, ‘The Children’s First Fruits,’ an Arabic-Kurdish dictionary in verse. He<br />
also wrote lyrical poetry and a 73 bayt ‘line’ essay in verse about religion, called Aqîda<br />
Îman, ‘The Article of Faith’ (Shakely 2002).<br />
2.1.1.2 The Goran school<br />
There were two other important schools of Kurdish poetry that developed in other<br />
Kurdish principalities, the Goran school and the Nalî school (Shakely 2002). In the 16 th<br />
century, the Ardalan (or Erdalan) family, who resided in the Persian province with the<br />
same name, gained a measure of independence from the Safavids. During this time they<br />
used their newfound liberty to support literacy. This encouraged the development of<br />
written literature in their language, known as Goranî, or Hawramî, 8 which is of the<br />
Southern Kurdish classification of languages (Kreyenbroek 2005). During the 17 th and<br />
18 th centuries, some religious leaders pioneered the use of Kurdish as a medium of<br />
instruction in mosque schools. Poets, however, did not consider literacy an end goal; “For<br />
them a literate tradition, together with statehood, were hallmarks of a civilised and<br />
sovereign people” (Hassanpour 1996:49).<br />
The Goran 9 (or Hawramî) school of Classical Kurdish poetry reached its climax in<br />
the Ardalan Province. The school established standards throughout the region and beyond<br />
8 The origins of Hawramî differ from those of Kurdish, but many regard it as a Kurdish dialect, perhaps due<br />
mostly to a certain percentage of lexical cognates. The syntax, however, is different from Northern and<br />
Central Kurdish.<br />
9 Goran, or Goranî, is usually used as an umbrella term for Southern Kurdish languages. Hawrami, on the<br />
other hand, is the name of a specific language of Southern Kurdish.
11<br />
(Shakely 2002). According to MacKenzie (1965), Goranî poetry was not influenced by<br />
early Northern Kurdish poetry but by local Persian poetic traditions. Poets used<br />
decasyllabic meter with a caesura between two rhyming hemistiches, 10 which were<br />
commonly found in the folk poetry in the area.<br />
When the Ardalan family fell from power in 1845, Persian replaced Goranî as the<br />
court language, eventually bringing an end to the Goranî school. Since that time, writers<br />
increasingly used languages other than Goranî in literature (Blau 1996:21). Some of the<br />
more famous poets from the Goran School era were Khanay Qubadî (1700-1759),<br />
Besaranî (1641-1702), Mawlawî (1806-1882) and Ahmad Bagî Komasî.<br />
Mawlawî―along with Melayê Cezîrî (discussed in 2.1.1.1) and Mahwî (1830-1909)<br />
(discussed in 2.1.1.3)―is considered one of the three greatest Sufi poets in Kurdish<br />
history (Shakely 2002).<br />
2.1.1.3 The Nali school<br />
In modern day Iraq, on the west side of the Zagros Mountains, another school of<br />
classical poetry was established in the area of Baban. Eventually it was referred to as the<br />
Nali school (Kreyenbroek 2005). In 1784, Ibrahim, the Prince of Baban, established<br />
Sulêmaniya as the capital of the province. At this time, the literary language was a<br />
Southern Kurdish dialect (Shakely 2002). When ‘Abd al-Rahman Pasha Baban (1789-<br />
1802) succeeded Ibrahim Pasha in 1789, he advocated the use of the language of<br />
Sulêmaniya, later to be called Sorani, for poetry and music―in lieu of Goranî. And he<br />
designated Sulêmaniye the cultural center for the area (Blau 1996:22).<br />
The founder of the Nali school was the poet Nali, whose real name was Malla<br />
Kedri Ahmad Shaweysi Mika’ili (1800-1856) (Kreyenbroek 2005). Some of the other<br />
revered poets of this time are Salim (1800-1866), Kurdî (1800-1866), Hajî Qadir Koyî<br />
(1817-1897), Sheikh Raza Talabanî (1836-1910), Wafayî (1836-1892), Adab (1862-<br />
10 According to Turco (2000: 22), a caesura is a brief hesitation between two parts of a line, the two<br />
hemistiches.
12<br />
1917), and Mahwî (1830-1909). We can see by these later dates that Classical Kurdish<br />
poetry continued into the 20 th century (Shakely 2002). Nali used Perso-Arabic poetic<br />
forms, such as the qashida and ghazal. Until that time they were not part of the literary<br />
tradition of the area. Nalî, who is renowned for his lyrical poetry, also wrote mystical<br />
verse and poems praising rulers (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
Many poets left the city of Sulêmaniya after the Baban dynasty was conquered in<br />
1851 (Kreyenbroek 2005). However, the Sorani literary tradition continued to develop in<br />
the 19 th century. But while there were some great poets during this period, and many<br />
literary works were written, the culture remained largely oral. Literacy was<br />
predominantly found among the clergy and the social elite. Hassanpour writes,<br />
“According to one study, 68.5 percent of the poets who lived until 1917 came from the<br />
clerical group, while the feudal class accounted for 20 percent” (Hassanpour 1996:50).<br />
Like Xanî, Haji Qadirî Koyî (ca. 1816-94), a great poet from this era, heralded the<br />
notion “that Kurds could achieve sovereignty only if they possessed both a literate<br />
tradition, the pen, and state power, the sword” (Hassanpour 1996:49). Speaking to his<br />
own people, he writes:<br />
Do not say, “The Kurdish language does not attain the purity of Persian.”<br />
It possesses an eloquence that reaches unequalled heights,<br />
but lack of solidarity among Kurds<br />
has debased its value and price. (Blau and Suleiman 1996:156)<br />
Koyî wanted his people to become literate and enlightened to the world around them.<br />
While Xanî and Koyî emphasized the need for a literate tradition, both poets valued the<br />
oral traditions of their people, borrowing from oral literature as opposed to those<br />
available in Arabic and Farsi literature (Hassanpour 1996:49). Koyî left Kurdistan for<br />
Istanbul, Turkey where he became familiar with Northern Kurdish and its literature.<br />
While there he also became familiar with foreign ideas. Many of his poems, thus, deal<br />
with his critique of society and traditional ways (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
Sheikh Razay Talabanî, another poet from the Nali school, is considered to have<br />
introduced satire to Kurdish poetry (Kreyenbroek 2005). Shakely (2002) writes:
13<br />
He was a severe social critic, revealing in his poems many injustices,<br />
weaknesses and faults in society. His language is exuberant and powerful,<br />
the images sharp and poignant to the smallest detail.<br />
Another Nali school poet, Mahwî (1830-1909), is counted as another of the three great<br />
Kurdish Sufi poets. His works are considered among the best of classical oriental poetry<br />
for both form and content (Shakely 2002).<br />
2.1.1.4 Early publication<br />
The first texts printed in Kurdish were the dîwan, ‘collection of poems,’ written<br />
by Mawlana Khalid (1777-1826). He was the leader of the Naqshbandi, a Sufi religious<br />
order. The book, printed in 1844 (Nerîman 1977:14), consists mostly of poems in Arabic<br />
and Persian, but contains a few in the Hawramî dialect (Hassanpour 1996:61). The first<br />
periodical in Kurdish was published on April 22, 1898. Named Kurdistan, it was a<br />
bilingual Kurdish-Ottoman newspaper (Blau and Suleiman 1996:157). Miqdad Midhat<br />
Badir Khan wrote these challenging words in its first issue:<br />
Today, whatever happens in the world is reported in newspapers from<br />
which we learn a great deal. Unfortunately, the Kurds – brave and<br />
intelligent though they are – live without knowing what is going on in our<br />
planet. I am publishing this paper to inform you of the development of<br />
events in the world and to encourage you to read and write Kurdish. (Blau<br />
and Suleiman 1996:157)<br />
Between 1898 and 1902, thirty-one issues were printed, and publication was expanded to<br />
Geneva, London and Folkestone. Eventually, minority peoples in Turkey responded<br />
enough to the restrictive governance of Sultan Abdul-Hamid that in 1908 he was<br />
constrained to bring about constitutional reform, which granted various people groups<br />
(not just Kurds) greater political and cultural rights. One result of this reform was the<br />
publication of many other new Kurdish newspapers and magazines (Shakely 2002).<br />
2.1.2 1920-1960<br />
Prior to World War I, some Kurdish journalism was permitted, but “Kurdish<br />
literature had been restricted to poetry and some prose, little of which had been
14<br />
published” (Blau and Suleiman 1996:157). Since that time, we can distinguish three<br />
periods in the development of Kurdish literature: 1920-1960, 1960-1980, and 1980 to<br />
present day (Blau 1996:22).<br />
In the years that followed, the use of the press was a key component in the<br />
development of the Kurdish and Kurdish-related languages. “The development of the<br />
Kurdish language and the Kurds’ literary productivity within the Middle East have since<br />
depended on how much freedom each of those four states [i.e. Turkey, Iraq, Iran and<br />
Syria] has been willing to grant their Kurdish minority” (Blau 1996:23, brackets mine).<br />
In 1924, Mustefa Kemal of Turkey decreed Kurdish was not permitted to be used in<br />
schools, associations or publications. “Later governments followed the same policy of<br />
forced assimilation of the Kurds” (Blau and Suleiman 1996:158).<br />
The new borders that were drawn gave half of the Kurdish area to the Turkish<br />
state. The other parts were divided among Iran and the two Arab states, Iraq and Syria. A<br />
smaller portion of Kurdistan had already become part of the Soviet Union. A portion of<br />
that area has since become part of the Armenian Republic. Shakely (2002) writes:<br />
The Kurdish intelligentsia who had been working for the cultural and<br />
political Kurdish movement in the Ottoman Empire now settled in South<br />
Kurdistan. With them they brought several valuable years of experience<br />
and knowledge from their time spent in Istanbul. Among these<br />
intellectuals, who originally came from all over Kurdistan, and who now<br />
began to play an important role in the cultural life in South Kurdistan,<br />
were Tawfiq Wahby (1891-1984), Pîramerd (the pen name of Hamî<br />
Tawjiq, 1867-1950), Rafiq Hilmi (1898-1960) and Muhammad Amîn Zakî<br />
(1880-1948).<br />
These are the conditions under which Kurdish poetry developed. The sociopolitical<br />
situation in each country where Kurdish and Kurdish-related people reside has<br />
differed since the division of the Kurdish area. Hence, any discussion of the development<br />
of Kurdish poetry is limited to those periods of time when Kurds have had basic<br />
freedoms for written expression. In Iraq, there is the additional factor of having two main<br />
language groups, Northern Kurdish and Central Kurdish. These groups are not just<br />
geographically separated, but language differences are enough that one group’s<br />
development in poetry did not necessarily influence the other (Shakely 2002).
15<br />
Kurdish intellectuals in Turkey lived their lives in exile, many moving to Syria,<br />
where Kurds experienced a period of freedom under the French Mandate, between the<br />
two world wars (Blau 1996:24). Northern Kurdish literature developed greatly during this<br />
time when “Damascus and Beirut became centers for Kurdish intellectual activity”<br />
(Kreyenbroek 2005). Also during this time, the brothers Jeladet Bedir Khan (1893-1961)<br />
and Kamiran Bedir Khan (1895-1978) developed a Kurdish orthography in Latin script,<br />
which remains in use today. The Hawar school, 11 an intellectual center the brothers were<br />
a part of, included Cegerxwîn (1903-1984), the pen name of Şêxmûs Hesen, Qadrîcan<br />
(1914-1974), Reşîd Kurd (1910-68), and Nûredîn Zaza (1919-1988) (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
However, after Syria gained independence following the Second World War, “literary<br />
productivity came to an end” (Blau 1996:24) because Kurds lost the freedoms they had<br />
previously gained. Once again, intellectuals fled and published from abroad (Blau<br />
1996:24). Many of those associated with the Hawar school left to continue their activities<br />
in Paris (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
Cegerxwîn, who wrote in the Northern Kurdish dialect, had a profound influence<br />
on Turkish and Syrian Kurds, such that some call the time of his writing the Cegerxwîn<br />
period. Shakely (2002) writes, “Cegerxwîn took good care of the old heritage from<br />
Classical poets like Cezîrî and Ahmed Xanî. His poetry is simple and revolutionary with<br />
a strong popular appeal often at the expense of the aesthetic.” Because of his political<br />
convictions, Cegerxwîn―along with two other very popular poets at the time, Hazhar<br />
(1920-1991), penname for Abdurrahman Sharafkandî, and Hemin Mukriyani (1921-<br />
1986)―had to live out much of his life in exile (Shakely 2002).<br />
Kurds in Iraq experienced a limited degree of cultural freedom under the British<br />
Mandate (1920-1932). During the 1920s Iraq became the center of Kurdish cultural life,<br />
and it has continued to develop since that time. As Kurds made contact with the west,<br />
emerging from their isolated existence, poetry began to transform from its classical style<br />
11 It seems that the Hawar school was named after a magazine, Hawar, that was published during this<br />
period.
16<br />
(Blau 1996:22-3). Goran, 12 whose real name was Abdullah Sulayman (1904-1962), was<br />
the first poet from the Sorani-speaking area to break with tradition, writing with stress<br />
rhythms which were closer to oral folk styles (Blau 1996:22-3). According to Shakely<br />
(2002), Goran “brought about a revolution in Kurdish poetry” and is called “the father of<br />
Kurdish modernism.” Up until this time, Kurdish poetry had been shaped by centuries of<br />
poetry of other cultures, particularly Arabic. Goran based his poetry on Kurdish identity<br />
and themes. He used old Kurdish folksong patterns for meter and form instead of, for<br />
example, using Arabic meter. He also purposefully used Central Kurdish in lieu of Arabic<br />
or other languages. Goran, like many 20 th century Kurdish poets, went through various<br />
periods in his own work, beginning with a classical period. In his latter years, he wrote in<br />
free verse 13 (Shakely 2002).<br />
During this time other poets in the Sorani-speaking area began publishing free<br />
verse and prose poetry, 14 addressing social and political concerns (Blau 1996:23). Some<br />
of the popular poets from this period are: Salem (1892-1959), the penname of Sheikh<br />
Salem Ahmad Azabanî, Delzar (b. 1920) the penname of Ahmad Mostafa Hama Aga,<br />
Bekas (1905-1948) the penname of Fakî ‘Abd-Allah, and his son Şêrko Bêkas (b. 1940),<br />
Kamran Mokrî (1929-1989), and Kakay Fallah (b. 1928) (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
12 The poet Goran should not be confused with the Goran school of poetry. The source of Goran’s penname<br />
is unknown. Perhaps his heritage was Goranî (or Hawrami), as he was born in Halebja, which was largely<br />
Hawrami at the time. His poetry, however, is written in Soranî, the central Kurdish language. No resource<br />
states whether or not he knew the Hawrami language.<br />
13 Shakely does not define his meaning of “free verse.” Turco (2000), taking issue with the term free verse,<br />
prefers to use the term prose poetry to define poetry that does not adhere to syllabic count and meter.<br />
Since the term “verse” is defined as “metered language,” the term free verse is an oxymoron, as “free”<br />
implies “unmetered.” Turco (2000) also writes, “Amy Lowell (1874-1925) called prose poetry that utilized<br />
many poetry sonic devices polyphonic prose rather than free verse.<br />
14 Blau used the terms free verse and prose to describe the new poetry of this period. However, we are not<br />
told how they differ. As mentioned in the previous footnote, the terms are often considered synonymous.<br />
Not knowing how the various people who are cited in this paper would define the term “free verse,” the<br />
terms prose and free verse are to be considered synonymous throughout the paper.
17<br />
The publication of magazines in Kurdish also appeared during this period,<br />
supporting the growing desire of Kurds to write poetic and narrative essays, short stories<br />
and historical fiction in their own language. In spite of many great hardships, Kurdish<br />
literature thrived during this period (Blau 1996:23). As Blau (1996:23) writes, “The<br />
subject matter of the new writing developed dynamically to deal with social concerns<br />
such as women’s issues, education and the family, or the struggle against injustice and<br />
the exploitation of peasants.”<br />
The new Iranian regime employed a policy similar to that of Turkey and forbade<br />
all publications in Kurdish. There was, however, a short time of freedom for Kurdish<br />
literature, from December 1945- December 1946, after the Republic of Kurdistan (also<br />
known as the Republic of Mahabad) was formed in December of 1945. “Kurdish writers<br />
and poets were honored and Kurdish became the official language within the republic”<br />
(Blau 1996:24). During this time a daily newspaper was published as well as a monthly<br />
magazine, textbooks, and a children’s periodical. After its demise, many intellectuals<br />
fled, mostly to Iraq (Blau 1996:24).<br />
2.1.3 1960-1980<br />
In Turkey, the new constitution of 1961 provided Kurds some freedoms which<br />
allowed Kurds to explore their Kurdish identity. Over a period of seven years, some<br />
collections of Turkish and Kurdish literature were produced, including Mûsa Anter’s<br />
(1920-1992) Birîna Reş, ‘The Black Wound’ (1965). Anter was sent to prison for several<br />
years for his publications and was eventually killed in Diyarbakir in 1992. In 1968 Xanî’s<br />
( 2.1.1.1) Mem û Zîn was translated into Turkish by M. Emîn Bozarslan, who was<br />
imprisoned for publishing the book. From 1967 on, “no significant works” in Kurdish<br />
were published in Turkey until the 1990s (Kreyenbroek 2005).<br />
In Iraq, the 1960s were filled with changes in government policies that stripped<br />
Kurdish liberties. All publications in Kurdish were banned, and the rest of the decade was<br />
filled with fighting and times of ceasefire and truce. Not until the 1970s did Kurds in Iraq<br />
once again experience freedom that allowed for personal expression. It was during this
18<br />
time that intellectuals “rediscovered their Kurdish identity,” after a long period of being<br />
affected by Arab society (Blau 1996:24-5). However, soon after Baghdad declared war<br />
against the Kurds in March of 1974, many intellectuals, including writers and poets,<br />
joined the movement against the central government (Hassanpour 1996:55). A period of<br />
freedom was again cut short and literary life for Kurds in Iraq halted in the midst of<br />
Kurdish uprisings and perilous wars―wars that wasted much of the Kurdish area. During<br />
this time, the regime in Turkey occasionally permitted use of the Kurdish language;<br />
however, they, too, continued to deny Kurdish people many basic civil rights (Blau<br />
1996:24-5).<br />
2.1.4 1980 to present day<br />
During the 1980s many intellectuals in Turkey chose exile and found their way to<br />
Europe and other western countries, where they experienced their greatest freedom of<br />
expression. Kurdish literature had been forbidden in Turkey and Syria for decades, but<br />
now it was able to develop from afar. The greatest “renaissance” in Northern Kurdish<br />
literature came via the support of the government of Sweden which assisted Kurdish<br />
residents who came to them for refuge. With a large publishing budget provided by the<br />
Swedish authorities, literary creativity blossomed among writers, poets and journalists<br />
(Blau 1996:25-6). According to Blau (1996:25), more than 300 books in Northern<br />
Kurdish have been published in Sweden.<br />
Meanwhile, in countries like Iran, Kurdish books are greatly scrutinized and<br />
censored, if published at all. As of the mid-1990s, there were no newspapers being<br />
published and Kurdish was not being used as the medium of instruction in schools. It is<br />
difficult to assess the present day situation of Iranian Kurds (Blau 1996:25-6).<br />
In Iraq, freedom of expression has developed greatly since the establishment of a<br />
no-fly zone in the north of the country in 1991. The Kurdish area continues to develop<br />
and remains a haven for speakers of both Northern and Central Kurdish, and there is<br />
much activity in all forms of literature, within the bounds that are permitted by the semiautonomous<br />
Kurdish government.
19<br />
2.2 On translating poetry<br />
The opinions and attitudes concerning the translation of poetry vary widely, from<br />
it cannot be done and therefore should be left alone to the opposite extreme, it is possible<br />
and should be done. Most scholars minimally agree that a translation of a poem is never<br />
truly a translation. It can never be to a reader what the original poem was to the original<br />
audience. Raffel (1988:12-13) states that “no two languages” are the same<br />
phonologically, syntactically or lexically. Neither do any two languages have “the same<br />
literary history,” nor the same prosody. He writes, “the impossibility of exact re-creation<br />
does not preclude the very real possibility of approximation – and it is precisely on<br />
approximation that good translation of poetry must be built” (Raffel 1988:12-13). While<br />
Lewes agrees that translation of poetry is approximation, he expresses a more doubtful<br />
opinion as to its success in his autobiography The Life of Goethe:<br />
Several times in these pages I have felt called upon to protest against the<br />
adequacy of all translation of poetry. In its happiest efforts, translation is<br />
but approximation: and its efforts are not often happy. A translation may<br />
be good as translation, but it cannot be an adequate reproduction of the<br />
original. It may be a good poem; it may be a good imitation of another<br />
poem; it may be better than the original; but it cannot be an adequate<br />
reproduction; it cannot be the same thing in another language, producing<br />
the same effect on the mind. And the cause lies deep in the nature of<br />
poetry…The meanings of a poem and the meanings of the individual<br />
words may be reproduced; but in a poem meaning and form are as<br />
indissoluble as soul and body; and the form cannot be reproduced. The<br />
effect of poetry is a compound of music and suggestion; this music and<br />
this suggestion are intermingled in words, to alter which is to alter the<br />
effect. For words in poetry are not, as in prose, simple representations of<br />
objects and ideas: they are parts of an organic whole – they are tones in<br />
the harmony; substitute other parts, and the result is a monstrosity, as if an<br />
arm were substituted for a wing; substitute other tones or semitones, and<br />
you produce a discord. Words have their music and their shades of<br />
meaning too delicate for accurate reproduction in any other form; the<br />
suggestiveness of one word cannot be conveyed by another. Now all<br />
translation is of necessity a substitution of one word for another: the<br />
substitute may express the meaning, but it cannot accurately reproduce the<br />
music, nor those precise shades of suggestiveness on which the delicacy<br />
and beauty of the original depend. (Lewes 1864:466)
20<br />
To the contrary, Schlegel (1992:31), in his praise of Christoph Martin Wieland’s<br />
translation of the works of Shakespeare, expresses his appreciation in many ways―even<br />
though it was a prose translation. Before Wieland, a German poet and writer, theatres in<br />
Germany largely modeled their productions after the French. The introduction of<br />
Shakespeare seems to have had a shocking, but valued, effect on German society.<br />
Schlegel (1992:31) writes:<br />
Who would have dared to imagine then that such pagan, unruly, and<br />
barbaric plays ascribed by obscure rumor to an Englishman, a certain<br />
William Shakespeare, would even have been allowed to be shown before<br />
our eyes?<br />
He praises Wieland’s translation further in saying that Germans “would be able to learn<br />
from it for a long time before they would need a new one, even if the translation they had<br />
was not perfect” (1796/1992:31). Agreeing about the importance of Wieland’s work, The<br />
Cambridge History of English and American Literature (Ward and Trent, et al. 2000:23)<br />
says that:<br />
Compared with what had preceded it in Germany…it was an achievement<br />
no less great than Le Tourneur’s French translation at a somewhat later<br />
date. And, in one respect, no subsequent translation could vie with<br />
Wieland’s, namely, in its immediate influence upon German literature.<br />
Later in his commentary, Schlegel (1992:32) writes that Wieland provided a<br />
translation that was complete, faithful and good, and he states that it allowed people to<br />
say, “We had to have that much to be able to wish for more.” Concerning his hope for a<br />
future poetic translation, he writes:<br />
If it were possible to recreate his work faithfully and poetically at the same<br />
time, if it were possible to follow the letter of his meaning step by step and<br />
yet to capture some of the innumerable, indescribable marvels that do not<br />
reside in the letter, but float above it like a break of spirit! It would be well<br />
worth the effort. (Schlegel 1992:32)<br />
Schlegel’s statement―that Wieland’s translation would be useful for learning―conveys<br />
one of primary reasons why people continue to perform the arduous task of translating<br />
poetry. A society has much to gain from the insights that translation of poetry, and
21<br />
literature in general, can provide. And Schlegel’s last statement speaks to another layer of<br />
translating poetry―that is, translating into verse.<br />
In the sections that follow, I discuss factors the would-be translator of poetry must<br />
consider for carrying out the task with some success. The information is also of great<br />
value to the reader of poetry. In § 2.2.4, I introduce some specific models of James S.<br />
Holmes (1988) and Boerger (1997) that are very helpful for making translation decisions.<br />
2.2.1 The translator as reader<br />
In his book Factors in a Theory of Poetic Translating (1978:25-35), Robert De<br />
Beaugrande tells us that the metapoet 15 ―that is, the translator of a poem into<br />
verse―must astutely perform the function of reading. Mistakes in a translation of poetry<br />
more likely occur, not because of the metapoet’s inability to write well, but from his or<br />
her reading of the poem. He writes, “The basis of the act of translation is not the original<br />
text, but rather the representation of the text that is eventually generated in the<br />
translator’s mind” (De Beaugrande 1978:25).<br />
The metapoet, like the reader of the metapoem, brings a lifetime of experiences<br />
which create expectations when interacting with a text. The mental processing of text is<br />
limited by these experiences and is carried out amid the general knowledge of the reader,<br />
his or her beliefs, presuppositions and priorities. De Beaugrande (1978:26) says that the<br />
“mental representation of the text that finally is registered in the translator’s mind is not<br />
identical with the original text.” Hence, the translation, even before it is produced, may<br />
already be flawed by means of incorrect interpretation―the additions, deletions,<br />
alterations and substitutions produced within the mind of the translator. The end product<br />
will be a misrepresentation of the original to the degree that the original has been<br />
misinterpreted. This understanding is affirmed by Wendland (2002b:183-84) in the<br />
following statements:<br />
15 The term “metapoet” is used to express that a translator of a poem into verse is also a poet. But the<br />
product, not being a true translation, is an approximation of the original―a metapoem.
22<br />
The most important element of the extralinguistic setting of any<br />
communication event is of course the intended audience or readership.<br />
Past translation theory and practice have usually noted the importance of<br />
this human component, but often in [a] unilateral sort of way. That is to<br />
say, the act of communication is viewed as a message transmission in one<br />
direction, where the author or translator contributes more or less<br />
everything, and the audience simply “receives” the text, interprets it, and<br />
then decides how to respond. Recent studies have shown that this is not<br />
the case at all — that communication is truly a “shared” process, where an<br />
audience brings to a text their own distinct expectations, values, norms,<br />
biases, experience, perspectives, and cognitive framework, all of which<br />
greatly influence — either to foil or to facilitate — the “message” that<br />
they perceive, understand, and ultimately react to.<br />
The metapoet should therefore have a thorough understanding of the reading process,<br />
remaining consciously aware of the reader-supplied information he or she is bringing into<br />
the reading of the poem. Such will not just aid in the proper interpretation of a poem but<br />
will also help in the process of translation, as he or she identifies the expectations of the<br />
audience of the metapoem.<br />
One key task of the metapoet is to ascertain the theme of the text, as well as its<br />
thematic shifts, so that these, too, can be effectively reproduced in the metapoem.<br />
Perception of a theme is what allows the reader to adequately process a text. Once a<br />
theme is perceived, the mind of the reader can reduce “the possibilities of meanings and<br />
hence the work of sorting out potential ambiguities” (De Beaugrande 1978:74). When the<br />
theme eludes a reader, or if there are unexpected thematic alterations, processing of the<br />
text slows down. If the textual processing becomes too slow, the metapoet risks losing the<br />
reader’s interest. According to De Beaugrande (1978:74), “most writers of informative<br />
texts make the theme clear at an early point and alert readers to shifts of theme and to the<br />
relationships of new themes to what has gone before.”<br />
However, readers may become troubled when encountering more than one<br />
interpretation for a text, since reader-supplied information from their life experiences<br />
contribute to the interpretation of a text from the outset. As text-supplied information is<br />
processed, the reader progresses toward relying more on such information for interpreting<br />
the text, and less on reader-supplied information. In light of this, the metapoet must know
23<br />
his audience and their cognitive processing abilities and expectations. De Beaugrande<br />
(1978:88) writes, “Only if the reading process is consistently pursued to the point where<br />
the interpretation is maximally dominated by text-supplied information can a truly<br />
objective translation be produced, that is, a translation which validly represents the<br />
perceptual potential of the original” (author’s italics). Differences in reader-supplied<br />
information may likely be the reason for the variation in translations of the same poem. It<br />
may explain why “two translators seldom arrive at the same translation, and why literary<br />
critics disagree so often” (De Beaugrande 1978:26).<br />
2.2.2 Qualifications of a metapoet<br />
According to Raffel (1991:88), the translator of poetry will ideally meet the<br />
following prerequisites:<br />
(1) The translator must have an extensive awareness of the poetic<br />
tradition in the language into which he is translating.<br />
(2) The translator should have a fairly considerable awareness of the<br />
poetic tradition in the language from which he is translating.<br />
(3) The translator must have high-order poetic skills in the language into<br />
which he is translating: bluntly, the translator of poetry must himself be a<br />
poet. (author’s italics)<br />
However, Holmes (1988:11) asserts that the metapoet requires other specific skills and<br />
that he or she does not necessarily need be a poet. He writes:<br />
In order to create a verbal object of the metapoetic kind, one must perform<br />
some (but not all) of the functions of a critic, some (but not all) of the<br />
functions of a poet, and some functions not normally required of either a<br />
poet or critic…Linking together these two activities, the critical and the<br />
poetic, is an activity which is uniquely the metapoet’s: the activity of<br />
organizing and resolving a confrontation between the norms and<br />
conventions of one linguistic system, literary tradition, and poetic<br />
sensibility, as embodied in the original poem as he has analysed it, and the<br />
norms and conventions of another linguistic system, literary tradition, and<br />
poetic sensibility to be drawn on for the metapoem he hopes to create.
24<br />
Rydning (1992) 16 has written about issues that arise when translating into one’s<br />
second (B) language. Concerning the translation of literary work by someone who’s<br />
language abilities are anything less than those of a native speaker, Rydning (1992:16-17)<br />
writes:<br />
The potential range of stylistic effects in a literary work is at best<br />
extraordinarily vast, if not limitless: alliterations, rhymes, rhythmical<br />
elements, metaphors, anagrams, word plays, each seen as a challenge by<br />
translators who must ensure for their own readers the affective impact<br />
intended by the author of the original, by means of stylistic procedures<br />
which are true to the target language. The success of this difficult task is<br />
closely linked to the translator’s skill, a skill which demands aesthetic<br />
talent, literary competence and an affinity with the author of the literary<br />
text. (translated)<br />
Lederer tells us that Rydning chose to include only functional (non-literary) texts in her<br />
research on translation into one’s B language, leaving out literary translation. Lederer<br />
(2003:160), however, feels that concerning literary work, only poetry should be left out<br />
of such a study. She states that “it is accepted that poetry in translation is of no value if it<br />
does not touch a chord in the reader as much as the original does and that the writing<br />
skills needed depend on the intuition of a native speaker.” Her final statement affirms the<br />
commonly held belief that the best translators will be native speakers of the receptor<br />
language. This seems to be especially true when it comes to the translation of poetry.<br />
2.2.3 Non-ordinary language of poetry<br />
As early as Aristotle, poetic language has been viewed as language that deviated<br />
from common discourse. In addition to processing the theme and thematic shifts,<br />
mentioned above, non-ordinary language also slows the textual processing of the reader.<br />
Comparing ordinary “prose,” and non-ordinary “verse,” language, Holmes (1988:9)<br />
writes:<br />
To put it another way: when we read prose we have an inclination to<br />
expect a single, precise over-all message, unambiguous in meaning, and in<br />
16 As cited in Lederer (2003:160).
25<br />
trying to grasp that meaning we will strive to attribute to each semantic<br />
unit one single significance that seems most obvious or most logical in the<br />
context; when we read verse, however, the form itself serves as a signal to<br />
us that our minds should remain open to ambiguities at every rank, and<br />
even once we have chosen one specific signification 17 of a word, a line, a<br />
stanza, or an entire poem as the chief surface signification, we do not<br />
reject other possible significations out of hand, but hold them in abeyance,<br />
as so many further elements in the highly intricate communication which<br />
we expect a poem to be. In this most complex of all linguistic structures, a<br />
whole range of significations, and not simply the signification most<br />
obvious or most logical, fuse to create the total ‘meaning’ and the total<br />
effect.<br />
Coping with all of the extra significations, and keeping track of potential significations,<br />
can become burdensome for the reader. To understand significations, or “markers,” De<br />
Beaugrande (1978:17), citing Petöfi (1969), defines two relevant terms for understanding<br />
reader expectations when processing a text. The first, co-text, is to be understood as<br />
“combinations of items within a text.” The second term, context, includes “co-text plus<br />
the factors relevant to the use of the text by writer and reader.” Often it is when a word<br />
appears in conjunction with another word or words, or co-textually, that the meaning is<br />
understood. Sometimes it is the context, not the co-text alone, that helps a reader<br />
understand the intended meaning. With regard to the reader’s textual processing of<br />
available meanings for words, De Beaugrande (1978:39) writes,<br />
It is more probable that the meaning potential of words is automatically<br />
reduced somewhat as soon as a context and a topic are established in a<br />
particular situation, and that this reduction controls the expectations of<br />
both the sender and the recipient of a message within the situation.<br />
The reader is even more challenged by the processing of non-literal language,<br />
particularly metaphor. Petöfi (1975:290) defines metaphor as “an interpretable stretch of<br />
text in a contradeterminate context.” The reader’s expectations are not met when<br />
confronted with a metaphor. However, he or she possesses the mental faculties to make<br />
necessary connections between words, therein discovering the meaning being conveyed.<br />
17 “Using the term ‘signification’ in its largest sense, to include not only the semantic function of a<br />
linguistic unit, but also its other functions (acoustic, rhythmic, etc.) within the poem” (Holmes 1988:18).
26<br />
At least, this should have been the goal of the poet―the reader’s recoverability of the<br />
interpretation of the metaphor. If the poet has not allowed for this, he or she may have<br />
written with lofty expectations of the reader (De Beaugrande 1978:67).<br />
2.2.4 Models for making translation decisions<br />
Holmes (1988) provides some models that are very useful in understanding the<br />
decisions a translator makes in producing meta-literature concerning a poem. In § 2.2.4.1<br />
and § 2.2.4.2, I discuss each model and elaborate on some important details. In § 2.2.4.3, I<br />
present ten principles of Boerger (1997) that address the need for both accuracy and<br />
poetic artistry in the translation of poetry.<br />
2.2.4.1 Holmes’ meta-literature model―types of interpretation and types of poetry<br />
The first model, shown in Figure 1, 18 shows a comparison of two disciplines that<br />
are carried out with regard to a poem, the writing of interpretation and the writing of<br />
poetry. Seven types of meta-literature―that is, the types of things a writer can produce<br />
with regard to a poem―are listed according to the number and/or degree of constraints<br />
experienced in producing them. Each discipline represents a scale where on one end there<br />
is complete freedom. As one moves further toward the middle, the number and/or degree<br />
of constraints increase.<br />
18 The model in Holmes’ text (1988:24) is laid out differently from the model in Figure 1. However, the<br />
content and use of the models are equal.
27<br />
INTERPRETATION<br />
POETRY<br />
Critical essay in language of poem<br />
Critical essay in another language<br />
Prose translation<br />
Verse translation (metapoem)<br />
Imitation<br />
Poem ‘about’ poem<br />
Poem inspired by a poem<br />
P<br />
O<br />
E<br />
M<br />
Figure 1. Meta-literature concerning a poem<br />
At the top end of the interpretation scale is the critical essay in the language of<br />
poem. In such an essay the critic has complete freedom to bring extraneous information<br />
into his or her interpretation. Additionally, the critic may write as much as desired to<br />
express his or her interpretation of a poem, and such writing does not require any<br />
translation of terms in the poem. Next down the scale is the critical essay in another<br />
language. The writer of this critique begins to experience some constraints. While the<br />
essay may still be written as long as is desired, this writer must contend with the task of<br />
translation, finding terms suitable for terms in the original text. However, this critic may<br />
still draw from extraneous sources. The next degree of constraints is found in the prose<br />
translation. Here the writer must limit his or her interpretation to the words of the poem<br />
itself, leaving extraneous information behind. The length of the product is therefore<br />
limited. The prose product is still not a poem. Last on the interpretation scale is the verse<br />
translation, or metapoem, which is the point at which interpretation and poetry scales<br />
intersect. It is in the production of a metapoem that the metapoet, or translator-poet,<br />
experiences the greatest constraints on both scales. The product is a poem (Holmes<br />
1988:23). Prose translation and translation into verse form are discussed in more detail in<br />
sections § 2.2.4.1.1 and § 2.2.4.1.2, respectively.
28<br />
Continuing down the list, the poem that is an imitation of the original has fewer<br />
constraints than the metapoem. The poet of an imitation takes freedom to change various<br />
aspects of the poem as desired, and it is no longer considered a valid interpretation of the<br />
original. It may seemingly have some interpretive qualities; however, it has strayed too<br />
far to be considered a true evaluation of the original’s semantic content (Holmes<br />
1988:23). Imitation poetry is revisited in § 2.2.4.1.3 on re-creative translations.<br />
After imitation is the poem ‘about’ a poem and the poem inspired by a poem.<br />
These poems are devoid of representative features of the original. While they may still<br />
possess some semantic content found in the original, the writer crafts a poem that is so<br />
estranged from the theme and intent of the original that the connection between the two is<br />
very loose.<br />
2.2.4.1.1 Prose translation of a poem<br />
Prose translations of a poem may be broken down into various forms, such as<br />
“literal” and “unbound literary” translations. What is common to all of its forms is that<br />
they are all written using prose (Holmes 1988:23). Some people, particularly linguists,<br />
find prose translations, such as literal or interlinear versions, useful.<br />
E. Talbot Donaldson (1975:xv-xvi) writes that “only a prose translation, made<br />
with no other end in mind than fidelity to the original, can bring out the distinctive<br />
qualities of the work. To make it a modern poem is, inevitably, to make it a different<br />
poem.” Similarly, John Middleton Murry (1969:129) supported prose translation, saying:<br />
Poetry should always be rendered into prose. Since the aim of the<br />
translator should be to present the original as exactly as possible, no fetters<br />
of rhyme or metre should be imposed to hamper this difficult labour.<br />
Indeed they make it impossible.<br />
Contrary to this opinion, the German philologist and translator Ulrich von<br />
Willamowitz-Moellendorff (1992:33), believed in only translating poetry into verse form.<br />
Writing with regard to the translation of Homer into prose, he says that the translator<br />
“must divest himself of his jewels, in other words lose all the color of life.” In truth, von<br />
Willamowitz-Moellendorff did not think Homer was translatable into German, because
29<br />
there was no epic meter in the language. He believed that a poem was translatable only if<br />
there was a verse form in the receptor language that was “analogous” to the form in the<br />
original text. Regarding lyric poetry, von Willamowitz-Moellendorff (1992:33) states:<br />
Whoever wants to try them should, in any case, look for a German form<br />
analogous to the original in mood and style. Let him decide to what extent<br />
he can adapt himself to the form of the original. His intention as a<br />
translator will be a decisive factor, as will be his understanding of the text.<br />
Based on my research for this <strong>thesis</strong>, I am of the opinion that most people would<br />
generally side with von Willamowitz-Moellendorff, preferring the translation of poetry<br />
into a verse form. However, I also believe that most would be generally satisfied with any<br />
verse form, even if there was not an exact match of function in the receptor language.<br />
2.2.4.1.2 Translation into a verse form<br />
In the discussion above, we saw that Holmes considers a metapoem―a translation<br />
into verse form―to be the best translation of a poem. The next question for the metapoet<br />
is: Which verse form should be used? This same issue is addressed by Wendland (2009),<br />
who had the following to say with regard to his work in translating Hebrew poetry into a<br />
Bantu language:<br />
Having determined the audience and the manner of interacting with them<br />
via a “literary functional equivalence” (LiFE) translation (Wendland 2006:<br />
ch. 3), the search for an appropriate target language genre begins. In this<br />
case, our aim is to come as close as possible to an “elegiac” mode, in order<br />
to match the original Hebrew text in terms of content, beauty of poetic<br />
form, emotive tone, evocative imagery, rhetorical impact, and the oralaural<br />
medium of communication. (Wendland 2009:11)<br />
In addition to the issue of finding a suitable verse form, Wendland raises some additional<br />
topics here. Boerger (1997, 2009) also addresses these topics in her principles for<br />
translating poetry, which I present in § 2.2.4.3.<br />
Holmes (1988:25-7) identifies four approaches translators use for choosing a<br />
verse form. The first approach is to use a verse form that is relatively close to that of the<br />
original text. In this “mimetic form” approach, the translator takes only the form of the
30<br />
poem into consideration and does not consider other forms that are found in the receptor<br />
language (Holmes 1988:25-6).<br />
The next approach, the “analogous form,” is the process of matching the verse<br />
form of the poem to a verse form in the receptor language. This was the approach of von<br />
Willamowitz-Moellendorff. Holmes (1988:26) says that translators using this approach<br />
focus on “the function of [the poem’s] form within its poetic tradition.” Only then, with<br />
this information in mind, does the translator search for a verse form in the receptor<br />
language that has a similar function. Holmes calls these first two forms, the mimetic and<br />
the analogous, “form-derivative forms,” as both approaches focus on the form of the<br />
original text (Holmes 1988:26).<br />
Similar to the analogous form is the “organic form,” which Holmes (1988:27)<br />
describes as being “content-derivative.” With this approach, the content of the original<br />
poem is used, not the form. Holmes (1988:27) writes that the translator “starts from the<br />
semantic material, allowing it [the poem] to take on its own unique poetic shape as the<br />
translation develops.” Finally, the last form is known as a “deviant form” or<br />
“extraneous,” for it does not take into consideration either the form or the content of the<br />
original poem. Holmes (1988:27) says that “the translator making use of this approach<br />
casts the metapoem into a form that is in no way implicit in either the form or the content<br />
of the original.”<br />
2.2.4.1.3 Re-creative translation<br />
For many, referring to a poem as a “re-creative translation” is an oxymoron. If a<br />
poem has been re-created, how can it possibly be considered a translation? Many would<br />
say it is not even close to being an approximate rendition of the original. However, some<br />
scholars―past and present―find great value, and preference, in taking a poem and<br />
writing it in a way that brings it “up to date,” modernizing it for use in a new time. As we<br />
consider what people have written about “creative” and “re-creative” translation<br />
strategies, do bear in mind that the definitions may not be equal between writers. So
31<br />
while it may be difficult to discern someone’s boundaries, it is possible to understand<br />
their basic attitudes towards creative endeavors in poetry.<br />
In 1720 the philosopher Voltaire (1992:30) wrote the following words to Anne<br />
Dacier, a French scholar and translator of the classics:<br />
I am convinced that we have two or three poets in France who would be<br />
able to translate Homer very well; but I am equally convinced that nobody<br />
will read them unless they soften and embellish almost everything<br />
because, Madame, you have to write for your own time, not for the past.<br />
It seems that Voltaire was likely a supporter of Antoine Houdar de la Motte’s method of<br />
translation (Sidnell 1998:11). Houdar de la Motte states the following in response to the<br />
critics of his translation of Homer published in 1714:<br />
I have followed those parts of the Iliad that seemed to me worth keeping,<br />
and I have taken the liberty of changing whatever I thought disagreeable. I<br />
am a translator in many parts and an original author in many others.<br />
(Houdar de la Motte 1992:29)<br />
Regarding his reasoning for reducing the twenty-four volumes into twelve, he says:<br />
At first sight you might think that this could only be done at the expense<br />
of many important elements. But if you pause to reflect that repetitions<br />
make up more than one-sixth of the Iliad, and that anatomical details of<br />
wounds and the warriors’ long speeches make up a lot more, you will be<br />
right in thinking that it has been easy for me to shorten the poem without<br />
losing any important features of the plot. I flatter myself that I have done<br />
just that and I even think I have succeeded in bringing the essential parts<br />
of the action together in such a way that they form a better proportioned<br />
and more sensible whole than Homer’s original. (Houdar de la Motte<br />
1992:29)<br />
Houdar de la Motte only seems to mention in passing the existence of an original context,<br />
an original audience that would likely have appreciated many features of the Iliad that he<br />
himself finds undesirable:<br />
I have, therefore, only corrected―as far as possible―those defects in the<br />
poem that have a shocking or boring effect, since those are unforgivable. I<br />
have left the gods their passions, but I have always tried to preserve their<br />
dignity. I have not deprived the heroes of their unjust pride, which often<br />
appears as “grandeur” to us, but I have deprived them of the avarice, the<br />
eagerness, and the greed with which they stoop to looting, since these
32<br />
faults would bring them down in our eyes. (Houdar de la Motte 1992:29-<br />
30)<br />
Here Houdar de la Motte plainly states that the context for the audience in France at the<br />
time was much different from that of Homer’s audience. He translated for a particular<br />
audience, giving his audience something they could appreciate. However, one has to<br />
question, can one call his work a translation if it changes the characters’ actions and<br />
personalities? I would say it is not. If the product is one that strays too far from the<br />
original, it is better to consider that product an adaptation of a sort rather than a<br />
translation. Such an adaptation would fall into the category of an “imitation” on Holmes’<br />
scale in Figure 1.<br />
In support of this view, von Willamowitz-Moellendorff (1992:34), who argues for<br />
translation into verse form, writes:<br />
We are faced with a totally different matter when a creative poet takes up<br />
an ancient work and transforms it recreatively in his own spirit. This is<br />
quite legitimate, even great, but it is not a translation. For translation only<br />
wants to let the ancient poet speak to us clearly and in a manner as<br />
immediately intelligible as he did in his own time. He must be given<br />
words, he must speak through our mouth.<br />
Hence, while von Williamowitz-Moellendorff may have thought Houdar de la Motte’s<br />
work of value, he would by no means call his version of Homer a translation.<br />
Perhaps translators resort to producing something other than what has been<br />
defined as a metapoem because the task is so difficult. Wilfrid Thorley (1920:1, 2), a<br />
translator of French verse into English, expressed it this way:<br />
In translation, it is a small thing to know, etymologically, the literal<br />
equivalent of foreign words, the important thing being to understand their<br />
intention, and to render their effect in your own way…This being so with<br />
a simple prose statement, the matter is obviously ten times more intricate<br />
when we come to poetry, where subtleties of sound are to be reproduced<br />
and the sense preserved, while duly conforming to the tyrannous<br />
exigencies of rhyme and metre.<br />
However, while Thorley (1920:4) does concede to some sort of re-creation strategy, his<br />
philosophy does seem to keep in step with that of the metapoet:
33<br />
No version of poetry, however faithful, can be good which does not read<br />
like poetry: to reproduce a poet’s precise wording is a very doubtful need,<br />
and in any case an impossible one; to reproduce his effect may be done if<br />
we approach the task in prayer and fasting, steadily set on forgetting his<br />
actual words as soon as we have mastered their meaning and got the<br />
massed sound of them tyrannously resonant in our ears. The best<br />
translators of poetry are, indeed, those who are least scrupulous of fidelity<br />
in detail; they slur over the untranslatable, and insinuate new words and<br />
turnings of the original thought that are so perfectly in tune with their<br />
originals as to render them far less haltingly than meticulous followers of<br />
the text…The real task of a translator is that of re-creating, and unless he<br />
can bring to his original as much as he takes from it, he had far better<br />
leave it alone. To a strict scholar this definition of translation may appear<br />
to be just what translation is not; but, though the makers of mere cribs<br />
have their uses, they are not such as concern permanent literature, nor do<br />
they help us at all to a relish of its savour. (italics my own)<br />
2.2.4.1.4 Apter on Ezra Pound’s “creative” translations<br />
Ezra Pound is considered one of the most influential and controversial poets of<br />
the 20 th century. He is particularly known for his translations of classical poetry. In her<br />
book Digging for the Treasure: Translation After Pound (1984), Ronnie Apter provides<br />
some insights regarding some of the poetry nomenclature mentioned above.<br />
According to Apter, the terms “creative,” “paraphrase” and “imitation” are not<br />
synonymous but represent different types of poetry. Concerning Pound’s poem Sestina:<br />
Altaforte, a translation of a 12 th century poem by Bertran de Born, Apter (1984:69)<br />
writes:<br />
I have called “Sestina: Altaforte” a creative translation, although there are<br />
good arguments in favor of calling it an imitation. It is one of the works in<br />
which Pound mingled his modes. However, since in my definition a poem<br />
is a creative translation insofar as the changes it makes in the sense of the<br />
original are criticisms of the original, the conclusions I draw from Pound’s<br />
critical practice in “Sestina: Altaforte” are relevant to my argument<br />
regardless of the category to which the translation is assigned.<br />
While this identifies a creative translation as being different from an imitation, we do not<br />
know how it relates to the idea of a metapoem. Apter (1984:4-5) summarizes Pound’s<br />
philosophy in these words from her opening chapter:
34<br />
Pound saw translations as new poems in two different, but connected,<br />
ways. First, he viewed the past as an active participant in the changing of<br />
the present. He selected for translation those poems which he felt<br />
displayed desirable qualities lacking in contemporary poetry. His<br />
translations from Provençal, Chinese, and Latin were deliberate attempts<br />
to change the poetic sensibility of his time. Such translations are in<br />
themselves new poems as well as reflections of old poems, because they<br />
are intended to belong to the body of contemporary poetry.<br />
Second, he believed that a translation cannot be the old poem; it can only<br />
be the old poem viewed from the standpoint of the present. Therefore,<br />
insofar as a translation is an augmented view of the past, colored by<br />
intervening centuries of experience, it is a new poem.<br />
Pound never set forth his translation theories in any one publication; however,<br />
some of his thoughts on the subject are available in his essays and letters (Apter<br />
1984:72). One term that he coined to describe one of his ideas is “logopoeia,” of which<br />
he writes:<br />
Logopoeia does not translate; though the attitude of mind it expresses may<br />
pass through a paraphrase. Or one might say, you can not translate it<br />
‘locally’, but having determined the original author’s state of mind, you<br />
may or may not be able to find a derivative or an equivalent. (Pound<br />
1968:25)<br />
Apter (1984:73), in response to Pound’s statement, says:<br />
Pound here takes for granted that the translator is interested, not in<br />
translating the sense of the original, but in finding an “equivalent” for the<br />
original author’s “state of mind.” This formula moves the translator<br />
definitely away from paraphrase. Paraphrase is resigned to losing the<br />
original author’s verbal mastery, rather than ever saying something he did<br />
not say, while imitation, as Dryden (1956:119) explained, permits one to<br />
add “new Beauties to the piece, thereby to recompense the loss which it<br />
sustains by change of Language…” Pound restricted liberty in “adding<br />
new Beauties to the piece” to those which are a “derivative” or an<br />
“equivalent” of something in the original poem. Thus, he was describing<br />
creative translation, not imitation.<br />
Pound’s interest in the “original author’s state of mind,” and not “the sense of the<br />
original,” would either place his idea of a creative poem between metapoem and imitation<br />
on Holmes’ model, or it would simply be equal to an imitation. In practice, though,
35<br />
Pound also produced poems that are not considered translations. For example, regarding<br />
Pound’s translations of Chinese poetry, Gu (2008:47) writes:<br />
…it has received a low evaluation from scholars of literary Sinology. Of<br />
course, Sinologists do not deny the high literary quality of Pound’s<br />
translation, but they have dismissed it as translation per se because they<br />
regard it as a free, untrammeled re-creation or re-writing. (author’s italics)<br />
Gu (2008:47) also writes that “professional translators of Chinese poetry…deplored his<br />
[Pound’s] lack of scholarship and disregard for fidelity.”<br />
While it is useful to think in all these terms―paraphrase, metapoem, creative<br />
poem, imitation―translations may often consist of more than one category. According to<br />
Holmes (1988:10-11), the metapoet “inevitably falls into the fallacy of paraphrase,<br />
shifting emphases and distorting meanings.” Quoting Frost (1955:16), he goes on to say<br />
that the poem is “a verbal object whose value is inseparable from the particular words<br />
used.”<br />
2.2.4.2 Holmes’ “retention versus modernization” model<br />
A second model Holmes discusses (1988:35-44) delineates the choices that<br />
confront the metapoet when translating a poem from another time period. Determinations<br />
must not be made just on the linguistic level but also on the literary and socio-cultural<br />
levels. For his discussion, Holmes uses translations of a 15 th century French rondel―an<br />
older verse form no longer in common use 19 ―by Charles d’Orléans. Holmes points out<br />
the fact that “the central image of the poem, young men riding on horseback to impress<br />
the girls, has lost its compelling force: their counterparts today ride motor-bikes or drive<br />
cars” (Holmes 1988:37). Concerning this image, the translator is faced with a decision<br />
between whether to “historicize” the poem, retaining the image, or “modernize” it, re-<br />
19 Turco (2000:241) describes the rondel as a thirteen line poem form that is “divided into two quatrains<br />
and a quintet.” The rhyme scheme is described as Abba abAB abbA, where the capital letter indicates a<br />
refrain (Turco 2000:129).
36<br />
creating the image by means of some equivalent in modern day society (Holmes<br />
1988:37).<br />
Later in the chapter, Holmes compares four translators’ renditions of the<br />
d’Orléans poem on all three levels: linguistic, literary (which is split in two, as noted<br />
below) and socio-cultural. For each level, he identifies whether the translator generally<br />
chose to historicize or modernize. The literary level is divided between verse in general<br />
and rondel form, as a poet may still choose to write in a verse form but not use the rondel<br />
form. Alternatively, a poet may use the rondel-like rhyming scheme but not adhere to its<br />
strict seven syllables per line. My discussion below of Holmes’ findings is quite<br />
summarized; I invite the reader to view his text for more specifics (Holmes 1988:41).<br />
The first translator listed (Adam Khan) was found to have historicized on every<br />
level. He predominantly used archaic, Middle English language and retained use of the<br />
rondel form. He also retained the socio-cultural themes in the original poem. The next<br />
translator (Gavin Ewart) modernized on the linguistic, verse and rondel levels, writing in<br />
a modern style and in free verse. This poet, however, retained socio-cultural features of<br />
the poem, historicizing on that level. The third translator (Peter Rowlett) modernized on<br />
the literary and verse levels, retaining the rondel form (but not the syllable count, which<br />
Holmes would view as historicizing on the verse level) and historicizing on the sociocultural<br />
level. Finally, the fourth translator (G.R. Nicholson) modernized on every level<br />
but the rondel form (Holmes 1988:41).<br />
The four translations may be summarized on four levels: linguistic, verse<br />
(general), rondel, and socio-cultural. Each poet either historicized (H) or modernized<br />
(M) on each of these levels. For example, Khan historicized on every level and may be<br />
summarized as (H-H-H-H). The other poets are summarized as follows: Ewart (M-M-M-<br />
H), Rowlett (M-M-H-H), and Nicholson (M-M-H-M). Holmes (1988:41) observes that<br />
none of the translators modernized on every level. Hence, one may surmise that<br />
translators of older poetry sense the need to retain something of the historicity of the<br />
original in their translations. He also points out that three out of the four translators chose<br />
a retentive strategy on the socio-cultural level, which for him raises the question:
37<br />
Can it be said that the possibilities for re-creation rather than retention are<br />
more restricted in this sphere than in the linguistic and the literary,<br />
whereas in the other two spheres the pressures against retentive<br />
historicizing are greater? And have these possibilities and pressures varied<br />
from age to age and from country to country? (Holmes 1988:42)<br />
While he realizes he has only conducted “a preliminary study,” Holmes (1988:41-42)<br />
does note that other studies of translations from older poetry have resulted in similar<br />
findings.<br />
Holmes continues the discussion by showing how metapoets over the centuries<br />
have employed different strategies for producing a metapoem. For example, in the<br />
nineteenth century metapoets were given to “exoticizing 20 and historicizing on all planes”<br />
(Holmes 1988:49). What is most noteworthy in this discussion is Holmes’ summary of<br />
the translator’s conundrum: How can something of quality be produced amid these two<br />
juxtaposed positions―to faithfully translate while at the same time write a poem? His<br />
discussion is repeated below.<br />
Translation, like many other goal-oriented activities, lends itself to<br />
consideration in the light of the theory of games. Viewed from this<br />
vantage point, the translation of a text consists of a game set by the<br />
translator: the game of producing an acceptable translation…The two<br />
basic rules of the game of verse translation are that the final result (1) must<br />
match the original to a large enough degree that it will be considered a<br />
translation (the criterion of minimum matching or minimum fit), and (2)<br />
must be of such a nature that it will be considered a poem (the poetic<br />
criterion).<br />
The poetic criterion entails a demand of unity or homogeneity: a poem,<br />
whatever else it may be, can be defined as a coherent textual whole. Yet<br />
the fact of translation, by its very nature, entails a basic dichotomy<br />
between source and target languages, literatures, and cultures―a<br />
dichotomy with, moreover, a temporal as well as a spatial dimension. To<br />
harmonize the demand of unity and the fact of dichotomy, the translator<br />
must resort to a game strategy of illusionism: accepting the dichotomy as<br />
inevitable, he must map out a general strategy of selecting from his<br />
retentive and re-creative possibilities those which will induce the illusion<br />
of unity. At the outset there are few further restrictions. But as the<br />
20 “Exoticizing” as opposed to “naturalizing.”
38<br />
translator moves further into the game, each choice limits further choices:<br />
the choice of archaic idiom, for example, tends to prohibit later recourse to<br />
contemporary slang, and the choice of a strict rhyme scheme and/or<br />
metrical system serves to restrict subsequent lexical and syntactic choices<br />
quite severely.<br />
Our problem, it would seem, has subtly shifted ground while we have been<br />
discussing it. Rather than coming to a definition of the limits of<br />
translatability such that we can say “all translation can attain this, and no<br />
more”, we have arrived at a polyvalent situation: the verse translator, by<br />
virtue of the choices he is required to make in his pursuit of the illusion of<br />
unity, presents one possible interpretation (out of many) of the original<br />
poem, re-emphasizing certain aspects at the cost of others. It is for this<br />
reason that there will always be need of more than one translation of any<br />
poem of importance, since several translations present more facets of the<br />
original than any one can do. (Holmes 1988:50-51)<br />
In the above lines, Holmes has definitively explained how formidable the task of<br />
translating poetry is. However, it is a worthwhile task, especially for those who desire to<br />
provide others with glimpses into the lives and thoughts of people who speak languages<br />
different from our own. Like Schlegel―so thankful for what German’s could learn from<br />
Wieland’s translation of Shakespeare―many still long to learn via the reading of<br />
translated poetry.<br />
2.2.4.3 Boerger’s principles for translating poetry<br />
Boerger (1997) advocates for translating poetry as poetry. To that end she<br />
articulates ten principles for translating poetry in an attempt to capture the decisionmaking<br />
process of a metapoet who is trying to balance the two criteria expressed by<br />
Holmes in the first paragraph of the quote immediately above. That is, she aims for her<br />
principles to address accuracy to the degree that the resulting effort can be viewed as a<br />
translation and for the principles to also address artistic and poetic considerations that<br />
result in the translation also being viewed as a poem. She applies these principles in her<br />
metapoetic translation POET Psalms, where the principles are refined and rearticulated as<br />
below (Boerger 2009:17).
39<br />
Accuracy can include:<br />
1. representing source language (SL) styles by target language (TL)<br />
styles, i.e. poetry by poetry<br />
2. representing SL rhetorical devices when compatible with the TL, or<br />
adding them whenever the text lends itself to a device (wordplay,<br />
alliteration, metaphor) to reflect their presence elsewhere.<br />
Linguistic naturalness can include the fact that:<br />
3. languages in contact borrow from one another, including literary<br />
forms.<br />
4. borrowed SL devices often change to conform to TL structures,<br />
including literary forms and devices.<br />
Literary License makes it legitimate to:<br />
5. combine TL rhetorical devices with borrowed SL ones.<br />
6. alter SL or insert TL metaphorical imagery, as long as meaning is<br />
preserved.<br />
7. apply translation principles, including reordering, across a broader<br />
range of sentences (verses) than is customarily done in non-literary<br />
translation.<br />
8. make adjustments in two directions—a) to adjust semantic content,<br />
such as its placement, implicitness, and word choices to accommodate<br />
the literary form being used, and b) to adjust the literary form being<br />
used to accommodate the semantics.<br />
9. use more than the required number of literary devices within a form, or<br />
to add literary devices to a form, in order to compensate for loss<br />
elsewhere in the poem.<br />
Clarity means:<br />
10. that when form or aesthetics make clarity inaccessible for a majority of<br />
(literate?) speakers, the accuracy and TL naturalness must take<br />
precedence over form or aesthetics.<br />
I return to these principles in Chapter 6, where I discuss my own and a native speaker’s<br />
translation of the same poem from English into Northern Kurdish, using some of the<br />
same decision-making criteria expressed by Boerger.
3. Interviews<br />
During the time of my research in Northern Iraq, I was fortunate to have the<br />
opportunity to conduct brief interviews with three poets: Badirxan Sindî, Mihsin Quçan<br />
and Mu’eyed Teyb. 21 I also interviewed Reşîd Findî, one of the chief editors of Ahmed<br />
Nalbend’s entire collection of poems. Below, I present highlights from these interviews.<br />
My interview with Badirxan Sindî was done in English. A translator was used for<br />
each of the other interviews. In a number of instances, the translator speaks in third<br />
person where the interviewee had spoken in first person. In the discussion that follows, I<br />
have changed these instances to first person for easier readability. The full transcriptions<br />
of the English provided by the translators are available in Appendix B. Regarding the<br />
subject of verse form and syllable count in Northern Kurdish poetry, I refer the reader to<br />
§ 5.3.1 and § 5.3.2, where it is covered in detail.<br />
3.1 On the development of Northern Kurdish poetry<br />
Northern Kurdish poetry is divided into four periods. The Classical period is the<br />
earliest period, consisting of poetry written before the time of Ahmed Nalbend (1891-<br />
1963), the earliest poet represented in the corpus. The poetry from this period may be<br />
summarized as having rhyme―particularly end rhyme―meter and classical forms. The<br />
poets of this era used Arabic, Farsi and Turkish in addition to Kurdish, and some poets<br />
even wrote entire poems in these languages. Nalbend is considered to be a representative<br />
example of the Neo-classical period. While these poets still utilized the poetic devices of<br />
21 Each interviewee gave permission for full use of the interview at the beginning of the interview session.<br />
40
41<br />
the classical poets, they wrote more predominantly in Kurdish. Still, in Nalbend’s poetry<br />
there are a good number of Arabic words, which the author may have used in lieu of<br />
Kurdish words for reasons of syllable count or meter. The next period in Northern<br />
Kurdish poetry is called the New period. According to Professor Mohamed Bakir of<br />
Dohuk University, the poetry of Abdulrahman Muzirî (b. 1946), who I was fortunate to<br />
hear at a poetry festival in Dohuk during the autumn of 2010, is representative of this<br />
style of poetry. My understanding is that there are two elements that mark this period.<br />
The first is that poets were moved to write even more exclusively in Kurdish than the<br />
poets of the Neo-classical period. The second feature of this time is the beginning of<br />
poetry in free verse. One important aspect of poetry that does seem to have carried over<br />
from the Neo-classical period to the New period is the themes which poets wrote about.<br />
From the information I have gathered, Cegerxwîn (1903-1984), Badirxan Sindî (b. 1943),<br />
and Mu’eyed Teyb (b. 1957) would be considered poets of this period, though perhaps<br />
some more recent poetry of Sindî and Teyb might be considered as modern. This brings<br />
us to the Modern period, of which Mihsin Quçan (b. 1954) is a representative example.<br />
The poetry of this period, which began in the 1980s, exhibits freedom from traditional<br />
themes and is composed only of free verse form. 22<br />
3.1.1 Neo-classical period<br />
Ahmed Nalbend was born in 1891 and lived in the town of Barmanê. He did not<br />
aspire to learn his father’s blacksmith trade, but rather chose religious studies at the<br />
mosque where he learned about poetry. Like many of the approximately twenty poets of<br />
his time, he was influenced by Ahmed Cezîrî and Ahmed Xanî, two renowned poets from<br />
centuries before him. These older poets wrote in the classical style, using form, meter,<br />
and rhythm and incorporated words from other languages in their poetry—specifically<br />
Farsi, Arabic and Turkish. Nalbend emulated the classical style of these poets but<br />
22 The information on the periods of Northern Kurdish poetry was obtained via personal correspondence<br />
with Prof. Mohamed Bakir of Dohuk University.
42<br />
distanced himself from them by writing primarily in Kurdish, while sometimes resorting<br />
to Arabic words to meet a desired meter. It is said that Nalbend “loved poetry so much<br />
and was so good at it that he would use any scrap. He would have a cigarette box, and<br />
write on that cigarette box…a kleenex and he would write a poem” (Findî 2010).<br />
According to Mu’eyed Teyb, this was the first stage in the changes in Northern<br />
Kurdish poetry, which would later be called the Neo-classical period. Nalbend was<br />
attempting to write in the classical style but “his language was more popular and content<br />
had more variety…more subjects, more strategy, more extension.” Although Nalbend<br />
did not aspire to become involved in politics, he wrote about Kurdish nationality and the<br />
movement for Kurdish independence. Salih Yusef, another poet of the period, was more<br />
politically aware and adept in writing about such issues (Teyb 2010a).<br />
Nalbend’s era saw significant change. He was born under the Ottoman Empire<br />
and experienced the hope that a Kurdish state would develop during the British<br />
occupation of the area which would later become Iraq. Then he saw the destruction of<br />
that hope and the tragedies against his people that followed when the Kurdish-speaking<br />
area was divided between Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Syria. It was during this time that<br />
Nalbend was moved to write poetry because he saw “that the Kurdish culture and…main<br />
identity were lost” (Findî 2010).<br />
3.1.2 New period<br />
During the time leading up to Nalbend’s death 23 in 1963, “most of the people…in<br />
Dohuk (the largest city in the Northern Kurdish-speaking area) did not know that there<br />
was Kurdish literature or Kurdish poets” (Sindî 2010). In the Kurdish area, especially in<br />
the city of Zaxo, which is near the Turkish border, Kurdish literature was forbidden. It<br />
was not until he was in college (around 1966) that Badirxan Sindî heard that there were<br />
23 When the Iraqi military was coming northward, Nalbend killed himself out of fear of being taken<br />
prisoner by them and, perhaps, tortured. He had joined the Kurdish revolution in 1961 and felt he was a<br />
target because of the things he said in his poetry (Findî 2010).
43<br />
two famous Kurdish poets, Ahmed Cezîrî and Ahmed Xanî, and read their works (Sindî<br />
2010). Sindî says:<br />
Indeed my first drive into looking for Kurdish literature at that time was<br />
the feeling of Kurdishness. And Kurdishness means “the feeling of being a<br />
Kurd,” or the feeling that I am a Kurdish man and I have the right to be<br />
like all the people who have their freedom and independence―and one of<br />
markers of our cultural identity is our language and our literature. (Sindî<br />
2010)<br />
After Nalbend, poets such as Badirxan Sindî and Abdulrahman Muzirî began<br />
writing their poetry in a much purer Kurdish. They still wrote in the Neo-classical style,<br />
but worked to write without the use of Arabic or other languages of wider communication<br />
(LWC). Also during this time, these poets, as well as Cegerxwîn, no longer wrote poems<br />
asking God to protect them and make them free, but called out to the people to educate<br />
themselves and become more aware of the social, cultural and political issues facing the<br />
people (Teyb 2010a).<br />
Until the 1970s, Kurds had only been educated in Arabic. But a peace treaty in<br />
1970 between Mustafa Barzanî, the leader of the Northern Kurdish Kurds, and the Iraqi<br />
government gave Kurdish an official status in the country. Nalbend’s poems were<br />
published for the first time, and, based on that treaty, one subject in Kurdish was<br />
permitted in the schools. This was the first time students were introduced to Kurdish<br />
poetry and grammar (Teyb 2010a). It was also during this time that some Northern<br />
Kurdish poets in Iraq began writing in free verse, 24 where the classical rules of writing<br />
with rhyme, line length (syllable count) and meter do not apply (Quçan 2010). Sindî<br />
explains his first experience writing free verse as follows:<br />
This was in 1975 when the Shah of Iran and Saddam Hussein signed what<br />
they called the Algerian Treaty. So when I heard it, I was shocked and I<br />
couldn’t believe that everything was over, because Kurdish people and the<br />
fighters had been fighting for years―from’61 to ’75. It was for 14 years.<br />
24 Sorani poets, and even Northern Kurdish poets in Syria, began writing in free verse before Bahdini<br />
speakers (Quçan interview 2010, Appendix B).
44<br />
And I started to write my poem, and I felt, really, I can’t use the qafîa. 25<br />
I can’t cater to the vowels and consonants. So I put my poem about that<br />
subject in a free style, and that was my first time when I wrote in this<br />
style. (Sindî 2010)<br />
Mihsin Quçan, Mu’eyed Teyb, Abdulrahman Mizuri and Feisel Mustafa are some of the<br />
other poets who also began writing in free verse during this time.<br />
The main subject of the poetry of this time was Kurdistan, and focused on<br />
Kurdish rights and their fight for Kurdish independence (Teyb 2010a). Quçan says, “It<br />
was all about patriotism―national poetry. For example, if you said “my sweetheart,” it<br />
was Kurdistan. If you said, “my mother,” it was Kurdistan” (Quçan 2010). In 1979,<br />
however, the Iraqi Minister of Information set some limits and restrictions on Kurdish<br />
communications, affecting the topics allowed in poetry; and in 1982 Mu’eyid Teyb’s<br />
poems (and likely poems of other poets) were banned, and his family felt threatened.<br />
Teyb says, “But some young men liked my poetry―they memorized it. They wrote it by<br />
hand and distributed it to each other. That’s why some of them are still around. Of<br />
course, some have become songs” (Teyb 2010a).<br />
Putting poetry into song was nothing new for Kurds. Many learned Cegerxwîn’s<br />
poetry through songs by Şivan Perwar, a singer from Turkey (Teyb 2010a). In my initial<br />
conversation with Badirxan Sindî, he mentioned that many of his poems were known<br />
from being the lyrics of songs by Tehsin Taha, a famous singer in Iraq at the time, who is<br />
still revered.<br />
3.1.3 Modern period<br />
Starting in 1991, everything changed for Iraqi Kurds. After the US warred against<br />
Iraq to free Kuwait, the Kurdish people began to rise up and see themselves as free,<br />
without Saddam Hussein. But when America left, Hussein’s forces came northward. The<br />
Kurds fled for their lives to the mountains in Turkey. There they suffered a great deal, as<br />
25 Sindî explains that the word qafîa means ‘end rhyme.’ I have not determined if it can be used more<br />
widely, such as for other rhymes or assonance.
45<br />
it was winter and they had no food or shelter. Many died from starvation and sickness.<br />
This was a huge turning point for the Kurds. According to Quçan (2010):<br />
That America―which was against our beliefs, our ideas―that America<br />
itself came to help us and protect us. And we were peşmerga, ‘Kurdish<br />
military!’ So, we were in Iran and were like rural people; but then we<br />
came into the civil life in cities. The Kurdish man who was low esteemed<br />
before― now he highly appreciated himself.<br />
Quçan (2010) goes on to say:<br />
We in Iraq were in a closed society. We didn’t know anything about the<br />
world, through books and things. But after that―after Saddam, 26 or after<br />
the uprising you could say―satellite TV came into Kurdistan and things<br />
from Syria came. So there was a great opening up to the world towards<br />
Iraq. So all the norms were changed. These factors…affected the norms of<br />
writing poetry, of visualizing things―for example, a tree, water,<br />
everything was changed. Even how to deal with your children, your wife,<br />
took another form. It was the other way around; it was changed. So this<br />
fast and successive change affected the way authors thought and wrote.<br />
In 1994, after these changes happened, there was a civil war among the Kurdish<br />
people. It was in this year that a new group called “Renewal Forever” was formed, led by<br />
Quçan. All of society—mosques, political parties, the university—was against what the<br />
group was seeking to do. Renewal Forever sought to challenge society to change its<br />
norms. As time passed, some people in the group died; others immigrated from Iraq.<br />
While it only lasted about two years, according to Quçan, its effect on society remains.<br />
He says:<br />
…such as the poets who were under the effects of that group, as well as<br />
painters and those who work in the theatre. Even the religious men―when<br />
they go, for example, on Friday to the mosque, they admit that if there’s<br />
no renovation, there’s no life. These are the changes that happened in<br />
poetry. (Quçan 2010)<br />
Today, most poets in the Northern Kurdish area write in a modern, free verse<br />
style. Generally, it is mostly the older poets who are still writing in the Neo-classical<br />
26 Saddam Hussein, the fifth president of Iraq.
46<br />
style. 27 Regarding the issue of themes in present day poetry, Quçan says that because life<br />
is less predictable now, the subject matter for poetry has changed. Life in the village was<br />
simpler, but with urban life comes a life that is less planned and more reactionary. Quçan<br />
says, “Our feelings now are confused. We don’t have fixed style…[or] pure subject to<br />
write about…If you read my poems, you can see a mixture of subjects” (Quçan 2010).<br />
3.2 Sindî on present day poetry<br />
Sindî expressed a couple of concerns regarding the state of Kurdish poets of this<br />
generation—the younger poets. First, he calls them “beginners,” saying that they don’t<br />
have any “literature roots.” They started reading and writing in the Kurdish language at a<br />
time when Kurdish literature was forbidden. Instead of spending time in the classics,<br />
most people writing poetry “just imitate the Palestinian poets, French poets, Italian poets,<br />
American poets. They read some translated work and try to copy the same experience and<br />
the same literature—but they put it in Kurdish language.” Sindî goes on to say:<br />
They think that modern poetry is when you say something illogical, when<br />
you say some strange things, when you say some nasty things, when you<br />
try to be strangers in your society. They think this is modern literature.<br />
They try to pretend that they are the generation of renewing the literature.<br />
And some of them say, “No, we are not renewing the literature; we are<br />
establishing the literature, and everything that has been said before us, it<br />
is not literature.” (Sindî 2010)<br />
He admits that this is not the case with all poets, and that there are some very respectable<br />
poets in both the Northern and Central Kurdish areas.<br />
3.3 Quçan on poetry and life in the village<br />
say:<br />
On poetry and how life was in the village years ago, Quçan had the following to<br />
27 To my knowledge, there are no living poets who write in the older, Classical style of Cezîrî and Xanî.<br />
These poets used Farsi, Arabic and Turkish words in their lines of poetry.
47<br />
In Kurdistan, in winter, the nights are very long. So when winter would<br />
come, everything would stop. You could not work outside. You would eat<br />
and drink and at night everybody would sit down. There were poems, of<br />
course, poetry, and there were stories, and there were poems for crying,<br />
for making fun, for nationalism, for everything. And, of course, their<br />
fathers would recite poems to children, or the grandfather or<br />
grandmother…But they would not say, for example, this is Nalbend’s<br />
poem or Cezirî’s poem. They just recited the poem. (Quçan 2010)<br />
3.4 On themes in Northern Kurdish poetry<br />
During my interviews and other discussions with Reşîd Findî and Badirxan Sindî,<br />
I was given a number of Northern Kurdish terms for poetic themes. These themes are<br />
summarized in Table 2. The table also identifies the themes used by three of the poets<br />
represented in the corpus. 28<br />
28 Quçan was not included as we did not discuss themes much during the interview. He, personally, does<br />
not believe that his poems reflect any one subject.
48<br />
Table 2.<br />
Themes of Northern Kurdish poetry<br />
Kurdish term English meaning Nalbend Sindî Teyb<br />
evîn, evînî love X X X<br />
dawaza 29 jin erotic X<br />
dînî religious X<br />
sîasî political X X<br />
niştimanî patriotic X X X<br />
edeta Kurd Kurdish culture X<br />
nekamî calumny X<br />
zêmar keening/eulogy X<br />
cevak, cevakî society, social X X<br />
secularization<br />
X<br />
tragedy of an<br />
individual<br />
X<br />
I have chosen to refer to these Northern Kurdish classifications as poetic themes<br />
as opposed to genres. I learned through my conversation with Badirxan Sindî that the<br />
subject matter of a poem does not predetermine the form (or forms) one should use. Nor<br />
does it designate a particular style. The poet who writes with a Classical style may choose<br />
freely which form he or she would like to write in. While it is true that in centuries past<br />
29 The spelling dawaz was provided by Findî, who spoke some English. Other resources for this word,<br />
which means ‘to request’ or ‘to demand,’ spell it daxwez (Şirîn 2006) and daxwaz (Chyet 2003).
49<br />
there were some expectations of the poet with regard to use of form, 30 as of the 20 th<br />
century until today, this is not the case.<br />
The first theme listed in Table 2 is evîn, or evînî, which means ‘love.’ Sindî<br />
defined his love poetry as “romantic,” a word nonexistent in Northern Kurdish. In saying<br />
this, he wanted to distinguish his evîn poems from love poetry by other authors where<br />
respect for women is lacking. He says (in English), “I prefer to use the word romantic for<br />
my poems because I understand love. There is no real love without respect. Love is<br />
mixed with respect” (Sindî 2010). He may have said this to distinguish his poetry from<br />
another theme. Ahmed Nalbend wrote many poems of the theme dawaza jin, which Findî<br />
defined, in English, as ‘wanting a woman.’ This is the name given to Nalbend’s erotic<br />
poetry, which many Kurds consider vulgar.<br />
Poetry about the concerns of a nation covers many themes. Teyb (2010a) summed<br />
up his poetry by saying “most of my subjects are about Kurdistan.” Sîasî (political),<br />
niştîmanî (patriotic) and edata Kurd (Kurdish culture) are three themes that deal with a<br />
country and its people. Chyet (2003) defines niştîman as ‘homeland, one’s native<br />
country.’ For the Kurds― being without their own political state―the word represents<br />
the land where they have lived for centuries, perhaps even millennia. Sindî (2010)<br />
defined niştîmanî as ‘patriotic,’ which would include the desire for nationality. In this<br />
sense, it is hard to separate it from sîasî poetry. But it is not unusual for themes to cross<br />
over one another; nor is it unusual for a poem to contain more than one theme. According<br />
to Findî, Edeta Kurd, ‘Kurdish culture,’ is a theme Nalbend used; however, I do not have<br />
30 For example, traditionally, narrative poems were written in the methnawî, or couplet, form (in Persian,<br />
masnavî). I refer the reader to § 5.3.1.2 for the specifics on this form. The treasured story of Mem u Zîn by<br />
the classicial poet Ahmed Xanî is an example of an epic poem written in the methnawî form (Kreyenbroek<br />
2005). Another example is the qasida, ‘ode,’ the most common form used by the Classical poet Melaye<br />
Cezîrî. Considered to have laid the foundation for the Kurdish qasida, Cezîrî’s qasida’s are devoted to<br />
philosophical and mystical ideas. Unfortunately, in English we have few details on this form which in most<br />
instances consisted of 30 to 99 couplets (Shakely 1996:329). Turco (2000:216) defines an ode as “any<br />
poem that celebrates an event or a person.”
50<br />
a specific example of this theme in the corpus. In his poem Xoşe Wekî Cenetê, ˈIt’s<br />
Wonderful Like Heaven,’ Nalbend does mention some aspects of Kurdish culture.<br />
However, the poem is considered to be niştîmanî, since most of it is devoted to the land<br />
itself and the pride of its people.<br />
Two other themes closely related to sîasî, niştîmanî and edata Kurd are<br />
‘secularism’ and cevakî, which means ‘social.’ Sindî did not provide the Kurdish term for<br />
‘secularism’ but considers it one of the themes in his poetry. He says that this theme is<br />
evident in much of his poetry, sometimes to a greater degree, sometimes less. This would<br />
also describe much of Cegerxwîn’s poetry and is evident in his poem Dînê Me Tête<br />
Zanîn, ‘Our Religion Is Becoming Known.’<br />
The theme cevakî was also described by Sindî. He had the following to say:<br />
I have some poems which deal with our social problems in Kurdistan. And<br />
we have a lot of social problems, because Kurdish society is changing<br />
from old values to new values, from old culture to new culture. That is<br />
why we have a lot of problems related to or due to these transitions.<br />
We’ve got some people in the traditional class and some in the modern<br />
class in our society. We’ve got some people who believe in religion<br />
deeply and we’ve got, on the other side, some people who do not believe<br />
in religion at all. We’ve got people who believe in our customs―Kurdish<br />
customs―and we have another side; we’ve got a lot of people who believe<br />
in European customs and modern customs. So there is a contradiction in<br />
our social life. In my poetry I try to describe these problems and to find<br />
some solutions to our problems. So, we can call these poems as poems of<br />
the social field. (Sindî 2010)<br />
One of Nalbend’s poems, Ey Ze’îmê Bê Nivêjê Bê Werar, ‘O Leader Without<br />
Prayer and Use,’ is considered to be of the theme nekamî, which is basically the opposite<br />
of a eulogy. The word nekamî means ‘criticism’ and, according to Findî, it is a specific<br />
theme of poetry that deals with criticism of “one bad person.” According to Turco<br />
(2000:73), such poetry would fall under the theme of calumny, which he defines as<br />
“slander or disparagement, defamation of one’s character.”<br />
Sindî’s poem Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’<br />
exhibits a theme opposite to nekamî. It, too, is about an individual, but deals with praising<br />
someone who has died. We would call such a poem a eulogy (Turco 2000:78). However,
51<br />
the only Northern Kurdish term that is appropriate for the poem is zêmar. Zêmar means<br />
‘mourning’ or ‘sorrow’ (Chyet 2003:689) and perhaps best describes the poem, as the<br />
sense of sadness and loss is strongly evident throughout the poem. Sindî describes zêmar<br />
as:<br />
…a sort of crying―when you are alone and loose something, some<br />
valuable thing, especially when you lose one of your relatives or<br />
somebody close to you…This sort of crying or sadness we call zêmar<br />
which is different from the word girîan. The word girîan means ‘crying.’<br />
This is near to the English word―girîan and ‘crying.’ But girîan is the<br />
crying when everywhere you can cry, like outside the home or at home.<br />
People can hear you when you cry…But zêmar is when you cry in your<br />
loneliness, and you are alone and you cry for some personal thing. (Sindî<br />
2010)<br />
Hence, zêmar is closer to the term keening, which Turco defines as ‘mournful wailing’<br />
(Turco 2000:79). Eulogy would be an additional theme that can be presented within<br />
zêmar poetry.<br />
3.5 Sindî on the use of other Northern Kurdish subdialects<br />
Regarding how the variations in spoken Northern Kurdish are helpful to the poet,<br />
Sindî (2010) had the following to say:<br />
The people in Zaxo [where Sindî is from] speak differently from the<br />
people in Amedy and Akre and Dohuk. Sometimes the people in Amedy<br />
omit one letter, one sound, when they speak, while in Zaxo they<br />
pronounce the whole word. So our poets here or in Sulemaniya or in<br />
Hawler (the Kurdish name for Erbil) get an advantage from these<br />
differences between the subdialects.<br />
As an example, Sindî mentioned the line, çend car tu hatî, which means, ‘how many<br />
times did you come.’ In Zaksho the word for ‘time’ in this phrase is car. In Amedy they<br />
say ca, leaving off the r. If the poet preferred ca over car for the poem, he or she could<br />
use it. Word variations can be especially useful if two versions differ in number of<br />
syllables. Also, as end rhyme is one of the most important features of Neo-classical<br />
poetry, a word different from the poet’s subdialect may also be useful in forming a rhyme<br />
at the end of a line, or elsewhere in a poem.
52<br />
Concerning the issue of changing spellings, as is sometimes done in English<br />
rhymed poetry (e.g. “shower” versus “show’r”), Sindî (2010) says:<br />
If you change the spelling you get something. We call it hozana, ‘poem,’<br />
leng. 31 Leng describes a man who has some difficulty with his legs so that<br />
when he walks, he can’t walk in a normal way. So if you change the<br />
spelling, you’ll get a leng poem. And this is not good for a poet to have a<br />
leng. It’s a handicapped line. You have to change the words and find the<br />
right one which gives the same meaning with the right measurement of the<br />
syllables.<br />
Hence, changing the spelling is not permissible. Sindî affirmed after these comments that<br />
the words a poet uses must exist in one of the subdialects of the language (Sindî 2010).<br />
3.6 Sindî on use of end rhyme<br />
According to Sindî, the qafîa, end rhyme, of a poem is nicer, more musical, if at<br />
least the last two letters are the same. One example he used was the end rhyme of ra in<br />
the words bira, çira and gira. He says that some poets will use the last three letters, but<br />
that such rhyming is so difficult as the more letters you use, the less alternatives you<br />
have. Regarding his own poetry, he says:<br />
I prefer to use two letters because society sometimes needs a lot of music<br />
of the poem, to make them listen to you. This is one of our problems,<br />
when you have a message in your poem. When you really care to make the<br />
people listen to you, you have to put something in your poem to make<br />
them listen. Sometimes it is the meaning, some brave words or sometimes<br />
the music itself. So I have to think in my poem, I have to dance in my<br />
poem to get their attention to make them listen to what I’d like to say.<br />
(Sindî 2010)<br />
31 The word hozan is another word for a poem or poetry. The word Sindî describes here is leng, or lang,<br />
which Chyet (2003:348) lists as meaning ‘lame, limping’ or ‘awkward.’
53<br />
3.7 Quçan on imagery in his poetry<br />
Poetry is understood to be a creative means of expression. One notable moment in<br />
my interview with Mihsin Quçan was when he talked about his utilization of popular<br />
Kurdish traditions of dream interpretation in his poetry. He says:<br />
In Kurdish tradition, for example, if you see blood in your dream, it means<br />
you will depart from something. Or if you see that your tooth is pulled out,<br />
it means you will die or something. (Quçan 2010)<br />
Quçan collected these ideas and “put them in his poetry with a new angle, a new way”<br />
(Quçan 2010). These are things that the outsider, the person from another culture, cannot<br />
know. The outsider has little familiarity with such old traditions and beliefs.<br />
At the writing of this <strong>thesis</strong>, I did not have the opportunity with a native speaker<br />
to identify if this specific dream imagery is present in the corpus. There is one poem by<br />
Quçan that deals with blood and begins with references to dreams―Birînên Şevên<br />
Xwînelo, ‘Wounds of Night Covered in Blood.’ However, I do not see this specific image<br />
in the poem, which seems to predominantly be concerned with real life experience―not<br />
dreams. Teyb’s Xewinek, ‘A Dream,’ also contains dream imagery requiring<br />
interpretation.
4. A grammatical sketch of Northern Kurdish<br />
4.1 Introduction<br />
Kurdish is traditionally divided into three groups: Northern, Central and Southern<br />
Kurdish. These languages are in the Western Iranian group of the Indo-Iranian branch of<br />
the Indo-European family of languages (Sweetnam 2005:xix). Northern Kurdish is<br />
spoken in Eastern Turkey, Northern Syria, Northern Iraq and Northwestern Iran (Allison<br />
2001:6). There is also a large area of speakers in Northeastern Iran. Pockets of speakers<br />
exist in nearby countries, such as Armenia and Azerbaijan, and in large cities of western<br />
Turkey, such as Istanbul and Ankara. Kurdish emigrants who speak Northern Kurdish<br />
can also be found in many more distant countries, such as Germany, Sweden, the<br />
Netherlands, the UK, Russia, the USA and Australia.<br />
The grammar herein presented is not meant to be exhaustive but is detailed<br />
enough to give the reader a basic understanding of the language in the corpus. While I<br />
have utilized the works of MacKenzie, Sirîn, Thackston, Zaxoyî, Sweetnam, and Chyet, I<br />
have also drawn from my own experience of living in the Badinan area of northern Iraq.<br />
Additionally, my personal communication with Nicholas and Denise Bailey, as well as<br />
Shivan Tovi and Perwer Shushi―native speakers of the language― has been invaluable.<br />
Northern Kurdish in northern Iraq is often referred to as Bahdini, or by the area of its<br />
speakers, Badinan.<br />
4.2 Orthography and phonetics<br />
Northern Kurdish is written with Latin, Arabic and Cyrillic alphabets, depending<br />
on the location of the speakers (Thackston 2006:viii). The more widely accepted Latin<br />
orthography is the one that was used by the Badir Khan brothers in the 1930s, which has<br />
54
55<br />
some similarities to the system that was adopted in 1926 for writing Turkish. Instead of<br />
using the Wahby system, which was closer to English spellings in that it used digraphs<br />
ch, sh, gh, iy, rh, lh and uw, it used the graphemes ç, ş, ẍ, î, ř, ĺ, and û (Hassanpour<br />
1992:374). In Iraq and Iran, an adapted Arabic script, herein referred to as Kurdish<br />
script, is the primary orthography, though in Iraq some books and magazines are written<br />
in the Latin alphabet. An adapted Cyrillic alphabet has been used by Kurds in Russia,<br />
Armenia, Georgia, and Azerbaijan since the 1930’s (Thackston 2006:viii). For the<br />
purposes of this study, I have used the Latin script for all poems. All interlinear glossing<br />
follows the conventions of the Leipzig Glossing Rules. 32 All examples that are not<br />
otherwise referenced come from my own research. Their translations have been<br />
confirmed with native speakers of the language.<br />
4.2.1 Vowels<br />
Vowels in Northern Kurdish are written as a, e, ê, i, î, o, u and û. Pronunciation<br />
varies across the area where Northern Kurdish is spoken. Some words are written<br />
differently due to dialect differences. The sounds herein described are for the area of<br />
focus in this study.<br />
The following is a list of the Latin letters for Northern Kurdish, with International<br />
Phonetic Alphabet (IPA) equivalents (in brackets). I have also included examples from<br />
English and example words for each sound.<br />
32 One website where these rules may be viewed is http://www.eva.mpg.de/lingua/resources/glossingrules.php.<br />
A pdf document is also available at this website.
56<br />
a, A [ɑ] like ‘a’ in ‘father’ dar (tree, wood), dawat (wedding, dance)<br />
e, E 33 [ə] like ‘u’ in ‘cup’ bez (fat, grease), neh (nine)<br />
[æ] like ‘a’ in ‘cap’ her (each, every), pel (coal, ember)<br />
[ɛ] like ‘e’ in ‘bet’ feqî (fruit), gelek (much, many, very)<br />
ê, Ê [e] like ‘ai’ in ‘bait’ mêj (the past, old times), pê (foot, leg)<br />
i, I [ɪ] like ‘i’ in ‘bit’ cih (place), fil (elephant)<br />
î, Î [i] like ‘ee’ in ‘deep’ pîs (dirty), sîk (market area)<br />
o, O [o] like ‘o’ in ‘boat’ roj (day), kor (blind)<br />
u, U [ʊ] like ‘u’ in ‘cook’ guh (ear), du (two)<br />
û, Û [u] like ‘u’ in ‘boot’ mûz (banana), kûr (deep)<br />
4.2.2 Consonants<br />
The consonants of Northern Kurdish are as follows:<br />
b, B [b] like ‘b’ in ‘boy’ baran (rain), rîbar (river)<br />
c, C [ʤ] like ‘j’ in ‘jam’ can (beautiful), pênc (five)<br />
ç, Ç [ʧ] and [ʧʰ] 34 like ‘ch’ in ‘cherry’ çav (eye), maç (kiss)<br />
d, D [d] like ‘d’ in ‘dog’ dem (time), sed (hundred)<br />
33 Regarding the Northern Kurdish dialect known as Kurmanji (referring to the dominant Kurdish language<br />
in Turkey), Thackston (2006:1) states that “the [æ] pronunciation of this vowel is taken as standard; for<br />
many speakers, however, it is closer to [ɛ], the vowel of English ‘bet,’ in all environments.” I have<br />
observed, however, that in the Bahdini dialect, the sound represented by the letter e is often closer to [ɜ] or<br />
[ə], or somewhere between [æ] and [ə]. I would consider [ɜ], then, to be closer to the medial pronunciation<br />
of the vowel. Variation, however, does exist even among the speakers of Bahdini.<br />
34 In the writing system, there is no difference between the aspirated and unaspirated ç, k, p, and t.
57<br />
f, F [f] like ‘f’ in ‘find’ feqî (fruit), keyf (happiness)<br />
g, G [ɡ] like ‘g’ in ‘game’ goşt (meat), mêrg (farm)<br />
h, H [h] like ‘h’ in ‘him’ heval (friend), guh (ear)<br />
ḧ, Ḧ [ħ] voiceless pharyngeal ḧeta (until), ciḧel (youth)<br />
fricative<br />
j, J [ʒ] like ‘g’ in ‘beige’ jûjî (hedgehog), mij (fog)<br />
k, K [k] and [kʰ] like ‘k’ in ‘kin’ kur (son, boy), bîk (bride)<br />
l, L [l] like ‘l’ in ‘lot’ leş (body), pel (ember, live coal)<br />
m, M [m] like ‘m’ in ‘mom’ mişmiş (apricot), kêm (little)<br />
n, N [n] like ‘n’ in ‘nun’ nîv (half), nan (bread)<br />
p, P [p] and [pʰ] like ‘p’ in ‘pond’ pak (pure, clean), çep (left, opposite of right)<br />
q, Q [q] voiceless uvular stop, qelew (fat, plump), fêqî (fruit)<br />
like ‘k’ but further<br />
back in throat<br />
r, R [ɾ] flap, similar to the rastî (truth), pîr (old)<br />
Spanish [r]<br />
Note: Every word initial ‘r’ is trilled. When a<br />
trilled ‘r’ is found elsewhere, it is often indicated<br />
in the orthography by ‘rr,’ as in pirr, ‘very.’<br />
Spelling can vary according to dialect.<br />
s, S [s] like ‘s’ in ‘sock’ sarr (cold), bes (but, enough, only)<br />
ş, Ş [ʃ] like ‘sh’ in ‘ship’ şev (night), tişt (thing)<br />
t, T [t] and [tʰ] like ‘t’ in ‘toad’ tov (seed), betal (unemployed, nothing to do)<br />
v, V [v] like ‘v’ in ‘van’ vîan (life), çav (eye)
58<br />
w, W 35 [w] like ‘w’ in ‘wit’ were (come), kew (partridge)<br />
x, X [χ] voiceless uvular xanî (house), ax (dirt)<br />
fricative, similar to<br />
German velar ‘ch’<br />
in ‘Bach’<br />
ẍ, Ẍ [ʁ] voiced uvular pêẍember (prophet), baẍ (garden)<br />
fricative<br />
y, Y [j] like ‘y’ in ‘yes’ yarî (game), mey (wine)<br />
Note: The same symbol is used for ‘y and ‘î’<br />
in the modified Arabic script. In the Latin based<br />
script, ‘y’ is used word initial when it is<br />
followed by a vowel. ‘y’ is also used for the<br />
dipthongs ay and ey.<br />
z, Z [z] like ‘z’ in ‘zoo’ zîv (silver), xîz (sand)<br />
’ [ʕ] voiced pharyngeal ‘eciz (upset), du’a (prayer)<br />
fricative<br />
4.2.3 Diphthongs and sound variation<br />
In Kurdish script (the Kurdish orthography based on the Arabic script) there is no<br />
distinction between w and u. The same is true of y and î. Therefore, writing in the Latin<br />
script varies. Often when a w is next to a vowel, the two join to become a diphthong.<br />
Such is the case for the word for ‘salt,’ xwê. Additionally, variations exist according to<br />
region and social identities, such as tribe and religion. Many Kurds of northern Iraq are<br />
still very much divided into various tribes and each tribe may exhibit small differences in<br />
pronunciation and, ultimately, differences in spelling.<br />
35 The same symbol is used for ‘w’ and ‘u’ in the modified Arabic script. In the Latin based<br />
script, ‘w’ is used word initial when it is followed by a consonant. When ‘w’ preceeds an “i, î or<br />
ê, the sound is a close, back, unrounded semivowel [ɯ], like the French cuire.” (Thackston<br />
2006:3)
59<br />
4.2.4 Glides<br />
A glide is often added when a suffix (ezafe 36 conjunctive particle, oblique marker,<br />
or indefinite article marker) or enclitic 37 (copula) is added to a word ending in a vowel.<br />
This is most easily understood by means of example. In example (1), which is a line from<br />
the corpus, the word meyî consists of the 3PL personal pronoun, me, and the 2SG copula, î.<br />
For glossing, it is customary to consider the glide to be a part of the enclitic, or in other<br />
instances as part of the suffix. In this example the copula with the glide is yî.<br />
(1) baz-ê baz-an şah-ê Kurd-an ruhinî-ya çav-ê (BS1:5)<br />
falcon-EZ.M falcon-OBL.PL king-EZ.M Kurd-OBL.PL light-EZ.F eye-EZ.M<br />
me-yî<br />
1DP=COP.PRS.2SG<br />
‘Falcon of falcons, king of Kurds, you are the light of our eye.’<br />
In some instances a glide must be changed to a vowel, and in other instances a<br />
vowel may change to a glide. In line six of the same poem, shown in (2), the word for<br />
‘wine,’ mey, appears twice. In the first instance, meîya, the y on mey is changed to an î so<br />
that the ezafe particle, in this case ya, can be added. The change is necessary because the<br />
language does not phonologically have consecutive y’s. On the second mey, a glide is not<br />
required and the copula is simply added. The contrast in these two examples needs<br />
further research to explain why in the first instance the ezafe conjunctive particle -ya was<br />
added, when seemingly it could have simply been -a. The difference between these two<br />
examples may be phonological or it may have something to do with the difference<br />
between an ezafe conjunctive particle being added versus a copula. There’s also a<br />
possibility that the reason has something to do with poetics. My purpose is not to<br />
36 The ezafe conjunctive particle is used to connect modifying nouns, pronouns and attributive adjectives to<br />
a head noun. § 4.4.2.4 discusses the ezafe conjunctive particle as well as other particles and markers that are<br />
attached to nouns.<br />
37 The term enclitic is used to refer to a word that are attached phonetically to end of another word. The<br />
Northern Kurdish present tense copula is considered an enclitic. Ezafe particles and markers, such as<br />
oblique markers, are attached to words but are not considered to be words themselves.
60<br />
explicate glides here but to make the reader aware that such insertions and changes occur<br />
in the language.<br />
(2) nê me nal-în=e ji dîr-î meî-ya ‘şq-a (BS1: 6)<br />
do 1DP lament.PRS-1PL=DIR 38 from distance-OBL.M wine-EZ.F love-EZ.F<br />
me mey=î<br />
1DP wine=COP.PRS.2SG<br />
‘We do lament from the distance, the wine of our love. You are the wine.’<br />
4.2.5 Contractions<br />
Northern Kurdish has a number of contractions that are prepositional phrases. All<br />
consist of a preposition and a third person pronoun, either wî, 3OM, or wê, 3OF. There are<br />
no contractions with plural pronouns. Table 3 presents how these contractions break<br />
down. To write without the use of these contractions would be ungrammatical.<br />
Table 3.<br />
Contractions.<br />
contraction<br />
jê<br />
lê<br />
pê<br />
tê<br />
breakdown<br />
ji + wî or ji + wê<br />
li + wî or li + wê<br />
bi + wî or bi + wê<br />
di + wî or di + wê<br />
Some of these contractions are used in idiomatic verbs. Examples (3) and (4)<br />
contain the verb ‘hear,’ which requires the noun guh, ‘ear,’ a prepositional phrase (PP),<br />
and the copula verb, ‘be.’ In (3) the PP is the contraction lê. In (4) a contraction cannot be<br />
used, as there is no contraction for li plus a 2SG pronoun. The same difference is evident<br />
in examples in (5) and (6) containing jê and ji min, respectively<br />
(3) min guh lê ne bî.<br />
1O hear at.3OF not be.PRS.1SG<br />
‘I don’t hear her.’<br />
38 This directional enclitic appears in Northern Kurdish as the vowel e or a attached to the end of a verb.<br />
More is said about this clitic in § 4.4.1.2.
61<br />
(4) min guh li te ne bî. (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:193)<br />
1O hear at 2O not be.PRS.1SG<br />
‘I don’t hear you.’<br />
(5) heval-êt wî hîvî jê kir-Ø (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:193)<br />
friend-EZ.PL 3OM hope from.3OM do.PST-3SG<br />
‘His friend begged him.’<br />
(6) te hîvî ji min kir-Ø (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:193)<br />
2O hope from 1O do.PST-3SG<br />
‘You begged me.’<br />
Contractions are also found in prepositional phrases outside of their usage in idiomatic<br />
verbs.<br />
4.3 Stress<br />
All nouns and adjectives ending in a consonant are stressed on the last syllable.<br />
Words that end in a vowel, such as xanê ‘home’ and tinê ‘alone’ often have penultimate<br />
stress. Usually when a grammatical element such as an oblique (§ 4.4.2.2), ezafe<br />
conjunctive particle (§ 4.4.2.4.1) or indefinite noun (§ 4.4.2.4.2) suffix is added, whether it<br />
ends in a consonant or vowel, the primary point of stress does not change.<br />
For inflected forms of verbs some other rules must be considered. When a verb<br />
begins with a negative prefix, na- or ne-, the stress falls on the prefix. Other verbal<br />
elements, which Thackston refers to as preverbs, often receive stress, such as ve-, hilda-<br />
and wer-. Thackston (2006:4) provides a third rule for verbs that states that modal<br />
affixes di- and bi- are stressed; however, personally, in my experience, there are many
62<br />
instances in Iraq where these affixes are unstressed. 39 A fourth rule of Thackston (2006:5)<br />
states that for verbs that possess no prefix, the stress falls on the last syllable of the verb<br />
stem.<br />
4.4 Grammar<br />
The grammar sketch that follows is not meant to be exhaustive but to provide the<br />
reader an introduction to Northern Kurdish. My hope is that this will enable the reader to<br />
become comfortable in perusing the corpus and be able to find answers to most basic<br />
questions regarding the grammar. The grammar is based on the Bahdini subdialect of<br />
Northern Iraq, which is the dialect that dominates the corpus. Some differences between<br />
Bahdini and the Northern Kurdish which is spoken by the Kurds in Turkey and Syria are<br />
noted within this chapter as well as in Chapter 5.<br />
4.4.1 Typology<br />
4.4.1.1 Morphological typology<br />
According to Whaley (1997:128), morphological typology is understood to vary<br />
on two parameters: Index of Syn<strong>thesis</strong> and Index of Fusion. The Index of Syn<strong>thesis</strong><br />
parameter may be viewed as a continuum where on one end you have the ideal isolating<br />
language, where every word is monomorphemic. On the other end there is the ideal<br />
synthetic language, where “complete utterances are formed by affixing morphemes to a<br />
39 I have observed that in Bahdini this does not seem to be the case. In the examples Thackston lists, diaxive<br />
and biaxive, ‘talk’ or ‘speak,’ stress is different in each case. In Bahdini of northern Iraq, speakers drop the<br />
soft i vowel when the modal prefix di- is added to a word stem beginning with a vowel. The sound of dichanges<br />
to t-. Hence, another syllable is not added but the speaker says taxive with stress on the first<br />
syllable. This verb, however, is irregular in that the initial syllable is stressed. When the modal prefix bi- is<br />
added, a speaker will say either biaxive, with no elision of the i after the b, or baxive, as in the case with<br />
taxive. Stress in the first instance will be on the first syllable of the verb stem, not on the prefix. Also, when<br />
a modal prefix is added to a word beginning with a consonant, there is no change in the point of stress.
63<br />
root” (Whaley 1997:128). The following examples show that Northern Kurdish<br />
characteristically represents more aspects of an isolating language. While some words<br />
contain affixes (e.g. bi-bin, der-ê, tekî-a, ber-ê, tibil-ên, lev-ên, ve-d-xwar), others do not<br />
(e.g. nêrgiz, ji, ber, min, têr, şîr), and the language largely consists of separate words. If<br />
we compare Kurdish to Chinese, a language that has very few affixes, we would say that<br />
it is a bit more synthetic.<br />
(7) şîn_bi-b-in nêrgiz ji nu_ve 40 ber der-ê (BS1:11)<br />
grow_IRR-grow-3PL narcissus from new_again before place-EZ.M<br />
tekî-a<br />
ber-ê<br />
special.music-EZ.F old-OBL.F<br />
‘May narcissuses grow new again before the door of the old places of worship.’<br />
(8) tibil-ên min ji lêv-ên te têr şîr ve-d-xwar-Ø 41 (DD:5)<br />
finger-EZ.PL 1O from lip-EZ.PL 2O plenty milk drink-IPFV-drink.PST-3SG<br />
‘My fingers were drinking plenty of milk from your lips.’<br />
The second parameter is also best understood as a continuum. On one end is the<br />
ideal agglutinative language; on the other, the ideal fusional language. Agglutinative<br />
languages have morphemes that may be easily divided from a word. In fusional<br />
languages, like Ancient Greek, individual morphemes contain two or more bits of<br />
meaning. In Whaley’s example, shown in (9), each of the morphemes following the verb<br />
stem lu hold multiple bits of meaning concerning the verb.<br />
(9) lu-ō 1S:PRS.ACT.IND (I am releasing) (Whaley 1997:134)<br />
lu- ōmai 1S:PRS:ACT:SBJV (I should release)<br />
lu-omai 1S:PRS:PASS:IND (I am being released)<br />
lu-oimi 1S:PRS:ACT:OPT (I might release)<br />
lu-etai 3S:PRS:PASS:IND (He is being released)<br />
40 Possible alternative translation for ji nuve: ‘from now on.’<br />
41 The verb vexwin ‘to drink’ allows for the modal prefix di- to be inserted after the ve portion of the verb.<br />
As noted previously, Thackston (2006:35) calls ve a preverb, as there are many verbs with such an element<br />
that could stand alone as verbs without the ve. This is not typical, though, of Northern Kurdish verbs. The<br />
di- prefix usually cannot be inserted but is at the beginning of the verb. It may be that ve, hil and similar<br />
elements may no longer contain separate semantic data but have become lexicalized and are considered a<br />
part of the verb stem.
64<br />
In examples (7) and (8), aspect markers bi- and d- were separable from the verb<br />
stems, e.g. bi-bin, ve-d-xwar. However, while this feature points toward Northern<br />
Kurdish being agglutinative, the language does have some fusional features, such as verb<br />
stem endings, which contain meaning for person and number. Additionally, ezafe<br />
conjunctive particles and oblique markers contain meaning for gender and number. In<br />
example (10) below, the -im suffix on the verb ‘make’ contains both person and number<br />
agreement. The -ê oblique marker on kêk, ‘cake,’ reveals that the noun is both masculine<br />
and singular, while -ek on kêk indicates the noun is indefinite. With a maximum of two<br />
bits of meaning being represented within any one morpheme, we can say that the<br />
morphological typology of Northern Kurdish is less fusional than ancient Greek and that<br />
it also exhibits some agglutinative features.<br />
(10) ez kêk-ek-ê çê-di-k-im. (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:70)<br />
1D cake-INDF-OBL.M make-IPFV-do-1SG<br />
‘I am making a cake.’<br />
4.4.1.2 Constituent order typology<br />
Another typological parameter of language is constituent order. Scholars, such as<br />
MacKenzie and Thackston, agree that the basic constituent order of Northern Kurdish is<br />
SOV, as the following examples indicate. In example (11) biraê min, ‘my brother,’ is the<br />
subject and comes first in the sentence. The object têştê, ‘breakfast,’ comes second and is<br />
followed by the verb dixuit, ‘is eating.’ We see the same order in example (12).<br />
(11) bira-ê min têşt-ê di-xu-it.<br />
brother-EZ.M 1O breakfast-OBL.F IPFV-eat.PRS-3SG<br />
‘My brother is eating breakfast.’<br />
(12) min çar sêv kirrî-n.<br />
1O four apple buy.PST-3PL<br />
‘I bought four apples.’<br />
Note that in (12) the verb agrees with the object, not the subject. Northern Kurdish is a<br />
split-ergative language. Transitive past tense clauses have an ergative construction, where<br />
there is agreement between the verb and the object (as opposed to accusative construction
65<br />
where the verb agrees with the subject). For more details on ergativity, see the discussion<br />
on verbs and the verb phrase in § 4.4.3.<br />
One other determination that can be made regarding constituent order concerns<br />
directional complements. In his reference grammar on Northern Kurdish (Kurmanji),<br />
Thackston (2006) states the following concerning constituent (word) order:<br />
Full normal word order is: (1) temporal expression, (2) subject, (3) direct<br />
object, (4) miscellaneous prepositional phrases, (5) verb, (6) directional<br />
complement. Many other orders are possible, but when any element is<br />
moved from its normal position it is highlighted or emphasized in some<br />
way.<br />
Nicholas Bailey 42 states that the “post-verbal position is reserved for directional<br />
complements of certain verbs involving motion towards a goal.” He further states that ‘it<br />
is usually an indirect object of verbs that involve some kind of motion towards the<br />
indirect object that occurs in that position.” Regarding this position, which he calls GOAL,<br />
Bailey also states that “this position is thus reserved for only a restricted set of indirect<br />
objects (i.e., ones usually involving motion).” This restriction, which may have some<br />
exceptions, may be defined according to the definition of GOAL in Kroeger (2005:54):<br />
“the destination or end-point of a motion.”<br />
The examples in (13) and (14) both contain the intransitive verb that means ‘go.’<br />
GOAL is a semantic argument of the verb. Notice that in (13) the GOAL, Şingar, a city in<br />
Northern Iraq near the Syrian border, is preceded by the letter e, which is attached to the<br />
verb, çum. According to MacKenzie, this letter, which is sometimes written as the letter<br />
a, is a preposition and should be realized as an enclitic (MacKenzie 1961:198).<br />
Throughout this paper I refer to this preposition as DIR, short for directional enclitic. In<br />
(14) an enclitic is not realized because the inflected form of ‘go,’ çu, ends in a vowel.<br />
MacKenzie (1961:198) also has similar examples in his text where the enclitic does not<br />
appear.<br />
42 Personal communication (2012).
66<br />
(13) havîn bu-Ø çu-m=e Şingar-ê (BS2:1)<br />
summer COP.PST-3SG go.PST-1SG=DIR Shingar<br />
‘It was summer (when) I went to Shingar.’<br />
(14) kew-ek bu-Ø lê ne-çu-Ø rav-ê (BS7:11)<br />
partridge-INDF COP.PST-3SG but NEG-go.PST-3SG hunting-OBL.M<br />
‘He was a partridge but he did not go hunting.’<br />
Ditransitive verbs, such as ‘give,’ also require a GOAL. In (15) the GOAL is bîanî,<br />
‘group of foreigners.’ The GOAL is again preceded by the directional enclitic.<br />
(15) dê min di-n=e bîanî (BS2:66)<br />
will 1O give-PRS-3PL=DIR group.of.foreigners<br />
‘They are going to give me to foreigners.’<br />
Lastly, a goal may be metaphoric, as is the situation in example (16). In this poem<br />
Ahmed Nalbend is not actually talking about slavery but of his desire for a particular<br />
woman. The verb bum, ‘I became,’ has to do with a metaphoric transition to another<br />
state. It too has an aspect of metaphorically moving towards something and, therefore,<br />
also requires use of the directional enclitic, e.<br />
(16) ez bu-m=e xidam (AN5:34)<br />
1D become.PST-1SG=DIR slave<br />
‘I became a slave…’<br />
For more examples and further discussion on the directional enclitic, see § 4.4.3.1 where I<br />
have provided some of my personal research on the subject.<br />
4.4.2 Nouns and the noun phrase<br />
4.4.2.1 Nouns<br />
Nouns in Northern Kurdish are masculine, feminine or neuter. Nouns that are<br />
neuter are either masculine or feminine, depending on the use of the noun in a sentence.<br />
The gender may be revealed by means of an ezafe conjunctive particle or oblique suffix,<br />
discussed in § 4.4.2.4. For example, the word heval means ‘friend.’ If you are referring to<br />
a female friend of yours, you would say hevala min, ‘my friend,’ using the feminine ezafe<br />
particle, -a, to connect the possessive pronoun, min, ‘me.’
67<br />
Gender can only be learned through memorization and language use, as no aspect<br />
of a noun reveals its gender. One might find that certain classifications are predominately<br />
of a certain gender, such as fruits, which are generally feminine. However, it is primarily<br />
through use of the language that one becomes proficient in applying masculine and<br />
feminine particles and markers.<br />
4.4.2.2 Noun inflection<br />
Nouns are inflected in two cases, direct, also referred as nominative case, and<br />
oblique. In nominative-accusative languages the subject is the most agent-like argument<br />
of transitive verbs. It is therefore considered to be in the nominative, or direct, case.<br />
Objects, as the most patient-like argument, are considered to be in the accusative case. As<br />
inactive elements they are considered to be in the oblique case. Other inactive elements<br />
are also considered to be in the oblique case, such as possessors, post-verbal arguments,<br />
objects of prepositions, and locations. In Northern Kurdish, the direct case is left<br />
unmarked, while the oblique case only has one case marking for a number of cases.<br />
Oblique may be viewed as a collective term for a number of case markings found in<br />
languages, such as dative, ablative, and locative (MacKenzie 1961:153).<br />
As mentioned, Northern Kurdish is a split-ergative language where past transitive<br />
clauses follow an ergative-absolutive system of grammar. Subjects of past transitive<br />
clauses are said to be in the ergative case; these are marked as oblique. Objects in past<br />
transitive clauses are said to be in the absolutive case. These are considered to be in the<br />
direct case and are not marked. Intransitive clauses, having only one argument, are<br />
always considered to be in the direct case.<br />
The examples in (17) to (19) show the unmarking of nouns in the direct case and<br />
the marking of nouns in the oblique case. The oblique case is marked with a feminine, -ê,<br />
masculine, -î, or plural, -a or -an, marker. In (17), a transitive present-tense sentence, the<br />
subject medîr, ‘owner,’ is in the unmarked direct case. The object kurk, ‘boy,’ is marked<br />
with a masculine oblique marker, -î. In (18), an intransitive sentence, the subject, again<br />
medîr, is correctly left unmarked, in the direct case. Again, this will be true for all
68<br />
intransitive clauses. In (19), zelam, ‘man,’ is the subject of a past-tense transitive<br />
sentence, and is correctly marked with a masculine oblique marker -î. The object sêv,<br />
‘apple,’ is in the direct case and left unmarked.<br />
(17) medîr kurk-î di-bîn-it<br />
owner boy-OBL.M IPFV-see-PRS-3SG<br />
‘The owner sees the boy.’<br />
(18) medîr hat-Ø<br />
Şivan come.PST-3SG<br />
‘Şivan came.’<br />
(19) zelam-î sêv xwar-Ø<br />
man-OBL.M apple eat.PST-3SG<br />
‘The man ate the apple.’<br />
In exception to these rules are the few irregular verbs wherein the object is always in the<br />
direct case.<br />
Nouns also take the oblique case when they are in a prepositional phrase or a<br />
GOAL (as per the discussion on this subject in § 4.4.1.2 on basic constituent order). In (20),<br />
the subject Bêbîn, a woman’s name, is marked with the feminine oblique marker, -ê.<br />
Rezbar is also a woman’s name. As the object of the preposition bu, it is correctly marked<br />
with a feminine oblique marker. In (21), sîk is a GOAL, a post-verbal argument. It, too, is<br />
correctly marked as an oblique.<br />
(20) Bêbîn-ê ew kirrî-Ø bu Rezbar-ê<br />
Beybeen-OBL.F 3D buy.PAST-3SG for Rezbar-OBL.F<br />
‘Beybeen bought it for Rezbar.’<br />
(21) Şivan çu-Ø sîk-ê<br />
Shivan go.PST-1SG market-OBL.F<br />
‘Shivan went to the market.’<br />
Some exceptions to these rules for oblique case are presented in § 4.4.2.3 on personal<br />
pronouns and § 4.4.2.4 on noun modification.<br />
So, in review of the above, the direct case is never marked, while the oblique case<br />
is marked with a suffix that matches the number and gender of the noun: -î for masculine,<br />
-ê for feminine. If a noun in the oblique case is plural, it is marked with the non-gender
69<br />
specific marker, -an or -a, depending on subdialect. There is one exception to this rule.<br />
Speakers of Northern Kurdish in Turkey do not mark masculine obliques (Thackston<br />
2006:8). This exception will be revisited in Chapter 5 when discussing examples of<br />
Cegerxwîn, whose dialect is from Turkey, not Iraq.<br />
4.4.2.3 Personal pronouns<br />
One exception to the rules for oblique case endings is the use of personal<br />
pronouns. Northern Kurdish has two sets of personal pronouns: one for direct case, the<br />
other for oblique case. Both sets are as listed in Table 4.<br />
Table 4.<br />
Personal pronouns<br />
Personal Pronouns Direct Case Oblique Case<br />
1SG ez min<br />
2SG tu te<br />
3SG ew (m/f) wî (m) or wê (f)<br />
1PL em me<br />
2PL hîn or huîn hewe or we<br />
3PL ew wan<br />
REFL<br />
xwe or xu<br />
Below are some examples using personal pronouns. Examples (22) and (23)<br />
contain both direct case and oblique case pronouns. In (23) Babî, the recipient, is in the<br />
oblique case, as was discussed in section 4.4.1.2 on constituent order typology. Example<br />
(24) illustrates the reflexive pronoun xwe, which always refers to the subject within the<br />
clause in which it is found. Additionally, notice that the prepositional phrase does not end<br />
with an oblique suffix. A suffix is unnecessary as the phrase ends with an oblique case<br />
personal pronoun. The semantic categorization of possession is always expressed by<br />
personal pronouns of the oblique case.<br />
(22) min tu dît-î<br />
1O 2D see.PST-2SG<br />
‘I saw you.’
70<br />
(23) ez dê wan da-m=e Bab-î<br />
1D will 3OP give.PRS-1SG=DIR 43 Father-OBL.M.<br />
‘I will give them to Father.’<br />
(24) Sîlev-ê pertûk-êt xwe kirr-în ji dikan-a mam-ê min<br />
Seeluv-OBL.F book-EZ.PL REFL buy.PST-3PL from store-EZ.F uncle-EZ.M 1O<br />
‘Seeluv bought her books from my uncle’s store.’<br />
According to Thackston (2006:18), it is usually necessary to express subject<br />
pronouns. However, in some instances, subject pronouns may be left unexpressed in<br />
certain contexts.<br />
4.4.2.4 Noun modification<br />
Northern Kurdish has both prenominal and postnominal modification. Most<br />
postnominal modification occurs via the ezafe conjunctive particle. The term ezafe comes<br />
from the Arabic word iḍāfat, which means “addition” or “supplement.” Haig states that<br />
“within Iranian linguistics it is used to refer to an unstressed vocalic particle which occurs<br />
between a noun and an adjective or other nominal modifier” (Haig 2011:363).<br />
Prenominal modification consists of numbers, intensifiers and demonstratives. Such<br />
modification does not require any additional particle or connecting word.<br />
4.4.2.4.1 Ezafe conjunctive particle<br />
The ezafe conjunctive particle is predominately used to connect postnominal<br />
modifiers to head nouns. Such modifiers consist of other nouns, pronouns, adjectives and<br />
prepositional phrases. While some Indo-Iranian languages have only a single form of the<br />
ezafe particle, Northern Kurdish has masculine, feminine and plural forms. As well, in<br />
specific situations after an initial ezafe particle has been used, a different ezafe form is<br />
used, which I will refer to as ezafe for secondary construct. Such ezafes are commonly<br />
written as separate words, whereas ezafes for primary constructs are particles attached to<br />
head nouns. Some researchers have written about other uses of the ezafe conjunctive<br />
43 The DIR directional enclitic signifies that the action being performed is going toward something. In the<br />
case of (23), Babî, ‘Father,’ is the RECIPIENT or GOAL of the action.
71<br />
particle, such as in relativization. 44 A thorough discussion of all of the functions of the<br />
ezafe conjunctive particle is outside the focus of this paper.<br />
The following table summarizes the ezafe forms. The different plural forms reflect<br />
dialect differences. The forms -ên and -yên tend to be the standard for writing.<br />
Table 5.<br />
Forms of the ezafe conjunctive particle<br />
masculine feminine plural<br />
Ezafes for primary constructs -ê -a -êt or -ên<br />
Ezafes for secondary constructs -yê -ya -yêt or -yên<br />
In example (25), the feminine ezafe particle, -a, is attached to the end of the head noun<br />
sêv, ‘apple.’ Its modifier is the adjective mezin, ‘big.’<br />
(25) min sêv-a mezin xwar-Ø<br />
1O apple-EZ.F big eat.PST-3SG<br />
‘I ate the large apple.’<br />
An example of a noun phrase (NP) modifying a noun is presented below in (26). Here an<br />
NP consisting of a demonstrative wî, 3OM, and a noun welat, ‘country,’ modifies the word<br />
mirov, ‘person.’ We know that mirov is the plural form, ‘people,’ because of the plural<br />
ezafe particle. Notice too that when an NP is in the oblique state and ends in a noun, the<br />
oblique marker goes on the final noun, in this case the word welat. The oblique marker<br />
must match the gender and number of the noun to which it is attached, not that of the<br />
head noun of the clause.<br />
(26) mirov-ên wî welat-î (Thackston 2006:12)<br />
person-EZ.PL 3OM country-OBL.M<br />
‘the people of that country’<br />
Example (24), repeated below in (27), shows the usage of singular and plural<br />
ezafe conjunctive particles, each matching the gender and number of the word to which<br />
they are connected. The first ezafe is on the word pertûk, ‘book.’ The ezafe is plural and<br />
44 Regarding Northern Kurmanji, Haig writes, “Ezafe has retained many of the features of its<br />
Old Iranian ancestor, including relativizer, demonstrative and nominalizer functions. The Northern Kurdish<br />
ezafe has also extended its distribution from the nominal into the verbal domain” (Haig, 2011: 363). See<br />
also MacKenzie (1961), Sweetnam (2005), and Thackston (2006).
72<br />
connects the modifying reflexive pronoun xwe, which refers to the subject, Sîlev, a female<br />
name. In the prepositional phrase ji dikana mamê min, ‘from my uncle’s store,’ there are<br />
two head nouns, dikan, ‘store,’ and mam, ‘uncle.’ Mam is a head noun modified by min,<br />
1O. The noun phrase mamê min modifies dikan. In this instance an ezafe for secondary<br />
construct, -yê, is not used, as the second ezafe is used to connect the modifier min to<br />
mam, not dikan.<br />
(27) Sîlev-ê pertûk-êt xwe kirr-în ji dikan-a mam-ê min<br />
Seeluv-OBL.F book-EZ.PL REFL buy.PST-3PL from store-EZ.F uncle-EZ.M 1O<br />
‘Seeluv bought her books from my uncle’s store.’<br />
To add another noun, pronoun or adjective to modify a head noun, an ezafe for a<br />
secondary construct must be used. In the following example wî, ‘him,’ is a possessive<br />
pronoun modifying çav, ‘eye.’ The plural ezafe -êt connects the modifier to the head<br />
noun. A second modifier of çav is the word şîn, ‘blue,’ and it is connected by means of<br />
the ezafe for a secondary construct, -yêt. Thus, both wan and şîn modify çav.<br />
(28) çav-êt wî yêt şîn<br />
eye-EZ.PL<br />
‘his blue eyes’<br />
3OM EZ2.PL blue<br />
Regarding situations that require use of an ezafe for secondary constructs, Thackston<br />
writes:<br />
The extenders [ezafes for secondary constructs] are used (1) to add a<br />
modifying noun to a noun-adjective construct, (2) to link an adjective<br />
modifying the first noun in a noun-noun construct, and (3) to add an<br />
additional adjective to a noun-adjective construct. (Thackston 2006:15)<br />
In the instance of example (28), an ezafe for a secondary construct is required because an<br />
adjective is being added to a noun-noun construct.<br />
As mentioned above, an ezafe can also be used to connect a modifying<br />
prepositional phrase (PP). In the following example the PP ji tenîra xwe, ‘from her bread<br />
over,’ modifies nan, ‘bread.’<br />
(29) Vîan dê nan-ê ji tenîr-a xwe d-et te<br />
Veeyan will bread-EZ.M from bread.oven-EZ.F REFL give.PRS-3SG 2O<br />
‘Veeyan will give you bread from her bread oven.’
73<br />
The discussion above summarizes the uses of the ezafe conjunctive particle relevant to<br />
the corpus of poems.<br />
4.4.2.4.2 Indefinite state particle<br />
Nouns that are considered to have an indefinite state take the suffix -ek. Without<br />
this particle a noun is assumed to be in a definite state. The -ek suffix is always attached<br />
before adding an oblique case marker or ezafe conjunctive particle. In example (30) we<br />
know that qelem, ‘pen,’ has an indefinite state because it has the suffix -ek. In (31) the<br />
store, dikan, that Ẍafor (the man’s name) will build, being in the indefinite state, has the -<br />
ek marker. It is followed by the singular feminine ezafe particle, -a, which connects the<br />
modifier nuî, ‘new,’ to the head noun.<br />
(30) Amîna-yê qelem-ek kirrî-Ø?<br />
Ameena-OBL.F pen-INDF have.PRS.3SG<br />
‘Did Ameena buy a pen?’<br />
(31) Ẍafor dê dikan-ek-a nuî ava_kit-Ø<br />
Ghafor will store-INDF-EZ.F new build.PRS-3SG<br />
‘Ghafor will build a new store.’<br />
4.4.2.4.3 Specific reference marker<br />
Speakers of the Bahdini subdialect of Northern Kurdish also have a noun particle<br />
that is used by a speaker when wanting the hearer to know that he or she has something<br />
specific in mind. For example, you desire to purchase a specific type of chair. Entering a<br />
store it would be appropriate for you to say to the store owner:<br />
(32) Min kurskîk-ek-he di-vê-t<br />
1O chair-INDF-SRM IPFV-want.PRS-3SG<br />
‘I want (to buy) a chair.’<br />
The owner of the store now knows that even though you don’t know exactly which chair<br />
you want, you do have a specific type of chair in mind. This specific reference marker<br />
(SRM) -he, or -e, must, like the oblique case marker, always follow an indefinite state<br />
sufffix (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:186).
74<br />
I have encountered in the corpus one other type of SRM (or possibly two) that I<br />
have never read about in any other research on Northern Kurdish. Due to a lack of data, I<br />
must leave the subject open for future research. 45<br />
4.4.2.5 Numbers, quantifiers and intensifiers<br />
Numbers, quantifiers and intensifiers that directly modify a noun never get added<br />
by means of an ezafe conjunctive particle but come before the noun, as the following<br />
examples show. In (33) the number du, ‘two,’ modifies nan, ‘bread.’ In (34) the<br />
quantifier gelek, ‘much’ or ‘a lot,’ modifies îprax, a traditional food of Kurds and other<br />
nearby cultures.<br />
(33) Min du nan xwar-in<br />
1O two bread eat.PST-3PL<br />
‘I ate two (loaves of) bread.’<br />
(34) Rezbar gelek îprax-ê çê-di-kit<br />
Rezbar much îprax 46 -OBL.F make-IPFV-do.PRS-3SG<br />
‘Rezbar is making a lot of îprax.’<br />
4.4.2.6 Demonstratives<br />
Demonstratives also have both direct and oblique cases, as shown in Table 6.<br />
When a demonstrative is to be used as a determiner, it must be in the oblique case. The<br />
oblique case demonstratives for near, ‘this,’ and far, ‘that,’ have both masculine and<br />
feminine forms.<br />
45 For those interested in the subject, I would refer you to line 60 of Sindî’s Gerîanek. The SRM for further<br />
research is the -î on the word ev. According to my consultant it has to do with the fact that the thing you’re<br />
talking about belongs to someone else, not yourself.<br />
46 A traditional dish, also called dolma, made of cabbage, grape leaves and other vegetables that are stuffed<br />
with rice, spices and sometimes meat.
75<br />
Table 6.<br />
Demonstratives.<br />
Demonstrative Direct Case Oblique Case<br />
this (M)<br />
this (F)<br />
ev<br />
vî<br />
vê<br />
that (M)<br />
that (F)<br />
ew<br />
wî<br />
wê<br />
these ev van<br />
those ew wan<br />
The following examples show some uses of demonstratives. In (35) wê, 3OF,<br />
defines which book the speaker is referring to. Notice that the oblique marker, -ê, on<br />
kitêb, ‘book,’ is the same as the vowel in wê. This will always be so when the noun<br />
requires an oblique marker; the demonstrative and the oblique marker on the head noun<br />
will always match in gender and number. Example (36) shows an example of the near,<br />
plural demonstrative, van, ‘these,’ modifying the noun, qelam, ‘pen,’ which is marked<br />
with the plural oblique suffix, -a.<br />
(35) wê kitêb-ê bi-d-e Azad-î (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:47)<br />
3OF book-OBL.F IRR-give-IMP.SG Azad-OBL.M<br />
‘Give Azad that book.’<br />
(36) van qelem-a ji_bîr_ne-k-e (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:47)<br />
3OPN pen-OBL.PL forget-NEG-do-IMP.SG<br />
‘Don’t (you-SG) forget these pens.’<br />
In the previous two examples, the demonstratives were used as adjectives. In (37)<br />
ev, 3DN, is used as a pronoun in an attributive phrase.<br />
(37) ev-e min=e<br />
3DN-EMPH 1O=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘This is mine.’<br />
In (38) ev is used as an adjective, modifying pertûk, ‘book.’ Following pertûk is the rest<br />
of the NP, a feminine ezafe, -a, connecting the prepositional phrase di destê te da, ‘in<br />
your hand.’
76<br />
(38) ev pertûk-a di dest-ê te da 47<br />
3DN book-EZ.F in hand-EZ.F 2O in<br />
‘this book in your hand’<br />
4.4.2.7 The adjective phrase<br />
Adjectival modifiers are not connected by means of an ezafe conjunctive particle<br />
when they are in an adjective phrase (AdjP) that is independent of a head noun. They<br />
simply precede the adjective they modify. In (39) gelek, in this instance an intensifier<br />
meaning ‘very,’ modifies baş, ‘good.’ The AdjP gelek baş is the attribute of the<br />
attributive clause, not a part of the noun phrase (NP) ev pertûk, 3DN ‘book.’ Hence, there<br />
is no ezafe conjunctive particle on the word pertûk.<br />
(39) ev pertûk gelek baş=e<br />
3DN book very good=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘This book is very good.’<br />
When an AdjP is part of an NP, an ezafe conjunctive particle is used to connect<br />
the AdjP to the head noun. In (40) the masculine ezafe -ê is followed by the modifying<br />
AdjP, gelek xirab, ‘very bad.’<br />
(40) dem-ek-ê gelek xirab<br />
time-INDF-EZ.F very-EZ.M bad<br />
‘a very bad time’<br />
In the case where there are two adjectives in the AdjP, the adjectives are simply joined by<br />
the conjunction u, as shown in example (41).<br />
(41) ev sêv şirîn u tirş=e<br />
3DN apple sweet and tart=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘This apple is sweet and tart.’<br />
4.4.2.8 The noun phrase<br />
Nicholas Bailey (2011) summarizes the noun phrase of Northern Kurdish as:<br />
47 The postposition da is commonly used in conjunction with di to mean ‘in’ or ‘to.’ While most<br />
adpositions in Northern Kurdish are prepositions, there are some postpositions and usually these are used in<br />
conjunction with prepositions.
77<br />
NP = (DEM)(NUM) head-noun ( [ EZP [ NP/ADJP ] ] )<br />
The introduction of the ezafe conjunctive particle phrase (EZP) is beyond the<br />
scope of this paper. In fact, in the Bahdini subdialect, and perhaps other Northern<br />
Kurdish subdialects, there are other functions of the ezafe particle that have not been<br />
covered in this sketch. However, for the purposes of this paper, the noun phrase<br />
represented above is sufficient in most instances. Bailey adds the following to what has<br />
already been discussed: a demonstrative (DEM) must precede a number (NUM).<br />
Additionally, the representation shows clearly that a post-ezafe phrase must be either an<br />
NP or an ADJP.<br />
In (42) the noun phrase begins with a modifying ADJP consisting of a determiner<br />
ew, 3D, and the number du, ‘two.’ Postpositionally modifying pertuk, ‘book,’ are the<br />
color şîn, ‘blue,’ and an ADJP consisting of the intensifier gelek, ‘very,’ and the adjective<br />
mezin, ‘large.’ An ezafe for a secondary construct is needed for the ADJP to jointly<br />
modify pertuk.<br />
(42) ew du pertuk-êt şîn yê gelek mezin bu min b-în-e<br />
3D two book-EZ.PL blue EZ2.M very large for 1O IRR-bring-IMP.SG<br />
‘Bring me those two very large blue books.’<br />
4.4.3 Verbs and the verb phrase<br />
4.4.3.1 Verb morphology<br />
As mentioned, Northern Kurdish is a split-ergative language, as attested by<br />
MacKenzie (1961), Thackston (2006), Şirîn and Buşra (2006), and many other scholars.<br />
Intransitive sentences and most non-past transitive sentences use a nominative-accusative<br />
agreement pattern. Past tense transitive sentences and some irregular verbs use ergativeabsolutive<br />
agreement. Past and non-past verb stems often differ, and there are some verbs<br />
that are irregular wherein the suffix rules do not apply. Verbs may also have an<br />
imperfective, irrealis or negative aspect affix, and in some instances both a negation<br />
word, ne (like the affix), and an imperfective aspect affix are used.
78<br />
4.4.3.2 Verb agreement<br />
Verbs in nominative-accusative sentences agree with the subject in person and<br />
number, while verbs in ergative-absolutive sentences agree with the person and number<br />
of the object. The following examples illustrate these differences. In (43), a present tense<br />
transitive sentence, the verb, bînim, ‘I see,’ having the 1SG ending -im, agrees with the<br />
subject ez, 1D. Example (44) is in the past tense; the verb ending, again -im, agrees with<br />
the object ez, 1D. Examples (45) and (46) are two more examples of present and past<br />
tense sentences showing verb agreement. Example (47) shows a past tense intransitive<br />
sentence. Intransitive verbs are always in the nominative case, agreeing with the subject.<br />
Northern Kurdish does have some irregular verbs that always follow ergative-absolutive<br />
agreement; these are discussed in § 4.4.3.5.<br />
(43) ez wî bîn-im<br />
1D 3OM see.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I see him.’<br />
(44) te ez dît-im<br />
2O 1D see.PST-1SG<br />
‘You saw me.’<br />
(45) Cemal nan-î firoş-it<br />
Jemal nan-OBL.M sell.PRS-3SG<br />
‘Jemal sells bread.’<br />
(46) Dapîr-ê çend sêv kirrî-n<br />
grandmother-OBL.F some apple buy.PST-3PL<br />
‘The grandmother bought some apples.’<br />
(47) ez çu-m=e Dohuk-ê<br />
1D<br />
go.PST-1SG=DIR Dohuk-OBL.F<br />
‘I went to Dohuk.’<br />
Verb suffixes are summarized in Table 7 according to the parameters of the tense<br />
of the verb and the final phonemic segment of the stem. These endings are generally what<br />
you will hear in the Bahdini subdialect of Northern Kurdish. Resources on Northern<br />
Kurdish reveal that the language varies from area to area. This is true for aspects of the<br />
language other than verbs. The endings for non-past and past tenses vary only in the third<br />
person singular.
79<br />
Table 7.<br />
Verb suffixes<br />
Non-past<br />
Past<br />
person & number Post consonant Post vowel Post consonant Post vowel<br />
1SG -im -m -im -m<br />
2SG -î -î -î -î<br />
3SG -it -t -Ø -Ø<br />
1PL -în -în -în -în<br />
2PL & 3PL -in -n -in -n<br />
The future tense is periphrastic, employing the word dê. It appears immediately<br />
after the subject, but before the object, as illustrated in (48). The subject Şirîn, a woman’s<br />
name, is followed by dê, ‘will’ and then the object birinc, ‘rice.’ The verb çêkit, ‘make,’<br />
is last in the sentence. In (49) dê is found next to the verb because this is an intransitive<br />
sentence and no object or prepositional phrase occurs. The GOAL argument, mala te, ‘your<br />
house,’ follows the verb, its normal position.<br />
(48) Şirîn dê birincê çê_k-it<br />
Shireen will rice-OBL.F make_do.PRS-3SG<br />
Shireen will make rice.<br />
(49) em dê ê-în mal-a te (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:185)<br />
1DP will come.PRS-1PL house-EZ.F 2O<br />
‘We will come to your house.’<br />
To negate a sentence in the future tense, one must drop the word dê and insert the<br />
negative affix where appropriate. This contrast is shown in the following examples. In<br />
(51), the negative aspect affix, na, must be inserted between the two parts of the complex<br />
verb. There is therefore nothing in the sentence to signify future tense; it is understood<br />
from the context.<br />
(50) ez dê nan-î çê-k-im (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:165)<br />
1D will bread-OBL.M make-do.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I will make bread.’<br />
(51) ez nan-î çê-na-k-im<br />
1D bread-OBL.M make-NEG-do.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I won’t make bread.’
80<br />
4.4.3.3 Verb stems and their conjugations<br />
For each verb, there are usually two distinct stems, one past and the other nonpast.<br />
One pair of stems is axift/axiv, ‘speak’ (or ‘say’). To say ‘they spoke,’ the speaker<br />
uses the past stem axift, 48 together with the third person, plural ending -in, ew axift-in. To<br />
say ‘They speak,’ the non-past stem, axiv, is required: ew axiv-in. In English, we see<br />
similar differences, such as ate/eat and went/go in which a different stem is used<br />
depending on whether an utterance is in past or non-past tense.<br />
Verb stems ending in a vowel take a slightly different set of suffixes (see Table 7<br />
above). For example, the past stem of ‘to (cause to) boil (transitive)’ is kelandî. To say, ‘I<br />
boiled the potatoes,’ a speaker would say min patat kelandîn. The verb agrees with the<br />
plural object, taking the third person, plural ending -n.<br />
4.4.3.4 Copulas – present, future and past tenses<br />
The primary copula word is best considered as an irregular form of the verb bin,<br />
‘be.’ The past stem is bu (or bû or bî) while the non-past stem can be described as a zero<br />
(Ø) form, which takes just the bare person suffixes, as listed in Table 8. These forms are<br />
usually written as being adjoined to preceding words.<br />
Table 8.<br />
Present tense irregular copulas<br />
person & number post consonant post vowel<br />
1SG -im me<br />
2SG -î -î<br />
3SG -e ye<br />
1PL -în ne<br />
2PL & 3PL -in ne<br />
Examples with present tense copulas are as follows. In (52) the first person, singular<br />
copula is attached to the adjective birsî, ‘hungry.’ The third person, singular copula is<br />
48 Most dictionaries list verbs in the PST.3PL form, including the PST.3PL root in the listing.
81<br />
attached to the adjective cuan in example (53). Because this present tense copula behaves<br />
as an enclitic, i.e. it behaves grammatically as a word but phonologically as a suffix, the<br />
equal sign, =, is used in our glossing system. The copula is often written as a separate<br />
word by writers of Northern Kurdish outside Iraq. However, writers in Iraq tend to attach<br />
the copula to the ends of words.<br />
(52) ez birsî=me<br />
1D hungry=COP.PRS.1SG<br />
‘I’m hungry.’<br />
(53) maḧfîr-a te cuan=e<br />
rug-EZ.F 2O beautiful=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘Your rug is beautiful.’<br />
Besides the present tense copula illustrated above (as a zero form), there is also a<br />
copula stem b, ‘be.’ Non-past forms of b are summarized in Table 9.<br />
Table 9.<br />
Conjugations of non-past copula b<br />
person & number present future<br />
1SG bim dê…bim<br />
2SG bî dê…bî<br />
3SG bit dê…bit<br />
1PL bîn dê…bîn<br />
2PL & 3PL bin dê…bin<br />
Many of the uses of this ‘be’ word appear as part of complex predicates, which I discuss<br />
in § 4.4.3.6. Hence, some uses of b may not be considered copular. Additionally, only the<br />
regular forms of this word can take an irrealis, imperfective or negative affix (see<br />
§ 4.4.3.7 on aspect, mood and negation). Such instances can have the sense of ‘become,’<br />
as example (54) shows.<br />
(54) mêz-a wê delal-tir di-b-it (HS:18)<br />
table-EZ.F 3OF graceful-more IPFV-become.PRS-3SG<br />
‘Her table becomes more graceful.’<br />
As mentioned, future tense consists of the word dê in conjunction with a regular<br />
conjugation of a present tense verb root. For the copula, the same non-past stem b is used,<br />
also shown in Table 9. Example (55), an attributive clause, shows dê with the conjugated
82<br />
copula word, bit. Notice that dê is not positioned next to the verb, but is after the subject<br />
and before the attribute. If a speaker chooses to omit a subject, because it is understood in<br />
the context of conversation, the first word in the sentence will be dê.<br />
(55) ew dê qehrî b-it<br />
3D will sad COP.PRS-1SG<br />
‘He will be sad.’<br />
In (56) it is necessary for the equative element dixtur, ‘doctor,’ to be positioned after the<br />
verb, as it is the occupation, or status, the person is moving towards. This phrase supports<br />
the argument for an SOV-GOAL constituent order. Also present is the DIR directional<br />
enclitic which is cliticized to the copula.<br />
(56) tu dê b-î=a dixtur<br />
2D will COP.PRS-2SG=DIR doctor<br />
‘You will become a doctor.’<br />
The past tense copula makes use of the past stem of ‘be,’ which is also written as<br />
a separate word. In some subdialects the stem is bu (or bû); in others, it is bî. In Table 10,<br />
the conjugations generally follow the normal application of past tense suffixes as defined<br />
in Table 7.<br />
Table 10. Past tense copulas<br />
person & number<br />
1SG<br />
2SG<br />
3SG<br />
1PL<br />
2PL & 3PL<br />
conjugated copula<br />
bîm or bum<br />
bî or buî<br />
bî or bu<br />
bîn or buîn<br />
bîn or bun<br />
Below are some example sentences with past tense copulas.<br />
(57) ez betal bu-m<br />
1D bored COP.PST-1SG<br />
‘I was bored.’<br />
(58) tu bi keyf bî-Ø<br />
2D with happiness COP.PST-2SG<br />
‘You were happy?’
83<br />
(59) ew dixtur bî-Ø<br />
3D doctor COP.PST.3SG<br />
‘S/he was the doctor.’<br />
(60) Tu dergeh bu-î (BS7:15)<br />
2D door COP.PST-2SG<br />
‘You were the door.’<br />
4.4.3.5 Irregular verbs<br />
Above I discussed the irregular non-past copula forms. Northern Kurdish has<br />
some other verbs that have irregularities. Below are the most common of these.<br />
The verb vîa/vê, ‘want’ (past stem/present stem) is a transitive verb that always<br />
uses an ergative-absolutive agreement system. For this verb, the most subject-like<br />
constituent, a semantic experiencer, is always expressed by the oblique case, whatever<br />
the tense. Examples (61) and (62) illustrate both present and past utterances. In both<br />
sentences the subject is the oblique case personal pronoun min, 1O. The object, the<br />
possessed entity, is in the direct case, having no oblique suffix. The verb in each sentence<br />
agrees with the object. The plurality of sêv, ‘apple,’ in (62) is handled by the verb<br />
agreement, whereas in other situations, such as present tense conjugations of regular<br />
verbs, plurality is handled by means of a plural oblique suffix.<br />
(61) min sêv-ek di-vê-t<br />
1O apple-INDF IPFV-want.PRS-3SG<br />
‘I want an apple.’<br />
(62) min hindek sêv vîa-n<br />
1O some apple want.PST-3PL<br />
I wanted some apples.<br />
The other common transitive verb with ergative-absolutive agreement in all tenses<br />
is hebû(hebî)/heb, often translated as ‘have.’ However, hebû/heb may also be used for<br />
non-possessive, existential usages, such as the English ‘There is…’ or ‘I exist.’ The<br />
present and past irregular forms are summarized in Table 11.
84<br />
Table 11. Non-possessive existential verbs (Thackston 2006:31)<br />
person present tense past tense<br />
1SG heme hebûm<br />
2SG heyî hebûyî<br />
3SG heye hebû<br />
1, 2, 3PL hene hebûn<br />
The following is one example of an intransitive usage of this verb.<br />
(63) Gotin-ek-e pêşi-yên me heye (Thackston 2006:31)<br />
saying-INDF-EZ.M ancestor-EZ.PL 1OP exist.PRS.3SG<br />
‘There is a saying of our ancestors.’<br />
Table 12 provides the more common forms for transitive uses of hebû/heb. Here<br />
we can see that the forms are different for questions than for statements or negations.<br />
There are also irregular forms for negated verbs.<br />
Table 12. Irregular forms of hebû/heb in the present tense (Şirîn 2002:6)<br />
Type of sentence Number Form of verb<br />
statement<br />
SG<br />
hey<br />
PL<br />
heyn<br />
question<br />
SG<br />
heye<br />
PL<br />
hene<br />
negative<br />
SG<br />
nîne<br />
PL<br />
nînin<br />
Thackston (2006:31-2) also calls hebû/heb an “existential verb” and states that<br />
Northern Kurdish “expresses possession by the possessive construct followed by the<br />
appropriate third person of the existential verb heye, ‘there is,’ hene, ‘there are,’ hebû,<br />
‘there was,’ or hebûn, ‘there were.’ Example (64) is one present tense example from his<br />
grammar on the language that illustrates this sort of possession. The pronoun wî, 3OM,<br />
which expresses the possessor, modifies zarok, ‘child’ (what is possessed), and is<br />
connected to the noun by the plural ezafe conjunctive particle -ên.
85<br />
(64) pênc zarok-ên wî hene (Thackston 2006:32)<br />
five child-EZ.PL 3OM exist.PRS.3PL<br />
‘He has five children.’ or more literally, ‘There are five children of him.’<br />
Examples in Şirîn’s language learning series (2006) agree with Thackston’s<br />
explanation. The only difference, which may only be common to those who speak the<br />
Bahdini subdialect, is that the possessive pronoun may appear sentence initially, as if it<br />
were the subject. Consider example (65) from Şirîn. Here the NP that expresses the<br />
possessed entity has the masculine ezafe particle, -ê. The noun qelem, ‘pen,’ however is<br />
seemingly without a modifier. I have observed that this is the common order of words for<br />
this statement in the Bahdini subdialect.<br />
(65) min qelem-ek-ê hey (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:103)<br />
1O pen-INDF-EZ.M exist.PRS.3SG<br />
‘I have a pen.’<br />
Interestingly, the future and past tenses (in the Bahdini subdialect) follow the<br />
normal conjugations for verbs, and the object does not exhibit the possessive construct<br />
via the ezafe particle. This is evident in both Thackston’s and Şirîn’s examples for<br />
present and past tense. The following examples are from Şirîn’s grammar reference cards<br />
(2002:6). Past tense verbs (not shown) use the stem for past tense, hebû (or hebî).<br />
Example (67) shows how the present stem, heb, does not appear in a negated form. The<br />
verb is glossed as ‘be.’<br />
(66) min kitêb dê heb-it<br />
1O book will have.PRS-3SG<br />
‘I will have the book.’<br />
(67) wê êdî biçîk na-b-in<br />
3OF ever child NEG-be.PRS-3PL<br />
‘She will never have children.’<br />
The last two common verbs that exhibit irregular form are hat/ê, ‘come,’ and<br />
îna/în, ‘bring’ or ‘take.’ For both verbs the imperfective aspect marker, di- (see<br />
§ 4.4.3.7.1) appears, and is thus written, as a t-. The i in di- elides and the d takes on the<br />
feature of –voice. Examples (68) and (69) from Şirîn show each verb with imperfective<br />
aspect.
86<br />
(68) her dem ew se’et çar t-ê-t (Şirîn 2002:7)<br />
all time 3D hour four IPFV-come.PRS-3SG<br />
‘He always comes at 4:00.’<br />
(69) her roj ew çiklêt-a t-în-it (Şirîn 2002:7)<br />
every day 3D candy-EZ.PL IPFV-bring.PRS-3SG<br />
‘She brings candies every day.’<br />
Another irregularity of the verb pair hat/ê is its imperative forms. For singular<br />
commands, one would say, were. For plural commands, one would say weren. The verb<br />
pair çû/ç, ‘go,’ also has irregular singular and plural imperatives, herre and herren,<br />
respectively.<br />
4.4.3.6 Complex predicates (complex verbs)<br />
Many predicates in Northern Kurdish are complex, having two or more parts. The<br />
first may be referred to as the nonverbal element, which may be a noun, an adjective, an<br />
adverb, a prepositional phrase, or a particle. The second part is what is often referred to<br />
as a ‘light’ verb. The most common light verbs are bû/b/Ø, ‘be,’ and kir/k, ‘do, make.’<br />
These verbs may be used independent of nonverbal elements. However, when they are<br />
used with nonverbal elements, they only fulfill part of the verbal expression.<br />
Some complex predicates may or may not be written as one word, although<br />
syntactically the nonverbal element forms a verb phrase with the light verb. As an idiom,<br />
although the phrase is composed of more than one word, it nevertheless has a single<br />
meaning. The nonverbal element cannot be conjugated, and, other than an aspect affix,<br />
nothing can occur between the nonverbal element and the light verb. In many complex<br />
predicates having a noun as the nonverbal element, the noun is not considered the object<br />
in the sentence but part of the verb.<br />
Examples (70) through (72) illustrate usages of complex predicates having a<br />
single nonverbal element. In (70), the compound verb is xilas kim, ‘I finish.’ The word<br />
xilas, the nonverbal element of the compound verb phrase, cannot possibly be the object,<br />
as dersa xwe, ‘my lesson,’ is fulfilling that function. In (71) the compound verb çêdikit,<br />
‘is making,’ is written as one word having the imperfective aspect di- embedded between
87<br />
the nonverbal element çê and the light verb kim, ‘(I) do.’ In (72), which is from a line in<br />
the corpus, the compound verb consists of şîn bibin, ‘may grow.’ 49 In this instance, we<br />
know that şîn, which by itself can mean ‘green’ or ‘blue,’ is part of the verb and not an<br />
object because it does not have an oblique suffix. Additionally, the complex verb itself is<br />
intransitive, having a valence of one.<br />
(70) ez dê ders-a xwe xilas k-im<br />
1D will class-EZ.F REFL finish do.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I finished my lesson.’<br />
(71) Wahîda mast-î çê-d-k-it<br />
Waheeda yogurt-OBL.M make-IPFV-do.PRS-3SG<br />
‘Waheeda is making yogurt.’<br />
(72) şîn_bi-b-in nêrgiz (BS1:11)<br />
grow_IRR-be.PRS-3PL narcissus<br />
‘May narcissuses grow…<br />
Other complex predicates have nonverbal elements that consist of two or more<br />
words. For example, a common lexical listing of the idiomatic verb ‘hear’ is guh lê bûn,<br />
where guh is ‘ear,’ lê is a prepositional phrase consisting of li, ‘at’ and wî/wê, ‘he/she,’<br />
and the light verb bûn, ‘be.’ This is the verb used in example (73). Notice that in place of<br />
the contraction lê in the lexical listing, the prepositional phrase, li te, has the 2SG personal<br />
pronoun. A contraction is only available for 3SG pronouns. In (74) the word ser, ‘visit,’<br />
must be followed by an ezafe conjunctive particle and a personal pronoun or proper<br />
name. These elements separate it from the verb da, ‘give.’ Sera wê, ‘visit of her,’ then,<br />
functions as the object of the sentence. This example illustrates why a more proper<br />
lexical listing of sera dan would be to call it a predicate, not just a verb. Lastly,<br />
concerning xerîb bî, ‘be missing,’ in example (75), while it is true that xerîb, ‘missing,’ is<br />
always next to the verb bûn, ‘be,’ it is simply an adjective, the attribute in the attributive<br />
clause. The expression ‘to miss someone’ also demands a prepositional phrase using the<br />
preposition ji, ‘of,’ such as ji min, ‘of me,’ in (75). In some predicates, such as the one in<br />
(73), a prepositional phrase must follow a word in the nonverbal element. However, in<br />
49 The meaning for ‘may’ comes from use of the bi- prefix on bibin, not the word şîn.
88<br />
this instance in (75), the prepositional phrase must precede the word xerîb. Note as well<br />
that the valence for the English verb ‘miss’ is two, while the valence in Northern Kurdish<br />
is one. The same difference in valence is evident in example (73).<br />
(73) min guh li te ne bî-Ø<br />
1O ear at 2O NEG COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘I didn’t hear you.’<br />
(74) min ser-a wê da-Ø (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:54)<br />
1O visit-EZ.F 3OF give.PST-3SG<br />
‘I visited (and stayed) with her.’<br />
(75) tu ji min xerîb bî-Ø<br />
2D of 1O missing COP.PST-2SG<br />
‘You missed me.’<br />
Complex predicates could easily be the subject of a separate treatise. Suffice it to say that<br />
the reader should simply be aware of their prevalence in the language.<br />
4.4.3.7 Aspect, mood and negation<br />
Aspect, mood and negation are herein discussed together because a verb typically<br />
only takes one of the affixes associated with these grammatical categories.<br />
4.4.3.7.1 Imperfective aspect<br />
The imperfective aspect affix di is the most common of the aspect affixes. In most<br />
cases it is a prefix; however, for some compound verbs, di (or d) is inserted between the<br />
two parts of the verb. This is best understood via some examples.<br />
In (76) di is simply a prefix on the verb çim, ‘I go,’ whereas in (77), only d is<br />
inserted between the two parts of the compound verb, çêkit, ‘she makes.’ Speakers of the<br />
Bahdini subdialect tend to metathesize the sound sequence di to id. in order to achieve<br />
preferred syllable structures. In this instance, the desired syllable structure is CVC. The<br />
sounds reverse because there is an opportunity to delete the weak vowel. The small i<br />
finds itself adjacent to a strong vowel―the ê in çê― and the i is not uttered. The d that<br />
remains becomes the coda for the new syllable çêd. However, in areas where the Latin
89<br />
script is the standardized orthography, such as in Turkey and Syria, writing the verb in<br />
(77) as çê dikit is more common, although it is never pronounced as three syllables.<br />
(76) ez di-ç-im dikan-ê<br />
1D IPFV-go.PRS-1SG store-OBL.M<br />
‘I’m going to the store.’<br />
(77) Wetfe nan-î çê-d-k-it<br />
Watfa bread-OBL.M make-IPFV-do-3SG<br />
‘Watfa is making bread.’<br />
4.4.3.7.2 Negation<br />
Like the other affixes discussed in this section, the negation marker ne, or na, is<br />
written either as a separate word or as a prefix on a verb. But it may also appear within a<br />
compound verb, such as çê-na-k-et, ‘he or she does not make.’ Unlike the imperfective<br />
aspect affix di, the sounds in this affix never undergo meta<strong>thesis</strong>; the vowel is always<br />
pronounced. Examples from the corpus, shown below in (78) through (80), illustrate<br />
usage of the negative (NEG) affix/word.<br />
(78) wî ne-bada-n hizir u bîr (BS1:43)<br />
3OM NEG-surrender-3PL idea and thought<br />
‘He did not deviate from (his) ideas and thoughts.’<br />
(79) bi-bure ne-şê-m sîtafk-ê bi dest-a (DD:21)<br />
IRR 50 -sorry.IMP.SG NEG-can.PRS-1SG shadow-OBL.F by hand-OBL.PL<br />
bi-kir-im<br />
IRR-do.PRS-1SG<br />
‘Sorry, I cannot touch the shadow.’<br />
(80) teyr-ek îna-n verûçkand-in, nav jê ne çu-Ø (H:4)<br />
bird-INDF bring.PST-3PL deplume.PST-3PL name from.3OM NEG go.PST-3SG<br />
‘They brought a bird and deplumed (it), it did not lose its name.’<br />
4.4.3.7.3 Irrealis modality<br />
Irrealis is a term used to describe “situations that were not or are not yet a reality,<br />
only possibilities” (Whaley 1997:225). The opposite of this, realis, represents those<br />
50 The discussion on irrealis (IRR) follows in § 4.4.3.7.3.
90<br />
situations that are or were a reality. The verbal prefix bi- is best understood as a marker<br />
for irrealis moods (IRR), an umbrella term for a number of mood categories, such as<br />
subjunctive, conditional, optative, jussive, potential and imperative. In the sections that<br />
follow, I discuss many of this marker’s multiple functions.<br />
Unlike the imperfective aspect affix di, which is occasionally inserted within a<br />
compound verb, the irrealis bi- always appears as a prefix. 51 In situations where di is<br />
inserted within a complex verb, bi- is never inserted and the exact mood is understood by<br />
means of the context. Like the imperfective aspect affix, di, the sounds in bi- often<br />
undergo meta<strong>thesis</strong>, and in some situations the i is not pronounced. Sometimes the i<br />
disappears in the presence of a strong vowel or melds with a like vowel. Below I discuss<br />
various situations where this irrealis aspect prefix is used.<br />
Regarding one irrealis mood, Haiman (1995:329) writes, “Belief in its truth is<br />
indicative…the wish for its realization, imperative or optative.” Optative describes the<br />
mood(s) wherein someone expresses what they wish or desire. The following examples<br />
show the use of the irrealis aspect prefix in expressing wishes.<br />
(81) bi xêr bi-ç-î<br />
with blessing IRR-go.PRS-2SG<br />
‘Go well.’ / ‘May you be blessed as you go.’<br />
(82) şîn bi-b-in nêrgiz (BS1:11)<br />
grow IRR-be.PRS-3PL narcissus<br />
‘May narcissuses grow… ‘<br />
(83) em bi-ç-în (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
1DP IRR-go.PRS-1PL<br />
‘Let’s (or shall we) go?’<br />
(84) Xwedê biçîk-êt te bi-hêl-it (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:238)<br />
God baby-EZ.PL 2O IRR-keep.PRS-3SG<br />
‘May God keep (alive) your children.’<br />
51 The separate word bi should not be confused with the irrealis marker. It is a preposition usually meaning<br />
‘with’ or ‘by means of.’
91<br />
Imperatives and wishes may seem closely related and, perhaps, difficult to<br />
distinguish at times. Unlike wishes, however, imperatives always have verb endings<br />
identical to third person indicative endings. Examples (85) through (89) illustrate<br />
imperatives with the bi- prefix. Example (89) is a negated imperative. Notice that the ne<br />
prefix supersedes use of the bi- prefix. The command is still obvious because the verb is<br />
not expressed with the 2SG ending but an ending that is like the 3SG ending. Note also the<br />
introduction of the word ka in (85) and (87). In these sentences ka more or less means<br />
“please.” 52<br />
(85) ka av-ê bi-d-e min<br />
please water-OBL.F IRR-give.PRS-IMP.SG 1O<br />
‘Please give me (some) water.’<br />
(86) bi-b-e<br />
IRR-take.PRS-IMP.SG<br />
‘Take it!’<br />
(87) ka lêtir-ek şerbet-ê bi-kirr-e<br />
please liter-INDF juice-OBL.F IRR-buy.PRS-IMP.SG<br />
‘Please buy me a liter of juice.’<br />
(88) pencer-ê bi-gire<br />
window-OBL.F IRR-close.PRS-IMP.SG<br />
‘Close the window.’<br />
(89) van qelem-a ji bîr ne k-e (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:47)<br />
3OPN pen-OBL.PL from memory NEG do. PRS-IMP.SG<br />
‘Don’t forget these pens.’<br />
Irrealis may also express a consultative mood, a request for agreement or some<br />
other type of response. Example (83), repeated below in (90), may be understood this<br />
way. In addition to expressing a wish, the speaker is also asking whether another<br />
speaker(s) is in agreement or not. The same is true of (91), a phrase that is often a<br />
rhetorical question meaning, “There’s nothing I can do.” Example (92) is different in that<br />
it is a statement that pragmatically says something like, “Unless you have more to add, I<br />
will continue.” So rather than being consultative, it would be called permissive, or<br />
jussive, a mild imperative.<br />
52 In other situations ka is a question word meaning ‘where.’
92<br />
(90) em bi-ç-în (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
1DP IRR-go.PRS-1PL<br />
‘Let’s (or shall we) go?’<br />
(91) ez çi bi-k-im 53 (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
1D what IRR-do.PRS-1SG<br />
‘What shall (can) I do?’<br />
(92) bila, ez temam bi-k-im (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
OK 1D complete IRR-do.PRS-1SG<br />
‘Let me continue…’<br />
In the functions of the bi- prefix that follow, some of them could also be<br />
considered as having optative mood. I have treated each mood separately because the<br />
syntax is different in each case. While we are stepping outside the boundary of the<br />
discussion of the morphology of the verb word, it seems best to keep this portion of the<br />
discussion of irrealis together.<br />
4.4.3.7.3.1 Modal verbs<br />
When a verb is used in conjunction with the modal verbs vîa/vê, ‘want, need’ or<br />
şîa/şê, ‘can, be able to,’ the bi- prefix is added to that verb. These too are situations that,<br />
at the moment of desiring or being done, are not realities. The examples in (93) and (94)<br />
both begin with a subject and a modal verb, which is followed by a complement clause<br />
containing the present tense root of a verb with the irrealis prefix. In these instances the<br />
subject is the same for the second verb and, therefore, agrees with it. The modal verbs are<br />
always ergative, as was discussed in § 4.4.3.5. In (95) we have some distance between the<br />
modal verb divêt and the verb with irrealis mood, bînim, ‘I bring.’ This is because ez bu<br />
te bînim, ‘I bring for you,’ is a complement clause that has a different subject, a distinct<br />
argument of the modal verb.<br />
(93) min di-vê-t bi-ç-im mal-ê<br />
1O IPFV-want.PRS.3SG IRR.go-1SG home-OBL.F<br />
‘I want to go home.’<br />
53 When Bahdini speakers utter this phrase, they drop the i in the bi- prefix and the b changes to a p, so that<br />
it sounds like, ez çipkim.
93<br />
(94) ez di-şê-m b-ê-m<br />
1D IPFV-can.PRS-1SG IRR-come.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I can come.’<br />
(95) te ci di-vê-t ez bu te b-în-im<br />
2O what IPFV-want.PRS-3SG 1D for 2O IRR-bring.PRS-1SG<br />
‘What do you want me to bring for you?’<br />
4.4.3.7.3.2 Modal adjectives<br />
Similar to modal verbs are the uses of modal adjectives (or adjectival verbs).<br />
However, the initial modal adjective clause is always independent of the complement<br />
clause that follows. If a complement is not uttered, the information must be understood<br />
via the context of conversation. Like the examples above for modal verbs, the examples<br />
in (96) through (99) show that the verbs in the complement clauses must receive the<br />
irrealis prefix.<br />
The modal adjectives lazim and pêtivî basically have the same meaning. Lazim<br />
comes from Arabic; pêtivî, as far as I am aware, is of Kurdish origin. In English these<br />
words may be translated as ‘must,’ ‘should,’ ‘ought’ or ‘necessary.’ For the adjectival<br />
phrase, the copula is used, as illustrated in the examples below. Use of these modal<br />
adjectives has the effect of a jussive modality. Example (97) uses the negative version of<br />
the modal adjective baş, ‘good.’ While other modal adjectives exist, these are certainly<br />
the most common.<br />
(96) lazim e tu ser-ê xwe bi-şo-î<br />
necessary COP.PRS.3SG 2D head-EZ.M REFL IRR-wash.PRS-2SG<br />
‘You must wash yourself.’<br />
(97) gelek ne baş e tu bi-ç-î (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:256)<br />
very not good COP.PRS.3SG 2D IRR-go.PRS-2SG<br />
‘It’s very bad that you’re going.’<br />
(98) pêtivî ye tu li_gel ne axiv-î (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:256)<br />
necessary COP.PRS.3SG 2D with (her) not speak.PRS-2SG<br />
‘You ought not speak with her.’<br />
(99) ne lazim bî-Ø ew bi-ç-it (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:256)<br />
not necessary COP.PST-3SG 3D IRR-go.PRS-3SG (it)
94<br />
b-în-it<br />
IRR-bring.PRS-3SG<br />
‘He didn’t need to go and bring it.’<br />
4.4.3.7.3.3 Non-past temporal adverbial clauses<br />
Verbs in temporal adverbial clauses within non-past sentences also must have the<br />
irrealis prefix. This is consistent with the irrealis examples we have seen; some action has<br />
yet to come to pass. Verbs in time clauses of past tense sentences will not have the<br />
irrealis prefix.<br />
The examples below are typical of sentences with a non-past tense temporal<br />
adverbial clause. Such clauses usually occur at the beginning of a sentence.<br />
(100) dem-ê te bi-vê-t, ez dê bu te (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
time-OBL.F 2O IRR-want.PRS-3SG 1D will for 2O<br />
în-im<br />
bring.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I will bring it when you want.’ or ‘When you want, I’ll bring it.’<br />
(101) wext-ê tu bi-zan-î, bêj-e min (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
time-OBL.F 2D IRR-know.PRS-2SG say.PRS-IMP.SG 1O<br />
‘When you know, tell me.’<br />
(102) roj-a ez b-êm, ez dê bêj-im (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:245)<br />
daytime.OBL.PL 1D IRR.come.PRS.1SG, 1D will tell.PRS-1SG<br />
te<br />
2O<br />
‘When I come at daytime, I will tell you.’<br />
4.4.3.7.3.4 Non-past conditional clauses<br />
Similar to the time clause examples above, non-past conditional clauses occur at<br />
the beginning of a sentence. The examples (103) through (107) are speculative utterances<br />
that utilize the word eger (or heker), ‘if.’ As the speaker is expressing a lack of<br />
knowledge about something happening, these too fall under the category of irrealis.<br />
Note that in (106) the prefix bi- is not used. It may be that the speaker feels the<br />
action to occur is imminent, making it a conditional predictive statement. Example (107)<br />
has an imperative in the independent clause and no bi- prefix in the dependent clause,
95<br />
where we would expect to see it. In my experience, I have never heard or seen both an<br />
independent clause and its dependent clause marked as irrealis. Minimally, these<br />
examples show that conditional sentences sometimes mark the verb in the dependent<br />
clause as irrealis. According to Şirîn and Buşra (2006:243), “If-clauses almost always<br />
require subjunctive verbs,” that is, verbs marked as irrealis.<br />
(103) heker te bi-vê-t, ez na-ç-im (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:242)<br />
if 2O IRR-want.PRS-3SG, 1D NEG-go.PRS-1SG<br />
‘If you want, I won’t go.’<br />
(104) eger ez bi-bîn-im, ez dê bêj-im-ê<br />
if 1D (him/her) IRR-see.PRS-1SG, 1D will tell.PRS-1SG-him<br />
‘If I see him/her, I will tell him.’<br />
(105) heker ez ne ç-im, ez dê mîn-im (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:242)<br />
if 1D NEG go.PRS-1SG 1D will stay.PRS-1SG<br />
li_gel we<br />
with 2OP<br />
‘If I don’t go, I’ll stay with you.’<br />
(106) eger tu rîn-î, ez dê jî rîn-im (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:224)<br />
if 2D sit.PRS-2SG, 1D will also sit.PRS-1SG<br />
‘If you sit, I will also sit.’<br />
(107) eger ew di-ç-it, tu jî herre<br />
if 3D IPFV-go.PRS-3SG, 2D also go.IMP.SG<br />
‘If he is going, you also go.’<br />
4.4.3.7.3.5 Reason and purpose clauses<br />
Sentences that express a reason or purpose often utilize the conjunctions da, da ku<br />
or ku, which may all be translated as ‘so,’ ‘so that,’ or ‘in order to.’ Like many examples<br />
previously discussed, the verb in the complement clause must have the irrealis prefix.<br />
When the subject after the conjunction is different, it is usually stated. These<br />
conjunctions are used with all tenses.<br />
(108) ez di-çu-m da ders-a bi-xwîn-im<br />
1D IPFV-go.PST-1SG so.that class.OBL.PL IRR-study.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I went in order to study my classes.’<br />
(109) ka av-ê bi-d-e-Ø min da (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:224)<br />
please water-OBL.F IRR-give.PRS-IMP.SG 1O so.that
96<br />
ez têhnî ne b-im<br />
1D thirsty not COP.PRS-1SG<br />
‘Please give me water so that I won’t be thirsty.’<br />
(110) te çi tişt nîne da av-ê (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:226)<br />
2O that thing not.have.PRS so.that water.OBL.F<br />
pê bi-kêş-î<br />
with.3O(M/F) IRR-draw.PRS.2SG<br />
‘You don’t have anything for drawing water.’<br />
(111) ez hat-im mal-a te da_ku ez ders-ê nîş-a te<br />
1D come.PST-1SG home-EZ.F 2O so.that 1D class-EZ.M teach-EZ.F 2O<br />
bi-d-im<br />
IRR-do.PST-1SG<br />
‘I came to your house in order to give you a lesson.’<br />
4.4.3.7.3.6 Past tense subjunctive clauses<br />
Some subjunctive moods express “things that couldn’t have or didn’t happen but<br />
could have or would have happened if circumstances had been different” (Şirîn and Buşra<br />
2006:333). Each of the examples shown in (112) through (117) require an additional<br />
word following the conjugated verb, as illustrated in Table 13. Those that utilize a<br />
conditional clause or a modal adjective exhibit the irrealis marker in the independent<br />
clause. Through such combinations one can express counterfactual statements, as shown<br />
in (112) through (115), and various types of conditional and hypothetical statements, as<br />
shown in (116) and (117).<br />
Table 13. Past tense subjunctive constructions<br />
person & number<br />
1SG<br />
2SG<br />
3SG<br />
1PL<br />
2PL & 3PL<br />
suffix & word<br />
-î bam<br />
-î baî<br />
-î ba<br />
-î baîn<br />
-î ban<br />
Like verb suffixes, the subjunctive word used in these expressions must match the<br />
person and number of the subject in nominative-accusative sentences. In ergative-
97<br />
absolutive sentences, it must match the person and number of the object. For the<br />
following irrealis moods the person is represented within the irrealis word which follows<br />
the verb. The verb root is conjugated with the suffix -î, making it a past participle<br />
(PST.PTCP). Some speakers, though, may drop the -î suffix because of awkwardness in<br />
pronunciation. All of the examples below are from Şirîn and Buşra (2006:333-4).<br />
(112) ez çû-î ba-m<br />
1D go.PST-PST.PTCP could.have-1SG<br />
‘I could have gone.’<br />
(113) te sêv xwar-î ba-î<br />
2O apple eat-PST.PTCP could.have-2SG<br />
‘You could’ve eaten the apple.’<br />
(114) lazim bî te sêv xwar-î ba-Ø<br />
Necessary COP.PST-3SG 2O apple eat.PST-PST.PTCP should.have-3SG<br />
‘You should’ve eaten the apple.’<br />
(115) ne lazim bî-Ø ez çû-î ba-m<br />
not necessary COP.PST-3SG 1D go-PST.PTCP should_have-1SG<br />
‘I should not have gone.’<br />
(116) heker ez çû-î ba-m, ez da xw-im<br />
If 1D go-PST.PTCP had.1SG, 1D in.order.to eat.PRS-1SG<br />
‘If I had gone, I would have eaten it.’<br />
(117) heker min ne şîa-Ø ba-Ø, ez ne di-çû-m<br />
if 1O NEG can-PST-PTCP could.have-3SG 1D NEG IPFV-go.PST-1SG<br />
‘If I could have avoided it, I would not have gone.’<br />
4.4.3.8 Perfect tense<br />
The perfect tense consists of two things: a past tense root with the suffix -î, and a<br />
form of the verb bûn (or bîn) that is similar to the copula. These constructions are<br />
summarized in Table 14. Following the table are some examples from Şirîn and Buşra<br />
(2006) and the corpus.
98<br />
Table 14. Perfect tense constructions<br />
person & number<br />
1SG<br />
2SG<br />
3SG<br />
PL<br />
suffix & word<br />
-î me<br />
(118) ez nivist-î-Ø-me (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:296)<br />
1D sleep:PST-PRF-be:PST-1SG<br />
‘I’ve been sleeping.’<br />
(119) ez ne hat-î-Ø-me (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:296)<br />
1D NEG come:PST-PRF-be:PST-1SG<br />
‘I haven’t come.’<br />
(120) wan xwar-î-Ø-ne (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:296)<br />
3OP eat:PST-PRF-be:PST-PL<br />
‘Have they eaten?’<br />
(121) sut-î-Ø-ye li me ceger (BS1:14)<br />
burn:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG in 1OP liver<br />
‘The liver in us has burned.’<br />
(122) ma min tu vîya-y-Ø-î bu milk u mal-î? (AN5:33)<br />
INTRG 1O 2D love:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG for land and belongings-OBL.M<br />
‘Did I love you because of land and belongings (money)?’<br />
-î î<br />
-î ye<br />
-î ne<br />
4.4.3.9 Past perfect tense<br />
The past perfect tense describes actions that began and were completed in the<br />
past. For past perfect tense, two things must be done. First, the verb root must be<br />
conjugated using the suffix -i. This verb will not receive the ending that matches the<br />
subject (in nominative-accusative clauses) or object (in ergative-absolutive clauses).<br />
Additionally, a word that matches the person and number of the subject or object must be<br />
added after the conjugated verb, similar to the past tense subjunctive constructions<br />
discussed in § 4.4.3.7.3.6. Table 15 lists the suffixes with the additional words for each<br />
person and number. Following the table are some examples with past perfect<br />
construction.
99<br />
Table 15. Past perfect tense constructions 54<br />
person & number suffix & word<br />
1SG<br />
-i bîm/bûm<br />
2SG<br />
-i bî/bû<br />
3SG<br />
-i bî/bû<br />
1PL<br />
-i bîn/bûn<br />
2PL & 3PL -i bîn/bûn<br />
(123) ez çû-Ø 55 bî-m bajêrr-î (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:314)<br />
1D go.PST-PPFT PPFT-1SG city-OBL.M<br />
‘I had gone to the city.’<br />
(124) ji berî nuke wî ez dît-i bî-m (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:314)<br />
From before now 3OM 1D see.PST-PPFT PPFT-1SG<br />
‘He had seen me just before now.’<br />
(125) min dergeh girt-i bî-Ø (Şirîn and Buşra 2006:314)<br />
1O door close.PST-PPFT PPFT-3SG<br />
‘I had closed the door.’<br />
(126) me dît-i bu-Ø (Thackston 2006:56)<br />
1op see.PST-PPFT<br />
‘We had seen (it).’<br />
4.4.3.10 Passive voice<br />
PPFT-3SG<br />
Passive voice is usually conveyed by the verb hat/bê, ‘come,’ in conjunction with<br />
the infinitive form of the verb of action or state. The verb hat/bê must be conjugated to<br />
agree with the subject. The infinitive form of the verb of action or state, which follows<br />
hat/bê, consists of the past tense root with the 3PL suffix. In passive constructions, the<br />
verb, hat/bê, may be transcribed as ‘become/became.’ Below, I have included only a few<br />
54 Some dialects in Northern Iraq use the vowel û instead of î. Şirîn & Buşra’s publications exhibit the use<br />
of î, as this usage is more common in the speech varieties in the city of Zaxo. Like the constructions for the<br />
perfect tense, the added word for the past perfect construction stems from the verb bûn (or bîn), ‘be.’<br />
55 According to Şirîn & Buşra (2006: 314) the -i suffix is often not uttered in both pronunication and<br />
writing. Some speakers may change the sound to î, therein making it more distinct.
100<br />
examples. For more information on other passive voice constructions (other tenses), see<br />
Thackston’s reference grammar on Northern Kurdish (2006).<br />
(127) ez hat-im dît-in (Thackston 2006:67)<br />
1D come.PST-1SG see.PST-INF<br />
‘I was seen.’<br />
(128) ez-ê 56 bê-m dît-in (Thackston 2006:67)<br />
1D-will come.PRS-1SG see.PST-INF<br />
‘I will be seen.’<br />
(129) hat-in=e kuşt-in pirpirîk-ên deng-ê (MX:33)<br />
become.PST-3PL=DIR kill.PST.PTCP-3PL butterfly-EZ.PL sound-EZ.M<br />
agir-ê birîndar<br />
fire-EZ.M wound.PST.PTCP<br />
‘The butterflies of the sound of woulded fire were killed.’<br />
Northern Kurdish also has some verbs that have passive constructions without the<br />
use of hat/bê. However, such verbs do seem to be less common in the language, with<br />
most passive voice utterances requiring constructions like those shown above. In (130)<br />
kuzrîn, ‘have been burned,’ is a passive verb that does not require the verb hat/bê. The<br />
ending must agree with the subject, which in this instance is gulên çîayan, ‘the flowers of<br />
the mountains.’<br />
(130) kuzrî-n gul-ên çîa-yan nêrgiz-ên şeng (BS4:24)<br />
burn.PST.PASS-3PL flower-EZ.PL mountain-OBL.PL narcissus-EZ.PL young<br />
u şepal<br />
and bright<br />
‘The flowers of the mountains have been burned, the young and bright narcissuses.’<br />
4.4.4 Adpositions<br />
Adpositions consist of either one or two prepositions or a circumposition<br />
consisting of one or two prepositions with a postposition. Occasionally only a<br />
postposition is used. As was mentioned in § 4.4.3.6 on complex verbs, certain<br />
56 In Northern Kurdish of Turkey, future tense is accomplished via either the word dê or an =ê enclitic<br />
added to the subject (Thackston 2006:42). I have observed that speakers of the Bahdini dialect of Northern<br />
Iraq almost always use the word dê.
101<br />
adpositional phrases have a specific placement before a light verb, whether they are<br />
attached to another element of the complex verb or are the first part of the complex verb<br />
itself. In other situations placement may vary, the adpositional phrase having two or more<br />
possible places in a sentence.<br />
Table 16 is a list of some of common adpositions with their most common<br />
English translations. Where dots are used (…), the adposition that follows the dots is a<br />
postposition. When a postposition is used, the final noun in the PP will not have an<br />
oblique marker. Some adpositions have the same English translations. The nuances in<br />
adposition usage could be the subject of an entire paper.
102<br />
Table 16. Common adpositions<br />
Adpositions<br />
di<br />
di … da 57<br />
di … ra<br />
di nav … da<br />
nav, linav<br />
gel, digel, ligel<br />
def, li def<br />
nav beyna<br />
ji derva<br />
ji<br />
ji … ra<br />
ji ber<br />
li<br />
ber, li ber<br />
li ser<br />
ser<br />
li duîv, li dîv<br />
bin<br />
bi<br />
bê<br />
bu, bo<br />
der<br />
wekî<br />
nik<br />
dîr<br />
berî<br />
pîstî<br />
English<br />
in<br />
in, into, during<br />
through<br />
among, in, inside<br />
in, inside<br />
with<br />
with<br />
between<br />
outside<br />
from<br />
from<br />
because of<br />
at, in<br />
in front of, under<br />
on<br />
on<br />
after<br />
under<br />
with, by means of<br />
without<br />
for<br />
out<br />
as, like<br />
near, next to<br />
far<br />
before<br />
after<br />
57 According to Chyet (2003), the postposition da indicates position or place. In some dialects it is used<br />
without a preposition.
5. Analysis of Northern Kurdish poetry<br />
5.1 Introduction to the corpus<br />
In June 2010, I went to the Northern Kurdish speaking area of Northern Iraq to<br />
collect a group of poems that would become the corpus for this paper. My intention was<br />
that the collection would be a good representation of Northern Kurdish poetry in Iraq<br />
over the past sixty years. Ascertaining which poets were revered proved to be difficult, as<br />
much of the population is illiterate or only nominally literate. Many literates lack<br />
exposure to poets, either past or modern. However, I was able to meet with poets and<br />
people who read poetry and obtained a body of translated poems, more than I could use<br />
in this <strong>thesis</strong>. In the end, I made the decisions on which poems to include in the corpus<br />
based on my evaluation of their overall quality, as well as their ability to represent a<br />
range of poetic devices. All of the poems with English translations are provided in<br />
Appendix A. All titles of poems come from their original publications or the copies given<br />
to me directly by the authors.<br />
The corpus consists of poets from three periods of Northern Kurdish poetry.<br />
Representing Neo-classical poetry is Ahmed Nalbend (1891-1963), Cegerxwîn 58 (1903-<br />
1984), and Badirxan Sindî (b. 1943). Representing the New Period is Badirxan Sindî and<br />
Mu’eyed Teyb (b. 1957). The Modern Period (the poetry of most present day poets) is<br />
represented by Mihsin Quçan (b. 1954), Şaban Silêman, Mesud Xalaf, Hizirvan, Deyka<br />
Dalyayê and Hisin Silêvanî.<br />
The corpus is also representative of a number of subdialects of Badinan region.<br />
Nalbend was from the town of Barmanê, near Amedî. Quçan and Dalyayê are also from<br />
58 Cegerxwîn is the poet’s pen name. His real name was Sheikhmous Hasan.<br />
103
104<br />
Barmanê. Sindî is from Zaxo, and Silêvanî is from a similar dialect area not far from<br />
Zaxo. Silêman is from the village of Oreh, in the Barwarî area, north of Dohuk. The<br />
village of Hizirvan is from an area closer to Dohuk. It is not known where Xalaf’s dialect<br />
is from. Cegerxwîn was included in the corpus because of his renown among Kurds<br />
everywhere. He was born near Batman, Turkey and his family fled to Syria when he was<br />
11. While his dialect is a bit different from the rest of the corpus, his influence on Kurds<br />
everywhere is undeniable. Kurds in the Badinan area of Iraq are still able to understand<br />
much of his poetry.<br />
Many people helped me in the initial selection process to assemble a body of<br />
poems to represent Northern Kurdish poetry. After getting many of the poems translated,<br />
I was able to form the group of poems that would become the corpus for this paper. Reşîd<br />
Findî, vice-president of the Kurdish Academy in Erbil and one of the chief editors of<br />
Nalbend’s entire collection of poems, chose a poem from each of the five main themes<br />
Nalbend wrote in. Cegerxwîn’s poems were selected by Haval Zaxoyî, one of the chief<br />
editors of a large collection of Cegerxwîn’s poetry. Sindî selected poems of various<br />
themes from his recent publication, a collection of all of his poems. Teyb also chose<br />
poems from one of his publications. Quçan and Dalyayê chose poems from their<br />
publications and I received Silêman’s and Xalaf’s poems through direct correspondence.<br />
Lastly, Şamal Akrayî, a journalist and translator, as well as Director of Akray Radio,<br />
chose a poem by Silêvanî, and supplied me with his translation of the poem.<br />
5.2 The analysis<br />
The analysis that follows covers various aspects of linguistics on two levels:<br />
phonological and syntactic. Pragmatic functions are also discussed where applicable. This<br />
analysis is an empirical study and is, therefore, not exhaustive but consists of those<br />
aspects of the poems that I found to be most noteworthy. In § 5.3, I discuss the<br />
phonological level: verse forms, syllable count, and various rhyme positions. The content<br />
of § 5.4, the syntactic level, covers syntactic deviations concerning word order, ellipsis,
105<br />
and free variation, which concerns freedoms a poet may take in forming lines of poetry. I<br />
also discuss some constructional schemes, neologisms and shortened phrases.<br />
5.3 On the phonological level<br />
5.3.1 Verse Forms<br />
This section on verse forms covers the structures used by poets of verse poetry, as<br />
opposed to prose―or free verse―poetry, which does not use formal devices on the<br />
phonological level to the degree of verse poetry. I am thankful for Badirxan Sindî’s input<br />
on this topic which he supplied during our interview.<br />
5.3.1.1 Çuarkî, the Northern Kurdish quatrain<br />
The verse form that dominates the corpus is called the çuarkî, which means<br />
‘quatrain’ (Sindî 2011). It is in every way similar to the Persian form called ruba’i, 59<br />
which is an Arabic word meaning ‘foursome.’ A poem composed of multiple ruba’i is<br />
referred to by the plural, ruba’iyat. A traditional ruba’i consists of two lines of poetry,<br />
each consisting of two hemistiches (or half-lines). The rhyme scheme is AAXA, where<br />
the first line end rhymes with its own caesura (or center point), as well as the end of the<br />
second line (Avery and Heath-Stubbs 1981:9). I have also heard Kurdish poets refer to<br />
this form as çuar beyt, which literally means ‘four lines.’ In this study, all çuarkî poems,<br />
whether originally written as couplets or quatrains, will be discussed as quatrains.<br />
The rhyme schemes varied among authors. Of the Nalbend poems, the most<br />
common rhyme scheme was ABAB, CCCB, DDDB, etc. where in the first stanza the first<br />
and third lines rhyme and the second and fourth lines rhyme. Then in the stanzas that<br />
follow the first through third lines rhyme with one another and the last line rhymes with<br />
59 According to Avery and Heath-Stubbs (1981:11), the origin of the ruba’i is potentially not from Arabs<br />
but from Turco-Central Asia. The constraints with which we are familiar, though, are purely Persian. For<br />
information on the origin of the ruba’i, I refer the reader to the introduction in The Ruba’iyat of Omar<br />
Khayyam by Peter Avery and John Heath-Stubbs, 1981.
106<br />
the second and fourth lines of the first stanza. Cegerxwîn used the same scheme in<br />
writing Dilê Cegerxwîn, ‘Cegerxwîn’s Heart.’ 60 Examples (131) and (132) show portions<br />
from both authors, (131) by Nalbend and (132) by Cegerxwîn. The full texts with English<br />
translations may be viewed in Appendix A.<br />
(131) duhî spêdê li ser banî (AN1:1-12)<br />
me dît canek ji xew rabû<br />
ji mal derket derê xanî<br />
me texmîn kir Zuleyxa bû<br />
zuleyxa bu sîfet hûrî<br />
wekî tîrê ji merra bûrî<br />
çû ser avê lirexê jûrî<br />
wekî rrojê limin ava bû<br />
dema zivrî ji ser avê<br />
me dît lêda ji nû tavê<br />
miqabil çûme hindavê<br />
qere puşî girê dabû<br />
(132) agir bi Kurdistanê ket (CX1:1-6)<br />
lewra haware dil;<br />
sed baẍ u sed bistanî ket<br />
manendî bilbil jare dil<br />
pêtek ji Kurdistanê hat,<br />
mêalik u cergê min dipat;<br />
aman welat, aman welat,<br />
bawer bikin xwînxware dil<br />
bawer bikin eî yarê min,<br />
heval u hem guhdarê min;<br />
her gav u her êvarê min,<br />
naxoş u hem bêzare dil<br />
Another rhyme scheme used by Nalbend for consecutive stanzas was AAXA,<br />
XAXA, etc. In this scheme the first, second and fourth lines of the first stanza rhyme and<br />
the third line is free from rhyme. In the stanzas that follow, the first and third lines are<br />
60 Each quatrain of Dilê Cegerxwîn is written as du beyt, ‘two lines’ of poetry, a couplet, with rhymes also<br />
at each caesura, the midpoint in each line. This is the traditional form for the ruba’i mentioned by<br />
Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1981). Nalbend’s Ey Malikê Vê ‘Alemê is also written in the ruba’iyat form.
107<br />
free from rhyming and the second and fourth lines rhyme with the rhymed lines in the<br />
first stanza. Example (133) shows the first two quatrains of Kiçkek Me Divêt, ‘We Want<br />
A Girl.’<br />
(133) kiçkek me divêt ji nû gehiştî (AN5:1-8)<br />
ya ji dêm u rûya xunav ne riştî<br />
wextê ji derî bihême xanî<br />
rrabît me ax u biket ve piştî<br />
gava ko bidet me têşt u şîva<br />
bêjît me kuro hilo vî tişt u miştî<br />
rengê xu bidem wekî gula geş<br />
me’na ku were bi xu vî tiştî<br />
Badirxan Sindî used a rhyme scheme of AAAB, CCCB, DDDB, etc. in Mîrê<br />
Peyvan, ‘The Prince of Words.’ For writing Bila..Bila, ‘OK..OK,’ Sindî used the scheme<br />
AAXA, BBXB, etc. Below are small sections from each poem.<br />
(134) erê sîlav çima evro melwîl u hişk u zuhayî? (BS7:1-8)<br />
kelê boçî tu bê deng u negeşdar u verêlhayî?<br />
çira dil tu wesa evro ji kakal ra yê arhayî?<br />
gutin yaro bê kew rabu sefer kêşa u zavaye<br />
te da rê eî mîrê peyvan bê saz u maz li pêş te biçin<br />
şagirdên te heqe çûban bi mewkin ew cilil reş bin<br />
heta peyvên te jî seyda li vê ş’rê da jî geş bin<br />
ẍerîbê vê jîlnê bu şeva mirnê jî humaye<br />
(135) bila .. bila çi bêjit (BS3:1-8)<br />
bila dilê min bihêlit<br />
dustê mine bi evînî<br />
xudê bu min bihêlit<br />
sal bu salê di burînim<br />
rundika ez lê di werînim<br />
xudê dustê min kanê<br />
kengî ez dê wî bînim<br />
The final variation on quatrain rhyme schemes in the corpus is found in<br />
Cegerxwîn’s Silav Li Sifra Hazire, ‘Salute the Feast Is Ready.’ The first stanza is a<br />
traditional ABAB pattern, followed by quatrains of the form XXXB, in which the first<br />
through third lines are free and the fourth line rhymes with the B lines of the first
108<br />
quatrain. Only in the final quatrain do we again see rhyme in the first and third lines<br />
giving a rhyme scheme of CXCB.<br />
(136) ey sûxteyê bê nav u deng, (CX2:1-8)<br />
dijmin li ser balafire.<br />
pir leşker u top u tiveng;<br />
seîda ewe, ew mahire.<br />
sed salin ev zeîd u ‘emir,<br />
cenge dikel rîşa melê<br />
mertal di dest wan de bihuşt;<br />
gurzê di dest wan agire.<br />
seîdayê rast u ronîye,<br />
lewra cegerxwîn namîdar.<br />
zana dizanin ew kî ye,<br />
ên ker dibêjin kafire.<br />
………….<br />
(CX2:29-32)<br />
The examples above are representative of the quatrain rhyme schemes found in<br />
this corpus. As this is such a small sampling of the çuarkî poetry, with more research one<br />
might encounter other rhyme schemes. For example, Turco mentions an interlocking<br />
ruba’iyat that is common in Arabic and Persian poetry. This chain verse has a rhyme<br />
scheme of AABA, BBCB, CCDC, ending with ZZAZ, where the third line of the final<br />
quatrain circles back to the rhyme in the initial quatrain (Turco 2000:245). Considering<br />
the influence of Persian and Arabic poets on Kurdish poets, it would not be surprising to<br />
find interlocking çuarkî poems within the body Kurdish poetry.<br />
The çuarkî schemes found in the corpus are summarized in Table 17.
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Table 17. Poems using çuarkî forms<br />
Poem<br />
AN1<br />
AN2<br />
AN3<br />
AN4<br />
AN5<br />
BS3<br />
CX1<br />
CX2<br />
BS7<br />
Rhyme scheme<br />
ABAB, CCCB, DDDB,…<br />
ABAB, CCCB, DDDB,…<br />
ABAB, CCCB, DDDB,…<br />
ABAB, CCCB, DDDB,…<br />
AABA, XAXA,…<br />
AAXA, BBXB,…<br />
ABAB, CCCB, DDDB,…<br />
ABAB, XXXB,…<br />
CXCB# 61<br />
AAAB, CCCB, DDDB,…<br />
5.3.1.2 Methnawî – the Northern Kurdish couplet<br />
Methnawî is an Arabic word used to describe poetry written in rhymed couplets<br />
(Sindî 2010). Some poets use the Persian form of the word, masnavî, as Kurdish does not<br />
have a letter for the Arabic voiceless, interdental fricative ‘th,’ as in the English word<br />
‘thing.’ Another difference is that among Northern Kurdish and related languages, the<br />
letters v and w, and even m, are used in alike words. For example, in Northern Kurdish,<br />
the word for ‘summer’ is havîn. In Central Kurdish (commonly called Soranî), the word<br />
is hawîn. In at least some Hawramî dialects (Southern Kurdish), ‘summer’ is hamîn.<br />
Some Northern Kurdish speakers also use the term du beyt for methnawî, which means<br />
‘two lines.’ However, I have observed that the Arabic and Persian terms are more<br />
prevalent.<br />
While I understand methnawî to be a popular verse form among Northern Kurdish<br />
poets, the corpus contains only two poems in this form, both by the same author. One<br />
such poem, Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’<br />
61 ‘#’ denotes the end of the poem.
110<br />
contains 23 couplets. The following are lines 27 through 32 of that poem, illustrating the<br />
rhyme scheme of AA, BB, CC, etc.<br />
(137) dilber u aşiq her êkin lê belê rengê mecaz (BS1:27-32)<br />
car bi caran bi îcazet hin li hin dê kin cîaz<br />
pir evîna mililetê me êke gel zatê melê<br />
ew di dil da nîşte cê ye lê belê çavê me lê<br />
zahir u batin êk kese dişir’eta ‘şqa zelal<br />
ew u Kurdînî êk kesin çi kemal bin çi zewal<br />
The other methnawî poem, Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’<br />
is composed of 24 couplets. Below are the last six lines of the poem.<br />
(138) nabitin bu me tewafa ew cihê lê Mem u Zîn (BS4:43-48)<br />
nabitin evro biburîn ji tuxîbê Xanîqîn<br />
nabitin biçim nik Xanî bu vekim dilê bixwîn<br />
nabitin biçim dêrsîmê bikelêşim dilê bievîn<br />
dergehê jîn u hîvîa girtîe dîsa çima?<br />
ma ji jîna kurte jîn bit ma ji ‘emrê me çi ma?<br />
Sindî informed me that there is a form of couplet poetry in which the poet writes<br />
the first line in Kurdish and the second line in Arabic or Persian. This form was popular<br />
during the time of Ahmed Cezîrî in the 16 th and 17 th centuries and has fallen out of favor.<br />
He knows of no one who presently writes in this form.<br />
5.3.1.3 Tercîa band<br />
Only one poem in the corpus was written in the tercîa band verse form. Sindî had<br />
the following to say about tercîa band:<br />
Tercîa means ‘repeating, to repeat something.’ It is an Arabic word.<br />
Band 62 means ‘to tie something’ and it is a Persian and Kurdish word.<br />
62 Regarding the word band, Sindî (2010) also had the following to say, “Band means sometimes ‘rope’ or<br />
‘belt.’ It means ‘arrested man.’ Sometimes it means ‘slave’; sometimes it means ‘a man who is always<br />
related to some other man.’ That is why in Bahdînî, we say ez banî. It means ‘I am in your band; I am your<br />
servant; I am your slave, you are my lord.’’
111<br />
Tercîa band means when you have to repeat something and to fasten the<br />
last word to complete the whole line (Sindî 2011).<br />
Sindî’s Nehat, ‘It Did Not Come,’ consists of 16 lines all ending with the sound<br />
sequence za min nehat. The following are the first six lines of the poem.<br />
(139) Dîl u êxsîrî ji gelî bun―ser feraza min nehat. (BS5:1-6)<br />
Mam di’îşiqa wê şepalê―sil u zîza min nehat.<br />
Çav dinêrim ez bibînim―xuş ‘ezîza min nehat.<br />
Guh min da awaz u lavçan―dengê saza min nehat.<br />
Ez ji ke’bê ra mirîdim―hec u ferza min nehat.<br />
Cejne u sunete aştî―pir ‘aciza min nehat.<br />
This is the only tercîa band in Badirxan Sindî’s book and I am unaware of any Kurdish<br />
poets other than Ahmed Cezîrî and Ahmed Xanî (Shakely 1996:337) who have written in<br />
this form. Two popular forms with which tercîa band may be compared are the French<br />
villanelle and the American terzanelle. Like the tercîa band form, these forms utilize<br />
refrains. For details on these forms, see Turco (2000: 273-5, 282-5).<br />
5.3.1.4 Innovative form for rhymed verse<br />
Cegerxwîn’s poem Silav Li Sifra Hazire, ‘Salute the Feast Is Ready,’ discussed<br />
above as example (136), may very well be considered an unorthodox verse form, with its<br />
many lines of rhyme-free endings. However, one of the verse poems in the corpus is even<br />
more unusual and may best be considered a sonnet. Sindî’s Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da,<br />
‘A Walk Through Kurdistan,’ is made up of five stanzas, each having 14 lines with a<br />
rhyme scheme that can generally be described as AABBCCDDEEFFFZ. The lines rhyme<br />
by couplet through to the ninth and tenth lines. Then there is a rhymed triplet composed<br />
of the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth lines. Finally, the fourteenth lines of each stanza<br />
rhyme with each other, with the exception of line 14 of the third stanza which rhymes<br />
with its own B lines.<br />
While this generally sums up the rhyme scheme, the denser rhyme schemes<br />
actually used in the poem are better seen by way of Table 18 which presents all five<br />
stanzas and illustrates the interplay of rhymes across the couplet boundaries. I have
112<br />
chosen to present each stanza individually so as to make comparison easy; any<br />
interlocking rhymes that might exist between stanzas are not presented.<br />
Note that there is no variation at all in the first three couplets, which are always<br />
AA, BB, CC. After these, there is repetition of at least one of the couplet rhyme schemes<br />
in either the third (stanza 2), fourth (stanza 1 and 4), or the fifth (stanza 3) couplet. The<br />
M-dash (―) signifies a volta, a semantic shift that coincides with a change in the rhyme<br />
pattern. 63 At each volta shift in Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da, ‘A Walk Through<br />
Kurdistan,’ the person or thing to which the poet has spoken begins his, her or its reply,<br />
which continues through line 14. In stanzas 1 and 4, the volta occurs with line 11; in the<br />
other stanzas it occurs with line 9.<br />
Table 18. Rhyme scheme of stanzas in BS2<br />
Stanza Rhyme scheme<br />
1 AABBCC--DDD'D'—EEEZ<br />
2 AABBCC--C'C'—DDD'D'D'Z<br />
3 AABBCC--DD—EEE'E'E'B<br />
4 AABBCC--DDD'D'—EEEZ<br />
5 AABBCC--B'B'—C'C'C''C''C''Z<br />
The rhyme scheme in stanza 5 is the most concentrated. Two couplets have B-<br />
rhymes and two couplets and the triplet having C-rhymes, which all combined give the<br />
poem a robust ending. It is not surprising to see such an innovative form―uncommon to<br />
Northern Kurdish poetry―among Sindî’s work, as he was among the first of the<br />
Northern Kurdish poets in Iraq to write free verse poetry.<br />
63 Boerger says the following concerning sonnets and the volta: “The standard sonnet is composed of<br />
fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, in which a semantic shift generally occurs at the same point as there is<br />
a shift in the rhyme scheme (Turco 2000:263-264). The point of shift is called the volta” (Boerger<br />
2009:243). For details on traditional sonnet forms, see Boerger’s text.
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5.3.2 Line syllable count<br />
The shortest syllable count per line in the corpus is seven, and occurred in three<br />
poems. The longest is sixteen syllables per line and concurs with what Sindî said during<br />
our interview about length of lines, “It starts with six or seven...16 is the top.” Table 19<br />
shows a list of the 14 poems, in the corpus of 26 poems, that were written with a<br />
regimented syllable count.<br />
Table 19. Actual or average syllable counts.<br />
Poem Syllable Count<br />
AN1 8<br />
AN2 7<br />
AN3 8<br />
AN4 11<br />
AN5 10<br />
BS1 15<br />
BS2 7<br />
BS3 7<br />
BS4 15<br />
BS5 15<br />
BS7 16<br />
CX1 8<br />
CX2 8<br />
CX3 14<br />
In some instances the count seems to be inconsistent, especially in some of<br />
Nalbend’s poems. However, an analyst should be careful when making conclusive<br />
statements based on an etic perspective. In some situations sounds may meld when<br />
spoken, producing elisions of sound, shortening the syllabic count by reading a poem<br />
aloud. This is illustrated in some of the examples in the discussion that follows. The<br />
degree to which such elisions can be ascertained via the written form reveals that poets<br />
who write syllabic verse are primarily concerned with how the poem will sound when it
114<br />
is spoken or performed. The way syllables are counted seems to be influenced by<br />
poetry’s oral tradition. This particular topic needs much more direct input from poets incountry,<br />
as only they can explain how they determine syllable counts. A complete<br />
analysis of poetic meter was therefore not possible, in large part due to a lack of<br />
performed poetry.<br />
The most common elision of sound occurs when the weak vowel i is excluded<br />
from pronunciation. In fact, with few words beginning with i, some may argue for its<br />
nonexistence in the language. The modified Arabic script of Northern Kurdish does not<br />
even include a letter representing i. Thackston (2006:5) uses the term furtive to describe<br />
the appearance and disappearance of this vowel in the language. He writes,<br />
Kurdish does not tolerate all final consonant clusters. When an intolerable<br />
final consonant cluster appears, it is broken by the vowel i, called the<br />
‘furtive i,’ which disappears when a vowel-initial enclitic or suffix is<br />
added to the word (Thackston 2006:5).<br />
However, it is not just in final consonant clusters that the i vowel is excluded in<br />
spoken Northern Kurdish. For example, the word for ‘want,’ with the continuous aspect<br />
marker di-, often loses the short i when the d can elide with a previous CV syllable to<br />
form a CVC syllable. Such seems to be the case in line 28 of Nalbend’s poem, Ey Ze’îmê<br />
Bê Nivêjê Bê Werar, ‘O Leader Without Prayer and Use,’ shown in (140). Here the first<br />
end rhyme, mezin, completes the first eight syllables of the line, a hemistich, as in in<br />
mezin rhymes with min and jin in the previous line. At the beginning of line 28, me joins<br />
with divêt to sound like me͡ d.vêt. While the i is still written when using the Latin script, it<br />
is not pronounced. If it was pronounced, the number of syllables from me to mezin would<br />
be nine, inconsistent with the eight-syllable line length throughout the poem. For a<br />
breakdown of the syllables in the first hemistich in line 28, see example (141).
115<br />
(140) xwozîya kesê guh daye min şêx u melaw mêr u jin 64 (AN3:27, 28)<br />
me divêt bu wan faîdê mezin lew min dewam gazindeye<br />
(141) me͡ d(i).vêt bu wan fa͡ î.dê mez.in<br />
In another poem, Mîrê Peyvan, ‘The Prince of Words,’ by Sindî, the word biçin,<br />
at the end of the 5th line, joins with the previous word te, shortening the apparent 17-<br />
syllable count by one, as shown in (142). Hence, the poet has taken the performance of<br />
the poem into account while forming his 16-syllable count lines.<br />
(142) te da rê ey mîrê peyvan bê saz u maz li pêş te biçin (BS7:5)<br />
te da rê ey mî.rê pey.van bê saz u maz li pêş te͡ b.(i)çin<br />
In truth, when speakers of the Bahdini subdialect say te biçin, it sounds more like tep çin.<br />
The b sounds more like a p, taking on the minus voice distinctive feature of the letter ç.<br />
Lastly, as Thackston states, the i can disappear at the end of a word when a<br />
vowel-initial enclitic or suffix is added. In line 11 of Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door<br />
of Life and Hopes,’ shown in (143), the verb ketin usually has two syllables. However,<br />
because of the e directional enclitic, the word ke.tin, having a CV.CVC structure, is<br />
pronounced ket.ne. The t becomes the coda of the first syllable, now CVC, and the n<br />
becomes the onset of the second syllable, ne, a CV syllable. The syllabic breakdown is<br />
shown in the second line of the example. If the i is pronounced, the syllable count for the<br />
line would exceed the poem’s syllable count of 15.<br />
(143) canîkên kumêda revîn ketine nav çul u çîan (BS4:11)<br />
ca-nîk-ên ku-mêd-a re-vîn ket-(i).ne nav çul u çî-an<br />
These elisions of the i vowel may be represented by the rule in (144). Concerning<br />
the consonants that are marked in the {} brackets, one or the other is required. The<br />
consonants in parentheses are optional. To see how the rule works, I have provided two<br />
examples. In (145) the word befir has two syllables. When befir is in the oblique case, the<br />
feminine oblique marker, -ê, is added and the i elides. The resulting word is bef.rê. In this<br />
64 While this line contains 16-syllables, the syllable min, which rhymes with jin and mezin, happens to<br />
occur on the 9 th syllable, not the 8 th , where it is to be expected. It seems that Nalbend was content with this<br />
deviation in syllable count.
116<br />
instance, the r went from being the coda on the second syllable to being its onset. In<br />
(146) the imperfective affix di- is added to the word vêt. This word is preceded by the<br />
pronoun me, 1O, giving us me divêt. In this instance, the i vowel is in the affix, not the<br />
word stem. Following the rule, the i elides. However, this time the orphan consonant,<br />
which had functioned as an onset, is join phonologically to the open syllable me to<br />
function as its coda.<br />
(144) (C) V C i {C} + {C} V (C) (C) V C {C} + {C} V (C)<br />
(145) b e . f i r + ê b e f . r + ê<br />
(146) m e d i . v ê t m e͡ d . + v ê t<br />
Example (147) illustrates that the rule in (144) applies even when the i vowel is<br />
not in an aspect affix. The i in the preposition ji elides and the j becomes the coda for the<br />
syllable rêj. However, in (148) the desired 16-syllable count can only be reached if the b<br />
in bi does not syllabify with the diphthong in buî. Perhaps, though, the presence of the<br />
diphthong does not provide the environment required by the rule above for elision and<br />
syllabification. A thorough exploration of this subject is beyond the scope of this study. It<br />
requires an emic view from the poets and recorded texts for comparing with written texts.<br />
(147) wekî tîrê ji merra bûrî (AN1:6)<br />
we.kî tî.rê͡ j(i) me.rra bû.rî<br />
(148) ji turî ra tu dergeh buî bi suzî xuş zêrevanî (BS7:15)<br />
ji tu.rî ra tu der.geh bu͡ î bi su.zî xuş zê.re.va.nî<br />
In BS7, there may be some evidence that a poet may actually have some liberty<br />
insofar as applying the rule in (144). In the last line of the poem, the di aspect marker on<br />
disujit must be counted to reach the syllable count of 16, even though lewra, a word<br />
ending in a vowel, precedes it. In this line there is no other way to reach 16 syllables<br />
except to consider di a syllable by itself.<br />
(149) gelê lewra disujit dil ku cih kew evro valaye (BS7:24)<br />
ge.lê lew.ra di.su.jit dil ku cih kew ev.ro va.la.ye<br />
Lastly, one other potential environment for the elision of the i vowel is the<br />
syllabification of two consonants. In line 10 of Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories
117<br />
of Immortal Barzanî,’ the preposition ji must syllabify with the word that follows it,<br />
mezar, in order to reach the syllable count for the poem, 15. This elision of i and<br />
syllabification of the orphaned consonant would require an additional rule, which could<br />
be established with more proof and research with recorded texts. I am basing my<br />
conjecture here on personal experience. For example, when the term ji mêja, ‘from time<br />
past,’ is used in Northern Iraq, it is uttered as if it consists of only two syllables, ͡ j mê.ja,<br />
as if j and mê are syllabified into one syllable.<br />
(150) me du’a bu şev u rujan ji mezar u Înis u cin (BS1:10)<br />
me du.’a bu şev u ru.jan ji me.zar u Î.nis u cin<br />
Another situation where sounds can change and affect the syllable count is when a<br />
vowel becomes a glide. The Latin graphemes î, a vowel, and y, a glide, are represented by<br />
the same grapheme in Kurdish script, which is written as ي or .ي The former is written<br />
ي when the sound is word-final, which would only be a vowel. Hence, it is the grapheme<br />
that represents either a vowel or a glide. When transcribing to a Latin script, one has to<br />
make a decision whether to use î or y.<br />
One example is the word sufyên in line 17 of Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir,<br />
‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî.’ The syllable count for the line is 15 and can only be<br />
reached if sufî, when combined with the plural ezafe conjunctive particle -ên, counts as<br />
only two syllables. Here the i must become a glide. The word would then consist of two<br />
CVC syllables, suf and yên. The glide acts as the consonantal onset for the second syllable.<br />
(151) mililetê Kurd pir wefaye sufyên destên tene (BS1:17)<br />
mi.li.le.tê Kurd pir we.fa.ye suf.yên des.tên te.ne<br />
In (152) two things must happen to reach a syllable count of 7. First, the initial i<br />
in dikirin must elide according to the rule in (144); the d becomes the coda for the<br />
syllable pê, giving us pê͡ d(i).ki.rin. Second, the word yarîa, which consists of the word<br />
yarî and a femine ezafe particle, -a, must be pronounced as two syllables: yar.ya. Hence,<br />
an i changes to a y even though the resulting syllable is CV, not CVC.
118<br />
(152) pê dikirin yarya bîka (BS2:32)<br />
pê͡ d(i).ki.rin yar.ya bî.ka<br />
The phonological occurrence in these last two examples may be represented by<br />
the following rule, with sounds represented using the Northern Kurdish orthography.<br />
Potentially, the initial consonant in this rule is optional; however, at the writing of this<br />
study, I did not have an example to support this notion.<br />
(153) î y / C V C __ V (C)<br />
The example in (154) may be evidence that the rule in (153) is optional for the<br />
poet. In line 1 of Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’ the î in the<br />
words hîvîa and girtîe must be pronounced as a vowel in order to reach the syllable count<br />
of 15. Each word must be pronounced as having three syllables. Hîvîa consists of the<br />
word hîvî and the feminine ezafe particle -a. Girtîe consists of the word girtî and the<br />
present tense 3SG copula e.<br />
(154) dergehê jîn u hîvîa girtîe dîsa çima (BS4:1)<br />
der.ge.hê jîn u hî.vî.a gir.tî.e dî.sa çi.ma<br />
With all this evidence, one thing is clear. Poets sometimes consider performance<br />
when forming lines of poetry. There may certainly be other phonological rules that poets<br />
are abiding by when forming lines of poetry. My discussion here is from a purely etic<br />
view. Poets of Neo-classical poetry should be consulted before making clear<br />
determinations about the distinct system they follow when counting syllables.<br />
5.3.3 Rhyme<br />
Rhyme is a defining feature of both Classical and Neo-classical poetry in<br />
Northern Kurdish. In the following sections, I discuss various end rhymes, including<br />
head, internal and interlaced rhyme, feature rhyme, and what I am calling multisyllabic<br />
rhyming sequence.<br />
5.3.3.1 End rhyme<br />
The most common position for rhyme in the corpus is end rhyme. While end<br />
rhyme is a dominant feature of Classical and Neo-classical Northern Kurdish poetry, two
119<br />
of the prose poems in the corpus also exhibit this feature. These are Mu’eyed Teyb’s<br />
Firekê Baî , ‘A Sip of Wind,’ and Şaban Silêman’s Gutgutik, ‘Rumors.’<br />
5.3.3.1.1 True rhyme<br />
The most basic rhyme is called true rhyme, which according to Turco (2000:49)<br />
-׳o) “has to do with identical sound, in two or more words, of an accented vowel sound<br />
(׳ow-׳oa together with all sounds following that vowel (o׳ne-oa׳n-ow׳n), while the<br />
consonant sounds immediately preceding the vowel differ in each word (bo׳ne-loa׳ngrow׳n).”<br />
In the following lines from Nalbend’s Xoşe Wekî Cenetê, ˈIt’s Wonderful Like<br />
Heaven,’ the first, second, and third lines of each stanza exhibit true rhyme in each line’s<br />
final syllable. For example, in lines 9 through 11, shown in (155), the second syllables of<br />
the words bihar and hizar rhyme with bar. The fourth lines of all the stanzas in this poem<br />
rhyme with one another, exhibiting end rhyme focused on a single syllable. In lines 13,<br />
17 and 20, also shown, şîn rhymes with the final syllables of nazenîn and şirîn.<br />
(155) tazeye lê xoş bihar (AN2:9-20)<br />
aẍ u rez u daru bar<br />
cinsê kulîlka hizar<br />
gav u dema sûr u şîn<br />
zwîr u girî bin tiraş<br />
yaze letîf xuş u baş<br />
libsê çîyayî qumaş<br />
dil vekere nazenîn<br />
kêrî şîv u nihal<br />
sergir u rêhel wirwal<br />
kehnî avin zelal<br />
sar u sivik tam şirîn<br />
True end rhymes focused on a single syllable were prominent in the following texts:<br />
CX1, CX3, BS7, MT3, AN1, AN2, AN3, AN4, BS1, BS2, BS4 and SS1.<br />
5.3.3.1.2 Multisyllabic rhyme<br />
Disyllabic true end rhyme was the most common multisyllabic rhyme in the<br />
corpus. Such a rhyme may occur between individual words or may cross word
120<br />
boundaries. 65 Disyllabic true end rhyme was also more prevalent than true end rhyme<br />
focused on a single syllable. The following couplets from Sindî’s Dergehê Jîn u Hîvî Ya,<br />
‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’ exhibit disyllabic true end rhymes. In (156) lewa rhymes<br />
with xewa and eve rhymes with şeve.<br />
(156) ew çirayên mililetîne şewiq vedan bu me lewa (BS4:29, 30)<br />
bilbilên şermin dixuînin Kurdu dê rabe ji xewa<br />
zana u nezan her êkin Kurdînu nabit eve (BS4:33, 34)<br />
lew ji êşa em dinalîn her li me dunya şeve<br />
The corpus also contains many examples of multisyllabic end rhyme where<br />
rhymes cross word boundaries. These examples are discussed in § 5.3.3.1.4 on mosaic<br />
rhyme. In some instances, there is identical rhyme, where a word is repeated in the<br />
rhymed sentence. 66 In the discussion that follows, examples (157) through (159) exhibit<br />
this type of rhyme.<br />
Multisyllabic rhyme was the most common type of rhyme in Dilê Cegerxwîn,<br />
‘Cegerxwîn’s Heart.’ In the example that follows, the rhymes consist of three syllables<br />
that cross word boundaries. Such a rhyme is said to have a compound ending. The<br />
repetition of the word min in lines 5 and 6, the word ew in lines 7 and 8, and the word dil<br />
at the end of lines 6 and 8, are identical rhymes contributing to the compound endings.<br />
Yarê min, guhdarê min and êvarê min rhyme the final three syllables, as do naxoşe ew,<br />
poşe ew and seîdoşe ew. Bêzare dil, at the end of line 6, rhymes with kerare dil at the end<br />
of line 8. Note here that the consonantal onsets of the first syllables of the rhymed<br />
65 See § 5.3.3.1.4 on mosaic rhyme.<br />
66 Turco (2003:53) defines identical rhyme as having “identity of sound in the consonants immediately<br />
preceding the accented vowel as well as in the following sounds (cyʹst, persiʹst, insiʹst).” For this paper I<br />
have opted for Adams’ (1997:199) looser definition that does not consider accent. He identifies identical<br />
rhyme as simply, “a word rhymes with itself,” which is basically the repetition of a word. He uses an<br />
example from Emily Dickenson’s “Because I Could not Stop for Death” where the end of line 2 and line 4<br />
in a quatrain is the same word, “ground.”
121<br />
sequences are different and thereby fulfill the definition of true rhyme. The repeated<br />
words min and ew in the rhymed sequence are examples of identical rhyme.<br />
(157) Bawer bikin eî yarê min, heval u hem guhdarê min; (CX1:5-8)<br />
Her gav u her êvarê min, naxoş u hem bêzare dil.<br />
Bêzar u pir naxoşe ew, kincên sîyeh – gûn – poşe ew,<br />
Geh sîne geh seîdoşe ew, geh heîderê kerare dil.<br />
Multisyllabic rhyme was also commonly used by Sindî. The following examples<br />
from Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ show two-syllable,<br />
three-syllable and four-syllable compound rhymes, respectively. They illustrate both<br />
identical rhyme and true rhyme.<br />
(158) êş u derdên mililetê Kurd wî ji hîngê kirne ders (BS1:41, 42)<br />
sehirezayî u ‘eqil u curet ew mukim lê bune ders<br />
suz u peyman em didinte gel teda u ala weda (BS1:45, 46)<br />
em bimînîn bête senger meşxelên roka weda<br />
mililetê Kurd pir wefaye sufyên destên tene (BS1:17, 18)<br />
ruh ji êşan pir semaye ‘aşiq u mestên tene<br />
Sindî also used four-syllable, identical, compound rhymes in every line of his tercîa<br />
band, Nehat, ‘It Did Not Come,’ provided in full below.<br />
(159) dîl u êxsîrî ji gelî bun ser feraza min nehat (BS5)<br />
mam di’îşiqa wê şepalê sil u zîza min nehat<br />
çav dinêrim ez bibînim xuş ‘ezîza min nehat<br />
guh min da awaz u lavçan dengê saza min nehat<br />
ez ji ke’bê ra mirîdim hec u ferza min nehat<br />
cejne u sunete aştî pir ‘aciza min nehat<br />
şivanê deşt u zuzanim berxe nazamin nehat<br />
dawet u şahîan veqetîan can witaza min nehat<br />
têhnî u tav u tehireye siha gwîza min nehat<br />
çend mekir hawar u yeman kes bu duza min nehat<br />
kî wekî me mubitalye kes li rêza min nehat<br />
mam li nêçîrê ji mêje şah u baza min nehat<br />
‘ud u sentur bistirîne xuş awaza min nehat<br />
min bi jehira wê qebîle maru gaza min nehat<br />
ez bi ḧukimê mirnê dayme (neqiza) qeza min nehat<br />
derfeye hakim bibînim roja heza min nehat
122<br />
5.3.3.1.3 Multisyllabic rhyming sequence<br />
Some sequences of syllables exhibit what I am calling multisyllabic rhyming<br />
sequence. In such instances, more than one syllable is rhymed. True rhyme, as defined by<br />
Turco above, occurs when two or more onsets vary while everything after the onsets<br />
remains the same. In a multisyllabic rhyming sequence, more than one syllable in the<br />
rhymed lines has varying onsets. This is best understood by means of an example. The<br />
lines in (160), from Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal<br />
Barzanî,’ exhibit a representative example of a multisyllabic rhyming sequence. The<br />
sounds entering the rhyming sequence are in italics. First, the penultimate syllables of ru<br />
and su rhyme according to Turco’s definition of true rhyme. The final syllables of the<br />
lines, jin and cin, also exhibit true rhyme. Potentially, the poet has carefully chosen these<br />
words here to capitalize on the phonetic similarity between the sounds j and c. Both<br />
consonants are voiced. One slight difference is that j is post-alveolar and c is palatal. The<br />
other difference is that j is a fricative and c is an affricate. (Refer to § 5.3.3.1.5 for<br />
information on articulatory features.)<br />
(160) ayeta Kursî ji berkir me―ciḧêl u pîr u jin (BS1:9, 10)<br />
me du’a bu şev u rujan ji mezar u Înis u cin<br />
Another multisyllabic rhyming sequence in the same poem consists of gelî bûn<br />
and girî bun, shown in example (161). The vowels e and i that follow g are relatively<br />
close to one another, exhibiting vowel feature rhyme, which I discuss in § 5.3.3.1.5.2. In<br />
the following syllables, lî and rî, also rhyme. The consonantal onsets l and r are similar in<br />
that both are voiced and alveolar. The only difference is that the first is a lateral<br />
approximate while the second is a flap. This example is a more complex multisyllabic<br />
rhyming sequence. While the consonantal onsets in these and the following examples do<br />
not qualify as consonant feature rhyme (see § 5.3.3.1.5.1), as the sound similarities are the<br />
onsets―not the codas―the word choices do seem intentional on part of the poet,<br />
exhibiting poetic artistry. Also italizicized are the final four syllables in each line. These<br />
too demonstrate multisyllabic rhyming sequence where each syllable rhymes or comes<br />
close to rhyming.
123<br />
(161) şînyî u tazî ji gelî bûn 67 çep u rast u jor u jêr (BS1:15, 16)<br />
şev u roj xelkî girî bun kal u genc u jin u mêr<br />
The longest example of a multisyllabic rhyming sequence consists of the last five<br />
syllables in lines 6 and 7 of Silêman’s Gutgutik, ‘Rumors,’ shown in (162). The onsets<br />
for the first, second and fourth syllables, shown in italics, differ while the vowels remain<br />
consistent.<br />
(162) Hindek yê ji keyfa pê firî (SS1:6, 7)<br />
Hindek yê ji qehra pê mirî<br />
Table 20 lists some other multisyllabic rhyming sequences in the corpus.<br />
5.3.3.1.4 Mosaic rhyme<br />
Table 20. Additional instances of multisyllabic rhyming sequence.<br />
AN3 15, 16 mirîn, şirîn biçîn<br />
BS4 17, 18 -ê barê xubim -zê malê xubim<br />
BS4 27, 28 ew çar bira ew çarçira<br />
SS1 9, 11 -hêzin -bêjin<br />
SS1 16, 17 gurî xwelî 68<br />
Mosaic rhyme is when one rhyme is compound and the other normal (Turco<br />
2000:53). This strategy was used by three of the four poets represented in the corpus who<br />
wrote verse poetry, as illustrated below, with both perfect and identical rhyme. In (163)<br />
rabû rhymes with Zuleyxa bû and derkir, ker kir, and anber kir rhyme with each other. In<br />
(164) çima rhymes with çi ma and in (165) memê bu rhymes with sîxwecê bu and rêbu.<br />
(163) me dît canek ji xew rabû (AN1:2, 4)<br />
me texmîn kir Zuleyxa bû<br />
67 The words bûn and bun (in line 16) are part of the rhyme. The spelling of this past tense copula varies<br />
throughout the poetry. Though one of these is likely a typographical error, I have left the spellings as found<br />
in the original text. My consultant advised me that bûn is the correct spelling of the word.<br />
68 The character و in the Kurdish script represents both w and u in the Latin script. Some dialects (perhaps<br />
only in certain words) pronounce the dipthong we as u. My opinion is that this is the rhyme intended by the<br />
poet, the accepted spelling of xwelî with the dialect pronunication of xulî.
124<br />
ji mêlaka me xûn derkir<br />
ewê dil bir ceger ker kir<br />
miqabil me xûn liber anber kir<br />
(AN1:29-31)<br />
(164) dergehê jîn u hîvîa giritîe dîsa çima (BS4:1, 2)<br />
ma ji jîna kurte jîn bit ma ji ‘emrê me çi ma<br />
(165) mirîdê vîna zînê bu nesaxê derdê memê bu (BS7:21-23)<br />
rundika tac u stîê bu fîẍana sîwxecê bu<br />
xuş vîê gav u mizê bu ‘evdal bu çav her li rêbu<br />
The nine other instances of mosaic rhyme may be viewed in AN1, AN3, BS1 and BS2 in<br />
Appendix A.<br />
5.3.3.1.5 Sound play<br />
As we have seen in true rhyme, rhymed syllables differ only in the onset of the<br />
rhymed sequence. Feature rhyme, on the other hand, as defined by Zwicky (1986:68),<br />
occurs when codas of two rhyming sequences minimally differ from one another by way<br />
of their phonological features. For example, in his paper on rhyme in rock lyrics, Zwicky<br />
(1976:677) says that the final sounds in the words “stop” and “rock” are consonants that<br />
minimally differ. In this instance, both sounds are plosives and voiceless; the only feature<br />
that is different is the place of articulation. For consonant features, refer to Table 21<br />
below. This chart is arranged according to standard phonetic charts. Where there are two<br />
graphemes in a box, the one on the left is unvoiced, the one of the right, voiced. In<br />
extreme cases of feature rhyme, the sounds may differ by two articulatory features.<br />
For vowel feature rhyme, Zwicky (1976:677) lists the example of “end” and<br />
“wind.” The vowels in these words are relatively close in articulation. For the discussion<br />
of vowel feature rhyme, see § 5.3.3.1.5.2.
125<br />
Table 21. Orthographic consonant chart<br />
Bilabial<br />
Labiodental<br />
Alveolar<br />
Postalveolar<br />
Palatal Velar Uvular<br />
Glotto-<br />
Pharyngeal<br />
Plosive p b t d k g q<br />
Nasal m n<br />
Trill rr 69<br />
Flap<br />
r<br />
Affricate<br />
ç c<br />
Fricative f v s z ş j x ẍ h ḧ ˈ<br />
Approximant w y<br />
Lateral<br />
approximant<br />
l<br />
5.3.3.1.5.1 Consonant feature rhyme<br />
Two poems in the corpus exhibit instances of consonant feature rhyme. In (166)<br />
the words hestî and destî exhibit true rhyme. The word geztî, however, does not. For the<br />
rhyme, Nalbend, the poet of these lines, is relying on the similarities between s and<br />
z―the codas of the first syllables of the rhymed sequences. Both consonants use the<br />
alveolar place of articulation and the same manner of articulation, fricative. The only<br />
difference is that s is unvoiced and z is voiced.<br />
(166) li min ḧelîan leş u hestî (AN1:45-47)<br />
me gut mare ezê geztî<br />
bi remza bazinêt destî<br />
The other instances of consonant feature rhyme occur in Nalbend’s Kiçkek Me<br />
Divêt, ‘We Want A Girl.’ After the initial quatrain, which has a rhyme scheme of AAXA,<br />
the poem follows a rhyme scheme of XAXA, rhyming every even numbered line. The<br />
disyllabic end rhymes follow the likes of mişti, tişti and ziştî, shown in (167). However,<br />
lines 16, 18, 22 and 28, shown in (168), depend on consonant feature rhyme in order to<br />
rhyme with the rest of the rhymed lines. In these instances, the sound j, the coda of the<br />
69 See § 4.2.2.
126<br />
penultimate syllable, is considered similar to ş in that both sounds are post-alveolar and<br />
fricative. The only difference, again, is the voicing. The consonant ş is unvoiced, while<br />
the consonant j is voiced. One word in (168), nekujtî, also differs in that the vowel u in<br />
the penultimate syllable is unlike the vowel i in the rest of the rhymed words. Potentially<br />
this can be considered vowel feature rhyme, which is discussed in § 5.3.3.1.5.2. Both<br />
vowels are near-close. However, u is a rounded, back vowel, while i is an unrounded,<br />
front vowel.<br />
(167) bêjît me kuro hilo vî tişt u miştî (AN5:6, 8, 10)<br />
me’na ku were bi xu vî tiştî<br />
wey, pa tu neyê kirêt u ziştî<br />
(168) me ji vî terefî dilê birijtî (AN5:16, 18, 22, 28)<br />
wey sed ëceb tu hêj nekujtî<br />
befira du şevî liser nihijtî<br />
’Işqa te ezim jiber buhijtî<br />
5.3.3.1.5.2 Vowel feature rhyme<br />
Vowel feature rhymes may not depend on only one feature difference but on how<br />
close the vowels are to each other, which may entail more than one feature difference.<br />
For the discussion that follows, I will refer to vowel features as shown in the Northern<br />
Kurdish vowel chart in Figure 2. This vowel chart is similar to the IPA vowel chart but<br />
contains the letters from the Northern Kurdish Latin script orthography. For ease of<br />
reference, I have included the IPA vowel chart as Figure 3.<br />
Vowels that are on the immediate left side of a line are unrounded, while those on<br />
the immediate right are rounded. The letter i is unrounded and the letter u is rounded.<br />
Also notice the oval showing the variability of the letter e. As discussed in Chapter 4, the<br />
sound for e varies from word to word, and, so it seems, from dialect to dialect. Opinions<br />
vary insofar as what is believed to be the medial or most common sound for the letter.<br />
The oval does not signify that the sounds for e are sometimes rounded. The sounds are<br />
always unrounded, or in the instance of the sound //, it is neither unrounded or rounded.<br />
In Figure 2, I have chosen to place the letter e in the position corresponding to the sound<br />
//, a medial position to the sounds of //, /ɛ/ and /æ/, which are the three symbols
127<br />
analysts have used to describe the sound of the letter e. The symbol // is also the sound<br />
which I personally believe to be the most commonly spoken sound for words containing<br />
the letter e, as spoken in the Badinan area of Northern Iraq.<br />
Close<br />
Near-close<br />
Front Central Back<br />
î<br />
i u<br />
Close-mid ê o<br />
û<br />
Open-mid<br />
e<br />
Open<br />
a<br />
Figure 2. Northern Kurdish vowel chart.<br />
Figure 3. IPA vowel chart.<br />
In Cegerxwîn’s poem Dînê Me Tête Zanîn, ‘Our Religion Is Becoming Known,’<br />
every even line number ends with either in or în. Example (169) shows two of these lines<br />
from the poem. The difference between vowels i and î is minimal. The letter î is a close,
128<br />
front vowel. The letter i is a near-close, near-front vowel. Both vowels are unrounded.<br />
Because of the proximity of both vowels, this rhyme may be considered a feature rhyme.<br />
(169) bê zar u xet u xwendin, li nav xelkê dewarin. (CX3:6, 8)<br />
her dem dikin mitala, daxwaz ji wan re havîn.<br />
There were four other vowel feature rhymes that were fairly close, all from<br />
different poems. In example (170), there is a rhyme between û and u in the words nebû,<br />
vebû and sebu. Both vowels are rounded. The letter û is a back, close vowel, while u is a<br />
near-back, near-close vowel. These vowels are basically the same distance from one<br />
another as the vowels in first example, i and î. In example (171), ê and î are a feature<br />
rhyme in the rhyme of Kurdistanê ket and bistanî ket. In this case î, at the end of bistanî,<br />
is a little more distant from ê at the end of Kurdistanê. However, both vowels have the<br />
features of being unrounded and front. The only difference is that ê is a close-mid vowel,<br />
while î is a close vowel. The feature rhyme also works due to it being in a four-syllable<br />
sequence.<br />
(170) ew bidestê xu bal qatil nebû (AN4:9-11)<br />
dergihê fitna ‘iraqê buyî vebû<br />
bu fesada ‘alemê nê ew sebu<br />
(171) agir bi Kurdistanê ket lewra haware dil; (CX1:1, 2)<br />
sed baẍ u sed bistanî ket manendî bilbil jare dil<br />
Slightly more distant from one another are the rhymes of e and i. The two<br />
instances where these feature rhymes were found are below in examples (172), where the<br />
rhymed words are serbu and girbu, and (173), where the rhymed words are alvina, ‘ena<br />
and mewtena. Both vowels are unrounded. The letter e is a front-to-central vowel and the<br />
letter i is a near-front vowel. Where they differ more is in closeness. The letter i is nearclose<br />
but e is between open-mid and near-open.<br />
(172) çi çaxek bu wî dest pê kir ku Kurdî hîngê bê serbu (BS7:10, 11)<br />
kewek bu lê neçu ravê ji kewgiran nekew girbu<br />
(173) ḧeqe ku ew dar u alvina ya bizeḧmeye u renc u ‘ena (AN3:13, 14)<br />
teşbîhî kepirêt mewtena jê barkirin şula meye<br />
Regarding example (173), one may consider that the rhyme is only one syllable,<br />
na. However, I have two reasons for considering this to be a feature rhyme. First, there
129<br />
are three lines and two of the three rhymes contain ena. Second, if one looks at all of the<br />
end rhymes in the poem Ey Malikê Vê ‘Alemê, ‘O Lord Of This World,’ one can see that<br />
Nalbend was intentionally writing two syllable rhymes.<br />
With this in mind, consider another rhyme from the same poem. Below in (174)<br />
is the rhyme of dileşî, xuşî and keşî. On the vowel chart the vowels e and u are quite<br />
distant from one another. Based on the distance and the dissimilarity of the two vowels, it<br />
seems best to consider the rhyme of xuşî with dileşî and keşî to be imperfect, not feature<br />
rhyme.<br />
(174) hindî we riḧ maye dileşî nabin dewam xêr u xuşî (AN3:29, 30)<br />
bu çî tu hêyî zeḧmet keşî ‘umrê me her bê faîdeye<br />
Four other rhymes are up for debate as to whether or not they should be<br />
considered feature rhymes. In all four instances i is to be compared with u. The distance<br />
between the two vowels is great. The only similarity is that both vowels have the feature<br />
of being near-close. 70 The letter i is near-front and the letter u is near-back. The letter i is<br />
unrounded while the letter u is rounded. In the examples below, the words under<br />
consideration are in italics.<br />
(175) dustê min .. boçî sile (BS3:9, 10, 12)<br />
dilê min ji ber wî kule<br />
agirê vînê her hile<br />
(176) kincê li sofî çadire (CX2: 20,24)<br />
wî daye ser rêça gure<br />
(177) xonavê teff kirin sunbul (AN1: 25-27)<br />
siḧarê xîv bi bûn sor gul<br />
yamin sot sing u cerg u dil<br />
(178) ew ji zik mak da pilnik bu, şahidî ḧebsa mîsil (BS1:39, 40)<br />
hêşta zaru bû demê ku dîtî ye kuvan u kul<br />
As mentioned, feature rhyme typically requires two sounds having two out of three<br />
features the same. Hence, we probably should consider the rhymes of u and i as being<br />
70 The term ‘near-close’ is found in Diagram 2 and corresponds to use of the term in the IPA vowel chart in<br />
Diagram 3.
130<br />
imperfect feature rhymes, since, in addition to distance, they differ in both backness and<br />
rounding.<br />
5.3.3.1.6 End rhyme without meter<br />
Two poems that were not written in verse form contained end rhymes. One of<br />
these, Fireka Baî, ‘A Sip of Wind,’ by Mu’eyed Teyb, was written in 1976. During this<br />
time of history, speakers of Northern Kurdish in Iraq were just beginning to discover<br />
prose poetry. Perhaps Teyb’s poem reflects this period, a time for discovering new ways<br />
while cherishing aspects of tradition. A portion of his poem showing rhymed endings is<br />
reproduced below in (179). The rhymed endings are in italics. I have also added letters to<br />
designate the rhyme scheme.<br />
(179) Kurdistanê! (MT3:1-19)<br />
fireka baî..<br />
A<br />
ji çîayekê befir lê maî..<br />
A'<br />
evroke..çavbeleka min..<br />
ya girêdaî<br />
A'<br />
li bin kwînekê reş u drîaî..<br />
A''<br />
li nav deşteka bê bab u daî.. A<br />
roja arîaî..<br />
A''<br />
xîzê şarîaî..<br />
A''<br />
zerîa min ya<br />
di xuhê ra maî..<br />
A<br />
ezê ditirsim..<br />
ji dabera dom befir u xwîn<br />
B<br />
ji enîa kever..<br />
ji nejna şirîn<br />
B'<br />
ji dilê evîn..<br />
B<br />
lê bûî birîn..<br />
B'<br />
ji cergê zozan..<br />
C<br />
lê bûî kovan.<br />
C<br />
Clearly, the rhymes are somewhat dispersed and there is no consistent number of<br />
syllables per line, though there are many lines having five syllables. Every line does not<br />
necessarily rhyme and some rhymes are separated from one another by an intervening<br />
line with no rhyme. Rhyme A is a single syllable rhyme that rhymes with the
131<br />
multisyllable A' and A'' rhymes. The single syllable B rhymes rhyme with the<br />
multisyllable B' lines.<br />
In his poem Gutgutik, ‘Rumors,’ Şaban Silêman, a younger author whose earliest<br />
poems are dated in the year 2000, also used a varied rhyme scheme without holding to<br />
any particular verse form or syllable count. Below is a portion from the poem. Again, for<br />
ease of viewing, I have italicized the rhymed syllables and provided letters designating<br />
the rhymes. Note that rhymes C and F exhibit multisyllabic rhyming sequence, as<br />
discussed in § 5.3.3.1.3.<br />
(180) hindek yê ji keyfa pê firî A (SS1:6-21)<br />
hindek yê ji qehra pê mirî<br />
A<br />
çîçik dara siharîya<br />
B<br />
kurtîya duhî bu êk û dû vedguhêzin C<br />
gulêt baxça êvarîya<br />
B<br />
rwîdanêt nwî yêt rojane bu êk dibêjin C<br />
lê tinê gutgutkeke û pistpisteke<br />
D<br />
nizanim direwe yan rastîyeke<br />
D<br />
hind dibêjin ...............<br />
C<br />
û dîtina êkê ji evîna min<br />
E<br />
tu bûye agir û gurî<br />
F<br />
roja paştir tu bibûye rejî û xwelî<br />
F<br />
hind dibêjin<br />
C<br />
jimêjwere mêrga şaşa têlefona min E<br />
ji mesicêt te buharbu<br />
G<br />
maç û dila mil bi mil rêz û qentarbu G<br />
5.3.3.2 End rhyme in final lines of a prose poem<br />
In a prose poem (also called “free verse”) by Sindî the final rhymes, shown in<br />
example (181), seem to be intentional. The poem is a reflection about two very different<br />
times, the present, not being at all what the poet would have desired for his people, and<br />
the past, a time when he was filled with hope. The rhymed ending may serve to<br />
aesthetically reinforce the contrast between the times and point the reader/hearer to the<br />
past when the hope of the people was greater—a time when rhyme and line length, and<br />
perhaps meter, in poetry were more customary.
132<br />
(181) eman eman (BS6:42-45)<br />
derdu yeman<br />
sutim eman<br />
derdê giran<br />
5.3.3.3 Deviation from end rhyme<br />
In some situations a poet settles for a deviation from his or her intended rhyme<br />
scheme. The examples shown in Table 22 all show some sort of deviation. In the first<br />
example, ji me does not rhyme even one of its syllables with the two-syllable rhymes of<br />
jenî and renî. It does, however, rhyme the last syllable, me, with the last syllable of even<br />
number lines in the poem (not shown), which is not customary for this verse form. In the<br />
second example, the intended rhyme is two syllables; however, it seems Sindî settled on<br />
rhyming only the final syllable in darî with kê yî and befrê yî. In the last example, Sindî<br />
again settled for rhyming only the last syllable, in this instance ka in biçwîka, with<br />
neyara, hara and xwîndara.<br />
Table 22. Deviations.<br />
Poem Line numbers Rhyme Deviant<br />
AN3 17, 18 jenî, renî ji me<br />
BS2 19-22 kê yî, befrê yî darî<br />
BS2 28, 42, 56, 71 neyara, hara,<br />
xwîndara<br />
5.3.3.4 Head rhyme, internal rhyme and interlaced rhyme<br />
biçwîka<br />
Occasionally a poet of Neo-classical poetry is inspired to rhyme at the beginning<br />
of two or more lines. Such occasions are termed head rhyme, which is simply defined as<br />
a rhyme that occurs “at the beginnings of lines” (Turco 2000:49). Head rhyme, which is<br />
also called front rhyme or initial rhyme, is not to be confused with alliteration, which is<br />
“the repetition of initial stressed consonant sounds” (Turco 2000:54).<br />
In lines 30 and 31 of his poem Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning On<br />
The Rooftop,’ shown in example (182), Nalbend rhymed at the third syllable from the<br />
beginning of the lines with ewê dil and miqabil. Also within these lines is the rhyme of
133<br />
ceger ker with liber anber. The following two lines both begin with şil u mil, which in<br />
two places rhyme with dil and miqabil in the previous lines. Two other features in these<br />
lines are the use of the word bû and the phonetic similarity heyî in the word muheyîya<br />
with the word hemî. In lines 34 and 35, a different head rhyme occurs with the first two<br />
syllables, kilê and dilê.<br />
(182) ewê dil bir ceger ker kir (AN1:30-35)<br />
miqabil me xûn liber anber kir<br />
şil u mil ew muheyîya bû<br />
şil u mil bû hemî gava<br />
kilê rreş her tijî cava<br />
dilê min teyre ket dava<br />
Some lines in Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal<br />
Barzanî,’ contain rhymes starting from the beginning and, in most cases, proceeding to<br />
the midpoint of the line. Such rhyme that occurs within the line is known as internal<br />
rhyme (Adams 1997:201) The first example, in (183), is from the first line of the poem.<br />
The sequence xanê xanan canê canan works to rhyme two noun phrases, ending at the<br />
midpoint in the line. The exclamation commands the attention of the reader or hearer,<br />
setting the stage for the eulogy that follows. In line 4, shown in (184), the words bazê<br />
bazan şahê Kurdan rhyme with those in (183). Through these words Sindî reinforces his<br />
wish, that Barzanî be remembered for the role he played, and continues to play by way of<br />
his example, for the Kurdish people. In example (185), the fourth line from the end of the<br />
poem, the rhyme şahê bazan mîrê qadan wî nebadan works as a lasting echo, to fix in the<br />
minds of the reader/hearer descriptive titles that the poet attributes to Barzanî, as well as<br />
the commitment he gave to his people. In this example, the rhyme extends to the 12 th<br />
syllable and the clauses revive the rhymes from lines 1 and 4. Lastly, in line 44, the first<br />
four syllables, lew ji hîngê, rhyme perfectly with syllables 5 through 8, ew li sîngê,<br />
serving as a kind of circle back to link with the beginning of the poem.<br />
(183) xanê xanan canê canan tu bike lutif u were (BS1:1)<br />
‘The khan of khans, soul of souls―be beneficent and come back.’<br />
(184) bazê bazan şahê Kurdan ruhinîya çavê meyî (BS1:4)<br />
‘The hawk of hawks, king of Kurds―you are the lights of our eyes’
134<br />
(185) şahê bazan mîrê qadan wî nebadan hizir u bîr (BS1:43, 44)<br />
‘The king of falcons, the leader of the battlefields―he did not deviate from (his)<br />
ideas and thoughts.’<br />
lew ji hîngê ew li sîngê cane bexşên genc u pîr<br />
‘That’s why since that time he (is) in the heart (chest) of the fresh offerings of the<br />
adolescent and the old.’<br />
Dilê Cegerxwîn, ‘Cegerxwîn’s Heart,’ also contains a couple of instances of<br />
internal rhyme. Cegerxwîn added the rhyme of rişteme with the words xateme and<br />
deyleme, in line 9, and hemdeme, in line 10. These last three words make up the first<br />
three end line rhymes of a quatrain. 71 Rişteme is an additional internal rhyme.<br />
(186) geh rişteme, geh xateme, geh padîşahê deyleme; (CX1:9, 10)<br />
bê yar u dost u hemdeme, lew mest u gerdenxware dil<br />
In another line of the same poem, the beginning words, geh are dil, rhyme with<br />
the words that begin immediately after the midway point, geh tare dil. These may more<br />
properly be considered as interlaced rhyme, discussed below. Also notice the rhyme of<br />
are with ave, in the first hemistich, and tare with tave, in the second hemistich.<br />
(187) geh are dil, geh ave dil, geh tare dil geh tave dil (CX1:15)<br />
Considering the additional positions in which rhyme is found in the verse poetry in this<br />
corpus, one can expect to find similar rhymes, and perhaps others, if one were to conduct<br />
a more extensive survey of Northern Kurdish poetry.<br />
According to Turco, interlaced rhyme is when there is a rhyme between the<br />
center of one line and the center of the previous or following line (Turco 2000:53).<br />
Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ also contains<br />
many instances of this type of rhyme. In the first example, Sindî rhymed the words<br />
hîvîan, mirîdan and Kurdan.<br />
71 Dilê Cegerxwîin is written as couplets but is best considered a poem written in the çuarkî, or quatrain,<br />
form, because of its rhyme scheme.
135<br />
(188) em li ber şewqa hîvîan çav melê ye bêye ve (BS1:3-5)<br />
tu bike rehimê ji mirîdan kengî dê tu hêye ve<br />
bazê bazan şahê Kurdan ruhinîya çavê meyî<br />
The following are other examples from the same poem. The interlaced rhymes are in<br />
italics.<br />
(189) raza ‘şqê ji qîdem ra derde ye u kuvane dil (BS1:7, 8)<br />
kî dê sax kit ji ezel ra dil geşe u perwane dil<br />
(190) şînyî u tazî ji gelî bûn çep u rast u jor u jêr (BS1:15-18)<br />
şev u roj xelkî girî bûn kal u genc u jin u mêr<br />
mililetê Kurd pir wefaye sufîên destên tene<br />
ruh ji êşan pir semaye ‘aşiq u mestên tene<br />
(191) wêne ya suz u di lêran xuîaye ser ruîmetê (BS1:37, 38)<br />
wer bixuînin ey hevalan ayeta xuş hîmetê<br />
While these rhymes are reminiscent of what you’d expect to see in quatrain form, they<br />
are not the dominant feature throughout in the poem, which is written in couplets. Of the<br />
46 lines in the poem, a case could be made for 20 lines as having at least one syllable of<br />
interlaced rhyme.<br />
In one couplet from the poem, lines 19 and 20, Sindî uses three words ending in<br />
l―dil, gul and şemal. This seems quite intentional because in the second line of the<br />
couplet, the words in the same positions, adar, azar and bajar, all rhyme. The nonrhyming<br />
words in line 19 should be considered as an instance of consonance, which is<br />
the repetition of the same or similar sounding consonants with different vowels (Adams<br />
1997:200). (Note, though, that dil does rhyme with hil at the end of the line.) The<br />
consonance works, perhaps, to prepare the reader for the perfect rhymes that follow in<br />
line 20.<br />
(192) erê ey dil kanê ew gul ka şemala geş u hil (BS1:19, 20)<br />
buçî (adar) 72 buye azar buçî bajar bu kavil<br />
72 The parentheses here appear in the original text.
136<br />
5.4 On the syntactic level<br />
In the following sections, I discuss instances of syntactic variation in the corpus.<br />
In some instances, an aspect of normal language has not been adhered to, such as normal<br />
constituent order. Other instances exhibit ellipsis or some other syntactic tool the poet has<br />
used for reason of syllable count, rhyme or some other aesthetic effect.<br />
5.4.1.1 Constituent order<br />
The study of constituent orders that deviate from normal constituent order helps<br />
one understand what is permissible in a language. Some constituent order shifts may be<br />
pragmatically motivated. However, some, especially in poetry, and literature in general,<br />
have other motivations. To understand these motivations, we must become familiar with<br />
some new terms.<br />
Foregrounding is a term that was applied to Mukarovský's original term,<br />
aktualisace, when it was translated into English in 1932. It is used to describe a number<br />
of stylistic effects in literature at all levels: phonetic (e.g., alliteration, rhyme),<br />
grammatical (e.g., inversion, ellipsis) and semantic (e.g., metaphor, irony).<br />
Foregrounding occurs when we use language that is other than normal. It causes what is<br />
termed as deautomatization, the disruption of normal cognitive processes, whereas with<br />
normal language, automatization occurs, where there is no disruption of normal<br />
cognitive processes. The more something is foregrounded, the more conscious it becomes<br />
(Miall and Kuiken 1994:390).<br />
Regarding this act of foregrounding, Viktor Shklovsky, the Russian Formalist<br />
critic, had the following to say regarding art in general,<br />
The purpose of art is to impart the sensation of things as they are<br />
perceived and not as they are known. The technique of art is to make<br />
objects "unfamiliar," to make forms difficult, to increase the difficulty and<br />
length of perception because the process of perception is an aesthetic end<br />
in itself and must be prolonged. (1965:12)
137<br />
Hence, “the immediate effect of foregrounding is to make strange (ostranenie), to achieve<br />
defamiliarization” (Miall and Kuiken 1994:391).<br />
In his book, Word Order Variation in Hebrew Poetry: Differentiating Pragmatics<br />
and Poetics (2006), Nicholas Lunn addresses the issue of word-order variations in B-<br />
lines of parallelisms, a poetic device common in ancient Hebrew poetry. In his chapter<br />
on defamiliarized word order in parallel lines, he says:<br />
If pragmatics fails to account for the variation exhibited by parallel lines,<br />
then what is the motivating factor that produces such a feature? We would<br />
maintain that the characteristics of non-canonical B-lines in parallelisms<br />
point us in the direction of a purely poetic manner of word-order variation<br />
(Lunn 2006:105).<br />
In the corpus, constituent order deviation was predominately found in poems of<br />
the Neo-classical style. In some cases, constituent order deviation may have helped poets<br />
reach desired end rhymes, syllable counts and/or meters. A poet may find that while<br />
change in constituent order may produce a difference in pragmatic meaning, such as<br />
indicating that a certain constituent is focal, such deviation may remain within the bounds<br />
of what the poet wants to communicate and may not necessarily be the reason for the<br />
change in constituent order. Such may be the case in examples where end rhyme is<br />
reached by means of syntactic deviation. However, in some situations, a change from<br />
normal word order may simply express a poet’s desire to defamiliarize a word, phrase, or<br />
an entire line of poetry, making it more salient, more conscious in the mind of the reader.<br />
While prosaic word order abounded in free verse poetry, there were still some noteworthy<br />
instances of constituent order deviation.<br />
In the discussion that follows, I provide evidence for various constituent order<br />
deviations found in the corpus. The subject of differentiating between pragmatic<br />
motivations, such as topic and focus, and poetic effects, such as defamiliarization, is an<br />
area for further study.
138<br />
5.4.1.1.1 Verb-Subject<br />
In § 4.4.1.2, I showed that normal constituent order for intransitive clauses is<br />
Subject-Verb (SV). The corpus contains many instances of deviation from this norm. For<br />
example, in Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ the<br />
verb appears before the subject in each of the following two lines. In example (193), the<br />
complex verb şîn bibin 73 means ‘grow’ and appears before the subject nêrgiz, ‘narcissus,’<br />
a flower indigenous to the Kurdish region. In (194), the subject, ‘endelîb, an Arabic word<br />
for a specific type of bird, appears after the verb bixuînin, ‘may sing.’<br />
(193) şîn_bi-b-in nêrgiz ji nuve ber der-ê (BS1:11, 12)<br />
grow_IRR-grow-IMP.PL narcissus from now.on before place-EZ.M<br />
tekî-a<br />
ber-ê<br />
special.music-EZ.F old-OBL.F<br />
‘May narcissuses grow new again before the door of the old places of worship.’<br />
(194) cardin bi-xuîn-in ‘endelîb 74 ew ji ‘şq-a daber-ê<br />
again IRR-sing-IMP.PL birds 3D from love-EZ.F sweetheart-OBL.F<br />
‘Again may birds sing―that song from the love of the lover.’<br />
Sindî also used VS order in line 24 of Dergehê Jîn u Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life<br />
and Hopes.’ Here the subject consists of the words gulên çîayan, ‘the flowers of the<br />
mountains.’ These come after the passive verb kuzrîn, ‘has been burned.’<br />
(195) kuzrî-n gul-ên çîa-yan nêrgiz-ên şeng (BS4:24)<br />
burn.PST.PASS-3PL flower-EZ.PL mountain-OBL.PL narcissus-EZ.PL young<br />
u şepal<br />
and bright<br />
‘The flowers of the mountains have been burned, the young and bright narcissuses.’<br />
In line 24 of Mîrê Peyvan, ‘The Prince of Words,’ Sindî placed the subject dil,<br />
‘heart,’ after the verb disujit, ‘is burning.’<br />
(196) gelo lewra di-su-jit dil ku cih kew (BS7:24)<br />
people that’s.why IPFV-burn.PRS-3SG heart because place partridge<br />
73 The word şîn, by itself, has two meanings: (1) mourning, and (2) blue or green. The verb şîn bibin seems<br />
to be a metaphorical use of şîn that became lexicalized as’grow’ or more literally ‘to become green.’<br />
74 An Arabic word for a specific type of bird.
139<br />
evro vala=ye<br />
today vacant=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘People, that’s why the heart is burning, because the place of the partridge today is<br />
vacant.’<br />
Sindî put the subject ceger, ‘liver,’ after the verb sutî ye, ‘has burned,’ in line 14<br />
of Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî.’ Normal constituent<br />
order for this phrase would have been ceger li me sutî ye. Note that in this line, the<br />
prepositional phrase, li me, ‘in me,’ is also in an uncommon location, before the subject it<br />
modifies. In this instance, ceger was likely so positioned to rhyme with qeder in line 13,<br />
also shown.<br />
(197) lê_belê dest-ê Xudan-î ew=e neqiqaş-ê (BS1:13, 14)<br />
yes hand-EZ.M Lord-OBL.M 3D=COP.PRS.3SG painter-EZ.M<br />
qeder<br />
fate<br />
‘Yes it’s in God’s hand; he’s the painter of fate.’<br />
wî wesa ferman-ek da-yî sut-î-Ø-ye li<br />
3OM like.that order-INDF give.PST-3SG burn:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG in<br />
me ceger<br />
1OP liver<br />
‘He gave an order like that; the liver in us has burned.’<br />
Sindî also inverted part of a complex verb, guh da, ‘listen,’ putting the subject,<br />
min, ‘I,’ after the nonverbal part of the verb, guh (literally ‘ear’), but before the verbal<br />
portion of the idiom, da, which literally means ‘give.’<br />
(198) guh min da-Ø awaz u lavç-an deng-ê saz-a (BS5:4)<br />
ear 1O give.PST-3SG music and song-OBL-PL sound-EZ.M guitar-EZ.F<br />
min ne-hat-Ø<br />
1O NEG-come.PST-3SG<br />
‘I listened to melodies and songs―the sound of my guitar did not come.’<br />
Nalbend also used VS word order in Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning<br />
On The Rooftop,’ probably to rhyme hestî, part of the compound subject leş u hestî,<br />
‘flesh and bone,’ with geztî, ‘had bitten,’ and destî, ‘hand,’ in lines 46 and 47, shown<br />
below in (199). With normal constituent order, a speaker would have said leş u hestîyê<br />
min ḧelîan. Notice here that in normal speech the personal pronoun min, ‘me,’ is attached
140<br />
to the subject via the ezafe yê on hestî. However, Nalbend put min in a prepositional<br />
phrase, li min, ‘in me,’ and the line remains understandable to the reader. I say more on<br />
this aspect of using a prepositional phrase in lieu of a personal pronoun attached via the<br />
ezafe particle in § 5.4.1.1.12.<br />
(199) li min ḧelîa-n leş u hestî (AN1:45-47)<br />
in 1O melt.PST-3PL flesh and bone<br />
‘My flesh and bone melted.’<br />
me gut mar=e ez-ê geztî<br />
1OP say.PST-3SG snake=COP.PRS.3SG 1D-EZ.M bite.PST.PTCP<br />
‘We thought it’s a snake that has bitten me.’<br />
bi remz-a bazin-êt dest-î<br />
by signal-EZ.F bracelet-EZ.PL hand-OBL.M<br />
‘By means of the signal of the hand bracelets.’<br />
Nalbend also utilizes VS order in a similar way in his poem Xoşe Wekî Cenetê,<br />
ˈIt’s Wonderful Like Heaven.’ In line 54, he put the compound subject cerg u dil, ‘liver<br />
and heart,’ at the end of the line in order to rhyme dil with the words mil, shoulder,’ and<br />
sil, ‘angry,’ in lines 53 and 55, shown here in (200).<br />
(200) zend u til u bask u mil (AN2:53-55)<br />
forearm and finger and arm and shoulder<br />
‘Forearm and finger and arm and shoulder’<br />
sutî li min cerg u dil<br />
burn.PST.PTCP in 1O liver and heart<br />
‘The liver and heart in me are burnt.’<br />
Alternative translation: ‘My liver and heart are burnt.’<br />
av rîl wan şêr-e sil<br />
water rîl 3OP lions angry<br />
‘Water rîl 75 them the lion is angry.’<br />
In line 64 of the same poem, the subject, pilingê nehîn, ‘courageous tiger,’ comes after<br />
the verb, hatî, ‘has come.’ Nehîn, ‘courageous,’ rhymes with the rest of the final lines in<br />
the each quatrain (not shown). All end in -în.<br />
75 Meaning unknown.
141<br />
(201) hatî piling-ê nehîn (AN2:64)<br />
come.PST.PTCP tiger-EZ.M courageous<br />
‘It has come, the courageous tiger.’<br />
VS word order was used several times in a free verse poem, Dahola Êşê, ‘Drum<br />
of Pain,’ by Mesud Xalaf. In (202), the head noun xweziyên, ‘desires,’ and the rest of the<br />
noun phrase that follows, is positioned after the verb difirîn, ‘were flying.’ In (203), the<br />
subject aşûpên bextewariyê, ‘visions of happiness,’ comes after the verb bijale bûn, ‘were<br />
scattered.’ In the last example, (204), the passive verb hatine kuştin, ‘became killed,’ is<br />
before the subject noun phrase beginning with pirpirîkên, ‘butterflies,’ the head noun.<br />
Minimally, this VS order shows that at least one modern poet, writing in prose, has<br />
chosen to deviate from normal constituent order.<br />
(202) bê sînor di-firî-n xweziy-ên bê nav û nîşan (MX:8)<br />
Without limit IPFV.fly.PST-3PL desire-EZ.PL without name and address<br />
‘Desires without name and address were flying without limit.’<br />
(203) bijale bû-n aşûp-ên bextewar-yê (MX:32)<br />
scatter-PST.PTCP COP.PST-3PL visions-EZ.PL happiness-OBL.F<br />
‘The visions of the happiness were scattered.’<br />
(204) hat-in=e kuşt-in pirpirîk-ên deng-ê (MX:33)<br />
become.PST-3PL=DIR kill.PST.PTCP-3PL butterfly-EZ.PL sound-EZ.M<br />
agir-ê birîndar<br />
fire-EZ.M wound.PST.PTCP<br />
‘The butterflies of the sound of wounded fire were killed.’<br />
5.4.1.1.2 Adjective Phrase/Noun Phrase-Copula-Subject<br />
The corpus contained both Attributive (adjective phrase as predicate) and<br />
Equative (noun phrase as predicate) clauses wherein the subject was put after the copula.<br />
Typically the order for copular sentences is Subject – Predicate Adjective Phrase or Noun<br />
Phrase – Copula. In one poem in particular, Cegerxwîn’s Dilê Cegerxwîn, ‘Cegerxwîn’s<br />
Heart,’ one defining feature of the poem is that subjects come at the end of most phrases.<br />
For example, in line 4, shown in (205), the attribute xwînxwar, ‘terrible,’ with the 3SG<br />
copula, e, comes before the subject dil, ‘heart.’ In fact, the word dil and its referent, ew,<br />
3D, are subjects at the end of many phrases throughout the poem.
142<br />
(205) aman welat, aman welat, bawer bi-k-in xwînxwar=e (CX1:4)<br />
alas region alas region belief IRR-do.IMP.PL terrible=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
dil<br />
heart<br />
‘Alas my home, alas my home―Believe me, (my) heart is terrible.’<br />
Consider also lines 6 and 7 from the same poem, shown in example (206). Line 6<br />
ends with the subject dil. The predicate, naxoş u hem bêzare, ‘is unwell and always<br />
despondent,’ precedes it. In line 7 the pronoun ew, 3D, in two places, is a referent of dil<br />
and in each instance comes after the predicates with attached copulas.<br />
(206) her gav u her êvar-ê min, naxoş u hem (CX1:6)<br />
every morning and every evening-EZ.M 1O, unwell and always<br />
bêzar=e<br />
dil<br />
despondent=COP.PRS.3SG heart<br />
‘Every morning and every evening of mine, the heart is unwell and always<br />
despondent.’<br />
bêzar u pir naxoş=e ew, kinc-ên sîyeh – (CX1:7)<br />
despondent and quite unwell=COP.PRS.3SG 3D, garment-EZ.PL mourning –<br />
gûn 76 – poş=e ew<br />
manner – sorrowful=COP.PRS.3SG it<br />
‘It’s despondent and quite unwell, dressed in garments of mourning; it’s sorrowful.’<br />
Nalbend also took liberty to put the subject after an Adjective Phrase and copula.<br />
The normal word order for line 9 of Xoşe Wekî Cenetê, ˈIt’s Wonderful Like Heaven,’<br />
shown in (207), would have been bihara lê xoş tazeye, literally ‘spring in it nice beautiful<br />
is.’ However, Nalbend, changed the word order so as to utilize the ar ending on the word<br />
bihar, the subject, at the end of the line, rhyming it with darubar, ‘forest,’ and hizar,<br />
‘thousand’ in lines 10 and 11, also shown.<br />
(207) taze=ye lê xoş bihar (AN2:9-11)<br />
beautiful=COP.PRS.3SG in.it nice spring<br />
‘A nice spring in it is beautiful.’<br />
76 I am unsure how kincên sîyeh and gûn fit into the phrases. The translation for gûn is questionable. The<br />
dashes (–) are part of the original text.
143<br />
baẍ u rez u darubar<br />
garden and orchard and forest<br />
‘garden and orchard and forest’<br />
cins-ê kulîlk-a hizar<br />
specie-EZ.M flower-OBL.PL thousand<br />
‘a thousand species of flowers’<br />
In another poem by Nalbend, Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning On The<br />
Rooftop,’ we find a similar situation. In line 39, shown in (208), the subject ez, 1D, while<br />
not at the end of the phrase, comes after the attribute and copula. The normal word order<br />
for the phrase is ez dirêj bûm li kulanê, which still has kulanê at the end of the line.<br />
Hence, Nalbend must have had some reason other than rhyme for the order he chose.<br />
(208) dirêj_bû-m ez li kulan-ê (AN1:39)<br />
lie.down_COP.PST-1SG 1D in alley-OBL.F<br />
‘I layed down in the alley.’<br />
Xalaf’s Dahola Êşê, ‘Drum of Pain,’ contains an equative sentence with the<br />
subject, ew şev, ‘that night,’ at the end of the line. It is preceded by the entire predicate,<br />
kefenekî spî bû, ‘was a white shroud.’ As with the VS order in the previous section, it is<br />
interesting to find this constituent order in a prose poem.<br />
(209) belkî kefen-ek-î 77 spî bû-Ø ew şev (MX:17)<br />
perhaps shroud-INDF-EZ.M white COP.PST-3SG 3D night<br />
‘Perhaps that night was a white shroud.’<br />
In one line from a Sindî poem, I thought I had found another example of a subject<br />
being out of place. However, according to my consultant the phrase nabit eve is perfectly<br />
acceptable in the language, as is eve nabit. Nabit consists of a negator prefix, na-, and the<br />
3SG copula bit. Eve consists of ev, which means ‘this,’ and the specific reference marker,<br />
-e (SRM). I suppose this particular phrase has become lexicalized in the language. This<br />
leaves the possibility of seeing other similar phrases used in common speech where a<br />
pronoun subject comes after an equative predicate.<br />
77 It seems unusual to see a masculine ezafe -î in the Badinan area. Perhaps it is common in the spoken<br />
langauge of area Xalaf’s family came from.
144<br />
Lastly, line 9 of Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’ contains<br />
two equative phrases, one with normal word order and one with an Adjective<br />
Phrase/Noun Phrase-Copula-Subject word order. Kavil can be either a noun meaning<br />
‘ruin’ or an adjective meaning ‘ruined’ or ‘destroyed.’ This word and the connecting 3SG<br />
copula, e, are followed by the subject fezê gulan, which means ‘farm of flowers.’ Because<br />
mişexit, in the first phrase, is a noun, literally ‘a displaced person’ or ‘an exile,’ I tend to<br />
think that kavil is also being used as a noun, ‘ruin,’ in the second phrase. Note that this<br />
line exhibits a chiastic structure, SBJ-PRED-PRED-SBJ, where the structure of the second<br />
clause is the inverse of the first. However, the motivation to place gulan at the end of the<br />
line was likely not to produce chiasmus but to rhyme it with the final word in line 10,<br />
dilan (not shown). See § 5.4.1.4.4 for the discussion on chiasmus.<br />
(210) bilbil-ê bê kes mişexit=e u (BS4:9)<br />
nightingale-EZ.M without anyone exile=COP.PRS.3SG and<br />
kavil=e fez-ê gul-an<br />
ruin=COP.PRS.3SG farm-EZ.M flower-OBL.PL<br />
‘The single nightingale is an exile and the farm of flowers are a ruin’<br />
5.4.1.1.3 Subject-Verb-Object<br />
As discussed in § 4.4.1.2, the normal constituent order for Northern Kurdish is<br />
SOV. Within the corpus I found numerous instances where Sindî put an object after a<br />
verb. In line 4 of Bîwerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, shown in example (211), we know that<br />
reḧmê, ‘compassion,’ is a noun and not a part of a complex verb, because it ends with the<br />
feminine oblique marker, -ê. According to my consultant, “for poetic effect” Sindî placed<br />
the object after the verb bike, ‘do.’ Also, reḧim is an Arabic word. The Northern Kurdish<br />
word for compassion is dilovanî, a four syllable word. It seems that Sindî resorted to use<br />
of an Arabic word because reḧim, even with the oblique marker, is only two syllables. As<br />
discussed in § 5.3.2 on syllable count, the i in reḧim elides with the addition of the oblique<br />
marker. The m becomes the onset of the second syllable.<br />
(211) tu bi-ke reḧm-ê ji mirîd-an kengî dê (BS1:4)<br />
2D IRR-do.IMP.SG compassion-OBL.F for disciple-OBL.PL when will
145<br />
tu hêye ve<br />
2D exist.PRS.2SG again<br />
‘Be compassionate to (your) disciples; when will you be back?’<br />
Line 1 of the same poem has a similar situation as (211) where an object follows<br />
the imperative, bike, ‘do.’ In this instance, the object is again an Arabic word, lutif,<br />
which, means ‘kindness’ or, as it was translated, ‘benevolence.’ According to my<br />
consultant, Kurds do not typically add Kurdish suffixes when using Arabic words. 78<br />
Additionally, while it is true that the normal order for Arabic is VSO, Sindî’s confession<br />
during my interview with him, that he tries to write in pure Kurdish, precludes us from<br />
thinking that he would resort to Arabic word order.<br />
(212) xan-ê xan-an can-ê can-an tu bi-ke (BS1:1)<br />
Khan-EZ.M Khans-OBL.PL soul-EZ.M soul-OBL.PL 2D IRR-do.IMP.SG<br />
lutif u were<br />
benevolence and come.IMP.SG<br />
‘Khan of khans, soul of souls―be beneficent and come back.’<br />
Now, if Sindî were to have used the Northern Kurdish word for ‘kindness,’ başî,<br />
he would have written tu bike başîekê. (Normal SOV word order is tu başîekê bike.) The<br />
word başîekê includes both the indefinite article suffix, -ek, and the feminine oblique<br />
marker, -ê. Hence, lutif must be an object and not part of a compound verb. It is possible<br />
that Sindî resorted to this Arabic word for some nuance of meaning; however, it seems<br />
more likely that he used lutif (without the suffixes -ekê) because it offered him two<br />
syllables versus the four syllables in başîekê.<br />
In line 43 of the same poem, shown in (213), a compound object, hizir u bîr, ‘idea<br />
and thought,’ is positioned after the verb nebadan, ‘not surrender.’ Having the object at<br />
the end allowed Sindî to rhyme bîr, ‘thought,’ with pîr, ‘elder,’ in line 44, also shown.<br />
78 Some Arabic words have been used for such a long time that they have becoming part of the Kurdish<br />
lexicon. One example would be the word for ‘school.’ In the Badinan region of Northern Iraq, both of the<br />
words commonly used for ‘school,’ mekteb and medrese, come from near Arabic equivalents. According to<br />
Chyet (2003:673), the Northern Kurdish word for school is xwendegeh.
146<br />
(213) şah-ê baz-an mîr-ê Qad-an wî ne-bada-n (BS1:43)<br />
king-EZ.M falcon-OBL.PL leader-EZ.M field-OBL.PL 3OM NEG-surrender.PST-3PL<br />
hizir u bîr<br />
idea and thought<br />
‘The king of falcons, the leader of the fields, 79 he did not deviate from (his) ideas<br />
and thoughts.’<br />
lew ji hîngê ew li sîngê can=e (BS1:44)<br />
that.is.why from then 3D in chest-EZ.M beautiful=COP.PRS.3SG,<br />
bexş-ên genc u pîr<br />
offering-EZ.PL youth and elder<br />
‘That’s why since that time he (is) in the heart (chest) of the fresh offerings of the<br />
youth and the old.’<br />
In Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da, ‘A Walk Through Kurdistan,’ Sindî put the object<br />
at the end of three lines, likely for rhyming purposes. In the first line of (214), the object<br />
cwanek, ‘a pretty lady,’ would normally come before the verb dît, ‘saw.’ In the first line<br />
of (215), the object, vî canî, would normally come before the verb, gurîkim, ‘sacrifice.’<br />
Lastly, in the second line of (216), the object, yarîa bîka, ‘doll games,’ is positioned after<br />
the verb, dikirin, ‘were playing.’ The line with normal constituent order would have been<br />
yarîa bîka pê dikirin. 80 The prepositional phrase, pê, a contraction of the preposition bi<br />
and the 3SG oblique pronoun wî, refers back to darek, ‘a stick,’ in line 31. The rhymed<br />
lines are shown in each example.<br />
(214) min dît-Ø li wêrê cwan-ek (BS2:3, 4)<br />
I see.PST-3sg at there pretty.lady-INDF<br />
‘I saw a pretty lady there.’<br />
awir di-da-Ø ji alek<br />
wink IPFV-give.PST-3SG from corner<br />
‘She was winking from a corner.’<br />
79 The word qad by itself means ‘field, open space.’ Here it may refer to a battlefield, which is qada şer,<br />
‘field of battle.’<br />
80 The verb ‘play’ is idiomatic and consists of yarî, ‘game,’ and the verb kirin, which means ‘do’ or ‘make.’<br />
Yarî becomes part of the object when modifiers are attached to it, as is the case in this example. There are<br />
many similar idiomatic verbs in Northern Kurdish.
147<br />
(215) dê gurîk-im vî can-î (BS2:68, 79)<br />
will sacrifice.PRS-1SG this soul-OBL.M<br />
‘I will sacrifice this soul,’<br />
neman u yan Barzanî 81<br />
to.be.destroyed and or Barzanî<br />
‘Either to die or be with Barzanî.’<br />
(216) dar-ek di dest biçwîk-a (BS2:31, 32)<br />
stick-INDF in hand child-OBL.PL<br />
‘A stick in children’s hands.’<br />
pê di-kir-in yarî-a bîk-a (BS2:32)<br />
with.3OM IPFV-play.PST-3PL game-EZ.F doll-OBL.PL<br />
‘They were playing doll games with it.’<br />
In line 45 of Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’ Sindî put the<br />
object dilê bi xwîn, ‘heart with blood,’ at the end of line 45, rhyming xwîn, ‘blood,’ with<br />
Zîn, a fictional character, Xanîqîn, a city, and evîn, ‘love,’ in lines 43, 44 and 46.<br />
(217) nabitin bu me tewaf-a ew cih-ê lê Mem u (BS4:43)<br />
not.allowed for 1OP worship-EZ.F 3D place-EZ.M in.3OM Mem and<br />
Zîn 82<br />
Zîn<br />
‘We can’t go and worship the place of Mem and Zeen.’<br />
nabitin evro bi-bur-în ji tuxîb-ê Xanîqîn (BS4:44)<br />
not.permitted today IRR-pass.PRS-2PL from danger-EZ.M Xanîqeen<br />
‘It’s impossible today for us to pass from the danger of Xanîqeen.’<br />
nabitin bi-ç-im nik Xanî bu vek-im (BS4:45)<br />
not.allowed IRR-go.PRS-1SG near Xanî for (him) open.PRS-1SG<br />
81 According to my consultant, Sindî changed a common Bahdini idiom, yan Kurdistan yan neman,<br />
substituting Barzanî for Kurdistan. He also said, “Sometimes people use it as a joke and put a word in<br />
between,” a word other than Barzanî. In this example, Sindî not only changed the word order but also used<br />
the word u, which is a conjunction meaning ‘and.’ Somehow my consultant still understood from the line<br />
Sindî’s intended meaning. According to Chyet, neman is the infinitive form of the word that means ‘to be<br />
destroyed’ or ‘to perish.’<br />
82 Mem and Zîn are the central characters of one of the most famous pieces of Kurdish literature, Mem U<br />
Zîn, written by Ehmed Xanî, who is mentioned in line 45 of Sindî’s poem.
148<br />
dil-ê bi xwîn<br />
heart-EZ.M with blood<br />
‘I can’t go near Xanî and open for (him) my heart with blood (sadness).’<br />
nabitin bi-ç-im Dêrsîm-ê bi-kelêş-im (BS4:46)<br />
not.allowed IRR-go.PRS-1SG Derseem-OBL.F IRR-break.body.PRS-1SG<br />
dil-ê bi evîn<br />
heart-EZ.M with love<br />
‘I can’t go to Derseem and break in two pieces my heart with love.’<br />
In line 12 of the same poem, the object cerg u sî, ‘liver and lung,’ comes after the<br />
verb piçandin, ‘frightened.’ In this case, Sindî must have had some pragmatic or poetic<br />
reason for placing the object after the verb. The line could have been written with normal<br />
constituent order, still ending with the conjunction yan, ‘or,’ as the conjunction is being<br />
used on the sentence-level, to connect the sentence that follows in line 13 (not shown).<br />
(218) lurîn-a gurg-a li nîv şev-an piçand-in (BS4:12)<br />
sound-EZ.F wolf-OBL-PL in middle night-OBL.PL frighten.PST-3PL<br />
cerg u sî yan 83<br />
liver and lung or<br />
‘In the middle of the nights, the howling of wolves frightened the liver and lung or’<br />
Nalbend also used SVO order in a number of lines in Kiçkek Me Divêt, ‘We Want<br />
A Girl.’ In line 5, shown in (219), the object têşt u şîva, ‘breakfast and dinner,’ is at the<br />
end of the line, after the verb bidet, ‘gives,’ and the recipient me, 3OP. The entire poem<br />
only rhymes on the even numbered lines; hence, Nalbend must have had some reason<br />
other than end rhyme for this constituent order.<br />
(219) gava ko bi-d-et me têşt u şîv-a (AN5:5)<br />
when that IRR-give.PRS-3SG 1OP breakfast and dinner-OBL.PL<br />
‘When she gives us breakfasts and dinners.’<br />
In the first line of (220), from the same poem, the object, mirç u maça, ‘kisses and louder<br />
kisses,’ comes after the verb, bidem, ‘give,’ and the recipient, te, 2O. In the following<br />
line, the object, zixt u xiştî (see footnote concerning the translation), also comes after the<br />
83 Seeing the conjunction yan, ‘or,’ at the end of a line in poetry is quite uncommon. However, in Deyka<br />
Dalyayê’s Ji Nazên Te Xerîbim, a prose poem, there are many lines ending with the conjunction u, ‘and.’
149<br />
verb and recipient, bidey me. In this case, xiştî is part of the rhyme scheme of the poem,<br />
rhyming with every even numbered line. 84 The constituent orders of these lines, being<br />
alike, qualify it as a grammatical parallelism, discussed in § 5.4.1.4.2.<br />
(220) te di-vêt-Ø ku bi-d-em te mirç u (AN5:23, 24)<br />
2O IPFV-want.PRS-3SG that IRR-give.PRS-1SG 2O kiss and<br />
maç-a<br />
loud.kiss-OBL.PL<br />
‘You want me to give you kisses and smooches (louder kisses).’<br />
me di-vêt-Ø tu bi-de-y me zixt<br />
1OP IPFV-want.PRS-3SG 2D IRR-give.PRS-2SG 1OP nail.on.end.of.oxgoad<br />
u xişt-î 85<br />
and staff-OBL.M<br />
‘We want you to give us the nail on the end of an oxgoad (pressure/pounding heart)<br />
and the staff.’<br />
The last line of the poem also exhibits SVO order. In (221) the object tu, 2D,<br />
comes after the verb vîyayî, ‘loved.’ Normal constituent order with the same subject,<br />
object and verb was used in line 33, shown in (222). In (221) Nalbend is either<br />
highlighting the verb or the object. It would be most beneficial to discuss the topic of<br />
highlighting, or foregrounding, with poets of the Neo-classical style, as such would<br />
provide an emic view on the matter.<br />
(221) min vîya-yî tu jiber… 86 (AN5:36)<br />
1O love.PST-2SG 2D because<br />
‘I loved you because…’<br />
84 Many even numbered lines in this poem do not end in a perfect rhyme but exhibit consonant feature<br />
rhyme, a subject discussed in § 5.3.3.1.5.1<br />
85 The meanings of zixt and xiştî may be metaphorical, perhaps also erotic, as this poem is of that theme.<br />
Both words are related to working with oxen. Zixt is the nail on the end of an oxgoad, for prodding. The<br />
translator had translated it as ‘pressure’ or ‘pounding heart.’ Xişt can be a staff or a sharp metal point, but<br />
may have other meanings as well.<br />
86 The rest of this line is missing from the original text.
150<br />
(222) ma min tu vîya-y-Ø-î bu milk u mal-î? (AN5:33)<br />
INTRG 1O 2D love:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG for land and belongings-OBL.M<br />
‘Did I love you because of land and belongings (money)?’<br />
5.4.1.1.4 Object-Subject-Verb<br />
In a number of instances the object preceded the subject. In line 6 of Bila..Bila,<br />
‘OK..OK,’ Sindî put the object, rundka, ‘tears,’ before the subject, ez, 1D.<br />
(223) rundk-a ez lê di-werîn-im (BS3:6)<br />
tear-OBL.PL 1D for.him IPFV-shed.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I am shedding tears for him.’<br />
In line 45 of Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ shown in<br />
(224), Sindî positioned the object, suz u peyman, ‘promises and pacts,’ before the<br />
subject, em, 1OP. In this closing statement, Sindî is bringing to the forefront the Kurdish<br />
response for all that Mustafa Barzanî has done for his people.<br />
(224) suz u peyman em di-din te gel te (BS1:45)<br />
Promise and pact 1DP IPFV-give.PRS-3PL 2O with you<br />
da u ala we da 87<br />
with and flag your with<br />
‘We are giving you promises and pacts that we will be with you and your flag.’<br />
In Bêla, ‘House,’ also by Sindî, the normal word order for line 11, shown in<br />
(225), is me banê bêla gêra. However, Sindî chose to put the object, banê bêlayê, ‘roof of<br />
the house,’ at the beginning of the sentence, before the subject me, 1OP. Bêla is a prose<br />
poem and, as mentioned, it only has rhyme in the final four lines. Hence, Sindî’s reason<br />
for using uncommon constituent order here is something other than rhyme.<br />
(225) ban-ê bêla-yê me gêra-Ø u .. u gêra-Ø (BS6:11)<br />
Roof-EZ.M house-SRM 1OP roll.PST-3SG and and roll.PST-3SG<br />
‘We rolled and rolled the roof of the house.’<br />
The consultant who provided me with the normal word order for this line did not<br />
include the Specific Reference Marker (SRM)―yê on bêlayê. A thorough treatise on<br />
87 My consultant noted that this da is unnecessary but by no means awkward. Sindî used the second da, a<br />
postposition that is part of the circumposition for rhyming purposes.
151<br />
SRMs is outside the scope of this paper. But to prove that banê bêla is the object of the<br />
sentence, I inquired what would be the phrase if the sentence was in the future tense. The<br />
response was, Em banê bêlaî dê gerêîn. Here there is a masculine oblique marker, -î, on<br />
bêla, proving that the NP banê bêla is the object of the sentence.<br />
In line 8 of Bêla, Sindî put the object alayek ji renkê nêrgizan, ‘a flag of the color<br />
of narcissus,’ at the beginning of the clause, before the subject, min, 1O. The narcissus,<br />
nêrgiz, is one of the most beloved flowers in Kurdistan. The flag being of its color seems<br />
to be representative of the Kurdish homeland and/or the Kurdish people. Perhaps this is<br />
what Sindî is highlighting in this line. Whatever Sindî’s reason, the reader still<br />
understands what is being said, and we can assume that any pragmatic or poetic purposes<br />
are having their effects.<br />
(226) min dar ala-yek ren-î (BS6:7, 8)<br />
1O tree flag-INDF plant.PST-3SG<br />
‘I planted a flag-tree.’<br />
ala-yek ji renk-ê nêrgiz-an min pêve-kir-Ø<br />
flag-INDF of color-EZ.M narcissus-OBL.PL 1O stick.on-do.PST-3SG<br />
‘I stuck (on it) a flag of the color of narcissuses.’<br />
Nalbend used OSV order in two of his poems. In line 64 of Duhî Spêdê Liser<br />
Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning On The Rooftop,’ shown in (227), the normal constituent<br />
order would read bela bû Xudê ew da bû, with the object, ew, 3D, after the subject, Xudê,<br />
‘God.’ However, in this instance, Nalbend put ew before Xudê.<br />
(227) bela bû-Ø ew Xud-ê da_bû-Ø 88 (AN1:64)<br />
trouble COP.PST-3SG 3D God-OBL.M create.PST-3SG<br />
‘Trouble was, God created her.’<br />
Nalbend also uses OSV order in his poem, Kiçkek Me Divêt, ‘We Want A Girl.’<br />
In (228), the object, kiçkek, ‘a girl,’ was positioned before the subject, me, 1OP.<br />
(228) kiçk-ek me di-vêt-Ø ji nû gehişt-î (AN5:1)<br />
girl-INDF 1OP IPFV-want.PRS-3SG from new maturity-OBL.M<br />
‘We want a girl that has become of age.’<br />
88 The verb dabû here is short for peyda bû.
152<br />
5.4.1.1.5 Object-Verb-Subject<br />
In § 5.4.1.1.1 and § 5.4.1.1.2, I discussed instances of post-verbal subjects. Below<br />
is the only one instance I found in the corpus with an OVS constituent order. In line 9 of<br />
Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ Sindî put the subject at<br />
the end of the line, after the transitive complex verb ji berkir, ‘memorized.’ It seems that<br />
his motivation was to rhyme the noun jin, ‘woman,’ in his compound subject, me ciḧêl u<br />
pîr u jin, ‘we―young and old and women,’ with the noun cin at the end of the line 10,<br />
also shown in (229). It is possible that Sindî left out a conjunction between me and ciḧel;<br />
however, it seems more likely that ciḧel u pîr u jin are descriptive of me, as the<br />
translation below reads.<br />
(229) ayet-a Kursî 89 ji_berkir-Ø me ciḧêl u pîr (BS1:9, 10)<br />
verse-EZ.F Kursî memorize.PST-3SG 1OP young and old<br />
u jin<br />
and woman<br />
‘We―young, old, and women―memorized the Kursî verse.’<br />
me du’a bu-Ø şev u ruj-an ji mezar u Înis u<br />
1OP prayer COP.PST-3SG night and day-OBL.PL from grave and Înis and<br />
cin<br />
evil.spirit<br />
‘We prayed (wished) night and day to grave and (prophet) Înis and evil spirit.’<br />
5.4.1.1.6 Verb–Object imperative clauses without a declared subject<br />
In § 5.4.1.1.1 I discussed instances where the verb preceded the subject. Below are<br />
some instances of transitive imperative clauses where the verb precedes the object.<br />
Concerning line 38 of Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of<br />
Immortal Barzanî,’ shown in (230), the imperative bixwînin, ‘read,’ would normally<br />
come at the end of the phrase, after the object. However, Sindî positioned it after the<br />
initial imperative, wer, which is short for were, ‘come.’ What may appear to be the<br />
89 Ayeta Kursî is ayet, ‘verse,’ 255 of Surat al-Baqarah, ‘the Chapter of the Cow,’ in the Qur’an. People<br />
read it at night before they sleep, believing it will make the devil flee from them.
153<br />
subject, hevalan, is actually a vocative describing the plural undeclared subject, ‘you.’ It<br />
is rightfully marked as an oblique. By putting the object noun phrase, ayeta xuş hîmetê,<br />
‘verse of good effort,’ line final, he was able to rhyme hîmetê with the end of line 37,<br />
ruîmetê, ‘cheek,’ also shown.<br />
(230) wêne ya suz u dilêran xuîa=ye ser ruîmet-ê (BS1:37, 38)<br />
picture EZ.F promise and bravery sweat=COP.3SG on cheek-OBL.F<br />
‘The picture of promises and bravery is like sweat on the cheeks.’<br />
wer(e) bi-xuîn-in ey heval-an ayet-a xuş hîmet-ê<br />
come.IMP IRR-read-IMP.PL O friend-OBL.PL verse-EZ.F good effort-OBL.F<br />
‘Come, read, O friends, with us the (poetic) verse of good effort.’<br />
I considered whether the constituent order in line 38 (above) is normal for<br />
sentences with imperatives―that is, placing them before objects. Looking at other<br />
examples in the corpus, I did find one other instance where Sindî positioned an object<br />
after an imperative. In (231), the object dengê bilwîlan, ‘sound of flutes,’ comes after the<br />
verb, guh bidin, ‘listen.’<br />
(231) guh bi-d-in deng-ê bilwîl-an ew çewa bu me (BS4:37)<br />
ear IRR-give-IMP.PL sound-EZ.M flutes-OBL.PL 3D how for 1OP<br />
di-bistir-in<br />
IPFV-vibrate.PRS-3PL<br />
‘Listen to the sound of the flutes, how they are singing for us.’<br />
However, I did find more examples in the corpus to the contrary. In example<br />
(232), the object ‘ud u sentur, ‘oud and hammer dulcimer,’ is before the imperative<br />
bistirîne, ‘play,’ or literally, ‘sing.’ In example (233), the object xewinekê, ‘a dream,’ is<br />
before the imperative bide, ‘give.’ The object ruha min, ‘my soul,’ is before the<br />
imperative bibe, ‘take,’ in (234). And in (235), the object tazî ya Qazî, ‘funeral of Qazî,’<br />
is positioned in its normal place, before the imperative, nekin, 90 ‘not do.’ Hence,<br />
examples of transitive clauses with imperatives from normal conversation would help us<br />
90 The words ji bîr before nekin is part of an idiom where a PP is part of an expression that utilizes a light<br />
verb. Together they function as the English verb ‘remember.’
154<br />
determine whether verb-initial utterances are as common as those with normal constituent<br />
order.<br />
(232) ‘ud u sentur bi-stirîn-e xuş awaz-a min (BS5:13)<br />
oud and hammer.dulcimer IRR-play-IMP.SG nice melody-EZ.F 1O<br />
ne-hat-Ø<br />
NEG-come.PST-3SG<br />
‘Play your oud and hammer dulcimer―my nice music did not come.’<br />
(233) xewin-ek-ê bi-d-e min ez pê bi-jî-m (MT2: quote 91 )<br />
dream-INDF-OBL.F IRR-give-IMP.SG 1O 1D by.it IRR-live.PRS-1SG<br />
‘Give me a dream to live with.’<br />
(234) ruḧ-a min digel xu bi-b-e (DD:24)<br />
soul-EZ.F 1O with REFL IRR-take-IMP.SG<br />
‘Take my soul with you’<br />
(235) tazî ya Qazî ji_bîr ne-k-in bo bi-k-in (BS4:23)<br />
funeral EZ.F Qazî remember NEG-do-IMP.PL for (him) IRR-do-IMP.PL<br />
şînî her sal<br />
mourning every year<br />
‘Don’t forget the funeral of Qazî; mourn for him every year.’<br />
5.4.1.1.7 Position of non-verbal elements in complex verbs<br />
As discussed in Chapter 3, many complex verbs are composed of a non-verbal<br />
element followed by a light verb. Sindî, Nalbend and Cegerxwîn all took the liberty of<br />
positioning the non-verbal element after the light verb. In example (236), the light verb<br />
bikin comes before the nominal element şînî. Together they mean ‘mourn.’ Though şînî<br />
may look as if it is an object, as it ends with an î, my consultant informed me that the<br />
word şînî without the î would mean ˈblue,’ not ‘mourning.’ 92 Hence, the î on şînî is part<br />
of the word, which is part of a compound verb. In (236), the nominal element occurs after<br />
the light verb, an uncommon order.<br />
91 This example comes from a quote from a Swedish poet, Gunnar Ekelof, which Teyb included at the top<br />
of the page on which the poem Xewinek, ‘A Dream,’ begins.<br />
92 The word şîn (without an î on the end) with the light verb biben means ‘grow.’ This complex verb is used<br />
in line 11 of Sindî’s poem Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî.’
155<br />
(236) tazî ya Qazî jibîr ne-k-in bo bi-k-in (BS4:23)<br />
funeral EZ.F Qazî remember NEG-do-IMP.PL for (him) IRR-do-IMP.PL<br />
şînî her sal<br />
mourning every year<br />
‘Don’t forget the funeral of Qazî, mourn for him every year.’<br />
In (237), Nalbend put the light verb biken before the non-verbal element pisyar. The<br />
words together mean ‘ask.’<br />
(237) bi-k-en pisyar li ḧal-ê me (AN1:59)<br />
IRR-do-IMP.PL question of condition-EZ.M 1OP<br />
‘Ask of our condition.’<br />
In line 8 of Dînê Me Tête Zanîn, ‘Our Religion Is Becoming Known,’ Cegerxwîn<br />
put the nominal element mitala, ‘thought, thinking, reflection, pondering,’ after the light<br />
verb dikin, ‘is doing.’ Kurds in the Badinan region would normally say mitala dikin. The<br />
word is syntactically joined to the light verb and is not the verb’s object. In (238), the<br />
order dikin mitala is considered uncommon. While mitala looks like a noun with a plural<br />
ending, it actually comes from the Arabic word mutala’ah, which means ‘reading.’<br />
(238) her dem di-k-in mitala, daxwaz ji wan re (CX3:8)<br />
all time IPFV-do.PRS-3PL ponder request from 3OP from<br />
havîn<br />
summer<br />
‘All the time pondering. We request only summer from them.’<br />
5.4.1.1.8 Adjective before noun<br />
In line 31 of Xoşe Wekî Cenetê, ˈIt’s Wonderful Like Heaven,’ shown in (239),<br />
Nalbend put an adjective before a noun. A speaker of Northern Kurdish would normally<br />
say bejna rast, which utilizes the feminine ezafe, -a, to connect the modifier, rast,<br />
’straight,’ to the head noun, bejin, ‘stature.’ In this instance, normal order would not<br />
increase the number of syllables, as the i in bejin elides due to the addition of the ezafe<br />
particle. Regarding the phrase xuş zelam, my consultant said that, in this case, both xuş<br />
zelam and zelamê xuş (which is normal order that utilizes the masculine ezafe, -ê, to<br />
connect the modifier xuş) are commonly heard among speakers of Northern Kurdish.
156<br />
(239) rast bejin xuş zelam 93 (AN2:31)<br />
straight stature good men<br />
‘straight stature, good men’<br />
5.4.1.1.9 Possessor before noun<br />
There was one instance in the corpus where a poet put a possessor before the head<br />
noun. By putting me, 1O, before dil, ’heart,’ shown in (240), Nalbend avoided use of the<br />
ezafe particle, which would have added an additional syllable to his line. Outside of this<br />
line of poetry, I have never observed anyone putting a possessive pronoun before a head<br />
noun.<br />
(240) me dil(-ê) beḧir-a tijî kêm=e (AN1:58)<br />
1OP heart(-EZ.M) ocean-EZ.F full puss=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘Our heart is an ocean full of puss (water of a wound).’<br />
5.4.1.1.10 Number after noun<br />
As mentioned in § 4.4.2.5, numbers precede nouns in normal speech. In line 11 of<br />
Xoşe Wekî Cenetê, ˈIt’s Wonderful Like Heaven,’ the third line in example (241),<br />
Nalbend put the number hizar, ‘thousand,’ after the head noun, cins, ‘species,’ and a<br />
modifying noun, kulîlk, ‘flowers.’ Numbers, as modifiers, are typically part of the noun<br />
phrase; however, in this instance, the end of the noun phrase is marked by the plural<br />
oblique marker on kulîlk. Hence, hizar is technically outside the noun phrase, yet<br />
understood to be part of it, as it is also a modifier of cins. Nalbend likely put hizar at the<br />
end in order to rhyme it with the words ending the two preceding lines, bihar and<br />
darubar, also shown. In normal language a speaker would say, hizar cinsê kulîlka.<br />
(241) taze 94 =ye lê xoş bihar (AN2:9-11)<br />
beautiful=COP.PRS.3SG in.3OF nice spring<br />
‘A nice spring in it is beautiful,<br />
93 Zelam is translated as plural, ‘men,’ because it is part of an equative sentence that has an understood<br />
plural subject via a 3PL copula in line 29.<br />
94 Chyet (2003) would define taze as ‘fresh, green.’
157<br />
baẍ u rez u darubar<br />
garden and orchard and forest<br />
‘garden and orchard and forest,’<br />
cins-ê kulîlk-a hizar<br />
species-EZ.M flower-OBL.PL thousand<br />
‘a thousand species of flowers.’<br />
5.4.1.1.11 Intentional end-rhyme dissimilarity<br />
Questions formed with the interrogative words ka and kanê, ‘where,’ lack the<br />
copula. In all but one line in the corpus where these words are used, they appear before<br />
the subject. In examples (242) and (243), ka and kanê appear at the beginning of the line.<br />
(242) ka reḧim însanê bê esil u neseb 95 (AN4:24)<br />
where merciful person without family ties and ancestry<br />
‘Where is mercy, (you) the person without family ties (background) and ancestry.’<br />
(243) kanê gundî? (BS6:17-19)<br />
where people<br />
‘Where are the people?’ 96<br />
kanê ban?<br />
where roof<br />
‘Where’s the roof?’<br />
ka dil-ê min?<br />
where heart.EZ.M 1O<br />
‘Where’s my heart?’<br />
In (244), ka occurs before the compound subject, mal u mefer, ‘home and belongings.’ In<br />
the first phrase in (245), kanê comes before the subject ew gul, ‘that flower.’ In the<br />
second phrase, ka comes before the subject şemala geş u hil, ‘bright and lit candle.’<br />
(244) piştî mirn-ê ka bu wî mal u mefer 97 (AN4:21)<br />
after death-OBL.F where for 3OM home and opportunity<br />
‘After death, where is there for him a home and opportunity?’<br />
95 Neseb is an Arabic word and, therefore, is not given an oblique ending.<br />
96 Or ‘Where’s the village?’<br />
97 Chyet (2003) lists mefer as ‘opportunity, chance, possibility.’
158<br />
(245) erê ey dil kanê ew gul ka şemal-a geş (BS1:19)<br />
yes O heart where 3D flower where candle-EZ.F bright<br />
u hil<br />
and lit<br />
‘Yes, O heart, where’s that flower? Where’s the bright and lit (glowing) candle?’<br />
In line 7 of Bila..Bila, ‘OK..OK,’ shown in (246), the word kanê is at the end of<br />
the line, after the subject dustê min. I propose that Sindî intentionally diverted from a<br />
normal word order in order to make the end of the line more dissimilar from the ending<br />
he would have had if he used normal word order. The rhyme scheme for this poem is A-<br />
A-X-A. Line 7 is the line that is to be free from rhyming with the other three lines in the<br />
quatrain. The line with normal word order would have been Xudê, kanê dustê min or<br />
perhaps Kanê, Xudê, dustê min. The placement of the vocative would not change the<br />
ending of min, which is very similar to the ending of the rhymed words: diburînim,<br />
diwerînim, and bînim, also shown.<br />
(246) sal bu sal-ê di-burîn-im (BS3:5-8)<br />
year by year-OBL.F IPFV-pass.away.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I’m passing away year by year.’<br />
rundk-a ez lê di-werîn-im<br />
tear-OBL.PL 1D for.3OM IPFV-shed.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I am shedding tears for him.’<br />
Xudê, dust-ê min kanê<br />
God friend-EZ.M 1O where<br />
‘God, where’s my lover?’<br />
kengî ez dê wî bîn-im<br />
when 1D will 3OM see.PRS-1SG<br />
‘When will I see him?’<br />
This discovery shows that in rhymed poems containing obligatory rhyme-free lines,<br />
dissimilarity with end of line rhyme is a technique in Northern Kurdish poetry.<br />
5.4.1.1.12 Use of a prepositional phrase in lieu of a possessive ezafe construction<br />
Nalbend, in separate poems, took the liberty to use a prepositional phrase in lieu<br />
of a possessive ezafe construction. For example, the normal way to express “my flesh and<br />
bone” would be by means of the ezafe construction: -EZ + possessive pronoun, that is, leş
159<br />
u hestîê min, ‘body and bone’-EZ-M 1O. However, in the first line in (247), Nalbend<br />
expressed the possessive pronoun min in a prepositional phrase using the preposition li.<br />
In the second line in (248), li min was also used in lieu of a possessive ezafe construction,<br />
allowing Nalbend to put the subject, cerg u dil, ‘liver and heart,’ at the end the line. In<br />
both of these instances, use of the prepositional phrase versus a possessive ezafe<br />
construction aided Nalbend in rhyming these lines with end-rhymes in other lines of the<br />
poem, also shown in the examples below.<br />
(247) li min ḧelîa-n leş u hestî (AN1:45-47)<br />
in 1O melt.PST-3PL flesh and bone<br />
‘My flesh and bone melted.<br />
me gut-Ø mar=e ez-ê geztî<br />
1OP say.PST.3SG snake=COP.PRS.3SG 1D-EZ.M bite-PST.PTCP<br />
‘We thought it’s a snake that has bitten me.’<br />
bi remz-a bazin-êt dest-î<br />
by.means.of signal-EZ.F bracelet-EZ.PL hand-OBL.M<br />
‘by means of the signal of the hand bracelets 98 ’<br />
(248) zend u til u bask u mil (AN2:53-55)<br />
forearm and finger and arm and shoulder<br />
‘forearm and finger and arm and shoulder’<br />
sutî li min cerg u dil<br />
burn.PST.PTCP in 1O liver and heart<br />
‘The liver and heart in me are burnt.’<br />
Alternate translation: ‘My liver and heart are burnt.’<br />
av rîl wan şêr=e sil<br />
water rîl those lion=COP.PRS.3SG angry<br />
‘water rîl 99 them, the lion is angry’<br />
5.4.1.1.13 Word displacements<br />
In example (249), the preposition combination ji ber, ‘because,’ is out of place,<br />
distant from the object of the prepositional phrase, ’Işqa te, ‘your love.’ Normal word<br />
98 The bracelets signifying that the woman is married. Among Kurds they are one of the most important<br />
items given to a woman upon marriage.’<br />
99 Meaning unknown.
160<br />
order would be jiber ‘Işqa te ezim buhijtî. My consultant did not take issue with this<br />
displacement and said that it “sounds more poetic.” The placement of ji ber had no effect<br />
on changing the syllable count for the line.<br />
(249) ’Işqa te ezim ji_ber buhijtî (AN5:28)<br />
love-EZ.F you 1D=COP.PRS.1SG because.of melt.PST.PTCP<br />
‘Because of your love, I am the one who is melted.’<br />
In example (250), the word lewa, which is often translated as ‘that is why’ or<br />
‘thus,’ is not in its normal place at the beginning of the clause, which begins with şewiq,<br />
‘light.’ Looking at the end of line 30, also shown, it seems clear that Sindî put lewa at the<br />
end of 29 to rhyme with xewa, ‘dreaming.’ My consultant said that while lewa is<br />
abnormal at the end of this clause, it is still acceptable.<br />
(250) ew çira-yên mililet=în 100 -e şewiq veda-n bu me (BS4:29, 30)<br />
3dp light-EZ.PL people=COP.3PL-SRM light give.PST-3PL for us<br />
lewa<br />
that.is.why<br />
‘They are the lights of the people; that is why they gave off light for us.’<br />
bilbil-ên şerm=in di-xuîn-in, Kurdu,<br />
nightingale-EZ.PL disgraced=COP.PRS.3SG IMPV-sing.PRS-3SG Kurd<br />
dê rab-e ji xewa<br />
will awake-IMP.SG from dreaming<br />
‘The disgraced of the nightingales are singing: Hey Kurd, wake up from dreaming!’<br />
5.4.1.2 Ellipsis<br />
Ellipsis has been the subject of many books and the term is often defined so as to<br />
distinguish it from other syntactic occurrences resulting from pragmatic decisions, such<br />
as sluicing and gapping. 101 In the discussion that follows, I will use the term ellipsis to<br />
100 The original text has this copular clitic as -în, which does not agree with the subject ew, the first person,<br />
plural direct case pronoun. It may be a typographical error or some unknown meaning.<br />
101 An in-depth analysis of various types of omissions is beyond the scope of this paper. For a thorough<br />
discussion on the subject, I refer the reader to Anne Lobeck’s book, Ellipsis: functional heads, licensing, &<br />
identification, 1995.
161<br />
generally refer to the omission of a particular word or phrase that is understood by the<br />
hearer (Adams 1997:121).<br />
5.4.1.2.1 Ellipsis of anaphoric subject pronoun<br />
In certain contexts, inclusion of subject pronouns is optional in Northern Kurdish.<br />
The hearer can understand an unmentioned referent by means of verb endings, which<br />
refer to one of the referents involved in the state of affairs. We still call such instances<br />
ellipsis, because leaving out the subject pronoun is context dependent.<br />
In line 5 of Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ the<br />
shown in (251) below, Sindî did not include the subject pronoun tu, ‘you,’ which would<br />
normally come just before ruhinîya, ‘light.’ The subject is indicated by the 2SG copula, yî,<br />
at the end of the line. Additionally, the entity expressed by the subject is known from the<br />
context, having just been reiterated by the personal pronoun tu, ’you,’ at the beginning of<br />
line 4 and in the second clause of the same line. The anaphor tu refers to Mustafa<br />
Barzanî, who is mentioned only in the title, but not in the body, of the poem.<br />
(251) tu bi-ke rehm-ê ji mirîd-an kengî (BS1:4)<br />
2D IRR-do.IMP.SG compassion-OBL.F from disciples-OBL.PL when<br />
dê tu hêye ve<br />
will 2D come.PRS.2SG again<br />
‘Be compassionate to (your) disciples; when will you be back?’<br />
baz-ê baz-an şah-ê Kurd-an ruhinî-ya çav-ê (BS1:5)<br />
falcon-EZ.M falcon-OBL.PL king-EZ.M Kurd-OBL.PL light-EZ.F eye-EZ.M<br />
me=yî<br />
1OP=COP.PRS.2SG<br />
‘Falcon of falcons, king of Kurds―you are the light of our eyes.’<br />
Example (252) from Sindî’s Bila..Bila, ‘OK..OK,’ shows both exclusion and<br />
inclusion of subject pronouns. In line 5, the pronoun ez, 1D, was omitted. However, in the<br />
following line, ez was included.<br />
(252) sal bu sal-ê di-burîn-im (BS3:5, 6)<br />
year by year-OBL.F IPFV-pass.away.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I’m passing away year by year.’
162<br />
rundk-a ez lê di-werîn-im<br />
tears-OBL.PL 1D for.3OM IPFV-shed.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I am shedding tears for him.’<br />
Inclusion or exclusion of a subject personal pronoun can help the poet reach a desired<br />
line length, as seems to be the case in lines 5 and 6 above. However, it is possible that<br />
inclusion of a subject pronoun in some instances has some pragmatic purpose, perhaps<br />
that of emphasis. It seems likely, though, that Sindî’s motivation for using ez in line 6<br />
was to gain an extra syllable for the line. Concerning line 5, the exclusion of the subject<br />
pronoun is natural and expected in the given context.<br />
5.4.1.2.2 Ellipsis of anaphoric object pronoun<br />
In ergative-absolutive clauses, it is the object that is represented in the verb’s<br />
person-number ending, whatever the tense. 102 When an object is referenced by a pronoun,<br />
and the context allows, it may be left unmentioned. For example, a person might say, min<br />
dît, ‘I saw,’ in reply to the question, Te biraê min dît?, ‘Did you see my brother?’ The<br />
zero (Ø) ending on the stem dît signifies third person, singular agreement with the<br />
unmentioned object, which refers to the bira, ‘brother.’ If the speaker wanted to include<br />
the object pronoun, ew, ‘him,’ in the reply, he or she would have said, min ew dît, ‘I saw<br />
him.’<br />
However, usage of the object pronoun in this instance may seem emphatic. More<br />
research is needed to see if poets include object pronouns when there is opportunity for<br />
non-utterance, as I found no such situations in the corpus. Additionally, possessing an<br />
etic perspective on the language, such discourse level research would require much time<br />
with native speakers. From the data available, we can surmise that when the context<br />
allows, there does seem to be a tendency in the language to leave object pronouns in<br />
ergative-absolutive clauses unspoken, when permitted by the context. Some of these<br />
instances are shown in examples (253) through (255). The unmentioned object pronouns<br />
102 Some irregular verbs always exhibit ergative agreement.
163<br />
are in parentheses. For the contexts of each line, see the translations of the poems in<br />
Appendix B.<br />
(253) gut-in belê me (ew) dît-Ø (BS6:26)<br />
say.PST-3PL yes we (3D) see.PST-3SG<br />
‘They said, Yes, we saw it.’<br />
(254) Xudê (ew) kir-Ø bû bela bû me (AN1:65)<br />
God (3D) make.PST for problem for us<br />
‘God made her a problem for us.’<br />
(255) taze wesa dil (ew) vîa-Ø (AN2:35)<br />
beautiful like.that heart (3DP) want.PST-3SG<br />
‘The heart wanted them beautiful like that.’<br />
Sindî’s Bila..Bila, ‘OK..OK,’ provides some interesting examples of variation in<br />
pronoun usage. And since we are dealing with issues of participant reference, I have<br />
included a large portion of the poem, shown in (256). The lines in focus in this discussion<br />
are 4, 8 and 10.<br />
Line 4 is a response to the previous line, ‘He’s my friend by love.’ The speaker is<br />
telling God to protect her dust, ‘friend,’ which could also be translated as ‘lover,’ as it is<br />
in line 7. In line 4, the object wî, 3OM, is unexpressed. (The missing pronoun is within the<br />
parentheses.) The verb bihêlit is transitive and the translator knew it was necessary in<br />
English to include the object personal pronoun, the anaphor ‘him,’ in the translation. As<br />
the syllable count for the lines in this poem is seven, Sindî did not need to express the<br />
pronoun wî, 3OM, but depended on the rules of participant reference in Northern Kurdish<br />
that allows for the exclusion of personal object pronouns in certain contextual situations.<br />
Also note that in this instance, the missing 3OM pronoun is not represented in this verb<br />
bihêlit, which agrees with the subject. Hence, this is a case where pronoun ellipsis<br />
depends entirely on the rules of participant reference, receiving no help from the personnumber<br />
ending on the verb.<br />
(256) bila .. bila çi bêj-it (BS3:1-11)<br />
ok ok what say.PRS-3SG<br />
‘Ok .. ok, what he says.’
164<br />
bila dil-ê min bi-hêl-it<br />
ok heart-EZ.M 1O IRR-leave.PRS.IMP-3SG<br />
‘Ok, my heart, let (him) leave.’<br />
dust-ê min=e bi evîn-î<br />
friend-EZ.M 1O=COP.PRS.3SG with love-OBL.M<br />
‘He’s my friend by love.’<br />
Xudê, (wî) bu min bi-hêl-it line 4<br />
God (3OM) for 1O IRR-protect.IMP-3SG<br />
‘God, protect him for me.’<br />
sal bu sal-ê di-burîn-im<br />
year by year-OBL.F IPFV-pass.away.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I’m passing away year by year.’<br />
rundk-a ez lê di-werîn-im<br />
tear-OBL.PL I for.3OM IPFV-shed.PRS-1SG<br />
‘I’m shedding tears for him.’<br />
Xudê, dust-ê min kanê<br />
God lover-EZ.M 1O where<br />
‘God, where’s my lover?’<br />
kengî ez dê wî bîn-im line 8<br />
when 1D will 3OM see.PRS-1SG<br />
‘When will I see him?’<br />
dust-ê min .. boçî sil=e<br />
lover-EZ.M 1O why mad=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘My lover―Why is he mad (at me)?’<br />
dil-ê min ji_ber wî kul=e line 10<br />
heart-EZ.M 1O because.of 3OM distressed=COP.3SG<br />
‘My heart is distressed because of him.’<br />
bêj-n-ê ez-a razî me<br />
tell.PRS-IMP.PL-3OM 1D-EZ.F accepting COP.PRS.1SG<br />
‘Tell him I’m accepting (what he says).’<br />
In line 8, Sindî utilized the extra syllable of the object personal pronoun wî to<br />
reach seven syllables. According to my consultant, wî, 3OM, could have been excluded. A<br />
hearer would still understand that the one whom the woman wants to see is dustê min,<br />
‘my lover,’ in the previous line.<br />
Lastly, my consultant informed me that in line 10, it is necessary to retain the<br />
personal pronoun wî, 3OM, which is the object in the prepositional phrase, ji ber wî,
165<br />
‘because of him.’ If the pronoun was excluded, the reader would have the understanding<br />
of, ‘My heart is distressed because he is angry at me’ versus ‘My heart is distressed<br />
because of him.’ As it stands, wî refers to dustê min, ‘my friend.’ Without the anaphor wî,<br />
the default reference would be the anger of the dust, ‘friend.’<br />
Below is another context that does not allow for ellipsis of an object pronoun. At<br />
the end of Nalbend’s Kiçkek Me Divêt, ‘We Want A Girl,’ the final four lines are spoken<br />
by one person to Ehmed. In line 33, the woman states Ma min tu vîyayî, ‘Did I love<br />
you…?’ Here the object pronoun tu, 2D, is included. She repeats the same words in line<br />
36, albeit in a different order. One would think that the context at this point would allow<br />
for object pronoun ellipsis. However, according to my consultant, a person can never say<br />
only min vîyayî and have it mean ‘I loved you.’ The 2D pronoun tu, ‘you,’ must also be<br />
used. Perhaps some verbs allow for ellipsis while others do not. This is an area for further<br />
research.<br />
(257) Ma min tu vîya-yî bu milik u mal-î (AN5:33-36)<br />
QP 1O 2D love.PST-2SG for land and home-OBL.M<br />
‘Did I love you because of land and belongings (money)?’<br />
Ez bu-m=e xidam bu…..<br />
1D become.PST-1SG=DIR slave for<br />
‘I became a slave for…’ 103<br />
Eḧmed tu bi-zan-e ey riḧ-a min<br />
Ehmed you IRR-know.IMP.SG O soul-EZ.F me<br />
‘Ehmed, know, O soul of mine.’<br />
Min vîya-yî tu jiber…<br />
1O love.PST-2SG 2D because<br />
‘I loved you because…’<br />
5.4.1.2.3 Ellipsis of anaphoric pronoun in a prepositional phrase<br />
Speakers of Northern Kurdish sometimes have an option to leave out an anaphoric<br />
pronoun in a prepositional phrase―again, depending on the context of conversation.<br />
Recall example (236), repeated below in (258). In the second phrase of the line, the 3SG<br />
103 Two lines at the end of this poem are missing the final words in the original text.
166<br />
pronoun wî, referring to Qazî, a figure in Kurdish history, is missing after the preposition<br />
bo, ‘for.’ It could have been included; however, inclusion would have given Sindî too<br />
many syllables for the line.<br />
(258) tazî ya Qazî jibîr_ne-k-in bo (wî) bi-k-in (BS4:23)<br />
funeral EZ.F Qazî forget_NEG-do.PRS-3PL for (him) IRR-do.PRS-3PL<br />
şînî her sal<br />
mourning every year<br />
‘Don’t forget the funeral of Qazî, mourn for him every year.’<br />
In Bêhna Gulê, ‘The Smell of the Rose,’ a prose poem, Hizirvan left out the 3OM<br />
pronoun wî, ‘him,’ (or some other noun or noun phrase) after the prepositions li ser,<br />
meaning ‘on.’ As well, another 3OM object pronoun, ‘him,’ a required argument of the<br />
verb berzekirin, ‘hid,’ is not expressed. Since prose poetry is closer to natural language,<br />
this example likely shows how the ellipsis of pronouns―from both prepositional phrases<br />
and object phrases―is a natural occurrence in the language. While English requires both<br />
pronouns, they need not be expressed in certain contexts in Northern Kurdish.<br />
(259) agr-ek boş li ser helkir-in, berzekir-in, 104 (H:6)<br />
fire-INDF large on (him) set.PST-3PL hide.PST-3PL (him)<br />
‘And (they) ignited a massive fire on him (his body), and hid him.’<br />
With this example above, we might conclude that it is the inclusion of anaphoric<br />
pronouns (in certain contexts) that is a tool a poet can use for reaching a desired syllable<br />
count in a poem, as was the case with line 8 of (256) in the previous section.<br />
This study did not investigate identifying other places in the corpus where<br />
anaphoric object personal pronouns could have been excluded. Inclusion of an anaphor<br />
may often have some pragmatic purpose. Determining the various contexts for inclusion<br />
and exclusion was beyond the scope of this paper. Table 23 provides some additional<br />
104 From my direct correspondence with Denise Bailey (2012), I learned that for past tense, transitive<br />
sentences, there are some situations where agreement with the object does not always apply when the<br />
subject of the clause is a third person plural and left unexpressed. The plural -in ending is also commonly<br />
used when the subject is impersonal, as it is in this entire poem.
167<br />
instances ellipsis of object pronouns in prepositional phrases. The missing pronouns are<br />
in parentheses.<br />
Poem Line # Pronoun Text<br />
Table 23. Pronoun ellipsis.<br />
BS4 25 wî Ristkên şenqê bu (wî) vedan can fîdayên rastî yê<br />
Necklets of throats were ready for him to sacrifice his soul for<br />
truth.<br />
BS4 45 wî Nabitin biçim nik Xanî bu (wî) vekim dilê bi xwîn<br />
I can’t go near Xanî and open for him my heart with blood<br />
(sadness).<br />
BS7 11 wî Kewek bu lê neçu ravê ji (wî) kewgiran nekew girbu<br />
5.4.1.2.4 Ellipsis of copula<br />
He was a partridge but he did not go hunting because for the<br />
hunters this partridge is not a hunter.<br />
Ellipsis of the third person, singular, present tense copula is quite common in<br />
spoken language. Such is the case in the following examples from Cegerxwîn’s Silav Li<br />
Sifra Hazire, ‘Salute the Feast Is Ready.’ Written Northern Kurdish would typically<br />
include the 3SG copula, e, on the end of the words bihuşt, ‘heaven,’ in (260), and<br />
namîdar, ‘famous,’ in (261). However, we have already seen how performance is an<br />
important consideration for the poet when writing poetry. In this instance, leaving off the<br />
copula reflects spoken language, and aids the poet in reaching his desired syllable count.<br />
(260) mertal di dest(-êt) wan de bihuşt(=e) (CX2:7)<br />
shield in hand(-EZ.PL) 3OP in heaven(=COP.PRS.3SG)<br />
‘The shield in their hands (is) heaven.’<br />
(261) lewra Cegerxwîn namîdar(=e) (CX2:30)<br />
Thus Cegerxwîn famous (=COP.PRS.3SG)<br />
‘Thus Cegerxwîn is famous.’<br />
In other lines from the same poem, including the title, the copula is included. In<br />
these examples the copula appears in its normal position, at the end of each line.
168<br />
(262) gurz-ê di dest wan agir=e (CX2:8)<br />
club-EZ.M in hand 3OP fire=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘The club in their hand is fire.’<br />
(263) silav li sifra hazir=e (CX2:28-29)<br />
salute feast ready=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘Salute, the feast (dining-table) is ready.’<br />
seîda-yê rast u ron-î ye<br />
teacher-EZ.M truth and light-OBL.M COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘He is the teacher of truth and light,’<br />
(264) ên 105 ker di-bêj-in kafir=e (CX2:32)<br />
EZ.PL donkey IRR-say.PRS-3PL infidel=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘The ignorant ones say he’s a blasphemer (infidel).’<br />
5.4.1.2.5 Ellipsis of ezafe conjunctive particle<br />
In Silav Li Sifra Hazire, ‘Salute the Feast Is Ready,’ Cegerxwîn took liberty to<br />
omit an ezafe conjunctive particle on the word dest in two lines. As far as I am aware, this<br />
is not acceptable in Northern Kurdish spoken in Iraq. Cegerxwîn, however, was from<br />
southern Turkey and Syria. Many educated people in Northern Iraq have stated that<br />
Cegerxwîn’s language is quite different from the speech of the Badinan area, so perhaps<br />
his dialect of Northern Kurdish allows this.<br />
(265) mertal di dest(-êt) wan de bihuşt(=e) (CX2:7, 8)<br />
shield in hand(-EZ.PL) 3OP in heaven(=COP.PRS.3SG)<br />
‘The shield in their hands (is) heaven.’<br />
gurz-ê di dest(-êt) wan agir=e<br />
club-EZ.M in hand(-EZ.PL) 3OP fire=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘The club in their hands is fire.’<br />
However, Cegerxwîn was not the only poet to take this liberty. In several other<br />
instances, Sindî omitted an ezafe particle. It seems that the omissions were made in order<br />
to reach a desired syllable count. In (266), the feminine ezafe, -a, which would have<br />
connected the adjective reş, ‘black,’ to the noun şev, ‘night,’ is missing. In (267), the<br />
noun cih, ‘place,’ has no ezafe conjunctive particle for connecting to kew, ‘partridge.’<br />
105 In this example the ezafe conjunctive particle is used as a relativizer. In order to function as an NP, ezafe<br />
requires either a modifier (adjective phrase) or a relative clause.
169<br />
And in (268), there is no ezafe on dest, ‘hand,’ to connect to the word nezana, ‘ignorant<br />
ones.’<br />
(266) çi tav-ek bu gelo ya geş li çax-ê tarî u (BS7:17)<br />
what morn-INDF for people EZ.F bright in time-EZ.M dark and<br />
şev(-a) reş<br />
night(-EZ.M) black<br />
‘What a bright sunrise for the people, radiance in the dark time and black night!’<br />
(267) gelo lewra di-suj-it dil ku cih(-ê) kew (BS7:24)<br />
People that’s.why IRR-burn.PRS-3SG heart because place(-EZ.M) partridge<br />
evro vala=ye<br />
today vacant=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘People! That’s why the heart is burning, because the place of the partridge today is<br />
vacant.’<br />
(268) ketî-m=e dest(-êt) nezan-a (BS2:14)<br />
I fall.PST-1SG=DIR hand(-EZ.PL) ignorant.one-OBL.PL<br />
‘I fell into the hands of ignorant ones (idiots).’<br />
This last example above, (268), is from Sindî’s Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da, ‘A<br />
Walk Through Kurdistan.’ In a similar line from the same poem, Sindî did use an ezafe<br />
on the word dest, ‘hand.’<br />
(269) ketîm=e dest-ê har-a (BS2:56)<br />
I fell=DIR hand-EZ.M wild.person-OBL.PL<br />
I fell into the hands of wild people (enemies).<br />
Two other examples where an ezafe was omitted are provided below. In (270),<br />
Sindî left off the feminine ezafe, -ya, on gemî, ‘boat,’ probably to meet a desired number<br />
of syllables for the line. In (271) the ezafe -ê is missing on dem, ‘time.’<br />
(270) bi Kurmancî gemî(-ya) dar-ê li derîa-yê ziman-ê (BS7:19)<br />
with Kurmanji boat(-EZ.F) wood-EZ.M in sea-EZ.M language-EZ.M<br />
xweş<br />
nice<br />
‘With Kurmanji, a wooden boat in the sea of nice language.’<br />
(271) hêjîr-a li dem(-ê) nubar-ê (BS2:2)<br />
fig-EZ.F in time(-EZ.M) spring-OBL.F<br />
‘A fig in the time of spring.’
170<br />
There were other instances where it looked as if an ezafe conjunctive particle was<br />
omitted, but after speaking with my consultant, I learned that these instances, which I<br />
discuss below, either call for no ezafe or an ezafe is optional. I have included these<br />
examples so that the reader will be aware that the compounding of words occurs in the<br />
language.<br />
In (272) mêr xaz, ‘brave man,’ is correct without use of an ezafe particle. Chyet<br />
(2003) lists mêrxas as meaning ‘hero, brave person.’ Hence, this is an example of a<br />
compound word, two words that have become lexically one. In the same example, an<br />
ezafe is considered optional in the second noun phrase, mêr çaka, ‘man of goodness.’ In<br />
(273) the noun phrase cilil reş, ‘black clothing,’ is “like one word” according to my<br />
consultant. No ezafe should be used. In (274), I would have expected to see an ezafe on<br />
agrek, ‘a fire,’ to join with it the adjective boş, ‘large.’ However, after perusing other<br />
poems by Hizirvan, I noticed that he usually does not use an ezafe conjunctive particle on<br />
nouns that have an indefinite article suffix, whether masculine or feminine. While I<br />
personally have not observed this dropping of an ezafe in the spoken language of<br />
Northern Iraq, it seems that it is an aspect of at least one of its subdialects.<br />
(272) nav mêr xaz u mêr(-ê) çak-a (BS2:44)<br />
toward man brave and men(-EZ.M) goodness-OBL.PL<br />
‘toward brave men and men of goodness’<br />
(273) şagird-ên te heqe çû-Ø-ban bi mewkin ew (BS7:6)<br />
disciple-EZ.PL 2O all go.PST-3SG-SBJV by.means.of procession 3D<br />
cilil reş b-in<br />
clothing black COP.PRS-3PL<br />
‘It would have been right for your disciples to go in procession dressed in black<br />
clothing.’
171<br />
(274) agr-ek boş li ser helkir-in, berzekir-in, 106 (H:6)<br />
fire-INDF large on (3OM) set.PST-3PL (3OM) hide.PST-3PL<br />
‘And (they) ignited a massive fire on him (his body), and hid him.’<br />
5.4.1.2.6 Ellipsis of oblique marker<br />
As mentioned in § 4.4.2.2, obliques are always marked in the Northern Kurdish of<br />
northern Iraq. In the Northern Kurdish of Turkey, however, masculine nouns in the<br />
oblique case are left unmarked, as is evident in the following example from Cegerxwîn,<br />
who was from Turkey and Syria. In line 10 of Silav Li Sifra Hazire, ‘Salute the Feast Is<br />
Ready,’ shown in (275), there is no oblique marker on Xidir. In the Northern Kurdish of<br />
Iraq, Xidir would have the masculine oblique suffix, -î.<br />
(275) şêx-ê ko tac u teylesan (CX2:9-10)<br />
sheikh-EZ.M that crown and turban<br />
‘The sheikh with crown and turban, ‘<br />
weregirt-y-Ø-e reng-ê Xidir.<br />
take:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG color-EZ.M Khidir<br />
‘has taken the shape of Green Knight.’ 107<br />
Nalbend typically expresses masculine oblique markers, as can be seen in first<br />
line of Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning On The Rooftop,’ which is also the<br />
title of the poem. The masculine noun ban, ‘rooftop,’ is appropriately marked with the<br />
masculine oblique marker, -î, as it is the final noun in a prepositional phrase. As well, the<br />
feminine noun spêde, ‘morning,’ at the end of an adverbial clause, has the expected<br />
feminine oblique marker, -ê. The final e on the end of spêde elides due to the presence of<br />
the stronger oblique marking vowel.<br />
106 From my direct correspondence with Denise Bailey, I learned that for past tense, transitive sentences,<br />
there are some situations where agreement with the object does not always apply, such as when the subject<br />
of the clause is third person plural and unexpressed. The plural -in ending is also commonly used when the<br />
subject is impersonal, as it is in this entire poem.<br />
107<br />
According to the translator, the Islamic figure Xidir is close to the Western figure called the Green<br />
Knight (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Knight).
172<br />
(276) duhî spêd-ê li_ser ban-î (AN1:1)<br />
yesterday morning-OBL.F on rooftop-OBL.M<br />
‘Yesterday morning on the rooftop’<br />
In line 24 of Ey Ze’îmê Bê Nivêjê Bê Werar, ‘O Leader Without Prayer and Use,’<br />
Nalbend took liberty to leave off the masculine oblique marker, -î, on the word neseb,<br />
‘ancestry,’ the final noun in a prepositional phrase. The appropriate oblique marker for<br />
grammatical correctness is in parentheses. By leaving off the oblique marker, Nalbend<br />
was able to rhyme neseb with the fourth line of the rest of the poem’s quatrains (not<br />
shown). As well, the syllable count remains at 12 for the line, the line length for the<br />
poem.<br />
(277) ka reḧim însan-ê bê esil u neseb(-î) (AN4:24)<br />
where merciful person-EZ.M without family ties and ancestry<br />
‘Where is mercy, (you) the person without family ties (background) and ancestry.’<br />
In Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da, ‘A Walk Through Kurdistan,’ Sindî elected to<br />
omit oblique markers on the feminine nouns alek, ‘corner,’ shown in (278), and<br />
Kurdistan, shown in (279). Leaving off the oblique marker on alek allowed Sindî to<br />
rhyme it with cwanek, ‘a pretty woman,’ at the end of line 3, also shown. While rhyme<br />
seems to be the primary motivator, the line is also left at 7 syllables, the length it needed<br />
to be for the poem. In (279), the motivation for leaving off the oblique is syllable count,<br />
as the line would have had eight syllables if the oblique marker was used on Kurdistan.<br />
(278) min dît li wêrê cwan-ek (BS2:3, 4)<br />
1O see.PST(-3SG) LOC there pretty.woman-INDF<br />
‘I saw a pretty lady there.’<br />
awir di-da-Ø ji alek(-ê)<br />
look IPFV-give.PST-3SG from corner(-OBL.F)<br />
‘She was winking from the corner.’<br />
(279) bu Kurdistan(-ê) mirîd=im (BS2:24)<br />
for Kurdistan(-OBL.F) disciple=COP.PRS.1SG<br />
‘I’m a disciple of Kurdistan.’<br />
Lines 9 and 10 from Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal<br />
Barzanî,’ shown in example (280), are also missing oblique markers. In line 9, me―ciḧel<br />
u pîr u jin, 1OP ‘youth and old one and woman,’ is the subject of a past tense transitive
173<br />
sentence. Hence, the final noun of the noun phrase should be marked with an oblique<br />
marker, which in this instance is jin, ‘woman.’ However, the actual subject in this line<br />
may be the pronoun me, which is an oblique case pronoun. The words ciḧel u pîr u jin<br />
may simply be a description of me.<br />
In line 10, however, mezar u Înis u cin, ‘grave and (prophet) Înis and evil spirit’<br />
are the nouns in a prepositional phrase. As discussed, the final noun in a prepositional<br />
phrase, in this instance cin, ‘evil spirit,’ should be marked as oblique. In order to rhyme<br />
jin, a feminine noun, with cin, a masculine noun, the oblique marker -î was dropped. Use<br />
of the oblique marker would have not just ruined the rhyme; it would have also extended<br />
the line past the syllable count for the lines of the poem.<br />
(280) ayet-a Kursî ji_berkir-Ø me ciḧêl u pîr (BS1:9, 10)<br />
verse-EZ.F Kursî memorize.PST-3SG 1OP young and old<br />
u jin<br />
and woman<br />
‘We―young, old, and women―memorized the Kursî verse.’<br />
me du’a bu-Ø şev u ruj-an ji mezar u Înis<br />
1OP prayer COP.PST-3SG night and day-OBL.PL from grave and Înis<br />
u cin<br />
and evil.spirit<br />
‘We prayed (wished) night and day to grave and (prophet) Înis and evil spirit.’<br />
In (281), Nalbend left off the oblique marker on the word dil, ‘heart,’ the subject<br />
of an irregular verb, ‘want,’ which always demands the subject be in the oblique case. It<br />
seems likely that his motivation was to reduce the syllable count.<br />
(281) taze wesa dil(-î) vîa-Ø (AN2:35)<br />
beautiful like.that heart(-OBL.M) (them) want.PST.3SG<br />
‘The heart wanted them beautiful like that.’<br />
5.4.1.2.7 Ellipsis of preposition<br />
I only identified one ellipsis of a preposition. In line 43 of Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî,<br />
‘Yesterday Morning On The Rooftop,’ shown in (282), the reader understands the phrase<br />
although the unspoken preposition bu, ‘for,’ has been omitted. According to my
174<br />
consultant, no one would utter this sentence without the preposition. Again, Nalbend’s<br />
motivation was likely to reduce the syllable count for the line.<br />
(282) çi derman=e (bu) leşê ba-wî 108 (AN1:43)<br />
what medicine=COP.PRS.3SG (for) body wind-OBL.M<br />
‘What medicine is there for the winded body?’<br />
5.4.1.2.8 Ellipsis of irrealis aspect prefix, bi-<br />
In one instance, shown in (283), the irrealis aspect prefix, bi-, was missing from<br />
the command, fikirê, ‘think.’ This was confirmed with a second consultant, who said<br />
“that this is the only case in Kurdish where [this] verb is used at the beginning [of a<br />
sentence].” He also agreed that “it seems awkward not to have the bi- [prefix].” It seems<br />
likely that Nalbend left off the prefix in order to meet his syllable count for the line.<br />
(283) Dayîk-a me çû-Ø. Bab-ê me çû-Ø; (AN3:33)<br />
mother-EZ.F 1OP go.PST-3SG father-EZ.M 1OP go.PST-3SG<br />
(bi-)fikir-ê 109 ku bapîr kîve çû-Ø?<br />
(IRR-)think-IMP.SG that grandfather where go.PST-3SG<br />
‘Our mother left. Our father left. Think about it―Where did our grandfather go?’<br />
5.4.1.3 Free variation<br />
This section on free variation covers situations where a poet has freedom to<br />
include or exclude a word or put certain words or phrases in less common places. In these<br />
examples, inclusion or exclusion generally does not change the meaning of the sentence.<br />
I say generally because pragmatic nuances in the language would need further study to<br />
make wide assertions on the examples covered here. But, because we are dealing with<br />
written texts, that is, communication that lacks performance and intonation, it makes<br />
sense to cover these areas.<br />
108 In this instance of a masculine oblique marker being added to a noun, I believe the w is a glide insertion<br />
for the sake of pronunciation. In the resources available to me, this word for ‘wind’ is always spelled ba.<br />
Other poets in the corpus write ba with an oblique marker as baî.<br />
109 The -ê sufix is unusual, as the singular imperative suffix is -e. This may simply be a typographical error<br />
in the original text, as my consultant could not explain the appearance of this suffix.
175<br />
5.4.1.3.1 Use of alternate word forms for reaching syllable count<br />
In § 3.5, I shared how Badirxan Sindî informed me that Neo-classical poets will<br />
sometimes use forms of words from different subdialects of the Kurdish region. He said<br />
that a poet can draw upon such variants in the language in order to find the right word to<br />
fit a desired syllable length or rhyme scheme. In this section I look at situations where,<br />
potentially, a variant form was used to reach a desired syllable count.<br />
In line 30 of Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da, ‘A Walk Through Kurdistan,’ shown in<br />
(284), Sindî used the word wek as meaning ‘like’ or ‘as.’ In line 11 of Nehat, ‘It Did Not<br />
Come,’ shown in (285), he used wekî. Both poems required a specific syllable count in<br />
each line. Hence, it is possible that in (285) Sindî utilized a word that was not the<br />
common variant in spoken language of his area. Şirin’s dictionary (2006), which is<br />
largely composed of Northern Kurdish from Zaxo, the city of Sindî’s upbringing, lists<br />
wek as meaning ‘like’ or ‘as.’ The word wekî is listed meaning ‘if’ or ‘when.’ Comparing<br />
this to Chyet’s dictionary (2003), wek is also listed as meaning ‘as, like, similar to.’<br />
Further down his definition, he lists wekî as an alternative, the resources for this<br />
information being Kurdish-Russian and Kurdish-French dictionaries. With more research,<br />
one might find that the speakers of Northern Kurdish who worked on the Russian and<br />
French dictionaries were from other areas of Northern Iraq, not Zaxo. Unlike Sindî,<br />
Nalbend predominantly used wekî for ‘like, as,’ (eight times) and only used wek twice.<br />
(284) wek dara tuy-ê werîa-m (BS2:30)<br />
like tree mulberry-OBL.F fall.PST-1SG<br />
‘I fell down like the mulberry tree.’<br />
(285) kî wekî me mubitalî 110 =e kes li rêz-a min (BS5:11)<br />
who like 1OP afflicted=COP.PRS.3SG person in way-EZ.F 1O<br />
ne-hat-Ø<br />
NEG-come.PST-3SG<br />
‘Who is afflicted like us?―no one followed my way.’<br />
110 An Arabic word for a problem a person cannot get rid of, such as an affliction or a burden.
176<br />
The word for ‘but’ varies among speakers of Northern Kurdish. According to<br />
Chyet (2003:352), lê and lêbelê can both mean ‘but.’ The corpus contains examples of<br />
both. There were also two examples of belê being used for ‘but,’ as shown in (286) and<br />
(287).<br />
(286) belê bê qeyd=e bê lûm=e (AN1:66)<br />
but without fetters=COP.PRS.3SG without lûm 111 =COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘But it is an unnecessary complaint.’<br />
(287) xwelî ya wî jî bin ax-kir-in (H:7, 8)<br />
ashes EZ.F 3OM also below earth-do.PST-3PL<br />
‘They also buried his ashes in the earth.’<br />
belê jinav xelkî ne-çu-Ø<br />
but among people NEG-go.PST-3SG<br />
‘but he did not go from among the people.’<br />
However, belê can also mean ‘yes,’ as shown in (291). The context provides the correct<br />
interpretation.<br />
(288) gut-in belê .. me dît-Ø (BS6:26)<br />
say.PST-3PL yes 1OP (3OF) see.PST-3SG<br />
‘They said, Yes, we saw it.’<br />
What I found particularly puzzling were usages of lê belê (with the lê separated<br />
from belê in the original text) that had originally been translated as ‘yes.’ These examples<br />
are shown in (289) and (290). According to Chyet (2003:352), ‘yes’ is not an optional<br />
definition for lêbelê. Furthermore, he does not list belê as meaning ‘but.’ It only means<br />
‘yes’ (2003:33). However, belê is commonly used in Northern Iraq for ‘but.’ 112 I asked<br />
one of my consultants if lê belê could be translated as ‘but yes,’ and she said that this<br />
may actually be a better translation. However, she does not use lê belê in her common<br />
spoken language or poetry, and she finds its usage a little odd. Between hearing her<br />
comments and seeing the number of words meaning ‘but,’ it is clear that we are dealing<br />
111 Meaning unknown.<br />
112 From personal experience, I can affirm that belê is used for ‘but’ in Northern Iraq. Additionally, the<br />
word bes is used. Bes, however, is usually never used in writing in Iraq; belê (and perhaps lê) is used.
177<br />
with subdialect differences. What I have shown in this discussion is that there is<br />
definitely an opportunity here for a poet to capitalize on, as lê and belê (and perhaps lê<br />
belê) can be used interchangeably, providing the poet syllable length options. More<br />
research may reveal that poets are capitalizing on these subdialect differences.<br />
(289) lê belê dest-ê xudan-î ew=e neqiqaş-ê qeder (BS1:13)<br />
but yes hand-EZ.M Lord-OBL.M 3D=COP.PRS.3SG painter-EZ.M fate<br />
‘Yes, it’s in God’s hand; he’s the painter of fate.’<br />
(290) ew di dil da nîşte_cê-y-Ø-e lê belê çav-ê (BS1:30)<br />
3D in heart in settle:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG but yes eye-EZ.M<br />
me lê<br />
us on.1OM<br />
‘He has settled in our hearts, yes, but we will keep our eyes on him.’<br />
In Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning On The Rooftop,’ Nalbend used<br />
two different forms of a word meaning ‘liver,’ one having one syllable, the other two. In<br />
line 27, below in (291), he used cerg; in line 30, shown in (292), he used ceger.<br />
Potentially, one of these words was more common to his spoken language; the other from<br />
another area. The word mêlak, also used by Nalbend several times, is also translated as<br />
‘liver.’<br />
(291) li min sot sing u cerg u dil (AN1:27)<br />
in 1OP burn.PST-3SG chest and liver and heart<br />
‘My chest and liver and heart in me were burnt.’<br />
(292) ewê dil bir-Ø ceger ker_kir-Ø (AN1:30)<br />
3D heart take.PST-3SG liver break.apart.PST-3SG<br />
‘She took the heart and broke apart the liver.’<br />
Nalbend also used two words meaning ‘finger.’ In line 53 of Xoşe Wekî Cenetê,<br />
ˈIt’s Wonderful Like Heaven,’ the word til was used. In line 9 of Kiçkek Me Divêt, ‘We<br />
Want A Girl,’ he used the word tibl. 113 Nalbend used til, as opposed to tibl because it has<br />
113 The a on tibl is a feminine ezafe, connecting the modifying reflexive pronoun xwo (another spelling for<br />
xwe). In tibla the i elided and the l became the onset for the second syllable. Such elisions are discussed in<br />
§ 5.3.2 of this paper.
178<br />
only one syllable. Vice versa, he used tibil because it has two syllables. Potentially, one<br />
word is the form common to his dialect, while the other is from another subdialect.<br />
(293) zend u til u bask u mil (AN2:53)<br />
forearm and finger and arm and shoulder<br />
‘Forearm and finger and arm and shoulder’<br />
(294) tibl-a xwo dirêj bi-k-et me (AN5:9)<br />
finger-EZ.F REFL point IRR-do.PRS-3SG 1OP<br />
‘Pointing her finger at us’<br />
Lastly, the words ka and kanê, both meaning ‘where,’ are also variations of the<br />
same word. Sindî used both forms in two of his poems. In (295) and (296), the places of<br />
usage are underlined. In (295), it seems that Sindî was considering both syllable count<br />
and word variation in his decision on which words to use. In (296), however, the poem is<br />
in poetic prose. Perhaps Sindî wanted to vary the language, or maybe he wanted to keep<br />
the sentence with ka shorter, for rhythm’s sake.<br />
(295) erê ey dil kanê ew gul ka şemal-a geş (BS1:19)<br />
yes hey heart where 3D flower where candle-EZ.F bright<br />
u hil<br />
and lit<br />
‘Yes, O heart, where’s that flower? Where’s the bright and lit (glowing) candle?’<br />
ka sîar-ê hilm-a mirn-ê kanê mîr-ê tirs (BS1:21-23)<br />
where knight-EZ.M steam-EZ.F death-OBL.F where leader-EZ.M fear<br />
nezan<br />
unknowing<br />
‘Where’s the knight of the steam death? Where’s the leader who doesn’t know<br />
fear?’<br />
ka ‘egîd-ê wan dilêr-an evro man=e bê xudan<br />
where fighter-EZ.M 3OP hero-OBL.PL today become.PST=DIR without leader<br />
‘Where’s the fighter of those heroes? Today they became leaderless.’<br />
av-a Aras-ê di-pirs-it îru kanê gemîvan<br />
water-EZ.F Aras-OBL.F IPFV-ask.PRS-3SG today where sailor 114<br />
‘The water of Aras 115 is asking, Where’s the sailor today?’<br />
114 Or perhaps ‘skipper.’
179<br />
(296) kanê gundî (BS6:17-19)<br />
where people (village)<br />
‘Where’s the people?’<br />
kanê ban<br />
where roof<br />
‘Where’s roof?’<br />
ka dil-ê min<br />
where heart-EZ.M 1O<br />
‘Where’s my heart?’<br />
5.4.1.3.2 Use of alternate word forms for rhyming purposes<br />
In some situations, the choice of an alternate word form, or in this example, word<br />
ending, is used for rhyming purposes. Hence, the choice is not for syntactic purposes, as<br />
was evident in § 5.4.1.3.1, but for rhyme. In line 10 of Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door<br />
of Life and Hopes,’ shown in (297), Sindî used two variants of the plural oblique suffix, -<br />
a and -an. The -an suffix is the standard for written texts, while the -a suffix is common<br />
in the spoken language. The first usage is on hinav, ‘guts.’ It has the plural ending -a. At<br />
the end of the line, dil, ‘heart,’ has the ending -an. Sindî used the -an ending on dil to<br />
rhyme dilan with gulan at the end of line 9 (not shown). Also worth noting here is the use<br />
of the conjunction u, ‘and.’ According to my consultant, u could be replaced with a<br />
comma, which is what the translator used in the English translation.<br />
(297) agir-ek berbî-Ø hinav 116 -a u talan-a cerg (BS4:10)<br />
fire-INDF occur in/on.PST-3SG guts-OBL.PL and pillage-EZ.F liver<br />
u dil-an<br />
and heart-OBL.PL<br />
‘A fire occured in the guts, pillaging the livers and hearts.’<br />
115 Aras is the name of the river Barzanî and other Kurds crossed to enter into the Soviet Union, in what is<br />
now Azerbaijan.<br />
116 Also defined as ‘organs of the abdominal area.’
180<br />
5.4.1.3.3 Use of alternate word forms to vary language<br />
The use of alternate word forms for the purposes of varying language was already<br />
mentioned in § 5.4.1.3.1. In his poem Gutgutik, ‘Rumors,’ Silêman used two forms of the<br />
word meaning ‘if.’ In line 37, shown in (298), he used the word ger. In line 40, shown in<br />
(299), he uses eger. Note that Silêman’s poetry is in poetic prose, which therefore puts no<br />
demands on him for syllable length of line. I think it likely that only one of the forms is<br />
used in his common speech. Personally, I have observed many forms of this word<br />
meaning ‘if’: eger, ger, 117 gel, heger, heker and heku. Chyet (2003) lists even more<br />
possibilities. I recall having a conversation about this word with one friend of mine. I had<br />
learned the word heker, which is the word used in Zaxo. 118 My friend said, Em bêijîn<br />
eger, ‘We say eger.’ He seemed perplexed with heker, perhaps being unfamiliar with the<br />
subdialect of Zaxo Kurds. What is important to realize is that there are regional<br />
differences among Northern Kurdish speakers and that the language is not yet<br />
standardized. In Silêman’s case below, I would surmise that he simply wanted to vary his<br />
word usage.<br />
(298) ger direw bû-Ø (SS1:37)<br />
if lie COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘If it was a lie,’<br />
(299) eger rast bû-Ø we=bû-Ø 119 (SS1:40)<br />
if correct COP.PST-3SG truth=COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘If it was correct, it was the truth.’<br />
In one poem, Sindî used two words meaning ‘today’ in adjacent lines, evro and<br />
îru. Both words are two syllables long, so Sindî must have had some other reason for his<br />
differentiation. In other poems Sindî used evro. Potentially, îru is commonly used by<br />
117 According to my consultant, ger is only used in writing.<br />
118 My introduction to Northern Kurdish came by means of Şirîn’s dictionary and language learning<br />
materials (2006), which are based on the language of Zaxo.<br />
119 Use of webû seems to be idiomatic. If a person says, webû yan wenabû, the meaning is, ‘Is it true or not<br />
true.’ The word webû must then comprise both the noun ‘truth’ (or adjective ‘true’) and the copula.<br />
However, the word we is not listed in either Chyet (2003) or Şirîn (2006) as meaning ‘true’ or ‘truth.’
181<br />
Kurds from an area other than Sindî’s. Minimally, this example shows that Sindî, for<br />
some reason, chose to vary his language.<br />
(300) ka ‘egîdê wan dilêran evro man=e bê (BS1:22, 23)<br />
where fighter 3OP hero today became.PST-3PL=DIR without<br />
xudan<br />
leader<br />
‘Where’s the fighter of those heroes? Today they became leaderless.’<br />
av-a aras-ê di-pirs-it îru kanê gemîvan<br />
water-EZ.F aras-OBL.F IPFV-ask.PRS-3SG today where sailor<br />
‘The water of Aras is asking: Where’s the sailor now?’<br />
In another poem, shown below in (301), Sindî used the Northern Kurdish word<br />
for ‘life,’ jîn, three times in two lines. Needing to use ‘life’ yet again in the final clause of<br />
line 2, he resorted to using the Arabic equivalent, ‘emir. While ‘emir by itself is two<br />
syllables and jîn has but one syllable, when the ezafe particle is added, the syllable count<br />
for both words is equal: ‘em.rê and jî.na. Hence, Sindî had some other reason for using<br />
‘emir here.<br />
(301) dergeh-ê jîn u hîvî-a girt-y-Ø-e (BS4:1, 2)<br />
door-EZ.M life and hope-OBL.PL close:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG<br />
dîsa çima<br />
again why<br />
‘The door of life and hopes is closed again, why?’<br />
ma ji jîn-a kurt=e jîn b-it ma ji<br />
INTRG as life-EZ.F short=COP.PRS.3SG life COP.PRS-3SG INTRG from<br />
‘emr-ê me çi ma-Ø<br />
life-EZ.M 1OP what remain.PST-3SG<br />
‘Is it a short life? It's life. What has remained from our life?’<br />
Being an outsider, it is sometimes very difficult to determine which words in a<br />
poem are not from the poet’s common language. As the Kurds in Northern Iraq become<br />
more unified, we can expect to see poets, and writers in general, borrowing more words<br />
from dialects more different from their own. This was confirmed by the poet Hizirvan,<br />
who mentioned that he will sometimes use Sorani words in his poems, Sorani being the<br />
dominant Kurdish language in Northern Iraq. We may also see the opposite effect, a<br />
standardization of the language resulting in a loss of word forms.
182<br />
5.4.1.3.4 Use of emphatic words<br />
In one example in § 5.4.1.3.1, I mentioned the word belê, which in some contexts<br />
means ‘yes.’ Such words may be used to emphasize something, giving added stress. For<br />
the Neo-classical poet, such words may also be seen as “free” words, free syllables that<br />
can be added to a line, helping the poet reach a required syllable count. Another word<br />
often translated as ‘yes’ is erê. Sindî used this word at the end of line 26, rhyming with<br />
berê in line 25, also shown. Use of the word adds a meaning similar to the adverbial and<br />
interjectional uses of ‘indeed’ in English. In this instance, erê emphasizes the truth of the<br />
proposition.<br />
(302) lê bi çun-a te her em=în ser (BS1:25, 26)<br />
however with departure-EZ.F 2O all 1OP=COP.PRS.1PL in<br />
zeman-ê te u ber-ê<br />
time-EZ.M 2O and past-OBL.M<br />
‘However, with your departure, it’s still us in your time and your past.’<br />
çunkî tu hey-Ø u her hey-î ruh u<br />
because 2D exist.PRS-2SG and always exist.PRS-2SG soul and<br />
wîjdan=î,<br />
erê<br />
conscience=COP.PRS.2SG yes<br />
‘Becase you exist and always will exis, you are the soul and the conscience, yes.’<br />
Sindî used the word erê in two other places, but for non-rhyming purposes. Line<br />
19 of Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ begins with erê and<br />
is followed by another interjection, ey, which may be comparable to ‘hey’ or ‘O.’ Both<br />
erê and ey helped Sindî reach his desired meter. While they do provide some emotive<br />
effects, they are not required in the meaning of the clause. In (304), the word erê begins<br />
Sindî’s poem Mîrê Peyvan, ‘The Prince of Words.’ I suppose such use of an interjection<br />
works as an emotional appeal, to grab the attention of the reader, welcoming him or her<br />
into what appears to be an ongoing discussion. However, it may be that Sindî’s purpose<br />
was to gain extra syllables.<br />
(303) erê ey dil kanê ew gul ka şemal-a geş u hil (BS1:19)<br />
yes O heart where 3D flower that candle-EZ.F bright and lit<br />
‘Yes, O heart, where’s that flower? Where’s the bright and lit (glowing) candle?’
183<br />
(304) erê sîlav çima evro melwîl u hişk u zuha=yî? (BS7:1)<br />
yes waterfall why today sad and dry and thirsty=COP.PRS.2SG<br />
‘Yes, waterfall, why are you so sad and dry and thirsty today?’<br />
Another emphasis word, nê, is found in line 6 of the same poem, shown in (305).<br />
According to my consultant, nê has a usage similar to one usage of the word ‘do’ in<br />
English―to emphasize or intensify. For example, someone meets with a friend she has<br />
not seen in a long time and says ‘I do miss you.’ The word ‘do’ here intensifies the<br />
feeling of missing. In the example below, Sindî is either emphasizing the action of nalîn<br />
or the subject me, 1OP. More examples are needed in order to determine specifics about<br />
how this word is used.<br />
(305) nê me nal-î-Ø-ne ji dîr-î meî-ya (BS1:6)<br />
do 1OP lament:PST-PRF-be:PST-3PL from distance-OBL.M wine-EZ.F<br />
‘şq-a me mey=î<br />
love-EZ.F 1OP wine=COP.PRS.2SG<br />
‘We do lament from the distance, the wine of our love. You are the wine.’<br />
Concerning the general use of emphatic words, it is difficult to know a poet’s<br />
motivation for using them and there are probably many reasons to use them. Similarly, I<br />
would expect that Kurdish emphatic words, like those in English, could have been used in<br />
many locations in the poems where they were not used.<br />
5.4.1.3.5 Omission of conjunctions and relativizers<br />
In the discussion thus far, we have seen many situations where a poet has taken<br />
the freedom to include or exclude some word. Another word that Northern Kurdish poets<br />
often leave out is the conjunction meaning ‘and.’ Omission of conjunctions is called<br />
asyndeton, which literally means ‘without connections’ (Adams 1997: 121). In many<br />
situations in Northern Kurdish where a conjunction is not used, there is a tendency to use<br />
a conjunction in the English translation, especially when the two clauses are short simple<br />
sentences.<br />
Consider the following two examples from Nalbend. In (306), Nalbend used the<br />
conjunction u, ‘and.’ In (307), there is no conjunction. These are similar situations where<br />
the subject is the same for both clauses in the line.
184<br />
(306) şêr ew=in u sef dirrî-n (AN2:60)<br />
lion 3D=COP.PRS.3PL and line turn.PST-3PL<br />
‘They are lions and they turn in lines.’<br />
(307) ewê dil bir-Ø ceger ker_kir-Ø (AN1:30)<br />
3D heart take.PST-3SG liver break.apart.PST-3SG<br />
‘She took the heart and broke apart the liver.’<br />
As is the often the case with poetry, the poet has a tendency to condense<br />
language. In line 13 from Sindî’s Mirê Peyvan, shown in (308), the translator decided to<br />
use ‘and’ in the translation, whereas the conjunction, u, had not been used in the text.<br />
(308) te sîng_da ber reşebay-an bi xizmet (BS7:13)<br />
2O lead.PST-2SG in.front.of storm-OBL.PL with service<br />
çû-y=e ezman-î<br />
go.PST-2SG=DIR language-OBL.M<br />
‘You led (put your chest) in front of the storms and you served the language.’<br />
In some situations a poet may leave out a conjunction between nouns in a<br />
compound subject. In (309), there is no u between Qudsî and Mistefa, while it was used<br />
between ‘zat and Xeîrî, and Xeîrî and Qudsî, the other nouns making up the subject.<br />
Perhaps Sindî left out the conjunction because of syllable count.<br />
(309) ‘zet u Xeîrî u Qudsî Mistefa ew çar bira (BS4:27)<br />
Ezat and Xayrî and Qudsî Mustafa 3D four brothers<br />
‘Ezat, Xayrî, Qudsî and Mustafa―those four brothers,’<br />
Another word that poets often have freedom to include or exclude is ku, which is<br />
most often translated as the relativizer ‘that’ or ‘which.’ It can also function as a relative<br />
pronoun. In line 14 from Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’<br />
shown in (310), Sindî did not include ku between the two phrases. In this sentence, the<br />
object fermanek, ‘an order,’ functions as the head of the modifying clause, sutîye li me<br />
ceger, i.e. ‘an order burned the liver in us.’<br />
(310) wî wesa ferman-ek day-î sut-î-y-Ø-e li (BS1:14)<br />
3OM like.that order.INDF give.PST-3SG burn:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG in<br />
me ceger<br />
1OP liver<br />
‘He gave an order like that, the liver in us has burned.’
185<br />
Relativizers can often be left out of phrases in English. For example, I can say ‘I<br />
read the book that you gave me,’ using ‘that’ as a relativizer in the second clause<br />
modifying ‘book.’ Or I can say ‘I read the book you gave me,’ without the relativizer. In<br />
this example, the object of the first clause, ‘book,’ functions as its head, filling the<br />
gap―the missing argument for the transitive verb ‘gave’―in the modifying clause<br />
(Kroeger 2004:165-6). Speakers of English often leave out relativizers when permissible,<br />
thereby condensing the language.<br />
I have also observed that the same is true in the speech variety in Northern Iraq,<br />
where speakers tend to omit use of the word ku where it functions as a relativizer.<br />
Conversely, according to Nicholas Bailey, 120 speakers of Northern Kurdish in Turkey<br />
tend to use ku more often than not. 121 According to my consultant, ku is unnecessary in<br />
line 35 of example (311). In (312), ku is again an extra word that is not required. Its<br />
exclusion would not have changed the meaning of the sentence. In both situations, then, it<br />
seems that its inclusion helped Sindî reach the desired syllable count.<br />
(311) ger zewal-a te hat-Ø-b-it her (BS1:33)<br />
if time.to.pass.away-EZ.F 2O come.PST.PTCP-COP.PRS-3SG always<br />
dê mîn-î tu u her 122<br />
will remain.PST-2SG 2D and always<br />
‘If your time to pass away is come, you will remain (exist) forever.’<br />
çunkî Kurdînî na-mir-it çav heval=e (BS1:34)<br />
because Kurdishness NEG-die.PRS-3SG eye friend=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
120 Personal correspondence (2012).<br />
121 Thackston (2006:75-77), whose grammar exhibits Northern Kurdish in Turkey, also provides some<br />
examples of relative clauses that show use of ku, usually in conjuction with a preceding ezafe conjunctive<br />
particle. He does mention that occasionally ku is omitted when “the relative is the object in the relative<br />
clause.”<br />
122 The idiom her u her is usually translated as ‘forever.’ In this line, I believe this is the intended meaning,<br />
though the words are separated in the sentence. The words dê mînî tu, ‘you will remain,’ immediately<br />
follow the first her. Having u her at the end of the line allowed for Sindî to rhyme the line with nezer at the<br />
end of line 34.
186<br />
bu nezer<br />
for sight<br />
‘Because Kurdishness doesn’t die, (like how) the eyes are a friend of one’s sight.’<br />
ku kemal-a te gehişt=e geş stêr-a (BS1:35)<br />
that perfection-EZ.F 2O reach.PRS.3SG=DIR bright star-EZ.F<br />
Muşter-î<br />
Jupiter-OBL.M<br />
‘That your perfection arrives at the bright star of Jupiter.’<br />
(312) hêşta zaru bû-Ø dem-ê ku dît-î-Ø-ye (BS1:40)<br />
still child COP.PST-3SG when-OBL.F that see:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG<br />
kuvan u kul<br />
sadness and grief<br />
‘He was still a child when he saw sadness and grief.’<br />
In some situations the word ku is necessary for proper understanding. According<br />
to my consultant, ku is required in the second line of (313).<br />
(313) kulîlk-a pîr u lawan=e (AN1:71-72)<br />
flower-EZ.F old and young=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘She is the flower of the old and the young’<br />
ku derman-a me xesta bû-Ø<br />
which medicine-EZ.F 1OP sick COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘which was the medicine for us who were sick.’<br />
5.4.1.3.6 Placement of temporal adverbs<br />
Temporal adverbs may appear in a number of locations in a sentence. According<br />
to my consultant, all of the sentences in (314) and (315) are permissible and common in<br />
the speech variety of northern Iraq. The most common positions are immediately before<br />
or after the subject.<br />
(314) evro ez dê çi-m=a Dohuk-ê<br />
today 1D will go.PRS-3SG=DIR Dohuk-OBL.M<br />
Ez evro dê çima Dohukê.<br />
Ez dê evro çima Dohukê.<br />
Ez dê çima Dohukê evro.<br />
‘I will go to Dohuk today.’<br />
(315) her roj Şivan sêv-ek-ê xw-it<br />
every day Shivan apple-INDF-OBL.M eat.PRS-3SG
187<br />
Şivan her roj sêvekê xwit.<br />
Şivan sêvekê her roj xwit.<br />
Şivan sêvekê xwit her roj.<br />
‘Every day Shivan eats an apple.’<br />
The variable positions of temporal adverbs can aid the Neo-classical poet. In Ey<br />
Malikê Vê ‘Alemê, ‘O Lord Of This World,’ Nalbend put the temporal adverbial phrase<br />
sal u zeman, ‘year and time’ at the end of line 7, rhyming zeman with the words eman,<br />
‘oh’ (at the caesura in the same line) and neman, ‘did not remain’ (at the caesura in line<br />
8). 123 While it is possible that Nalbend’s motivation was pragmatic; it seems more likely<br />
that he wanted to benefit from the end rhyme.<br />
(316) ey ‘ebid u însan-în eman hişyar_bi-b-in sal (AN3:7, 8)<br />
O slave and human-OBL.PL oh wake.up_IRR-be-IMP.PL year<br />
u zeman<br />
and time<br />
‘O slaves and human kind, oh, wake up (from) years and time (of sleep).’<br />
mirn-ê birî-n em kew ne-ma-n ḧeq=e<br />
death take.PST-3PL us partridge NEG-remain.PST-3PL right=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
mirin rêk-a me=ye<br />
death path-EZ.F 1OP=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘Death took us; the partridges didn’t remain; it is right that death is our path.’<br />
Sindî also utilized a temporal adverbial clause at the end of a line for rhyming<br />
purposes. In line 23 of Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’ sal, ‘year,’<br />
rhymes with şepal, ‘bright,’ in line 24.<br />
(317) tazî ya Qazî ji_bîr ne-k-in bo bi-k-in (BS4:23)<br />
funeral EZ.F Qazî remember NEG-do-IMP.PL for (him) IRR-do-IMP.PL<br />
şînî her sal<br />
mourning every year<br />
‘Don’t forget the funeral of Qazî, mourn for him every year.’<br />
kuzrî-n gul-ên çîa-yan nêrgiz-ên şeng (BS4:24)<br />
burn.PST.PASS-3PL flower-EZ.PL mountain-OBL.PL narcissus-EZ.PL young<br />
123 While this poem was published as having been written as couplets, the rhyming scheme is that of a<br />
quatrain.
188<br />
u şepal<br />
and bright<br />
‘The flowers of the mountains have been burned, the young and bright narcissuses.’<br />
5.4.1.3.7 Placement of prepositional phrases<br />
Prepositional phrases also have more than one permissible position in a sentence.<br />
According to my consultant, every position is viable for the locative prepositional phrase<br />
li Dohukê , ‘in Dohuk,’ in (318).<br />
(318) li Dohuk-ê min pertuk-ek kir-î<br />
in Dohuk-OBL.F 1O book-INDF buy.PST.3SG<br />
Min li Dohukê pertukek kirî.<br />
Min pertukek li Dohukê kirî.<br />
Min pertukek kirî li Dohukê.<br />
‘I bought a book in Dohuk.’<br />
The flexibility of the placement of prepositional phrases is yet another tool for the<br />
poet, particularly for those who write in the Neo-classical style. What might be true for<br />
adverbial clauses could also be true for prepositional phrases, that their placement in lines<br />
of poetry could result from non-pragmatic decisions. While a particular location for a<br />
prepositional phrase might result in some pragmatic effect―as opposed to it being placed<br />
in its most common position―the effect may be acceptable to the author. Hence, the<br />
motivation may be syntactic and any additional pragmatic effect satisfactory.<br />
5.4.1.4 Constructional schemes<br />
Turco (2000:9) writes, “Constructional schemes are strategies for constructing<br />
sentences...ways in which words, phrases, clauses, and larger units are grammatically<br />
balanced in sentences.” Parallelism, for example, is a syntactic arrangement that deeply<br />
engages with reason. Adams (1997:108-9) writes, “The parallel syntax itself conveys the<br />
meaning: these two (or more) thoughts are equal in importance.” With regard to<br />
repetition, it is “one of the most basic forms of emotional emphasis” (Adams 1997:113).<br />
In this section, I discuss some noteworthy constructional schemes in the corpus and their<br />
possible pragmatic effects.
189<br />
5.4.1.4.1 Repetition and repetitional schemes<br />
The form tercîa band, discussed in § 5.3.1.3, is an obvious repetitional scheme.<br />
The first two lines from Sindî’s Nehat, ‘It Did Not Come,’ shown in (319), represent the<br />
only tercîa band poem in the corpus. Throughout a tercîa band poem, each line must end<br />
with the same word or words. In the case of Sindî’s poem, the refrain is composed of the<br />
syllable za at the end of a word, followed by the phrase min nehat, ‘did not come.’ Such<br />
repetition at the end of a line is known as epistrophe (Adams 1997:114). In Nehat, most<br />
lines display an anti<strong>thesis</strong>, which Wendland (2002a:66) calls a “base-contrast”<br />
parallelism. The second part of the line contrasts with a key feature in the first part of the<br />
line. Most lines state that something desirable has not come, while a few lines state that<br />
something undesirable has not come. In the first part of line 1, a negative thing has<br />
occurred. As a result of some people being taken captive, the poet’s self-respect has not<br />
come. It seems that he would have his self-respect if the people with whom he identifies<br />
had their freedom. In the first part of line 2, a positive thing has occurred. As a result of<br />
remaining in love, he has not been experiencing negative emotions that can come from<br />
falling out of love. In this poem the syntactic repetition works to engage the reader with<br />
the poet’s emotional states.<br />
(319) dîl u êxsîr-î 124 ji gel-î bu-n 125 (BS5:1)<br />
captive and prisoner-EZ.M of people-OBL.M become.PST-3PL<br />
ser_feraz-a 126 min ne-hat-Ø<br />
pride-EZ.F 1O NEG-come.PST-3PL<br />
124 While this -î looks like a masculine oblique marker, functionally it would not make sense. It is unusual<br />
for Sindî to use -î instead of -ê as a masculine ezafe conjunctive particle, but the function in this line does<br />
seem to be that of an ezafe particle. It may also be a typographical error, as there is a small difference<br />
between these letters in the Kurdish (modified Arabic) script.<br />
125 In many of the initial lines of this poem, the subject is first person singular. Potentially there is a<br />
typographical error on bun and it should have been written as bum for first person singular. The original<br />
translator had translated the line as, ‘I became a captive…” I have chosen to render it, and discuss the line,<br />
according to the original text.
190<br />
‘They became captives and prisoners of people―my pride (self-respect) did not<br />
come.’<br />
ma-m di ’îşq-a wê şepal-ê sil u (BS5:2)<br />
remain.PST-1SG in love-EZ.F 3OF wave-EZ.M ill.temper and<br />
zîz-a min ne-hat-Ø<br />
discontent-EZ.F 1O NEG-come.PST-3PL<br />
‘I remained in love with her―my wave of ill temper and discontent did not come.’<br />
Epistrophe was also used throughout much of another poem. In Cegerxwîn’s Dilê<br />
Cegerxwîn, ‘Cegerxwîn’s Heart,’ the word dil, ‘heart,’ is line-final in the initial two lines,<br />
the final two lines, and every even numbered line. The word ew, 3D, a referent of dil, is<br />
also repeated twice at the end of lines and four times at caesuras. While the lines of this<br />
poem are written as couplets, the form of each couplet is that of a quatrain. See § 5.3.1.1<br />
for the discussion of the form of this and other quatrain poems.<br />
Another mode of repetition in this poem is the placement of the subjects dil and<br />
ew (which refers to dil) after the copula in equative and attributive clauses, previously<br />
discussed in § 5.4.1.1.2. Lines with repetition of constituent order deviation would<br />
classify such repetitions as instances of grammatical parallelism, a topic discussed in<br />
§ 5.4.1.4.2. In line 13 of the poem, shown in (320), the subject ew, 3D, follows zozane, ‘is<br />
a summer pasture,’ and Wane, ‘is Van,’ a city in Turkey is also followed by ew. In line<br />
14, shown in line (321), ew follows westane, ‘is kneeling,’ and dil, ‘heart,’ follows<br />
zinare, ‘is a massive rock.’<br />
(320) geh çol=e geh zozan=e (CX1:13)<br />
at.times waste=COP.PRS.3SG at.times summer.pasture=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
ew geh Dêrik u geh wan=e ew<br />
3D at.times Dereek and at.times Wan=COP.PRS.3SG 3D<br />
‘At times it is the wilderness, at times the summer pasture, at times Dereek and at<br />
times it is Wan,’<br />
126 Chyet (2003) lists serfiraz as ‘proud’ and serfirazî as ‘pride’ or ‘self-respect.’ Sindî has ser feraz as<br />
separate words, perhaps making it a prepositional phrase, as ser is a preposition that means ‘on.’ However,<br />
ser can also be a noun meaning ‘head.’ There is no listing for feraz by itself. Rendering it as ‘pride’ seems<br />
to be the most fitting translation.
191<br />
(321) geh şax=e geh westan=e ew (CX1:14)<br />
at.times standing=COP.PRS.3SG at.times kneeling=COP.PRS.3SG 3D<br />
geh mûş=e geh zinar=e dil<br />
at.times mûş=COP.PRS.3SG at.times rock=COP.PRS.3SG heart<br />
‘At times it’s standing (strong), at times kneeling (tired), at times it’s mûş 127 and at<br />
times the heart is a massive rock.’<br />
Also notice the repetitive use of geh, ‘at times,’ in these lines. Cegerxwîn uses<br />
geh in two ways. One, to present antinomy, things that are or seem to be opposites to<br />
him, such as Dêrik and Wan, which are cities in the Kurdish area of Turkey. He also uses<br />
geh to form a group, such as his listing of Berber, Circassian, Turk and Tartar in line 12,<br />
shown in (322). It may be that Berber is somehow the opposite of Circassian, and Turk<br />
the opposite of Tarter. However, without some help from historians who understand<br />
Kurdish history as well as Cegerxwîn’s philosophical stance, I can only presume from the<br />
context given that these four people groups are grouped together here as peoples with<br />
whom the Kurds engaged in past centuries.<br />
(322) geh Berber=e geh Çerkes=e geh (CX1:12)<br />
at.times Berber=COP.PRS.3SG at.times Circassian=COP.PRS.3SG 3D<br />
Turk=e geh Tatar=e dil<br />
Turk=COP.PRS.3SG at.times Tatar=COP.PRS.3SG heart<br />
‘At times it’s Berber, at times it’s Circassian, at times it’s Turkish, at times the<br />
heart is Tartar.’<br />
Other repetitions were more subtle, such as the phrase xatwîna min , ‘my dear,’<br />
repeated five times in Silêman’s 'Eşqa Dihokî Ya, ‘Dohukîan Love.’ The phrase works to<br />
keep the reader empathetically engaged in the message of the poem. He also repeated the<br />
word evîn, ‘love (northern Kurdish),’ eight times and its Arabic equivalent ‘eşiq, ‘love<br />
(Arabic)’ four times. The poem is a comparison of two juxtaposed loves―not between<br />
Kurds and Arabs, but between false love and true love. One love is a counterfit love that<br />
he says is present and active in the city of Dohuk, and he describes some of the ways in<br />
127 Meaning unknown. Muş is the name of a province in the Kurdish area of Turkey, however use of it<br />
seems vague here (whereas in the line above there is a comparison drawn between Dêrik and Wan).<br />
According to Omar, mûş (with a different vowel) can mean ‘unknown land’ (Omar 1992).
192<br />
which this false love is carried out. At the end of the poem, Silêman describes what real<br />
love consists of.<br />
Quçan repeated the vocative helo, translated as ‘eagle,’ five times in his free verse<br />
poem Befir Ya Li Vêrê, ‘Snow Is Here.’ He also repeated the word befir, ‘snow,’ nine<br />
times in the poem as he paints a picture of the winter season. In another poem by Quçan,<br />
Birînên Şevên Xwînelo, ‘Wounds of Night Covered in Blood,’ the word xwîn, ‘blood’ and<br />
variations of xwîn appear 16 times. The repetition works to etch into the mind of the<br />
reader just how horrifying were the experiences described throughout the poem.<br />
There were a number of repetitions in Teyb’s poem Kî Dê Merwa Tena Ket?,<br />
‘Who Will Comfort Merwa?’ The subject of the poem, the girl Merwa, and the vocative,<br />
ey Xudayê Mezin, ‘O Great God,’ are each repeated four times. Additionally, seven lines<br />
begin with the interrogative kî, ‘who.’ In these lines the poet is putting forth rhetorical<br />
questions that function as requests to God himself, asking him to intervene on Merwa’s<br />
behalf. The poem also repeats other images and figures, such as comfort, lack of family,<br />
and kîna reş, ‘black malice,’ the cause of Merwa’s desperate situation.<br />
Silêvani repeated the title of his prose poem, Ew Xanîma Henê, 128 ‘That Woman,’<br />
at the beginning of each of the seven stanzas. Additionally, the second line of each stanza<br />
begins with the word ewa, ‘she who.’ Repetition is part of the form and serves to<br />
emphasize the woman who is the focus of the poem. In each stanza the reader learns<br />
something new about her.<br />
In his poem Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya, ‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’ Sindî repeated<br />
the initial two lines of the poem as a refrain in lines 15 and 16, 31 and 32, and the closing<br />
lines, 47 and 48. These lines are reproduced in example (323) below. The repeated lines<br />
remind the hearer of the gravity of the issue being presented.<br />
128 According to my consultant, the word henê is used to “refer to or point to something.” The author could<br />
have simply said xatima henê, leaving off the word ew, a demonstrative here. Perhaps by using both ew and<br />
henê, the statement is emphatic.
193<br />
(323) dergeh-ê jîn u hîvî-a girt-y-Ø-e (BS4:1, 2)<br />
door-EZ.M life and hope-OBL.PL close:PST-PRF-be:PST-3SG<br />
dîsa çima<br />
again why<br />
‘The door of life and hopes is closed again, why?’<br />
ma ji jîn-a kurt=e jîn b-it ma ji<br />
INTRG as life-EZ.F short=COP.PRS.3SG life COP.PRS-3SG INTRG from<br />
‘emr-ê me çi ma-Ø<br />
life-EZ.M 1OP what remain.PST-3SG<br />
‘Is it a short life? It's life. What has remained from our life?’<br />
Another repetition in the same poem occurs in lines 42 through 46, just before the<br />
end. Each of these lines, shown in (324), begins with the word nabitin, a word that seems<br />
to function as a modal adjective. Like other modal adjectives, the verb that follows it<br />
must have the irrealis prefix, bi-. According to my consultant, nabitin may be translated<br />
as ‘impossible, cannot, is not going to.’ 129 Such repetition at the beginning of lines is<br />
called anaphora (Adams 1997:114) in rhetorical terminology. The repetition builds and<br />
then concludes with the refrain in (323), Sindî’s last effort to instill the theme of his poem<br />
in the mind of the reader.<br />
(324) nabitin bu me bi-bîn-în jêr u jur u çep (BS4:42)<br />
not.allowed for 1OP IRR-see.PRS-1PL bottom and top and left<br />
u rast<br />
and right<br />
‘It’s impossible for us to see it from bottom and top and left and right.’<br />
nabitin bu me tewaf-a ew cih-ê lê Mem u (BS4:42)<br />
not.allowed for us worship-EZ.F 3D place-EZ.M in.3OM Mem and<br />
Zîn 130<br />
Zîn<br />
‘We can’t go and worship the place of Mem and Zeen.’<br />
129 The opposite of nabitin is dibitin.<br />
130 Mem and Zîn are the central characters of one of the most famous pieces of Kurdish literature, Mem U<br />
Zîn, written by Ehmed Xanî, who is mentioned in line 45 of Sindî’s poem.
194<br />
nabitin evro bi-bur-în ji tuxîb-ê Xanîqîn (BS4:44)<br />
not.allowed today IRR-pass.PRS-2PL from danger-EZ.M Xanîqîn<br />
‘It’s impossible today for us to pass from the danger of Xanîqîn.’<br />
nabitin bi-ç-im nik Xanî bu vek-im (BS4:45)<br />
not.allowed IRR-go.PRS-1SG near Xanî for (him) open.PRS-1SG<br />
dil-ê bi xwîn<br />
heart-EZ.M with blood<br />
‘I can’t go near Xanî and open for him my heart with blood (sadness).’<br />
nabitin bi-ç-im Dêrsîm-ê bi-kelêş-im (BS4:46)<br />
not.allowed IRR-go.PRS-1SG Dersîm-OBL.F IRR-break.body.PRS-1SG<br />
dil-ê bi evîn<br />
heart-EZ.M with love<br />
‘I can’t go to Dersîm and break in two pieces my heart with love.’<br />
Nalbend also used a type of repetition in two of his poems, in which he repeats a<br />
large portion of a quatrain in the first line of the following quatrain. In poetic terms, such<br />
interlocking repetition―whether in sounds rhymes or words―which connects one stanza<br />
to another is called chaining (Turco 2000:147). For example, line 36 in Xoşe Wekî<br />
Cenetê, ˈIt’s Wonderful Like Heaven,’ shown in (325), is the last line of a quatrain.<br />
Nalbend began the next quatrain with the same words that began the previous line, ev<br />
wetenê, ‘this country.’<br />
(325) ev weten-ê dil ḧeb-în (AN2:36, 37)<br />
3DN country-EZ.M heart exist.PST-3PL<br />
‘This country that embraces and nourishes the heart.’ 131<br />
ev weten-ê hu spehî<br />
3DN country-EZ.M so beautiful<br />
‘This country so beautiful.’<br />
The other occurrence of anaphoric chaining in this poem occurs in lines 60 and<br />
61, shown in (326). The first two words of the last line in a quatrain are repeated as the<br />
first two words at the beginning of the next quatrain. It seems that the author uses the<br />
repetition as a means to continue the same line of thought in the next quatrain.<br />
131 Alternative translation by mother-tongue speaker: ‘This heart-welcoming country’ The plural ending -în<br />
on the verb stem ḧeb, is confusing, as the subject appears to be singular.
195<br />
(326) şêr ew=in u sef dirrî-n (AN2:60, 61)<br />
lion 3D=COP.PRS.3PL and line turn.PST-3PL<br />
‘They are lions and they turn in lines.’<br />
şêr ew-in u xurt u mest 132<br />
lion 3D=COP.PRS.3PL and strong and stimulated<br />
‘They are lions and brave and stimulated (intoxicated with strong emotion).’<br />
Nalbend’s poem Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî, ‘Yesterday Morning On The Rooftop,’<br />
contains various kinds of repetitions. In the examples below, the repeated words are<br />
underlined as above. In some lines only one word is repeated, such as, Xudê, ‘God,’ and<br />
xunav, ‘dew,’ in (329) and (330). In other places a number of words are repeated, such as<br />
the phrase ji mêlaka me xûn, ‘from our live blood,’ in (331). Example (327) is an instance<br />
of anadiplosis, the act of repeating the last word or phrase in a line at the beginning of<br />
the next (Adams 1997:115). In (334), another instance of anadiplosis, Nalbend basically<br />
repeated the phrase Xudê da bû, ‘God created,’ but changed the compound verb da bû,<br />
‘created,’ to kir, which means ‘made.’ Note that bela, ‘trouble, problem,’ also appears in<br />
both lines in this example.<br />
(327) me texm-în kir Zuleyxa 133 bû-Ø (AN1:4, 5)<br />
1OP think-1PL do.PST-3SG<br />
‘We thought she was a Zuleyxa.’<br />
Zuleykha COP.PST-3SG<br />
Zuleyxa bu-Ø sîfe hûrî<br />
Zuleykha COP.PST-3SG look-EZ.PL huree<br />
‘It was Zuleykha, the looks of a heavenly wife.’<br />
(328) çû-Ø hal bu min ne-hêla bû-Ø (AN1:16, 17)<br />
go-PST-3SG state for 1O NEG-leave.PRS.3SG COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘She went; left me feeling crazy (high love/sexual emotion).’<br />
ne-hêla bo kes-ê hal-ek<br />
NEG-leave.PRS.3SG for person-EZ.M state-INDF<br />
‘She didn’t leave anyone in peace (made everyone crazy).’<br />
132 Mest can also mean ‘drunk, intoxicated with alcohol.’<br />
133 According to Islamic tradition, Zuleyxa is the name of the Pharoah’s wife, the one who loved the<br />
prophet Joseph.
196<br />
(329) Xudê heq taze kêşa bû-Ø (AN1:20, 21)<br />
God freckle fine place COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘God chose a fine place for that freckle.’<br />
Xudê suret muneqiqeş kir-Ø<br />
God verse-EZ.PL decorative do.PST-3SG<br />
‘God made decorative caligraphic verse.’<br />
(330) siḧar-ê zû xunav da=bû-Ø (AN1:24, 25)<br />
morning-EZ.M dew give=COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘Early in the morning it gave dew.’<br />
xunav-ê teff kir-in sunbul<br />
mist-EZ.M make-PST-3PL flower.bud<br />
‘The dew made the bud of a flower.’<br />
(331) ji mêlak-a me xûn za=bû-Ø (AN1:28, 29)<br />
from liver-EZ.F 1OP blood spring=COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘From our liver sprang blood.’<br />
ji mêlak-a me xûn derkir-Ø<br />
from liver-EZ.F 1OP blood flow.PST-3SG<br />
‘From our liver blood poured out.’<br />
(332) şil _u_mil ew muheîya bû-Ø (AN1:32, 33)<br />
beautiful 3D alive COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘Beautiful―she was alive.’<br />
şil_u_mil bû-Ø hemî gava<br />
beautiful COP.PST-3SG all time.’<br />
‘Beautiful she was all the time.’<br />
(333) hewar 134 u sed hewar babû (AN1:56, 57)<br />
oh.my and hundred oh.my father<br />
‘Oh my! and a hundred oh my’s father!’<br />
hewar ez ‘aşq-ê wê me<br />
oh.my<br />
‘Oh my! I am in love with her.’<br />
1D love-EZ.M 3OF COP.PRS.1SG<br />
(334) bela bû-Ø ew Xudê da_bû-Ø (AN1:64, 65)<br />
trouble COP.PST-3SG 3D God create.PST_COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘Trouble was, God created her.’<br />
Xudê kir-Ø bû bela bû me<br />
God make-PST-3SG for problem for 1OP<br />
‘God made her a problem for us.’<br />
134 A call for help.
197<br />
(335) ev-e fexr-a me hemy-a bû-Ø (AN1:68, 69)<br />
3DN-SRM pride-EZ.F 1OP all-OBL.PL COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘This was the pride of all of us.’<br />
ev-e fexr-a me Kurd-an=e<br />
3DN-SRM pride-EZ.F 1OP Kurd-OBL.PL=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
‘This is the pride of the Kurds.’<br />
Cegerxwîn utilized the same sort of repetition in one line of Dilê Cegerxwîn,<br />
‘Cegerxwîn’s Heart.’ In line 7, shown in (336), he repeated the words naxoş and bêzar,<br />
which were used in the second hemistich in line 6, also shown, to describe his ‘heart.’<br />
Furthermore, pir, which means ‘quite’ or ‘fully,’ echoes the usage of hem, ‘always,’ in<br />
line 6. Both words represent the greatest degree in their domains of time and quantity.<br />
We could also refer to this as a miniature chiasmus (defined in § 5.4.1.4.4), since<br />
Cegerxwîn reversed the order of naxoş and bêzar. The subject ew in line 7 is a referent of<br />
dil at the end of line 6; hence, the subject is also repeated in 7. This repetition works to<br />
emphasize the condition of the author’s heart, in hope of spawning empathy in the reader.<br />
(336) her gav u her êvarê min, naxoş u hem (CX1:6)<br />
every morning and every evening 1O, unwell and always<br />
bêzar=e<br />
dil<br />
despondent=COP.PRS.3SG heart<br />
‘Every morning and every evening of mine, the heart is unwell and always<br />
despondent.’<br />
bêzar u pir naxoş=e ew, kincên sîyeh – (CX1:7)<br />
despondent and quite unwell=COP.PRS.3SG 3D garments mourning –<br />
gûn 135 – poş=e ew<br />
manner sorrowful= COP.PRS.3SG it<br />
‘It is despondent and quite unwell, dressed in mourning garments; it is sorrowful.’<br />
A final significant repetitional scheme was found in Sindî’s Gerîanek Di<br />
Kurdistanê Da, ‘A Walk Through Kurdistan.’ At the beginning of each verse, he says<br />
that he ‘went,’ çum, ‘came,’ hatim or ‘searched for,’ gerîam, some place, and there he<br />
met someone (or a metaphoric “someone” or a group of people represented as one<br />
135 I am unsure how kincên sîyeh and gûn fit into the phrases. The translation for gûn is questionable. The<br />
dashes (–) are part of the original text.
198<br />
person). 136 Then he asks the “someone” a series of questions. The end of each stanza<br />
contains the answers to the questions by the “someone” he is speaking with. In the final<br />
line, the “someone” states that he or she fell (ketîme) into some bad situation. 137 So there<br />
is repetition of words as well as form in each verse, which provides balance in the poem.<br />
5.4.1.4.2 Grammatical parallelism<br />
According to Turco (2000:9), “parallel sentence structures are constructional<br />
schemes, and the prosody that uses them is called grammatical parallelism.” Turco was<br />
applying these terms specifically regarding prose poetry. Mesud Xalaf’s Dahola Êşê,<br />
‘Drum of Pain,’ a prose poem, contains one such parallelism in lines 30 and 31, shown in<br />
(337). The parallelism works to give each line equal weight. Both are passive sentences<br />
beginning with the predicate and followed by the subject, a very uncommon constituent<br />
order for prose poetry. Normal word order for line 30 is aşûpên bextewariyê bijale bûn.<br />
The fronting of the predicates potentially works to make them more salient in the mind of<br />
the reader. But details regarding how foregrounding actually works in Northern Kurdish<br />
is an area requiring further research.<br />
(337) bijale bû-n aşûp-ên bextewar-yê (MX:30)<br />
scatter.PST.PTCP COP.PST-3PL visions-EZ.PL happiness-OBL.F<br />
‘The visions of the happiness were scattered.’<br />
hat-in=e kuşt-in pirpirîk-ên deng-ê (MX:31)<br />
become.PST-3PL=DIR kill.PST.PTCP-3PL butterfly-EZ.PL sound-EZ.M<br />
agir-ê birîndar<br />
fire-EZ.M wound.PST.PTCP<br />
‘The butterflies of the sound of wounded fire were killed.’<br />
Similarly, recall the discussion of lines 11 and 12 from Sindî’s Bîrewerîa Barzanî<br />
Yê Nemir, ‘Memories of Immortal Barzanî,’ in § 5.4.1.1.1, repeated below in (338). In<br />
these lines, Sindî placed the subject after the verb. In line 11, şîn bibin, ‘grow,’ comes<br />
136 In the third verse he meets himself.<br />
137 The end of the last verse varies from the norm. In this instance, the city (not a person) responds by<br />
stating her resolve to stand forever with Barzanî against those who mistreat the Kurdish people.
199<br />
before the subject nêrgiz, ‘narcissus.’ In line 12, bixuînin, ‘sing,’ comes before ‘endelîb,<br />
‘birds.’ Like the lines in the previous example, a deviant word order was repeated,<br />
qualifying it as a grammatical parallelism, which, as mentioned in § 5.4.1.4.1, may also be<br />
viewed as a type of repetitional scheme. Here, too, it is the action that has been fronted.<br />
(338) şîn_bi-b-in nêrgiz ji nu_ve 138 ber der-ê (BS1:11)<br />
grow_IRR-grow.PRS-3PL narcissus from new_again before place-EZ.M<br />
tekî-a<br />
ber-ê<br />
special.music-EZ.F old-OBL.F<br />
‘May narcissuses grow new again before the door of the old places of worship.’<br />
cardin bi-xuîn-in ‘endelîb 139 ew ji ‘şq-a daber-ê (BS1:12)<br />
Again IRR-sing.PRS-3PL birds 3D from love-EZ.F sweetheart-OBL.F<br />
‘Again may birds sing, that (song) from the love of the lover.’<br />
Another prose poem with some lines having parallel structure was Deyka<br />
Dalyayê’s Ji Nazên Te Xerîbim, ‘I Miss Your Childlike Ways.’ In lines 46 through 49,<br />
shown in (339), imperfect verbs are preceded by prepositional phrases using the<br />
preposition digel, ‘with.’ 140 In this instance, the word order is considered normal.<br />
Dalyayê uses the repetition to colorfully describe events over a period of time. The<br />
repetition works to emphasize the bond in the relationship.<br />
(339) digel ba-î di-fir-în u (DD:46-49)<br />
with wind-OBL.M IPFV-fly.PST-1PL and<br />
‘With the wind we were flying and’<br />
digel ruj-ê ava_di-bu-în u<br />
with sun-OBL.F set_IPFV-set.PST-1PL and<br />
‘With the sun we were setting and’<br />
digel şev-ê di-nivist-în u<br />
with night-OBL.F IPFV-sleep.PST-1PL and<br />
‘With the night we were sleeping and’<br />
138 Possible alternative transaltion for ji nuve: ‘from now on.’<br />
139 An Arabic word for a specific type of bird.<br />
140 The prepostion digel here is often written as two words, di gel. I have left it the way it was written in the<br />
original text.
200<br />
digel elind-î hişîar_di-bu-în<br />
with dawn-OBL.M wake.up_IPFV-be.PST-1PL<br />
ˈWith the dawn we were waking up.’<br />
Neo-classical poetry within this corpus also contained additional grammatical<br />
parallelisms. Consider example (340), two lines previously seen in § 5.4.1.4.1 on<br />
repetition. Notice the similarity in the structure of the lines. In both, the poet states that<br />
(1) he cannot go; (2) to some place (near Xanî/Dersîm); (3) to do some action<br />
(open/break); (4) his heart; (5) with some thing (blood/love). The near grammatical<br />
parallelism creates balance between the lines, allowing the reader to understand that Sindî<br />
finds the prohibition described in each line equally distressing.<br />
(340) nabitin bi-ç-im nik Xanî bu vek-im (BS4:45)<br />
not.allowed IRR-go.PRS-1SG near Xanî for (him) open.PRS-1SG<br />
dil-ê bi xwîn<br />
heart-EZ.M with blood<br />
‘I can’t go near Xanî and open for him my heart with blood (sadness).’<br />
nabitin bi-ç-im Dêrsîm-ê bi-kelêş-im (BS4:46)<br />
not.allowed IRR-go.PRS-1SG Dersîm-OBL.F IRR-break.body.PRS-1SG<br />
dil-ê bi evîn<br />
heart-EZ.M with love<br />
‘I can’t go to Dersîm and break in two pieces my heart with love.’<br />
In another grammatical parallelism by Sindî, shown in (341), the parallelism<br />
works together with the rhyme scheme. The first half of each line begins with the people<br />
and is followed by an attributive phrase. Note that the description of the people in the<br />
second line is metaphorical. The second half of each line, while slightly different<br />
grammatically, contains a rich description of the people. Both lines end with tene. The<br />
second line, being a continuation of a description of the Kurdish people, is perhaps best<br />
understood as a figure of amplification. Adams writes, “figures of amplification extend<br />
the meanings of an otherwise plain statement, building a sense of magnitude, and<br />
sometimes generating further levels of figuration” (1997:117). The descriptions of the<br />
Kurdish people in both halves of line 18 deepen our knowledge of the poet’s opinion of<br />
those who supported their now deceased leader, Mustafa Barzanî.
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(341) mililet-ê Kurd pir wefa=ye sufy-ên dest-ên (BS1:17, 18)<br />
people-EZ.M Kurd so loyal=COP.PRS.3SG Sufi-EZ.PL hands-EZ.PL<br />
te=ne<br />
2O=COP.PRS.3PL<br />
‘Kurdish people are so loyal; they are the Sufis of your hands’<br />
ruh ji êş-an pir sema=ye 141 ‘aşiq u<br />
soul of pain-OBL.PL full dance=COP.PRS.3SG lover and<br />
mest 142 -ên te=ne<br />
stimulated.one-EZ.PL 2O=COP.PRS.3PL<br />
‘The pained soul is full of dancing; they are your lovers and stimulated ones<br />
(intoxicated with strong emotion).’<br />
The two lines previous to the example above, shown in (342), also exhibit a<br />
degree of grammatical parallelism. Both lines contain a four-part noun phrase that takes<br />
up the second half of each line. Each four-part noun phrase is made up of pairs of<br />
opposites. In line 15, the noun phrase consists of çep u rast u jor u jêr, ‘left and right and<br />
up and down,’ a description of the directions from which people came to grieve the loss<br />
of Mustafa Barzanî. The noun phrase in line 16 consists of a description of the people<br />
who were doing the grieving, kal u genc u jin u mêr, ‘old and adolescent and woman and<br />
man.’ The first halves of each line are also structurally parallel. Both lines begin with<br />
noun phrases consisting of two nouns connected by the conjunction u, ‘and.’ Line 15<br />
begins with şînyî u tazî, ‘mourning and condolence;’ line 16 begins with şev u roj, ‘night<br />
and day.’ Both of these are followed by a word meaning ‘people,’ xelkî and gelî (gelî<br />
happens to be in a prepositional phrase, ji gelî), as well as the copula bûn. Hence, the<br />
whole of line 16 is basically grammatically parallel with line 15.<br />
(342) şînyî u tazî ji gel-î bû-n çep u (BS1:15)<br />
mourning and condolence from people-OBL.M COP.PST-3PL left and<br />
rast u jor u jêr<br />
right and up and down<br />
‘There was mourning and condolence from people, from the left to right and up to<br />
down.’<br />
141 Sema here means ‘dance, dancing’ or ‘heaven, arch of heaven/sky’ (Omar 1992).<br />
142 Mest is also the word meaning ‘drunk, intoxicated with alcohol.’
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şev u roj xelk-î girî bû-n kal (BS1:16)<br />
night and day people-OBL.M cry.PRS.PTCP COP.PST-3PL old<br />
u genc u jin u mêr<br />
and adolescent and woman and man<br />
‘Night and day people were crying, old and adolescent, women and men.’<br />
Two other lines in the same poem seem to exhibit an intentional parallel. The<br />
subject of line 9, shown in (343), consists of three nouns, ciḧêl, pîr and jin, ‘young,’<br />
‘old,’ and ‘woman.’ These describe me, 1OP, the pronoun that precedes these nouns. Line<br />
10, also shown, ends with a prepositional phrase containing three nouns, mezar, Înis and<br />
cin, ‘grave,’ ‘(prophet) Înis’ and ‘evil spirit.’ Thus, the part of the structure that is parallel<br />
consists of noun + u + noun + u + noun. While this is a less significant grammatical<br />
parallelism, it does seem clearly intentional on part of the poet. It is an attempt to create<br />
syntactic similarity in conjunction with the phonological similarity of jin and cin.<br />
(343) ayet-a Kursî ji_berkir-Ø me ciḧêl u pîr (BS1:9, 10)<br />
verse-EZ.F Kursî memorize.PST-3SG 1OP young and old<br />
u jin<br />
and woman<br />
‘We―young, old, and women―memorized the Kursî verse.’<br />
me du’a bu-Ø şev u ruj-an ji mezar u Înis u<br />
1OP prayer COP.PST-3SG night and day-OBL.PL from grave and Înis and<br />
cin<br />
evil.spirit<br />
‘We prayed (wished) night and day to grave and (prophet) Înis and evil spirit.’<br />
Lastly, Nalbend’s Kiçkek Me Divêt, ‘We Want A Girl,’ exhibits grammatical<br />
parallelism in lines 23 and 24, shown in (344). The parallelism here is not only<br />
grammatical similarity. It may also be considered antithetically parallel. In line 23, the<br />
poet is stating what the woman wants from the poet. In line 24, the poet, speaking in the<br />
first person plural, is telling the woman what he and other men want from her. The<br />
pronouns, verbs and objects parallel each other across the lines. However, in line 23,<br />
instead of using the 1D pronoun ez with bidem, ‘I give,’ to parallel with tu, 2D, in line 24,<br />
Nalbend chose to use the optional relativizer ku, ‘that,’ as it rhymes with tu.
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(344) te di-vêt ku bi-de-m te mirç u (AN5:23)<br />
2O IPFV-want.PRS-3SG that IRR-give.PRS-1SG 2O kiss and<br />
maç-a<br />
louder.kiss-OBL.PL<br />
‘You want me to give you kisses and smooches.’<br />
me di-vêt-Ø tu bi-de-y me zixt (AN5:24)<br />
1OP IPFV-want.PRS-3SG 2D IRR-give.PRS-2SG 1OP nail.on.end.of.oxgoad<br />
u xişt-î<br />
and staff-OBL.M<br />
‘We want you to give us pressure (pounding heart) and a staff.’<br />
5.4.1.4.3 Syn<strong>thesis</strong><br />
Thus far in my discussion of parallelisms, I have focused on syntactic parallels. In<br />
this section, I highlight some lines of poetry that are semantically parallel. In the last<br />
example, (344), I mentioned that the lines may be considered as being antithetical, as it<br />
seems that Nalbend was expressing opposing ideas. In discourse terms, this parallel<br />
would be called base-contrast, where the second line contrasts with the first line, the<br />
base.<br />
Turco describes syn<strong>thesis</strong> as a parallel structure of consequence, providing the<br />
example, “I love you; therefore, I am yours” (Turco 2000:9). These two clauses may be<br />
more specifically defined as having the causal semantic relation of ground-conclusion,<br />
where the first clause, ‘I love you,’ provides the basis or evidence for the conclusion in<br />
the second clause, ‘therefore, I am yours.’ Ground-conclusion is just one of many terms<br />
Wendland uses to describe causal relations (Wendland 2002a:98).<br />
The first four lines of Dilê Cegerxwîn, ‘Cegerxwîn’s Heart,’ previously discussed<br />
to illustrate syntactic repetition, contain four examples of syn<strong>thesis</strong> that build on one<br />
another to lay a foundation for the rest of the poem. All four lines are shown in (345).<br />
The discourse term to more specifically describe the semantic relation between each<br />
line’s two clauses would be reason-result, rather than ground-conclusion, the term for<br />
Turco’s example. Wendland (2002a:98) describes a reason-result relation as, “Because<br />
one event happens, therefore another occurs.” The first half of each line speaks of the
204<br />
atrocities carried out upon the homeland of Kurdistan. The second half of each line<br />
speaks of the disastrous effect it has had on the author. Such repetition and balance in the<br />
initial four lines of the poem work to prepare the reader for balance throughout the poem,<br />
which Cegerxwîn delivers on, albeit through other poetic devices discussed elsewhere in<br />
this paper.<br />
(345) agir bi Kurdistan-ê ket-Ø lewra hawar=e (CX1:1)<br />
fire in Kurdistan-OBL.F devestate.PST-3SG thus cry.for.help=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
dil<br />
heart<br />
‘Kurdistan ravaged by fire, thus my heart is a cry for help.’<br />
sed baẍ u sed bistan-î ket-Ø (CX1:2)<br />
hundred garden and hundred meadow-OBL.M devastate.PST-3SG<br />
manendî bilbil jar=e dil<br />
like nightingale miserable=COP.PRS.3SG heart<br />
‘A hundred gardens and a hundred meadows devastated―I, dejected, like a<br />
disheartened nightingale.’<br />
pêt-ek ji Kurdistan-ê hat-Ø, mêalik u cerg-ê (CX1:3)<br />
flame.INDF from Kurdistan-OBL.F come.PST-3SG lung and liver-EZ.M<br />
min di-pat-Ø<br />
me IPFV-burn.PST-3SG<br />
‘A flame came from Kurdistan, burning my lung and liver.’<br />
aman welat, aman welat, bawer_bi-k-in xwînxwar=e (CX1:4)<br />
alas home alas home believe_IRR-do.PRS-IMP.PL terrible=COP.PRS.3SG<br />
dil<br />
heart<br />
‘Alas my home, alas my home―believe me, (my) heart is terrible!’<br />
5.4.1.4.4 Chiasmus<br />
Chiasmus is a parallel or antithetical structure that repeats terms in inverse order<br />
(Adams 1997:111). The following English example from Turco shows an inverse<br />
parallelism based on similarity.<br />
(346) I vied with the wind, she fought the air, (Turco 2000:12)<br />
and as she lost, I was victorious.
205<br />
The chiasmus in Cegerxwîn’s Dînê Me Tête Zanîn, ‘Our Religion Is Becoming<br />
Known,’ is based on anti<strong>thesis</strong>, focusing on difference rather than similarity. In the<br />
second half of line 5, shown in (347), there is prepositional phrase that contains a list of<br />
areas of knowledge the elders possessed. The phrase comes after the verb. All of the<br />
nouns in the prepositional phrase are Arabic words by intention. In line 6, also shown, a<br />
list in a prepositional phrase comes at the beginning of the line, before the verb. I have<br />
underlined each list for ease of reference. In this instance, the description characterizes<br />
the situation of the common folk, who were left ignored by the elders. The elders are<br />
being rebuked here, not just for ignoring the people, but for ignoring their own language.<br />
The term base-contrast best describes the semantic relation expressed by these lines<br />
(2002a:98). Hence, this specific chiasmus exhibits both syntactic and semantic levels of<br />
parallelism.<br />
(347) xwe pîr di-k-in di wez’ê hem sirif u (CX3:5)<br />
REFL aged IPFV-do.PRS-3PL in morphology all grammar and<br />
ni’hu u mintiq<br />
syntax and logic<br />
‘They make themselves old (season themselves) in morphology, syntax and logic<br />
(in Arabic).’<br />
bê zar u xet u xwendin, li nav xelk-ê (CX3:6)<br />
without language and script and literacy into people-EZ.M<br />
dewar-in<br />
herd=COP.PRS.3PL<br />
‘We, the herd of people are without language, script and ability to read.’<br />
Example (348) visually represents this chiasmus.<br />
(348) religious leaders<br />
aspects of language (in Arabic)<br />
aspects of language (in Northern Kurdish)<br />
common people<br />
5.4.1.5 Neologisms<br />
Adams (1997:131) states that neologisms “are the creative acts of diction, the<br />
minting of new words.” Sometimes a new word may be a combination of two words or a
206<br />
variation on an existing word (Adams 1997:132). I did not find a single neologism in the<br />
poems of this corpus. While analyzing the poems, I sometimes thought that I had found a<br />
newly created word. However, I eventually learned through a native speaker that the<br />
word was known by speakers of Northern Kurdish. Adams (1997) also writes, “poets<br />
have a legacy of such creations, often quite memorable.” I must remind the reader how<br />
small this corpus is, and that the poems selected for analysis are only a subset of those<br />
collected. A greater inventory of Northern Kurdish poetry would be needed before<br />
determining whether or not poets are using neologisms for expressing ideas in their<br />
poetry.<br />
5.4.1.6 Shortened phrases<br />
In the following examples, words or word combinations were shortened, probably<br />
to help the poet meet a desired number of syllables. The missing parts are in parentheses.<br />
In (349), the command were, ‘come,’ is missing the final vowel, e. No resource that I<br />
have seen mentions wer as a short form of were. Nor have I personally observed its usage<br />
in everyday conversation. Even if wer is spoken, it is not the form common to literature.<br />
Sindî would therefore be using a colloquial term in his poem. In (350), the word ji takes<br />
on the meaning of ji ber or ji ber hindê, ‘because.’ It does not mean what ji typically<br />
means in isolation, a preposition meaning ‘from, of, out of, made of.’<br />
(349) wer(e) bi-xuîn-in ey heval-an ayet-a xuş (BS1:38)<br />
come.IMP.SG IRR-read.PRS-IMP.PL O friend-OBL.PL verse-EZ.F good<br />
hîmet-ê<br />
effort-OBL.F<br />
‘Come, read, O friends, with us the (poetic) verse of good effort.’<br />
(350) kew-ek bu-Ø lê ne-çu-Ø rav-ê (MT:11)<br />
partridge-INDF COP.PST-3SG but NEG-go.PST-3SG hunting-OBL.F<br />
ji (ber) kewgiran 143 ne-kew_gir bu-Ø<br />
because hunter not-partridge_catcher COP.PST-3SG<br />
‘He was a partridge but he didn’t go hunting because for the hunters this partridge<br />
143 Literally ‘partridge hunter.’
207<br />
is not a hunter.’ 144<br />
5.5 Summary<br />
In this chapter I analyzed the corpus of poems in Appendix A on two levels. On<br />
the phonological level, I discussed verse forms (§ 5.3.1), syllable count (§ 5.3.2) and<br />
various types of rhyme (§ 5.3.3). A couple of the more uncommon findings include an<br />
innovative form for rhymed verse (§ 5.3.1.4), multisyllabic rhyming sequence<br />
(§ 5.3.3.1.3), and the presence of consonant and vowel feature rhyme (§ 5.3.3.1.5). On the<br />
syntactic level, I demonstrated that Northern Kurdish poets sometimes deviate from<br />
normal constituency order at both the sentence and phrasal levels (§ 5.4.1.1). I also<br />
discussed instances of ellipsis, some of which are natural in the language (§ 5.4.1.2). In<br />
some situations, discussed in § 5.4.1.3, a poet was found to have capitalized on certain<br />
freedoms in the language, such as the placement of an adverbial clause. In other<br />
situations, I conjectured that I found instances where poets utilized a word from a<br />
subdialect of Northern Kurdish that is likely outside their particular area―that is, outside<br />
their own spoken language. In § 5.4.1.4 where I discuss constructional schemes, the<br />
dialogue is dominated by instances of repetition. I also provide in this section examples<br />
of parallelism, a less common feature in Northern Kurdish poetry. Lastly, I discuss the<br />
issues of neologism (§ 5.4.1.5) and shortened phrases (§ 5.4.1.6). The analysis as the<br />
whole provides the reader with many insights concerning poetic features in Northern<br />
Kurdish poetry.<br />
144 A partridge hunter uses a patridge to catch other partridges.
6. Application and concluding remarks<br />
In this chapter, I apply what I have learned through the analysis in Chapter 5 to<br />
the translation of a short poem into Northern Kurdish, specifically, the Bahdini<br />
subdialect, while also drawing from § 2.2 on translating poetry. The poem I chose to<br />
translate is Allah by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882). I was not able to<br />
ascertain why Longfellow chose the name Allah, the Arabic word for ‘God.’ The poem<br />
Allah was appreciated enough by George Whitefield Chadwick (1854-1931) that he set it<br />
to music and published the song in 1887 (Chadwick 1887:2, 3). I thought the poem ideal<br />
to translate as it was written in quatrains, similar to verse forms found in the Neoclassical<br />
poems in the corpus. Additionally, I liked the subject matter of the poem and<br />
found the content and grammar simple enough for producing a translation.<br />
My reasoning for translating Allah into verse form is two-fold. First, after<br />
considering what others have said about translating verse poetry―specifically, those<br />
mentioned in § 2.2―I find myself in agreement with Holmes (1988), Thorley (1920), von<br />
Willamowitz-Moellendorff (1992), Boerger (1997 and 2009) and others who would<br />
prefer to see the metapoem matched to an appropriate form in the receptor language. This<br />
was what Holmes proposed in the discussion of his meta-literature model, presented in<br />
Figure 1 in § 2.2.4.1, where options for interpretation of a poem are scaled against options<br />
for poetic translations. In this model, the metapoem lies at the intersection of<br />
interpretation and poetry. The closest interpretation option is the production of a prose<br />
translation. This option was considered by Holmes to be insufficient, because a strictly<br />
prose translation―as opposed to prose poetry―is not poetry. On the other side of the<br />
metapoem is the imitation of a poem, which is viewed as being a poem, but one that<br />
strays too far from an ideal interpretation of the original.<br />
208
209<br />
As I see it, verse poetry depends on certain poetic devices, as does prose poetry,<br />
and, certainly, some of these devices are used in both styles. But to retain the poetic<br />
effects in the original poem, it seems logical to employ as many of the original’s poetic<br />
devices as possible within the translated poem, cf., Boerger’s first and second principles<br />
for the translation of poetry (1997:36; 2009:17), discussed in § 2.2.4.3. If the poetic<br />
devices in the original are inappropriate or not reproducable in the receptor language,<br />
then devices common to the receptor language should be employed. Such a decision<br />
aligns with Boerger’s fourth principle. Hence, I do not agree with Donaldson (1975), or<br />
Murry (1969:129), who said that “poetry should always be rendered into prose.”<br />
The second reason I chose to write a verse translation is the audience. While most<br />
writers of poetry in Northern Iraq are writing prose poems these days, I am not convinced<br />
that prose poetry is the style preferred by the general public. My opinion is based on the<br />
many conversations I had while in Northern Iraq. While some people would mention<br />
various prose poets during our conversations, it is the poets of the Classical and Neoclassical<br />
styles that received the highest praise―especially from poets themselves! I do<br />
wonder why most poets have so quickly abandoned the Neo-classical style. It seems to<br />
have developed out of a desire to leave the past behind and grab hold of everything new.<br />
My interview with Mihsin Quçan was most enlightening in this regard. Events over the<br />
last two decades have drastically changed the lives of the people of Northern Iraq. To<br />
write freely―in free verse―is perhaps just one of the many ways people are expressing<br />
their newfound freedoms. But I have opted to utilize a verse form familiar to Northern<br />
Kurdish speakers, believing that there is still a vast readership for poetry of the Neoclassical<br />
style.<br />
With respect to Holmes’ four approaches to verse translation, as discussed in<br />
§ 2.2.4.1.2, I chose to produce an “analogous form,” to translate the poem into a verse<br />
form known in the receptor language. I personally felt that a verse form familiar to the<br />
people would provide a wider readership and be well received. With consideration to<br />
Holmes’ “retention versus modernization” model, discussed in § 2.2.4.2, my decision was<br />
to retain, or “historicize,” on the verse level, but use a form common to poetry in the
210<br />
receptor language. With regard to the linguistic level, no attempt was made to use older<br />
language and every attempt was made to use pure Northern Kurdish in the translations,<br />
which is presently the norm among Northern Kurdish poets. These decisions may be<br />
viewed as modernizing on the linguistic level. Regarding the socio-cultural level, I did<br />
not find that the subject matter of the poem provided much opportunity for historicizing<br />
or modernizing. Even if there were situations that could be modernized, I would likely<br />
prefer to retain socio-cultural aspects of a poem, as I feel they would provide some of the<br />
more interesting features of the poem. Undoubtedly, some who do not believe in God<br />
may not appreciate the poem. But to change “God” to “It” for such an audience would<br />
certainly be inappropriate, as God is the central figure of the poem, and the lines speak of<br />
his character and intervention in the affairs of humankind.<br />
I was fortunate to receive the help of Perwer Shushi, a poet in her own right, who<br />
is actively writing in the Neo-classical style. She possesses a B.A. in journalism from an<br />
American university and works as a writer and editor. Though she presently lives in the<br />
United States, she remains very connected to her homeland in Northern Iraq. Having<br />
become familiar with Northern Kurdish poets from Iraq, Syria, Turkey and Europe, she<br />
has a profound knowledge of the language and how it differs by location.<br />
My work with Shushi began by providing her with my own translation of the<br />
poem, which tended toward being more “literal.” After making some adjustments as per<br />
Shushi’s recommendations, we reached the version found in (351). I will discuss this<br />
version before moving on to Shushi’s own translation of the poem in (352).<br />
6.1 My version of Allah, after Shushi’s input<br />
The rhyme scheme that I used in my version of the poem in (351) is AAXA,<br />
BBXB, CCXC, where the X line is free of end rhyme (see § 5.3.1.1). The syllable<br />
structure for each quatrain is 11-11-10-11. In my original version, I attempted to keep the<br />
syllable count consistent in every line. However, I learned from Shushi that Northern<br />
Kurdish poets, such as Cegerxwîn, often reduce the syllable count of the line that is free<br />
from end rhyme by one syllable. For the reader and listener, it gives the poem a sort of
211<br />
‘break,’ as Shushi described it to me. The break adds a pleasing aesthetic feature to the<br />
rhythm of the quatrain. This conforms to Boerger’s fourth principle, that borrowed forms<br />
are often modified to conform to receptor language practices (1997:37). Concerning<br />
rhyme, I only attempted to rhyme the final syllable of each line. If I had chosen Holmes’<br />
“mimetic form” approach (§ 2.2.4.1.2), I would have applied Longfellow’s form to the<br />
translation, with syllable counts for the three quatrains being 7-6-7-6, 9-7-8-6, 7-6-7-6,<br />
and the rhyme scheme being XBXB, CDCD, XEXE.<br />
In the discussion that follows, I convey modifications that were made to my<br />
original translation (not shown) so that the reader may understand some aspects of the<br />
decision-making process. Some modifications were made by me while others were made<br />
by way of Shushi’s recommendations.<br />
(351) Allah gives light in darkness,<br />
Xwedê çira li_nav tarî-yê di-d-et<br />
God light in.midst.of darkness-OBL.F IMPV-give.PRS-3SG<br />
‘God gives light in the midst of darkness,’<br />
Allah gives rest in pain,<br />
Xwedê aram-î li_nav derd-an di-d-et<br />
God rest-OBL.M in.midst.of pain-OBL.PL IMPV-give.PRS-3SG<br />
‘God gives rest in the midst of pain,’<br />
Cheeks that are white with weeping<br />
Wext-ê ru spî bun ji_ber girî-yê<br />
when-OBL.M cheek white become because.of crying-OBL.F<br />
‘When cheeks become white because of crying,’<br />
Allah paints red again.<br />
Xwedê dîsa bi sorr-î boyax di-k-et<br />
God again with red-OBL.M dye IMPV-do.PRS-3SG<br />
‘God dyes the red again.’<br />
*<br />
The flowers and the blossoms wither,<br />
Gul u kulîlk-ên buhar-ê di-wêry-in,<br />
flower and blossom-EZ.PL spring-OBL.M IMPV-wither.PRS-3PL<br />
‘The flowers and blossoms of spring wither,’<br />
Years vanish with flying fleet<br />
Hemî sal tim belez av_u_av di-ç-in
212<br />
every year EMPH quickly down.the.river IMPV-go.PRS-3PL<br />
‘Every year quickly goes down the river’<br />
But my heart will live on forever,<br />
Belê dil-ê min dê her_u_her j-ît,<br />
but heart-EZ.M 1O will forever live.PRS-3SG<br />
‘But my heart will liver forever,’<br />
That here in sadness beat<br />
ku li vêrê melûlî lê_da-Ø li min<br />
that at here sadness beat.PST-3SG in 1O<br />
‘that here in me sadness beats’<br />
*<br />
Gladly to Allah's dwelling<br />
Bi keyfî ez dê ç-im=a mal-a Xwedê<br />
with happiness 1D will go.PRS-1SG=DIR home-EZ.F God<br />
‘With happiness I will go to the home of God’<br />
Yonder would I take flight<br />
Ez ḧez di-k-im bi-firr-im=a li wêrê<br />
1D desire IMPV-do.PRS-1SG IRR-fly.PRS-1SG=DIR LOC there<br />
‘I desire to fly there’<br />
There will the darkness vanish,<br />
Li wêrê tarîtî dê winda b-it<br />
LOC there darkness will vanish<br />
‘There darkness will vanish,’<br />
COP.PRS-3SG<br />
There will my eyes have sight.<br />
Bînahî dê hê-t-e çav-an li qad-ê<br />
sight will come.FUT-3SG-DIR eye-OBL.PL in open.space-OBL.F<br />
‘Sight will come to the eyes in the open space.’<br />
In the first quatrain, my original poem was missing the imperfective aspect<br />
marker, di-, on the verbs det, ‘give’ and ket, ‘do’ at the end of the first, second and fourth<br />
lines. Because Shushi used the aspect marker in her version, and seeing that these actions<br />
are indeed imperfective aspect, I added the affix. However, this put me over the syllable<br />
count in those lines. For the first line, Shushi recommended changing ronahî, ‘light,’<br />
which has three syllables, to a synonym, çira. Regarding my use of the preposition(s) li<br />
nav, Shushi agreed that it was correct but also said that I could have used di nav…da. Use<br />
of the circumposition di nav…da would have provided the same meaning, but would have<br />
increased the syllable count by one.
213<br />
In the second line, we had multiple options for the words for ‘rest’ and ‘pain,’ and<br />
so the decisions were not difficult. In order to reduce the syllable count, I changed tenahî,<br />
‘rest,’ to Shushi’s suggestion, aram. In the third line of the quatrain, we were left in a<br />
quandary after adding the required feminine oblique ending, -yê, to the final word girî,<br />
‘crying,’ for the syllable count was now too great. I inquired about changing bune spî,<br />
‘become white,’ which was utilizing the directional enclitic (DIR), e, on bun, to simply<br />
bun spî. Shushi replied that people do not always speak the e enclitic, so that would work.<br />
I also asked if there was a difference between the order: bun spî and spî bun. She said that<br />
in this instance, spî sounds nicer before bun, though both are grammatically correct. With<br />
spî before bun, the directional enclitic is not an option. Lastly, in the fourth line, Shushi<br />
recommended using the verb boyax diket, ‘dye.’ This made more sense to her than the<br />
literal translation of the verb sibiẍ diket, ‘paint.’ Boyax diket is the verb used by women<br />
when putting henna on their skin, or for dying cloth.<br />
In the second quatrain, I needed more syllables in the first line and chose to add<br />
the word buhar, ‘spring.’ It seemed an appropriate addition since the blossoms and<br />
flowers of the spring months are the ones that vanish quickly. The addition does not<br />
really take away anything, nor add much, to the overall image of the line, and<br />
corresponds to Boerger’s eighth principle discussed in § 2.2.4.3, which allows for<br />
adjustments in word choices to accomodate the form (2009:17), in this case the number<br />
of syllables per line. Shushi also provided me with the word for ‘wither,’ diwêryin, a<br />
word which was not in my dictionaries. In the second line of the quatrain, I struggled to<br />
find enough syllables. I settled for the use of an idiom, av u av diçin, which I found in the<br />
translation of Hisin Silêvanî’s poem Ew Xanîma Henê, ‘That Woman.’ This decision<br />
accords with Boerger’s sixth principle (1997:38), which allows for the alteration or<br />
insertion of target langauge metaphorical imagery, as long as meaning is preserved. This<br />
idiom is a metaphor for something that quickly ‘disappears’ by falling into a river and
214<br />
quickly floating away downstream. 145 As Shushi did not argue for its removal, I left it in<br />
because of the number of syllables it provided compared to alternatives. Needing one<br />
more syllable for the line, Shushi recommended using an emphatic word tim, a word I<br />
was not familiar with. Chyet (2003) lists tim as meaning ‘always’ and ‘often, frequently.’<br />
However, a friend of mine affirmed Shushi’s explanation saying, “It is a rather poetic<br />
word just used for emphasis―no more, no less.” I also had the option of using the words<br />
gelek zî, ‘very fast,’ in place of belez, ‘quickly,’ as gelek zî offers an additional syllable.<br />
Having this option is ideal in case the idiom that I used needs to be changed.<br />
For the third line of the second quatrain, I had an option of using either habît,<br />
‘exist,’ or jît, ‘live.’ Shushi felt that both words convey the same meaning in this<br />
sentence. Having changed to a 10-syllable count for the third line in each quatrain―the<br />
non-rhyming line―I chose to use jît over habît. Also, regarding syllable count, I was able<br />
to use belê, ‘but,’ as opposed to lê, which also means ‘but.’ If I wanted to change the verb<br />
to habît, whatever the reason, I would be able to use lê to retain the syllable count.<br />
In Northern Kurdish, there is one characteristic of the language that can be either<br />
helpful or challenging for the metapoet. Verbs naturally come at the end of a sentence,<br />
the general constituent order being SOV (see § 4.4.1.2). When the person, number and<br />
tense remain consistent, the verb endings naturally rhyme. Prepositional phrases that<br />
might naturally occur after a verb can often be moved to another location in the sentence,<br />
as discussed in § 5.4.1.3.7. However, if a change occurs with the person, number or tense,<br />
the ending on the verb changes and some other means for rhyming the line must be<br />
found. Such is the situation in the final line of the second quatrain. Not only does the<br />
number change for this line but also the tense of the verb. After much discussion about<br />
this line, we decided to retain, from my original translation, the prepositional phrase li<br />
min, ‘in me,’ at the end for the rhyme. Lacking words to correctly describe the beating of<br />
a heart, Shushi offered lê da, which literally means ‘strike, hit, beat.’ It is a word people<br />
145 I would need to ask more native speakers to make sure usage of this idiom is appropriate for the given<br />
context.
215<br />
use to describe a situation where the heart beats faster than normal, such as being scared<br />
or shocked. However, Shushi feels that the line, while understandable, comes across as a<br />
bit awkward. As we will see in Shushi’s version of the poem, more creativity may need to<br />
be employed. Lastly, I should mention that ku in this line is required, not optional, as is<br />
often the case (see § 5.4.1.3.5).<br />
In the first line of the final quatrain, I needed more syllables and chose to use a<br />
verb çim, ‘I go,’ which is used to express what will happen to the soul after death. I also<br />
included the subject pronoun ez, 1D, which does not need to be included (see § 5.4.1.2.1<br />
on anaphoric subject pronoun ellipsis). I also inclused the directional enclitic, a. In the<br />
second line, I had begun with min divêt, ‘I want.’ However, needing another<br />
syllable―and desiring something more expressive to capture the sense of ‘would’ in this<br />
line, which is being used to express intention or inclination―Shushi recommended ez ḧez<br />
dikim, ‘I desire,’ which provides a bit of the emotive element that was missing.<br />
Struggling to find a rhyme to end this line, I moved li werê, ‘there,’ to the end (see<br />
§ 5.4.1.3.7), settling for the similarity between the consonants r and d in wêrê and Xwedê,<br />
‘God.’ The sounds represented by the letters r and d are produced at the same alveolar<br />
place of articulation, and both are voiced. The only difference is the manner of<br />
articulation; one is a flap and the other a plosive, respectfully. This is similar to the sound<br />
play discussed in § 5.3.3.1.3 on multisyllabic rhyming sequence.<br />
In the third line, Shushi was able to provide me an alternate word for ‘darkness,’<br />
taritî, which has one more syllable than tarî, the word I had used. She also recommended<br />
using winda bit for ‘vanish,’ as she was not familiar with the word I used from Chyet’s<br />
(2003) dictionary. The final line of the poem was very difficult to rhyme. I had settled for<br />
bînahîyê, ‘sight.’ However, after working with Shushi, we decided to change the line by<br />
making ‘sight’ the subject, and Shushi came up with the word qad, which means ‘field’<br />
or ‘open space.’ With the feminine oblique ending, -ê, qadê would rhyme with Xwedê.<br />
The image has been changed slightly, which is advocated by Boerger in her sixth<br />
principle regarding metaphorical imagery (1997:38). But, even though the qad is<br />
metaphorical here, it still conveys the central image―that when one is finally with God,
216<br />
sight will be free, without life’s limitations. One may simply view the added<br />
metaphorical imagery as an explication of the original image.<br />
Overall, both Shushi and I were pleased with the end result in (351). The<br />
translation can be said to be a true metapoem, remains close to the original, and in no<br />
place does it stray enough to be considered an imitation. Perhaps a couple lines slightly<br />
qualify for a “creative translation.” However, the use of a couple explications and an<br />
idiom are certainly within the bounds of what a metapoet―as defined by Holmes (1988),<br />
Boerger (1997, 2009) and others―is permitted to do when producing a metapoem.<br />
6.2 Shushi’s version of Allah<br />
For her version of Allah, shown in (352), Shushi (2012) chose to use the same<br />
verse form that I had used for my more “literal” version: AAXA, BBXB, CCXC. Her<br />
syllable structure for each quatrain is 12-12-11-12. As mentioned, in this verse form<br />
Shushi prefers to reduce the number of syllables in the third line―the line free from<br />
rhyme―by one, a common poetic device of Northern Kurdish poets. One particularly<br />
nice feature about Shushi’s version is that she produced end rhymes with two syllables,<br />
which provides a nicer reading than my version which rhymes only one syllable. I should<br />
also mention that Shushi did not make her own version “from scratch,” but, having read<br />
and provided feedback on my version, she created a more readable, better sounding<br />
poem. Hence, Shushi’s version exhibits similar features of my version. She used an<br />
“analogous form,” as discussed in § 2.2.4.1.2. In relation to Holmes’ “retention versus<br />
modernization” model, she chose to historicize on the level of verse form and modernize<br />
on linguistic level. Regarding the socio-cultural level, the subject matter did not provide<br />
many features for historicizing or modernizing.<br />
(352) Allah gives light in darkness,<br />
Xwedê ruhnî-yê li_nav tarî-yê di-d-et<br />
God light-EZ.M in.midst.of darkness-OBL.F IMPV-give.PRS-3SG<br />
‘God gives light in the midst of darkness’<br />
Allah gives rest in pain,<br />
Xwedê aram-î li_nav jarî-yê di-d-et
217<br />
God rest-OBL.M in.midst.of misery-OBL.F IMPV-give.PRS-3SG<br />
‘God gives rest in the midst of misery.’<br />
Cheeks that are white with weeping<br />
Ew rûy-ên spî buîn ji_ber girîyan-ê<br />
Those cheek-EZ.PL white become.PST-3PL because.of crying-OBL.F<br />
‘Those cheeks that became white because of crying’<br />
Allah paints red again.<br />
Xwedê bi reng-ê sorr dişan rewşen di-k-et<br />
God with color-EZ.M red again illuminate IMPV-make.PRS-3SG<br />
‘God illuminates with the color of red again.’<br />
*<br />
The flowers and the blossoms wither,<br />
Gul û kulîlk-ên buhar-ê her di-weş-in<br />
flower and blossom-EZ.PL spring all IMPV-wither.PRS-3PL<br />
‘The flowers and blossoms of spring all wither,’<br />
Years vanish with flying fleet<br />
Sal tim berze di-b-in u bi lez di-meş-in<br />
year always vanish IMPV-be.PRES-3PL and with haste IMPV-go.PRS-3PL<br />
‘Years always vanish and go with haste.’<br />
But my heart will live on forever,<br />
Lê dil u can-ê min dê her_u_her jît-Ø<br />
but heart-EZ.M and soul-EZ.M 1O will forever live.PRS-3SG<br />
‘But my heart and soul will live forever,<br />
That here in sadness beat<br />
Her_çende birîn-ên dil-ê min ne_xweş=in<br />
although wound-EZ.PL heart-EZ.M 1O trying=COP.PRS.3PL<br />
‘Although the wounds in my heart are trying.’<br />
*<br />
Gladly to Allah's dwelling<br />
Bi keyf û xweşî(-î) bo mal-a Xwedê dê ç-im<br />
with happiness and pleasure(-OBL.M) to home-EZ.F God<br />
‘With happiness and pleasure I will go to the home of God’<br />
Yonder would I take flight<br />
pêtivî=ye bu min li wêrê bi-firr-im<br />
necessary=COP.3SG for me LOC there IRR-fly.PRS-1SG<br />
‘It is necessary for me to fly there’<br />
There will the darkness vanish,<br />
(Li) wêrê tarî-ya jîn-ê dê winda b-it<br />
will go.PRS-1SG
218<br />
(LOC) there darkness-EZ.F life-OBL.F will vanish COP.PRS-3SG<br />
‘There the darkness of life will vanish,’<br />
There will my eyes have sight.<br />
(Li) wêrê çav-an dê vek-im, çi_car na gir-im<br />
(LOC) there eye-OBL.PL will open.PRS-1SG, never NEG close.PRS-1SG<br />
‘There I will open the eyes, I will never close them.’<br />
I initially thought that the first line of Shushi’s version was lacking a syllable.<br />
However, the h in ruhnîyê is actually pronounced as a separate syllable, even though the<br />
word is usually not written as ruhinîyê, with an i after the h. Concerning the second line,<br />
Shushi used the word jarî, which she described as ‘misery,’ for the translation of ‘pain.’<br />
The word jarî may be viewed as a slight improvement in the poem, as ‘misery’ perhaps<br />
adds an emotional element to the type of ‘pain’ that requires ‘rest,’ whereas the first thing<br />
one may think when hearing the English word ‘pain’ in Longfellow’s version is physical<br />
pain.<br />
Instead of making the third line a dependent clause, as I had done, Shushi kept it<br />
as the object of the fourth line, beginning the line with the determiner ew, ‘those.’ This<br />
actually keeps the phrasing closer to the original, which is not an issue, as the syntax also<br />
works very nicely in Northern Kurdish. Also, it is worth noting that Shushi’s word for<br />
‘crying,’ girîyan, is synonymous with the word for ‘crying’ in my version, girî. Shushi<br />
used both words in her upbringing and does not discern any difference between them. In<br />
the final line of the quatrain, Shushi gained two syllables by saying rengê sorr, ‘red<br />
color,’ as opposed to simply sorr, ‘red,’ which is what I used in my more literal version.<br />
By doing so she gained two syllables. Another change in this line is the word rewşan,<br />
‘illuminate,’ which Shushi felt was more poetic than my literal boyaẍ, ‘dye.’ Rewşan, a<br />
very positive image, also connects nicely with ‘light’ in the first line of the quatrain—<br />
another application of Boerger’s sixth principle (1997:38).<br />
In the first line of the second quatrain, Shushi added the word her ‘all,’ which is<br />
simply an explication of implied information in the original. She also used diweşin for<br />
‘whither,’ which is a synonym for the word she recommended for my version. In the<br />
second line, she used the emphatic tim (see § 6.1). To express ‘flying fleet’ she decided to
219<br />
create an independent clause, joining it to the first clause with the conjunction û, ‘and.’ I<br />
appreciate this creativity of Shushi―to translate the event of ‘flying fleet’ into the<br />
prepositional phrase bi lez, ‘with haste,’ and the verb meş, another word for ‘go.’ Though<br />
she changed the syntax, she retained the basic meaning being conveyed.<br />
In the third line of the second quatrain, Shushi gained needed syllables by<br />
expanding ‘heart’ to include the can, ‘soul.’ This reminds me of Sindî’s use of the two<br />
nouns jîn, ‘life,’ and hîvî, ‘hope,’ to represent one basic idea in Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya,<br />
‘The Door of Life and Hopes,’―that idea being “everything good.” In Longfellow’s<br />
poem, ‘heart’ represents the part of a person that lives after death. Hence, can, ‘soul,’<br />
may rightly be viewed as an explication of the metaphoric meaning of ‘heart.’ Also, note<br />
that Shushi used lê for ‘but’ instead of belê. She also had the option, as I did, to use habît,<br />
‘exist,’ or jît, ‘live.’ For Shushi, both verbs would provide the same meaning.<br />
In the final line of this quatrain, Shushi decided to change the image, as it was<br />
difficult to convey Longfellow’s image in Northern Kurdish (see the discussion of my<br />
version of the poem in § 6.1). Shushi’s decision is in concord with Boerger’s sixth<br />
principle, which was introduced previously. I had to speak with Shushi a second time<br />
about the image she chose, as the literal translation of nexweş ‘not well,’ which would<br />
seemingly convey some redundancy in the line. Obviously, a ‘wound,’ the new image, is<br />
something that is ‘not well.’ The issue here had to do with the meaning of nexweş, which,<br />
according to Shushi takes on a different meaning in this context. Shushi thought that the<br />
English word ‘trying’ or ‘difficult to bear’ conveyed the sense of nexweş in this use of the<br />
word. So, still utilizing the extension of the heart image represented in ‘beat,’ Shushi<br />
settled for an alternate image to convey the situation of the present life, the life bound to a<br />
failing human body―but a life that still can experience the hope of eternity with God.<br />
In the first line of the final quatrain, Shushi expanded the idea of ‘gladly’ by<br />
adding to keyf, ‘happiness,’ the word xweşî, ‘pleasure,’ therein gaining some syllables.<br />
She gained another syllable by means of the conjunction u, ‘and.’ She also chose to end<br />
the line with a verb, moving the GOAL―the prepositional phrase bo mala Xwedê, ‘to the<br />
home of God’―before the future word dê, ‘will.’ Recall from § 4.4.1.2 that the normal
220<br />
constituent order of Northern Kurdish puts the GOAL after the verb. This change in<br />
location of the prepositional phrase, discussed in § 5.4.1.3.7, allowed her to more easily<br />
rhyme lines two and four, as both lines are also in the first person, singular present tense.<br />
I must also note that this is the only line in her poem that does not have a two-syllable<br />
rhyme. Concerning syllable count, Shushi had the option to utilize the anaphoric subject<br />
pronoun ez, 1D, which may be left unuttered due to context (see § 5.4.1.2.1). However, she<br />
did not need the word as she had already reached her desired syllable count.<br />
In the second line, Shushi again put a GOAL prepositional phrase, li wêrê, ‘there,’<br />
before the verb. By ending the first line with the verb, she was able to more easily rhyme<br />
the end of the line. The situation is the same for the final line of the quatrain. Also notice<br />
that she used the prepositional phrase bu min, ‘for me,’ in lieu of the subject ez, ‘I,’ which<br />
is an optional syntactic shift in the language (see § 5.4.1.1.12). Using bu min also added<br />
another syllable to the line. She also retained the image of flying with use of the word<br />
bifirrim, ‘I fly.’ Recall that the second line in the previous quatrain utilized a flying<br />
image in ‘flying fleet.’ Perhaps Longfellow intentionally juxtaposed these two lines by<br />
means of the flying image. In one the years are taken from us; in the other we, like our<br />
years, will go to the one who possesses years and time.<br />
In the final two lines, Shushi left off the locative preposition li, ‘at,’ on wêrê,<br />
‘there,’ at the beginning of both lines, as use of it would have given her too many<br />
syllables in each line. Recall from § 5.4.1.2.7 that the ellipsis of a preposition was found<br />
in one instance in the corpus. In the third line, she expanded ‘darkness’ to tarîya jînê,<br />
‘darkness of life,’ which seems to simply explicate via her interpretation that the darkness<br />
is the “general” unknown things and difficult, perhaps evil things, of this life. In the final<br />
line of the poem, Shushi expands the notion of God giving sight upon death by affirming<br />
the eternal nature of the act with çi car nagirim, ‘never I (will) close (them).’ The subject<br />
of this clause is the first person, singular. The object is çavan, ‘eyes,’ which is understood<br />
as being the poet’s eyes, without use of the referent pronoun min, 1O. In this line, Shushi<br />
has left the modifier ‘my’ implied, which is perfectly acceptable given the context. And
221<br />
instead of using a word for ‘sight,’ as I did in my more literal version, she changed the<br />
verb to vekim, ‘open,’ as opposed to using the possessive verb ‘have.’<br />
Shushi’s poem in (352) certainly has more appeal than my version in (351), which<br />
is to be expected by an ideal translator of poetry. The receptor language is Shushi’s native<br />
tongue, and given her years in the US and level of education, she fulfills the requirement<br />
that a good metapoet know the source language very well. Shushi also fulfills the third<br />
ideal requirement of a metapoet: she herself is a poet. In the discussion of her poem, I<br />
have shown that many of the poetic devices she employed were also employed by poets<br />
represented in the corpus. Other translation decisions were found to be in accord with<br />
Boerger’s (1997, 2009) principles for translating poetry. Her decision to change the<br />
image in the line, “that here in sadness beat”―line 4 of the second quatrain―may be<br />
considered by some to be too free and, therefore, an imitation. However, given the<br />
difficulty in translating the line, I personally feel that she conveyed much of the sense of<br />
the original and that her translation of the line should be considered, minimally, a<br />
“creative” translation. The poem as a whole is a true metapoem, bearing the hallmark of a<br />
poet.<br />
6.3 Concluding remarks<br />
The purpose of this <strong>thesis</strong> was to analyze a body of Northern Kurdish poetry,<br />
identify poetic features contained therein―consisting of variants from normal<br />
speech―and apply what has been learned to the translation of poetry into Northern<br />
Kurdish. The process of choosing poems for the corpus presented opportunities to<br />
interview three poets and an editor of poetry. These interviews allowed me to gain an<br />
emic view on Northern Kurdish poetry, which added important information to the study.<br />
Noteworthy findings include the following: On the phonological level, I identified<br />
several types of rhyme, including multisyllabic rhyming sequence (see § 5.3.3.1.3), where<br />
multiple syllables are rhymed. I also identified instances of consonant and vowel feature<br />
rhyme―where poets capitalized on the similarities between consonants and vowels when<br />
forming end rhymes (see § 5.3.3.1.5). Allowance for the use of such poetic devices
222<br />
expands the poet’s range of possible choices. I also identified a situation where a poet<br />
intentionally changed the normal syntax so that the final word in the line would be<br />
dissimilar to the end rhyme of the other lines in the quatrain. While the decision of the<br />
poet to change the order was phonologically motivated, the device employed was<br />
syntactic, which is why I placed the discussion in the syntactic section of the paper (see<br />
§ 5.4.1.1.11). On the syntactic level, every possible deviation from normal SOV constituent<br />
order was found except for verb initial phrases (with declared subjects). The only verb<br />
initial phrases were two imperative clauses where the subject is naturally not declared.<br />
For equative and attributive clauses, there were no instances where a copula followed the<br />
subject when the subject was placed after an adjective phrase or noun phrase (see<br />
§ 5.4.1.1). Regarding ellipsis (§ 5.4.1.2), it was discovered that it is the use of anaphoric<br />
pronouns that is a tool for the poet, as pronoun ellipsis is often permitted because of the<br />
language’s rules concerning participant reference. Other instances of ellipsis exhibited<br />
freedoms taken by the poets. In § 5.4.1.3 on free variation, we saw how poets varied word<br />
usage by utilizing more than one word form. Potentially, poets capitalized on the<br />
language of other subdialects of Northern Kurdish―spoken language having minor<br />
differences from their own―for these variations. More research is needed on this subject<br />
before drawing any conclusions.<br />
The whole of this analysis reveals numerous variations that are found in poetic<br />
language. While most of these poetic devices were utilized by Neo-classical poets, some<br />
continue to be employed by modern poets. One poem in the corpus worth highlighting is<br />
Şaban Silêman’s Gutgutik, ‘Rumors,’ which is a modern poem that utilizes end rhyme, a<br />
poetic device that was not employed in any of the other modern poems in the corpus; nor<br />
have I seen it in any other modern poems I have read. Due to Silêman’s immense<br />
popularity in Northern Iraq, it would be worthwhile to conduct a more extensive analysis<br />
of his poetry to see to what degree he uses end rhyme and, perhaps, other poetic devices<br />
identified in the analysis in Chapter 5.<br />
The analysis and its application have provided an initial step in the study of<br />
Northern Kurdish poetry and has at least partially answered the question, as concerns
223<br />
poetic language: “What is possible?” As Kurds continue to write and expand their literary<br />
culture, they may also desire to increase the number of translated works from other<br />
cultures. My hope is that this study will be useful to them in accomplishing this task. This<br />
study may also be useful to researchers of other Indo-Iranian languages.<br />
Concerning the translation of older texts, one wonders what type of translation<br />
Kurdish people would prefer. Most writers of today are writing in the modern style.<br />
However, after speaking with many Kurds about poetry, I am not convinced that modern<br />
poetry is the preference of the general public. As discussed in § 2.2, there are many other<br />
considerations in producing a metapoem. If, say, a Kurdish metapoet was writing for a<br />
wide readership and wanted to translate a poem by Rumi, a famous Persian poet of the<br />
13 th century, it would seem practical and necessary to answer this question: What type of<br />
translation will my readers want? I look forward to continuing my research in Northern<br />
Kurdish poetry to help answer such questions.
Appendix A – The Corpus of Northern Kurdish Poems<br />
The following poems were gathered during the Fall of 2009. The translations<br />
were produced by various native speakers in Northern Iraq. Light revisions for clarify and<br />
readability were made as I interacted with native speakers in the USA. The poems are<br />
listed in alphabetic order according to the acronym assigned.<br />
224
225<br />
AN1<br />
by Ahmed Nalbend<br />
translated by Ibrahim S. Abdullatif<br />
Duhî Spêdê Liser Banî<br />
Yesterday Morning On The Rooftop<br />
Duhî spêdê liser banî,<br />
Yesterday morning on the rooftop,<br />
Me dît canek ji xew rabû.<br />
We saw a beauty rise from sleeping (wake up).<br />
Ji mal derket derê xanî.<br />
She left the house by the front door.<br />
Me texmîn kir Zuleyxa 146 bû.<br />
We thought she was a Zuleyxa.<br />
Zuleyxa bu sîfet hûrî. 5<br />
It was Zuleyxa, the looks of a hûrî. 147<br />
Wekî tîrê ji merra bûrî.<br />
Like an arrow she passed us.<br />
Çû ser avê li rexê jûrî;<br />
She went to the water (river/stream) by way of above;<br />
Wekî rrojê limin ava bû.<br />
Like the sun she set (disappeared).<br />
Dema zivrî ji ser avê,<br />
When she came back from the water,<br />
Me dît lêda ji nû tavê. 10<br />
We saw the sun hit upon her anew.<br />
146 In the Qur’an, Zuleyxa was the wife of Pharoah who loved the prophet Joseph.<br />
147 Heavenly wife in the Qur’an.
226<br />
Miqabil çûme hindavê.<br />
Facing (her) I went above her (to look).<br />
Qere puşî girê dabû.<br />
She had tied her cumberbun.<br />
Wekî tavê libejnê da,<br />
As the sun stroke her stature,<br />
Me dît şubhî gula spêda.<br />
We saw bloom the morning flower.<br />
Wesa geş bu dinav rrêda. 15<br />
She was so radiant on the way (path)<br />
Çû hal bu min nehêla bû.<br />
She went; left me feeling crazy (high love/sexual emotion).<br />
Nehêla bo kesê halek.<br />
She didn’t leave anyone in peace (made everyone crazy)<br />
Deqîqe li min bibûn salek.<br />
Minutes became a year.<br />
Li enya wê hebû xalek;<br />
On her forehead there was a freckle;<br />
Xudê heq taze kêşa bû. 20<br />
God chose a fine place for that freckle.<br />
Xudê suret muneqiqeş kir,<br />
God made decorative caligraphic verse,<br />
Du zulfa liser rruya reş kir.<br />
Two black braids on her cheeks.<br />
Enî gul bû şevê geş kir;<br />
The forehead was a flower; at night it glowed;<br />
Siḧarê zû xunav dabû.<br />
Early in the morning it gave dew.<br />
Xunavê terr kirin sunbul; 25<br />
The dew made the bud of a flower;
227<br />
Siḧarê xîv bi bûn sor gul.<br />
In the morning the bloom had become a red-colored flower.<br />
Li min sot sing u cerg u dil;<br />
My chest and liver and heart in me were burnt;<br />
Ji mêlaka me xûn za bû.<br />
From our liver sprang blood.<br />
Ji mêlaka me xûn derkir.<br />
From our liver blood poured out.<br />
Ewê dil bir ceger ker kir. 30<br />
She took the heart and broke apart the liver.<br />
Miqabil me xûn liber anber kir.<br />
In front of us the blood was weighed.<br />
Şil u mil ew muheîya bû!<br />
Beautiful―she was alive!<br />
Şil u mil bû hemî gava,<br />
Beautiful―she was all time,<br />
Kilê rreş her tijî cava.<br />
Eyes filled with black mascara.<br />
Dilê min teyre ket dava; 35<br />
My heart is an eagle fallen into a trap;<br />
Ewê tîra xu lêda bû.<br />
She had stricken with her arrow.<br />
Leşê min kefte berjanê.<br />
My body fell into pain.<br />
Du sê aviro bilez danê.<br />
Two, three glances were quickly given to it.<br />
Dirêj bûm ez li kulanê,<br />
I layed down in the alley.<br />
Li hîvîya min newesta bû. 40
228<br />
She had not waited for me.<br />
Epsîyar kir li vî lawî,<br />
Questioned of this handsome (man),<br />
Tu saxî yan tu wê 148 tawî?<br />
Are you healthy or sick (feverish)?<br />
Çi dermane leşê bawî?<br />
What medicine is there for the winded body?<br />
Qîamet hat limin rrabû.<br />
Doomsday came (and) overcame me.<br />
Li min ḧelîan leş u hestî. 45<br />
My flesh and bone melted.<br />
Me gut mare ezê geztî!<br />
We thought it’s a snake that has bitten me.<br />
Bi remza bazinêt destî.<br />
By means of the signal of the hand bracelets.<br />
Ewê qebrê me kula bû.<br />
She had dug our grave.<br />
Ji zendê spî çiringêne,<br />
From (her) white forearm, the sound of metal bracelets hitting each other,<br />
Nizanim dewleta kêne . 50<br />
I don’t know what country she is from.<br />
Hemî kes ‘aşiqêt wêne;<br />
Everyone is in love with her;<br />
Lewa min leş tijî tabû.<br />
That is why my body was filled with fever.<br />
Şekir barî ji deq u lêva.<br />
Sugar flowed from the lips and tattoo (on her chin).<br />
148 In speaking a person usually says ‘yê.’ However, ‘wê’ is used in poetry.
229<br />
Memik sor bûn wekî sêva.<br />
The breasts became red like apples.<br />
Hema çu kes neaxêva. 55<br />
She left without speaking to anyone.<br />
Hewar 149 u sed hewar babû!<br />
Oh my! and a hundred oh my’s, father!<br />
Hewar ez ‘aşqê wême!<br />
Oh my! I am in love with her!<br />
Me dil beḧira tijî kême.<br />
Our heart is an ocean full of puss (water of a wound).<br />
Biken pisyar li ḧalê me;<br />
Ask of our condition;<br />
Beḧalê me neḧesya bû. 60<br />
She was unaware of our condition.<br />
Evê canê gelek kuştin.<br />
This beauty killed many.<br />
Ji mal u qûwetê rriştin.<br />
Spilled them of their wealth and energy.<br />
Zikên qebira ji wan miştin.<br />
Bellies of graves are full of them.<br />
Bela bû ew Xudê da bû.<br />
Trouble was, God created her.<br />
Xudê kir bû bela bûme. 65<br />
God made her a problem for us.<br />
Belê bê qeyde bê lûme.<br />
But it is an unnecessary complaint.<br />
Nebêjin ez tinê hûme.<br />
Don’t say I am the only one like this.<br />
149 A call for help.
230<br />
Eve fexra me hemya bû.<br />
This was the pride of all of us.<br />
Eve fexra me Kurdane―<br />
This is the pride of the Kurds―<br />
Bihara deşt u zozane, 70<br />
She is the spring of plains and wilderness,<br />
Kulîlka pîr u lawane<br />
She is the flower of the old and the young<br />
Ku dermana me xesta bû.<br />
Which was the medicine for us who were sick.<br />
Evê tîrek limin daye<br />
She struck me with an arrow;<br />
Leşê min her tijî taye.<br />
My body is filled with fever.<br />
Herê ma kê riḧek maye 75<br />
Oh say, who has a soul left (remaining)<br />
Ku wê çav pê helîna bû?<br />
Upon whom she has gazed?<br />
Mejî ruh ço çi xem nîne.<br />
Brain and soul left without sorrow.<br />
Gelek şibhî me kuştîne.<br />
She killed many like us.<br />
Beyan ke, Ehmed, ew kîne?<br />
Explain, Ehmed, who are they?<br />
Me got, behsê Dihokya bû. 80<br />
We said, they were Dohukees.
231<br />
AN2<br />
by Ahmed Nalbend<br />
translated by Ibrahim S. Abdullatif<br />
Xoşe Wekî Cenetê<br />
It’s Wonderful Like Heaven<br />
Xoşe wekî cennetê,<br />
It’s wonderful like heaven,<br />
Ev cihê Kurda yeqîn.<br />
This place of the Kurds indeed.<br />
Qable bo lezetê<br />
Capable for providing pleasure<br />
Germ u nerm u baş hîn<br />
Warm and pleasant and cool<br />
Mêrg u çîmen com u av 5<br />
Orchards and meadows, com 150 and water<br />
Rewneq u zax u hetav<br />
Shine and brightness and sunlight<br />
Sal u meh u gav bi gav<br />
Year and month and moment by moment<br />
Mu’tedil u her bijwîn<br />
Steady and always alive<br />
Tazeye lê xoş bihar<br />
A nice spring in it is beautiful<br />
Baẍ u rez u darubar 10<br />
Garden and orchard and forest<br />
Cinsê kulîlka hizar<br />
A thousand species of flowers<br />
150 Meaning unknown.
232<br />
Gav u dema sûr u şîn<br />
Moment and time red and blue<br />
Zwîr u girî bin tiraş<br />
Hilly terrain and crying underneath bushes<br />
Yaze letîf xuş u baş<br />
Yaze 151 beautiful, wonderful and good<br />
Libsê çîaî qumaş 15<br />
Clothes of the mountain fabric (cloth)<br />
Dil vekere nazenîn<br />
Heart is opening gracefully<br />
Kêrî şîv u nihal<br />
Valley (small) and valley (smaller)<br />
Ser gir u rêhil wirwal<br />
On top of the hill and rough path<br />
Kehnî avin zelal<br />
Clear-watered springs<br />
Sar u sivik tam şirîn 20<br />
Cold and light, sweet-tasting<br />
Deşt u nizar u beten<br />
Deserts and shady side of mountain and hill (hill front, not the whole hill)<br />
Bêna beḧeşîê diden<br />
They give aroma of paradise<br />
Kê heye hu xuş weten?<br />
Who has such a beautiful country?<br />
Kamile dinya u dîn<br />
It’s complete (full), earth and religion<br />
Kurd delalin u beşuş 25<br />
151 Meaning unknown.
233<br />
Kurds are dear and happy<br />
Dîn persin ‘erd xuş<br />
Religion worshipers, wonderful land<br />
Jin bi ḧeya perdepuş<br />
The women (are) respectful, (wearing) headscarfs<br />
Ehlê dil u ẍem revîn<br />
Residents of heart and from sorrow flee<br />
Lawin u can xas u ’am<br />
They’re beautiful and pretty, specific and generally<br />
Keys u fesalek temam 30<br />
Chance and opportunity complete<br />
Rast bejin xuş zelam<br />
Straight stature and good men<br />
Layqê wan ḧuru ‘în<br />
They’re deserving of those heavenly wives<br />
Ax u hewa u gîa<br />
Earth and wind and grass<br />
Cehwer u rengê çîa<br />
Beauty and mountain color<br />
Taze wesa dil vîa 35<br />
The heart wanted them beautiful like that<br />
Ev wetenê dil ḧebîn<br />
This country that embraces/nourishes the heart<br />
Ev wetenê hu spehî<br />
This country so beautiful<br />
Wesif u kemal muntehî<br />
Looks and beauty complete (perfect)<br />
Wek te hebît agehî<br />
Like you there should be interest
234<br />
Şêr u piling lê şihîn 40<br />
Lions and tigers are active (love life) on it<br />
Ev cihe pir zax u nur<br />
This place is full of brightness and light<br />
Kesk u zer u al u sur<br />
Green and yellow and flag and red<br />
Nîne wesa bê qusur<br />
There isn’t anyplace flawless like this<br />
Misr u Yemen Hindî Çîn<br />
Egypt and Yemen, India and China<br />
Kurdê cesed sax u bisit 152 45<br />
Brave and well and brave Kurd<br />
Zîrekin u xurt u çist<br />
They are brave and strong and nimble<br />
Bext u qirarek dirist<br />
Right luck and decisiveness<br />
Şerker u tîj u emîn<br />
Warrior and hot and (yet) trustworthy<br />
Sîng u ber u gerdena<br />
Chest and face and necks<br />
Xastîye misk u xena 50<br />
In-need of perfume and henna (colorant)<br />
Neqşê Xudê pêvena<br />
The design God put upon it<br />
Zax u cemal tê husîn<br />
Brightness and beauty rubbed against it (put upon it)<br />
Zend u til u bask u mil<br />
Forearm and finger and arm and shoulder<br />
152 Meaning unknown.
235<br />
Sutî li min cerg u dil<br />
My liver and heart are burnt<br />
Av rîl wan şêre sil 55<br />
Water rîl 153 them, the lion is angry<br />
Rengê gula ser hejîn<br />
Color of flowers swayed (back and forth) upon it<br />
Min bi eqîn sund xar<br />
I swore with faithfulness<br />
Kurdî her êk u hizar<br />
A Kurd to me is equal to a thousand others<br />
Her çî cihê lê hewar<br />
Any place there is a call (for help)<br />
Şêr ewin u sef dirrîn 60<br />
They are lions and they turn in lines<br />
Şêr ewin u xurt u mest<br />
They are lions and strong and stimulated (intoxicated with strong emotion)<br />
Ḧukum dema bête dest<br />
Whenever authority comes to hand (in power)<br />
Fîle 154 ji singî verest<br />
(Like) an elephant escapes from the chest<br />
Hatî pilingê nehîn<br />
It has come, the courageous tiger<br />
Note: The poem continues; the balance was not translated.<br />
153 Meaning unknown.<br />
154 According to Chyet (2003), one resource from MacKeznie has fil as an alternate spelling of fêl. Fêl can<br />
mean “action, activity, feat, deed.”
236<br />
AN3<br />
by Ahmed Nalbend<br />
translated by Ibrahim S. Abdullatif<br />
Ey Malikê Vê ‘Alemê<br />
O Lord Of This World (Universe)<br />
Ey malikê vê ‘alemê, dinya hemî milkê teye.<br />
O Lord of this world (universe), all the Earth is your property.<br />
Yek serî helîne ji vê xemê, lutfa te her kafîye.<br />
(If) One raises his head (in prayer) from this worrying, your blessing is enough.<br />
Tu her heyî dê her hebî; kes nîne tesbînî tebî.<br />
You’re always present and will be present; there’s no one like you<br />
Rebi, tu ẍefarê mebî hîvî li dergahê teye.<br />
O Lord, may you be our forgiver; hope only exists at your door<br />
Tu her heyî; em dê mirîn; dinya betal em jêk kirîn. 5<br />
You always exist; we will die; this empty world has torn us apart.<br />
Lazim şev u roja bigirîn; heqê me dayîm sucdeye.<br />
We should cry night and day; it’s our duty to be bowing in prayer (to you).<br />
Ey ‘ebid u însanîn, eman, hişyar bibin sal u zeman.<br />
O slaves and human kind, oh, wakeup (from) year and time (of sleep).<br />
Mirinê birîn em; kew neman; ḧeqe mirin rêka meye.<br />
Death took us; the partridges didn’t remain; it is right that death is our path.<br />
Rêka me her mirina bi ḧeqe; dinya betal u leq leqe.<br />
Our path is always the rightful death, the world is empty and shaky (out of balance)<br />
Kê baş vîa ew eḧmeqe (walahî) me ji wê tubeye? 10<br />
Who really wanted that fool? 155 By God, we ban (ourselves) from that person.<br />
Me ji wê bese ev saxîye ew ‘aqîbet ya fanî ye.<br />
Enough of that, this is health, that the end is mortal.<br />
155 Feeble-minded individual.
237<br />
Kê baş nevêt ew rûyê spî ye çunkî ḧeqîqet her weye?<br />
Who doesn’t really want that white cheek (honor), because truth is always right?<br />
Ḧeqe ku ew dar u alfina ya bi zeḧmete u renc u ‘ena.<br />
It is right that that wood and fodder is with difficulty and tireness and suffering.<br />
Teşbîhî kepirêt mewtena 156 jê barkirin şula meye.<br />
Similar are sheds of countries, leaving them is our job.<br />
Rêka meye her dê mirîn; ḧeqe liser me jê biçîn. 15<br />
Our path is that all will die; it is our duty to leave it.<br />
Ew hind ya liber me şirîn; ma em nizanîn qeḧbeye?<br />
To us, she is so desirable; do we not know she is a prostitute?<br />
‘Alem hemî wê jêk jenî; herdem be êkî ji me.<br />
Everybody tears her apart (plows), always (she is) with one of us.<br />
Paşî bu lêmişt u renî ku dujminek bi ḧîleye.<br />
Then it became a flood and avalanche which is a deceitful enemy.<br />
Kenî ew qeḧbeye ya dev xweşe paşî bela u serkeşe.<br />
Laughter, it is that whore―a sweet-talking mouth, then trouble and control.<br />
Hindî vekêşîn ser keşe bê şerim u stir u perdweye. 20<br />
No matter how much we pull back, it draws us, unashamed and unbound and without<br />
curtain (restriction).<br />
Xoşîya bidet bawer neke; hindî ji ye bêt xu jêveke.<br />
Be happy and do not believe; for as long it lives it wants to pull away (apart).<br />
Çunkî yeqîn pîs mesleke bê bawer u bê qaîdeye.<br />
Because dirty filth is the situation without belief (trust) and without base (faith).<br />
Kî hate têda berzekir, ‘ehid u wefa digel wan nekir.<br />
Whoever came to it (to live on it) became lost, never kept promises and was unfaithful.<br />
Pêẍembera dest jê vekir zanî ku ya xar we’deye.<br />
Prophets withdrew their hands because they knew she was crooked.<br />
156 Meaning unknown.
238<br />
Wan guh neda ser leḧ’tekê, dît ya xirabe kupekê. 25<br />
They did not listen (give into) ‘wait a minute;’ 157 they saw she was evil from the start.<br />
Ma kê bi dewam xwo ḧewcekê bese; we lê ev paleye.<br />
Who continuously has enough; we are such laborers (insistent) at it.<br />
Xwozîya kesê guh daye min―şêx u melaw, mêr u jin.<br />
Lucky are they that listen to me―sheiks, priests, men and women.<br />
Me divêt bu wan faîdê mezin; lew min dewam gazindeye.<br />
We want for them big profits; that is why I continue to criticize.<br />
Hindî we riḧ maye dileşî nabin dewam xêr u xuşî.<br />
For as long as you have life in your body, deeds and happiness will cease to continue.<br />
Buçî tu hêyî zeḧmet keşî? ‘Umrê me her bê faîdeye . 30<br />
Why are you still struggling? Our life is unprofitable (meaningless).<br />
Dinya me roje yan şeve; heçîya çu ya dî hate ve.<br />
Our world is day and night; whenever one goes, the other arrives.<br />
Hindî hebîn tertîb, eve sal u zeman ev madeye<br />
For as long as we have been organized, this has been the case for years (and time -<br />
forever).<br />
Dayîka me çû. Babê me çû. Fikirê ku bapîr kîve çû?<br />
Our mother left. Our father left. Think about it―Where did our grandfather go?<br />
Kî hatîye têda u neçû pêş çavê xasa wek seye.<br />
Who is come unto (Earth) and has not gone away from sight is like a dog.<br />
Note: The poem continues; the balance was not translated.<br />
157 A request for a very short period of time.
239<br />
AN4<br />
by Ahmed Nalbend<br />
translated by Ibrahim S. Abdullatif<br />
Ey Ze’îmê Bê Nivêjê Bê Werar<br />
O Leader Without Prayer and Use<br />
Ey ze’îmê bê nivêjê bê werar,<br />
O leader without prayer and use,<br />
Wekte bê eqilek ne rabo se ‘eceb.<br />
No one like you-without intelligence and surprising-has risen.<br />
Roj u şev nifrîn li ser te sed hizar.<br />
Day and night, a hundred-thousand curses are upon you.<br />
‘Aqibet dujmin te bun Kurd u ‘Ereb.<br />
Finally, Kurds and Arabs became your enemies.<br />
Qatilê me’sumekê 158 ’alî neseb― 5<br />
The murder of a very righteous man of a great lineage―<br />
Wî esilda qet nebun ‘aqil u edeb.<br />
He, from his ancestry downward, has never had intelligence and manners.<br />
Bu nexuşîya umetê xu kir sebeb.<br />
For the pains of the community he made himself the reason.<br />
Pêkve umet maye ḧeyrî rast u çep.<br />
Together the community is staring (in awe) right and left.<br />
Ew bi destê xu bal qatil nebû.<br />
He, with his own hands (will), was not the murderer of height (person).<br />
Dergihê fitna ‘Iraqê buyî vebû. 10<br />
The door of chaos has opened in Iraq.<br />
Bu fesada ‘alemê nê ew sebu.<br />
The mischievous spy (trouble maker) between community was that dog.<br />
158 Someone prevented from doing wrong.
240<br />
Sut li xelkî qelib u mêlak u kezeb.<br />
Burnt (in distress) in the people the heart, liver and lung.<br />
Mude’î bu wî şefî’u (alimthinbîn).<br />
Petition for him, comfort (him) (guilty ones).<br />
U ḧekem bu wan îlahul’alemîn.<br />
And the judge for them be the humankind’s Lord.<br />
Wî me ferma cehnem u dêwê le’în. 15<br />
He welcomed us to hell and the nasty demon.<br />
Fayde naken bu wî ew nav u ruteb.<br />
It will not profit him that name and rank.<br />
Ew kerê, têjkê kerî, dayî makere.<br />
That donkey, son of a donkey, the mother a jennet (female donkey).<br />
Mudde’î digel wî yeqîn pêẍembere.<br />
Time with him is right (true) Prophet.<br />
Ew bu çuna cehinemê bê şik fere.<br />
For him to go to hell is, without a doubt, necessary.<br />
Hate ser emirê, xudê qehir u ẍezeb. 20<br />
He came to power, the god of sorrows and distress.<br />
Piştî mirnê ka bu wî mal u mefer?<br />
After death where is there for him a home and opportunity?<br />
Ew, wekî ji dinya betal, derkefte der.<br />
He, like the empty universe, went out (thrown out).<br />
Man di dilda sed kul u qehir u keser.<br />
He remained in heart, a hundred sorrows, sadness and grief.<br />
Ka reḧim însanê bê esil u neseb?<br />
Where is mercy, (you) the person without family ties (background) and ancestry?<br />
Lazime bo wî şev u roj her girî. 25<br />
It is necessary for him to cry day and night (from sorrow).<br />
Cehnema helbûy u bo wî sincirî
241<br />
Hell is burning (for him) and for those chains (for him to be beaten with).<br />
Xolyeka germe ewî bi xo werkirî.<br />
Hot ashes he poured over his head (what trouble he put himself in).<br />
Cehnemê bo wî şev u roje, qebeqeb.<br />
Hell is calling on him night and day, calling him like a quail’s call.<br />
Wî neman çare beman, tedibîr u dad<br />
He was left without a solution, a lead (pathway) and justice<br />
Ku li’Îraqê rrakirîn fitne u fesad. 30<br />
For rising (putting in) disobedience and troubles in Iraq.<br />
Dujminê wî xalqe (reb ali’bad),<br />
The enemy of the Creator (Lord of worship),<br />
Ku eve ḧeqê teye ey bê edeb,<br />
That this is your justice, O you, without manners (disgraceful),<br />
Wî bi emirê xu wekî kuştî melik.<br />
Like he killed, with his own order, the king.<br />
Xaliqî digel wî ‘nade u kerib u rrik.<br />
The Creator is angry and offended with him.<br />
Wî mu’în ḧeşirê kî ye dabçîte nik? 35<br />
Who does he have as a helper to go to in the Judgment Day?<br />
Bê şefî’ ma bû hewar u bê teleb.<br />
He is left without a career, calling for help and without request.<br />
Ew ḧeta mirnê biket her ta’etî.<br />
Even if he labors until death, he still worships.<br />
Faîde naket bu şirîkê le’netî<br />
It will not benefit the friend of the blasphemer (Satan)<br />
Nê eve te’ne bişirîët vê ketî.<br />
This is the mocking that he is hit with by the Shariaa (Islamic Law).<br />
Ew ze’amet bu çîye liser wî leqeb? 40<br />
That status is for what with that title?
242<br />
Fexirê ‘alem wî li xwo dujmin kirî<br />
He has made an enemy of the Good-Doer of the humankind (God).<br />
Dujmin seyîd, bu wî sax u mirî.<br />
The enemy was a religious person, for him (while) alive and dead.<br />
Wî bi fesadê agir u cehinem kirî.<br />
He purchased fire and hell with mischief.<br />
Puyçe şule ew nihu buî muntexeb.<br />
It is a hollow work that he has become selected (chosen for).<br />
Note: The poem continues; the balance was not translated.
243<br />
AN5<br />
by Ahmed Nalbend<br />
translated by Ibrahim S. Abdullatif<br />
Kiçkek Me Divêt<br />
We Want A Girl<br />
Kiçkek me divêt ji nû gehiştî,<br />
We want a girl that has become of age,<br />
Ya ji dêm u rûya xunav ne rijtî.<br />
From whose face has not dripped dew (a virgin).<br />
Wextê ji derî bihême xanî,<br />
When I enter the house through the door,<br />
Rrabît me ax u biket ve piştî.<br />
Arouse from me sexual arousal, and (then) do it again (repeat).<br />
Gava ko bidet me têşt u şîva, 5<br />
When she gives us breakfasts and dinners,<br />
Bêjît me kuro hilo vî tişt u miştî,<br />
She tells us to get us this thing and that thing (a table full of things),<br />
Rengê xu bidem wekî gula geş.<br />
(So that) my appearance is that of a blossomed flower (healthy).<br />
Me’na ku, “Were bi xu vî tiştî.”<br />
I mean, “Come and eat this thing.”<br />
Tibla xwo dirêj biket me,<br />
Pointing her finger at us,<br />
“Wey, pa tu neyê kirêt u ziştî.” 10<br />
“O! You so not ugly and ziştî.” 159<br />
“Leqet nehêt girêdan.”<br />
“Leqet 160 will not become tied (together).”<br />
159 Meaning unknown.
244<br />
“Ḧaşa guneh bît tu…” 161<br />
“Forbid that you are a sinner.”<br />
Ku digel me biket herru tirana.<br />
So that she always jokes with us.<br />
Me’na ku, “Quza tu çendê miştî.”<br />
Meaning that, “Vagina, how full you are. (are you?)”<br />
Xalîke hilu miskîn tijî… 162 15<br />
Empty it. Get up, quiet one, fill…<br />
Me ji vî terefî dilê birijtî.<br />
From this side we have burnt the heart.<br />
Vî barê giranê hinde sala,<br />
This heavy load for so many years,<br />
Wey sed ëceb tu hêj nekujtî.<br />
O’! A hundred times over (I am) surprised it hasn’t killed you.<br />
Min gut, “Ne weye; ewê xu sil kir.”<br />
I said, “That is not how it is (untrue); she become upset.”<br />
Tu ji vê direwê yeqîn keliştî. 20<br />
You surely became torn by this lie.<br />
Ka fikire ruya çi qurmiçîne?<br />
Think―(your) checks―what wrinkles (them)?<br />
Befira du şevî liser nihijtî.<br />
You did not leave the two-night-old snow.<br />
Te divêt ku bidem te mirç u maça.<br />
You want me to give you kisses and smooches.<br />
Me divêt tu bidey me zixt u xiştî. 163<br />
160 Meaning unknown.<br />
161 It seems likely that the end of the line was missing from the original text.<br />
162 It seems likely that the end of the line was missing from the original text.
245<br />
We want you to give us pressure (pounding heart) and a staff.<br />
Min êke meta’ eza difiruşim. 25<br />
This is my first time that I sell boasts (of myself).<br />
“Ḧeq sîne pir me da veḧiştî”<br />
“Truth is sîn 164 come down from us,”<br />
Dibêjît me linav nîvîn.<br />
She tells us under the sleeping sheets (on the bed).<br />
‘Işqa te ezim jiber buhijtî<br />
Because of your love, I am the one who is melted<br />
Gava binvim, amin bixurrîtin,<br />
When I sleep, if mine itches,<br />
Kar rabe seqîl―Tu êk teniştî? 30<br />
Wake up, sleepy one―Are you one sided?<br />
Ey, bê ‘eqlê xişîm u bê fehim.<br />
O, (you’re) brainless and stupid (unaware like an infant).<br />
Meqsed me heye tu tê gihiştî.<br />
You understood we had intentions<br />
Ma min tu vîyayî bu milk u malî?<br />
Did I love you because of land and belongings (money)?<br />
Ez bume xidam bu…..<br />
I became a slave for…<br />
Eḧmed tu bizane ey riḧa min 35<br />
Ehmed, know, O soul of mine.<br />
Min vîyayî tu jiber…*<br />
I loved you because…*<br />
163 The meanings of zixt and xiştî may be metaphoric, perhaps even erotic, as this poem is of that theme.<br />
Both words are related to working with oxen. Zixt is the nail on the end of an oxgoad, for prodding. Xişt<br />
can be a staff or a sharp metal point, but may have other meanings as well.<br />
164 Meaning unknown.
246<br />
*Ev cihên vala di destinvîsê da di valane.<br />
*The empty places are empty in the author’s original work.<br />
Quote from Perwer Shushi (2012): “Using your name near the end of a poem comes<br />
from an Arabic tradition. It indicates ownership of the poem. So when people read the<br />
poems in other places, they would know who wrote it.”
247<br />
BS1<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by: Masoud Salim Ismail<br />
Bîrewerîa Barzanî Yê Nemir<br />
Memories Of Immortal Barzanî<br />
Xanê xanan, canê canan―tu bike lutif u were.<br />
Khan of khans, soul of souls―be beneficent and come back.<br />
Dil liber destê ẍurbetê bendî ye u bê mefere.<br />
Heart in the hand of estrangement is a slave and has no way out.<br />
Em li ber şewqa hîvîan, çav melê ye bêye ve.<br />
Infront of the treasure of hopes we are looking forward that you will be back.<br />
Tu bike reḧmê ji mirîdan; kengî dê tu hêye ve?<br />
Be compassionate to (your) disciples; when will you be back?<br />
Bazê bazan şahê Kurdan―ruhinîya çavê meyî. 5<br />
Falcon of falcons, king of Kurds―you are the lights of our eyes.<br />
Nê me nalîne ji dîrî meîya ‘şqa me meyî.<br />
We do lament from the distance, the wine of our love. You are the wine.<br />
Raza ‘işqê ji qîdem ra derde ye u kuvane dil<br />
The secret of love is from the steps of pain and the heart is grief<br />
Kî dê sax kit? Ji Ezel ra dil geşe u perwane dil.<br />
Who will bring it to life? For God the heart is glowing and the heart is a butterfly.<br />
Ayeta Kursî ji berkir me ciḧêl u pîr u jin.<br />
We―young, old, and women―memorized the Kursî 165 verse.<br />
Me du’a bu şev u rujan ji mezar u Înis u cin. 166 10<br />
165 Ayeta Kursî is ayet, ‘verse,’ 255 of Surat al-Baqarah, ‘the Chapter of the Cow,’ in the Qur’an. People<br />
read it at night before they sleep, believing it will make the devil flee from them.
248<br />
We prayed (wished) night and day to grave and (prophet) Înis and evil spirit.<br />
Şîn bibin nêrgiz ji nuve ber derê tekya berê.<br />
May narcissuses grow new again before the door of the old places of worship.<br />
cardin bixuînin ‘endelîb ew ji ‘şqa daberê.<br />
Again may birds sing―that (song) from the love of the lover.<br />
Lê belê, destê Xudanî ewe neqiqaşê qeder.<br />
Yes, it’s in God’s hand; he’s the painter of fate.<br />
Wî wesa fermanek dayî sutî ye li me ceger.<br />
He gave an order like that; the liver in us has burned.<br />
Şînyî u tazî ji gelî bûn çep u rast u jor u jêr. 15<br />
There was mourning and condolence from the people, from the left to right<br />
and up to down.<br />
Şev u roj xelkî girî bûn kal u genc u jin u mêr.<br />
Night and day people were crying, old and adolescent, women and men.<br />
Mililetê Kurd pir wefaye; sufyên destên tene.<br />
Kurdish people are so loyal; they are the Sufis of your hands.<br />
Ruḧ ji êşan pir semaye ‘aşiq u mestên tene.<br />
The pained soul is full of dancing; they are your lovers and stimulated ones (intoxicated<br />
with strong emotion).<br />
Erê, ey dil, kanê ew gul? Ka şemala geş u hil?<br />
Yes, O heart, where’s that flower? Where’s the bright and lit (glowing) candle?<br />
Buçî (adar) buye azar buçî bajar bu kavil 20<br />
Why had March become pain? Why did the city become ruined?<br />
Ka sîarê hilma mirnê? Kanê mîrê tirs nezan?<br />
166 My translator for this poem translated the word cin as ‘elf.’ Dictionaries list cin as ‘demon’ or ‘evil<br />
spirit.’ The translation of ‘elf,’ however, may be somewhat appropriate. Once when I was speaking about<br />
cin with a neighbor in the town where I was living in Northern Iraq, he said that cin were not necessarily<br />
good or evil, but they are creatures you cannot see that can cause trouble for people. Perhaps the term<br />
‘mischieveous elf’ or ‘gremlin’ would be more appropriate a translation considering their worldview.
249<br />
Where’s the knight of the steam death? Where’s the leader who doesn’t know fear?<br />
Ka ‘egîdê wan dilêran? Evro mane bê xudan.<br />
Where’s the fighter of those heroes? Today they became leaderless.<br />
Ava Arasê dipirsit, “Îru kanê gemîvan?”<br />
The water of Aras 167 is asking, “Where’s the sailor today?”<br />
Kanê curtê xurte mêran? Ka mêvanê nexişîvan?<br />
“Where’s the Wildman of the wild? Where’s the guest of nexshivan?” 168<br />
Lê, bi çuna te, her emîn ser zemanê te u berê, 25<br />
However, with your departure (leaving), it’s still us in your time and your past,<br />
Çunkî tu hey u her heyî ruh u wîjdanî, erê.<br />
Because you exist and always will exist; you are the soul and the conscience, yes.<br />
Dilber u aşiq her êkin lê belê rengê mecaz.<br />
Sweetheart and lovers are the same, but their color admissible.<br />
Car bi caran bi îcazet hin li hin dê kin cîaz.<br />
Sometimes by your permission they will make some differences.<br />
Pir evîna mililetê me, êke gel zatê melê.<br />
Full of love, our people―we have a country which we ourselves are parts of.<br />
Ew didil da nîşte cê ye, lê belê çavê me lê. 30<br />
He has settled in our hearts, yes, but we will keep our eyes on him.<br />
Zahir u batin êk kese di şir’eta ‘şqa zelal.<br />
The appearance and the inside are the same in the justice of pure love.<br />
Ew u Kurdînî êk kesin çi kemal bin çi zewal.<br />
He and Kurdishness are one person whether by being perfect or by passing away.<br />
Ger zewala te hatbit, her dê mînî tu u her,<br />
If your time to pass away is come, you will remain (exist) forever,<br />
Çunkî Kurdînî namirit, çav hevale bu nezer,<br />
167 Aras is the river Mustafa Barzanî and others with him crossed when entering the Soviet Union.<br />
168 Meaning unknown.
250<br />
Because Kurdishness doesn’t die, (like how) eyes are a friend of one’s sight,<br />
Ku kemala te gehişte geş stêra Muşterî. 35<br />
That your perfection arrives at the bright star of Jupiter.<br />
Tali’ê Kurdan geşaye manê tu ew perwerî.<br />
The luck of Kurds is joyous because you are that leader.<br />
Wêne ya suz u dilêran xuîaye ser ruîmetê.<br />
The picture of promises and bravery is like sweat on the cheeks.<br />
Wer bixuînin eî hevalan ayeta xuş hîmetê.<br />
Come, read, O friends, with us the (poetic) verse of good effort.<br />
Ew ji zik mak da pilink bu, şahidî ḧebsa Mîsil.<br />
He was (still) a tiger when he was a baby, when he witnessed the Mosul prison.<br />
Hêşta zaru bû demê ku dîtî ye kuvan u kul. 40<br />
He was still a child when he saw sadness and grief.<br />
Êş u derdên mililetê Kurd wî ji hîngê kirne ders.<br />
He then took advice from the pains and aches of Kurdish people.<br />
Şehirezayî u ‘eqil u curet ew mukim lê bune ders.<br />
He strengthened his expertise, cleverness and bravery from the life lesson.<br />
Şahê bazan, mîrê qadan―wî nebadan hizir u bîr.<br />
The king of falcons, the leader of the battlefields―he did not deviate from (his) ideas and<br />
thoughts.<br />
Lew ji hîngê ew li sîngê cane bexşên genc u pîr.<br />
That’s why since that time he (is) in the heart (chest) of the fresh offerings of the<br />
adolescent and the old<br />
Suz u peyman em didinte gel teda u ala weda. 45<br />
We are giving you promises and pacts that we will be with you and your flag.<br />
Em bimînîn bê te, senger, meşxelên roka weda.<br />
We remain without you, ramparts, lights of your way.
251<br />
BS2<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by Masoud Salim Ismail<br />
Gerîanek Di Kurdistanê Da<br />
A Walk Through Kurdistan<br />
Havîn bu çume Şingarê,<br />
It was summer when I went to Shingar,<br />
Hêjîra li dem nubarê.<br />
A fig in the time of spring.<br />
Min dît li wêrê cwanek.<br />
I saw a pretty lady there.<br />
Awir dida ji alek.<br />
She was winking from the corner.<br />
Tîtî ya zêra li ser enî 5<br />
The golden decoration on her forehead<br />
Dilê min girt u hincinî.<br />
Took hold of my heart and made it vibrate.<br />
Min gutê, “Kiça kê yî?”<br />
I asked, “Whose daughter are you?”<br />
“Torîna kîş malê yî?”<br />
From which nobleman’s house are you?<br />
“Tu gula kîş baẍçê yî?”<br />
“You’re a flower from which garden?”<br />
“Nêrgiza serê kê yî?” 10<br />
“Whose‘s narcissus’s head are you?”<br />
Gutî, “Ez Kurdistanim.”<br />
She said, “I’m Kurdistan.”<br />
“Xuştivî ya Kurdanim.”<br />
I’m the dear of Kurds
252<br />
“Evîndara şi’ranim.”<br />
“I’m the lover of poems.”<br />
“Ketîme dest nezana.”<br />
“I fell into the hands of ignorant ones.”<br />
* * *<br />
Hatîme Dîarbekrê, 15<br />
I went to Diyarbakir,<br />
Cihê Pîran u befrê.<br />
The place of Peeran 169 and snow.<br />
Nalîna kewî têtin;<br />
The moan of the partridge is coming;<br />
Birîndare wê dikêtin.<br />
It’s wounded and it’s singing.<br />
Min gutê, “Kewê kê yî?”<br />
I asked, “Whose partridge are you?”<br />
“Çima li nav befrê yî?” 20<br />
“Why are you in the snow?”<br />
“Çira yê birîndarî?”<br />
“Why you’re wounded?”<br />
“Xwîndarê destê kê yî?”<br />
“Who has done this to you?”<br />
Gutî, “Ez şêx Se’îdim.”<br />
He said, “I’m sheikh Saeed.”<br />
“Bu Kurdistan mirîdim.”<br />
“I’m a disciple of Kurdistan.”<br />
“Şêx Se’îdê Pîranim,” 25<br />
“I’m sheik Saeed Peeran,”<br />
169 A religious leader in Kurdish history.
253<br />
“Şurşivanê Kurdanim.”<br />
“A revolutionary of Kurds.”<br />
“Bê kes u bê xudanim.”<br />
“I have no relative and I’m alone.”<br />
“Ketîme dest neyara.”<br />
“I fell into the enemy’s hands.”<br />
* * *<br />
Bu Mehanadê gerîam.<br />
I searched for Mahabad.<br />
Wek dara tuyê werîam, 30<br />
I fell down like the mulberry tree,<br />
Darek didest biçwîka.<br />
A stick in children’s hands.<br />
Pê dikirin yarîa bîka.<br />
They were playing doll games with it.<br />
Min gutê, Ev çi darî?”<br />
I asked it, “What a stick are you?”<br />
“Wek rebena livî warî”<br />
“Like a poor stick in this place”<br />
“Li kulana di xişandin,“ 35<br />
“Has been slipped in the streets,”<br />
“Ji nîvê ra şikandin.<br />
“Has been broken from the half.<br />
Gutî, “Ez dar ala bum.”<br />
It said, “I was a flag stick.”<br />
“Nav beyna çwar çira bum.”<br />
“I was amid the square (in Mahabad).”<br />
“Swînd u qesa merdabum.”<br />
“I was the promises and words of man.”
254<br />
“Ez qîbleya Kurda bum.” 40<br />
“I was the qîbleya 170 of Kurds.”<br />
“Siha serê xorta bum.”<br />
“I was the shadow (fear stick) for young, energetic people.”<br />
“Ketîme dest biçwîka.”<br />
“I fell into the hands of children.”<br />
* * *<br />
Ser evraz çum Şikaka, 171<br />
On the upward slope I went toward Şikak,<br />
Nav mêr xaz u mêr çaka.<br />
To brave men and men of goodness.<br />
Şerker u xurt u zurin. 45<br />
They are fighters―strong, and very much so.<br />
Turk u ‘Ecem li durin<br />
Turks and ’Ecem 172 are surrounding it<br />
Xurrîna şêrî têtin.<br />
The roar of lion is coming.<br />
Şewqa ji çavan pêtin.<br />
The light from the eyes is sorrowful.<br />
Min gutê, “Lawê kê yî?”<br />
I said, “Whose pretty one are you?”<br />
“Tu şêrê kîş warê yî?” 50<br />
“You’re a lion of which field (homeland)?”<br />
“Aşiq u mestê 173 kê yî?”<br />
170 The direction one faces Mecca when praying.<br />
171 An area in Turkey where there is a large Kurdish tribe.<br />
172 Means ‘the original Iranians,’ according to Perwer Shushi.
255<br />
“Whose lover and euphoric one are you?”<br />
“Xwîndarê destê kê yî?”<br />
“The blood enemy of whose hand are you?”<br />
Gut, “Simkuyê Şikakim.”<br />
He said, “I’m Semku Shekak.” 174<br />
“Serê xu ez şur nakim.”<br />
“I will not put down my head.”<br />
“Kurdînî yê ji bîrnakim.” 55<br />
“I will not forget Kurdishness.”<br />
“Ketîme destê hara.”<br />
“I fell into the hands of wild people (enemies).”<br />
* * *<br />
Hatîme ve Şingarê,<br />
I came again to Shingar, 175<br />
Def wê şerimin u jarê.<br />
Beside that shy and poor girl.<br />
“Kakal 176 nav kakilî.”<br />
“You are the core inside the core.”<br />
“Tuî şîşa evî 177 dilî.” 60<br />
“You’re the glass of this heart.”<br />
“Çima tu ya pir janî?”<br />
“How come you are full of pain?”<br />
173 While mest means “drunk” or “intoxicated,” it can also be used to describe a person’s euphoric state,<br />
whether it be of one’s emotions, a deep conviction or sincere care for someone or something.<br />
174 A great figure from Kurdish history in Turkey.<br />
175 A city near Iraq’s border with Syria.<br />
176 The core of a kernel or seed.<br />
177 The î on evî is a type of Specific Reference Marker (SRM), an aspect of the language that needs further<br />
research.
256<br />
“Pusîde u kovanî.”<br />
“You are full of cares and grievous.”<br />
“Tu buçî zîz u silî.”<br />
“Why you are angry and disgruntled?”<br />
“Berê xu dî wî milî?”<br />
“Why do you turn your head away?”<br />
Gutî, “Ma to nizanî?” 65<br />
She said, “Don’t you know?”<br />
“Dê min dine bîanî.”<br />
“They are going to give me to foreigners.”<br />
“Lê min swînde bixudanî.”<br />
“But I am promised to the one who owns me.”<br />
“Dê gurîkim vî canî,”<br />
“I will sacrifice this soul,”<br />
“Neman u yan Barzanî.”<br />
“Either to die or be with Barzanî.”<br />
“Naçim digel xwîndara.” 70<br />
“I’m not going with enemies.”
257<br />
BS3<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by Şîvan Toma<br />
Bila .. Bila 178<br />
OK .. OK<br />
Bila .. bila, çi bêjit.<br />
Ok .. ok, what he says.<br />
Bila dilê min bihêlit.<br />
Ok, my heart, let (him) leave.<br />
Dustê mine bi evînî.<br />
He’s my friend by love.<br />
Xudê, bu min bihêlit.<br />
God, protect him for me.<br />
Sal bu salê diburînim. 5<br />
I’m passing away year by year.<br />
Rundka ez lê diwerînim.<br />
I am shedding tears for him.<br />
Xudê, dustê min kanê?<br />
God, where’s my lover?<br />
Kengî ez dê wî bînim?<br />
When will I see him?<br />
Dustê min .. Boçî sile?<br />
My lover .. Why (is he) mad (at me)?<br />
Dilê min ji ber wî kule. 10<br />
My heart is distressed because of him.<br />
178 This poem became a song which was published and played on Kurdish radio in Baghdad by Gulbhar (a<br />
female artist) in 1967.
258<br />
Bêjnê eza razî me.<br />
Tell him I’m accepting what he says.<br />
Agrê vînê her hile.<br />
The fire of life is still lit (glowing).<br />
Dustu .. manê te zanî.<br />
Hey lover .. you already know.<br />
Ez sil nînim bi giranî.<br />
I’m not mad so heavily.<br />
Dustê min evro gutî, 15<br />
Today my lover said,<br />
“Tu xwîna nav dilanî.”<br />
“You are the blood inside hearts.”
259<br />
BS4<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by Masoud Salim Ismail<br />
Dergehê Jîn U Hîvî Ya<br />
The Door of Life and Hopes<br />
Dergehê jîn u hîvîa girtye dîsa, çima?<br />
The door of life and hopes is closed again, why?<br />
Ma ji jîna kurte? Jîn bit. Ma ji ‘emrê me çi ma?<br />
Is it a short life? It's life. What has remained from our life?<br />
Spêdeya bêtin. Çi lêbkim ger di gencî da nehat?<br />
The morning is coming. What shall I do with it when it doesn’t come early?<br />
Nêrgiza warê me werîa u xunavek pêda nehat.<br />
The narcissus of our land have withered and without a dewdrop having fallen on it.<br />
Taqeta çerx u sema me nema, yarê bizan 5<br />
The energy to play around and party is no more―know it, friend<br />
Şînî î u girîn bu me man şerbeta ah u xeman.<br />
Mourning and crying remained for us, the juice of moaning and distress.<br />
Lew dinalim; lew dikalim; bilbilê .. hêlîn herfit!<br />
That’s why I am lamenting; that’s why I am growing old; the nightingale .. the nest has<br />
been ruined!<br />
Sed hizar hêlîn herfîtin! Dijmino, te heq kerfit.<br />
One hundred thousand nests are ruined! Enemy, you destroyed the justice.<br />
Bilbilê bê kes mişexte u kavile fezê gulan.<br />
The single nightingale is an exile and the farm of flowers are a ruin.<br />
Agirek berbî hinava 179 u talana cerg u dilan. 10<br />
A fire occurred in the guts, pillaging the livers and hearts.<br />
Canîkên kumêda revîn ketine nav çul u çîan.<br />
179 Organs of the abdominal area.
260<br />
The pretty funny girls escape and landed in the deserts (wilderness) and mountains.<br />
Lurîna gurga li nîv şevan piçandin cerg u sî yan<br />
In the middle of the nights the howling of wolves frightened the liver and the lung or<br />
Agirek kete dilê me u çirîskek jê veneyî.<br />
A fire has fallen inside our heart and a spark separates (us) from it.<br />
Kete asmana u nivêsî, Kurdu! Tu hebî u heyî!<br />
Enter the skies and write, Kurds! You exist and will always exist!<br />
Dergehê jîn u hîvîa girtîe dîsa çima? 15<br />
The door of life and hopes is closed again, why?<br />
Ma ji jîna kurîe? Jîn bit. Ma ji ‘emrê me çi ma?<br />
Is it a short life? It's life. What has remained from our life?<br />
Te divêtin ez bimînim ketîê barê xu bim.<br />
You want me to remain the fallen of my own load/burden.<br />
Ez mêvanê warê xu bim deruzê malê xu bim.<br />
I became the guest of my place and became a beggar of my own house.<br />
Barekê êk car girane u pesare rêka mejê<br />
A heavy load, one that is absolutely heavy, and our way is upward.<br />
Şêx ‘Ubeîd u Şêx Se’îdê ruhine rêka wa li metê. 20<br />
Sheikh Ubayd and Sheikh Saeed – It’s bright, their way coming toward us.<br />
Fenerên tarîxê digeşin, ruhnîa çav u dilan.<br />
The torches of history are bright;(they are)the light of (our) eyes and hearts.<br />
Dê çi xuînim? Berperan av ruyê u êş u kulan.<br />
What will I read? Papers of shame and pain and sorrow.<br />
Tazî ya Qazî jibîr nekin; bo bikin şînî her sal.<br />
Don’t forget the funeral of Qazî; mourn for him every year.<br />
Kuzrîn gulên çîayan nêrgizên şeng u şepal.<br />
The flowers of the mountains have been burned, the young and bright narcissuses.<br />
Ristikên şenqê bu vedan can fîdayên rastî yê. 25<br />
Necklets of throats were ready for him to sacrifice his soul for truth.
261<br />
Çûn ser sêdar u qinaran heware 180 li Kurdînî yê―<br />
They went on the gallows and ropes; the call for help is for Kurdish identity―<br />
‘zet u Xeîrî u Qudsî Mistefa―ew çar bira,<br />
Ezat, Xeîrî, Qudsî and Mustafa―those four brothers,<br />
Rohnîa çav u dilan―Her geşin ew çarçira.<br />
The light of our eyes and hearts―They are always bright, those four lamps.<br />
Ew çirayên mililetîne şewq vedan bu me lewa<br />
They are the lights of the people; that is why they gave off light for us<br />
Bilbilên şermin dixuînin, “Kurdu dê rabe jixewa!” 30<br />
The disgraced of the nightingales are singing, “Hey Kurd, wake up from dreaming!”<br />
Dergehê jîn u hîvîa girtîe dîsa çima?<br />
The door of life and hopes is closed again, why?<br />
Ma ji jîna kurte? Jîn bit. Ma ji ‘emrê me çi ma?<br />
Is it a short life? It's life. What has remained from our life?<br />
Zana u nezan her êkin. Kurdînu nabit eve.<br />
Literate and illiterate are one. Kurds, this is unacceptable.<br />
Lew ji êşa em dinalîn; her li me dunya şeve.<br />
That’s why out of pain we moan; the world is always night for us.<br />
Karwanên şevan diburin, lawik u heyran 181 xuşin. 35<br />
The night convoys are passing, special songs are enjoyable.<br />
Risteyîn stêran disujin bu me harin; lew geşin<br />
The lines of starts are burning. For us they are mad. That’s why they are bright.<br />
Guh bidin dengê bilwîlan, ew çewa bu me dibistirin.<br />
Listen to the sound of the flutes, how they are singing for us.<br />
Xuşe lê dengê narînan 182 dilê me tijî kulin<br />
180 Hewar is a call for help.<br />
181 These two words are used together to represent a certain type of Kurdish song, one that is almost a<br />
chant.<br />
182 Songs that women will sometimes sing at a wedding.
262<br />
It’s joyful, the sound of songs; (however) our hearts are full of sorrow.<br />
Her emîn heta ev sale xewneke bişên bijîn.<br />
It’s still us until this year, a dream you can live with.<br />
Wek hemî xelkên cîhanê, wan sinûra ji xo vedîn. 40<br />
Like all people of the world, we separate those borders from us.<br />
Xewneke bişêm bibînim―devrê dilê min xast.<br />
It’s a dream that I can see―the place my heart requested.<br />
Nabitin bu me bibînîn jêr u jur u çep u rast.<br />
It’s impossible for us to see it from bottom and top and left and right.<br />
Nabitin bu me tewafa ew cihê lê Mem u Zîn.<br />
We can’t go and worship the place of Mem and Zîn. 183<br />
Nabitin evro biburîn ji tuxîbê Xanîqîn.<br />
It’s impossible today for us to pass from the danger of Khanaqeen.<br />
Nabitin biçim nik Xanî bu vekim dilê bi xwîn. 45<br />
I can’t go near Xanî and open for (him) my heart with blood (sadness).<br />
Nabitin biçim Dêrsîmê bikelêşim dilê bi evîn.<br />
I can’t go to Derseem and break in two pieces my heart with love.<br />
Dergehê jîn u hîvîa girtîe dîsa çima?<br />
The door of life and hopes is closed again, why?<br />
Ma ji jîna kurte? Jîn bit. Ma ji ‘emrê me çi ma?<br />
Is it a short life? It's life. What has remained from our life?<br />
183 Mem and Zîn are the main characters in one of the most famous pieces of Kurdish literature, the epic<br />
poem Mem u Zîn, written by Ehmedî Xanî, who is mentioned in line 45.
263<br />
BS5<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by Masoud Salim Ismail<br />
Nehat<br />
It did not come<br />
Dîl u êxsîrî ji gelî bun―ser feraza min nehat.<br />
They became captives and prisoners of (another) people―my self-respect 184 did not<br />
come.<br />
Mam di’îşqa wê şepalê―sil u zîza min nehat.<br />
I remained in love with her―my wave of ill temper and discontent did not come.<br />
Çav dinêrim ez bibînim―xuş ‘ezîza min nehat.<br />
I anticipate seeing (her)―my lovely dear did not come.<br />
Guh min da awaz u lavçan―dengê saza 185 min nehat.<br />
I listened to melodies and songs―the sound of my guitar did not come.<br />
Ez ji ke’bê 186 ra mirîdim hec u ferza min nehat. 5<br />
I am a follower of ke’ib―my pilgrimage and religious duty did not come.<br />
Cejne u sunete aştî―pir ‘aciza min nehat.<br />
Peace is a celebration and tradition― the one who’s upset with me has not come.<br />
Şivanê deşt u zuzanim―berxe nazamin nehat.<br />
I am the shepherd of deserts and summer pastures―my fine lamb did not come.<br />
Dawet u şahyan veqetyan―can u taza min nehat.<br />
All weddings and dancing has been cut off―my pretty and excellent lady did not come.<br />
Têhnî 187 u tav u tehreye―siha gwîza min nehat.<br />
It’s dry and sunny and hot―the shadow of my walnut (tree) did not come.<br />
184 ‘Pride.’<br />
185 Saz―in Turkish, bağlama―is a stringed instrument with a long neck.<br />
186 The black stone in Mecca.<br />
187 Literally ‘thirsty.’
264<br />
Çend mekir hawar u yeman―kes bu duza min nehat. 10<br />
No matter how much we cried for help and mourned, no one joined me in my cause<br />
Kî wekî me mubitalye kes li rêza min nehat.<br />
Who is afflicted like us?―No one followed my way.<br />
Mam li nêçîrê ji mêje şah u baza min nehat.<br />
I continued hunting for a long time―my king and hawk did not come<br />
‘Ud u sentur bistirîne―xuş awaza min nehat.<br />
Play your oud and hammer dulcimer―my nice melody did not come.<br />
Min bi jehira wê qebîle―maru, gaza min nehat.<br />
I accept her with her poison― snake, I’m not crying for help<br />
Ez bi ḧukimê mirnê dayme (neqza) (*) qeza min nehat 15<br />
I, with the sentence of death given me (the opposition)―my misfortune did not come.<br />
Derfete ḧakim bibînim―roja ḧeza min nehat.<br />
Chance is the judge I see―my lucky day did not come.
265<br />
BS6<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by Masoud Salim Ismail<br />
Bêla<br />
House<br />
Ji kelekên ‘ewra,<br />
From the rafts of clouds,<br />
‘Ewrên hizira,<br />
Clouds of thoughts,<br />
Min gundek avakir.<br />
I created (constructed) a village.<br />
Di wî gundî da min bêlayek çêkir.<br />
In that village I made a house.<br />
Ez çume serbanê bêlayê 5<br />
I went onto the roof of the house<br />
U ji bejna dilbera xu<br />
And from the body of my lover<br />
Min dar alayek renî.<br />
I plant a flag-tree.<br />
Alayek ji renkê nêrgizan min pêvekir.<br />
I stuck a flag of the color of narcissuses on it.<br />
Min dilê xu … dilê xem giran<br />
I made my heart … heart of great sorrow<br />
Kire bagurdan. 188 10<br />
into a roof roller.<br />
Banê bêlayê me gêra u .. u gêra.<br />
We rolled and rolled the roof of our house.<br />
188 A roller used to make the soil (clay) on roof flat
266<br />
Welê gelu,<br />
But people,<br />
Dîsa hinde dilupên barana<br />
Again some drops of rain<br />
Têne xwarê.<br />
Fell down.<br />
Ez ji xewa giran rakirim 15<br />
I awoke from the heavy dream<br />
Ez hişîar kirim<br />
I became aware (conscious).<br />
Kanê gundî?<br />
Where are the people (village)?<br />
Kanê ban?<br />
Where’s the roof?<br />
Ka dilê min,<br />
Where’s my heart,<br />
Helgirê xema giran? 20<br />
The bearer of heavy sorrows?<br />
Min pisîara ‘ewrên heval kirin<br />
I asked the clouds of friends,<br />
Gelu,<br />
People,<br />
Kesek ji we bagurdanek dîtî ye?<br />
Has anyone of you seen a roller?<br />
Bagurdanekê ji dil u çavan?<br />
A roller from heart and eyes?<br />
Ji bejna canan çêkirî? 25<br />
That has been made from the body of souls?<br />
Gutin, Belê .. me dît
267<br />
They said, Yes .. we saw it.<br />
Ji serê çîayê hîvîyan<br />
From atop the mountain of hopes<br />
Girêle dibî<br />
it was rolling down<br />
Kete binê nihala xema gelîyan.<br />
It fell to the bottom of the ravines of sorrowful canyons.<br />
Bagurdanê te qet qet kirin. 30<br />
Your roller was cut into pieces.<br />
Hwîr kirin.<br />
They smashed it in pieces.<br />
Kirin tisbeḧ.. 189<br />
They made it into rosaries ..<br />
Hizar tisbeḧ jê çêkirin.<br />
They made thousands of rosaries from it.<br />
Li (super markîê) têne firutin. 35<br />
They are being sold in the market.<br />
Siraye .. siraye<br />
Rows of traffic (and) rows of traffic<br />
Siraye li tisbeḧan.<br />
Rows of traffic for the rosaries.<br />
Bi xudîkên tirumbêlên nwî tu b vedikin,<br />
They’re hanging them by the rearview mirrors in their new cars<br />
Bu cwanî.<br />
For decoration.<br />
Tisbeḧên ji leşê bagurdanî çêkirî. 40<br />
Hand rollers that have been made from the body of roof top roller.<br />
189 A closed string of beads used for prayers, much like Catholic rosary beads.
268<br />
Bi tirumbêla vedikin ..<br />
They’re hanging them in cars ..<br />
Eman, eman,<br />
Ah, ah,<br />
Derd u yeman―<br />
Pain and sorrow―<br />
Sutim eman―<br />
Ah, I am burned―<br />
Derdê giran. 45<br />
Pain heavy.
269<br />
BS7<br />
by Badirxan Sindî<br />
translated by Şîvan Toma<br />
Mîrê Peyvan<br />
The Prince of Words<br />
Ji seydayê sadiq biha’alidîn ra pêş kêşe 1983<br />
Presented to Mr. Sadiq Baha’ Al-Deen 1983<br />
Erê, sîlav, çima evro melwîl u hişik u zuhayî?<br />
Yes, waterfall, why are you so sad and dry and thirsty 190 today?<br />
Kelê, boçî tu bê deng u negeşdar u verêlhayî?<br />
Fortress, 191 why are you quiet and unobservant and indifferent?<br />
Çira, dil, tu wesa evro ji kakil ra yê arhayî?<br />
Why, heart, are you today so agrivated from the core of your being?<br />
Gutin, yaro bê kew rabu sefer kêşa u zavaye<br />
They said, Friend, he got up without the partridge, journeyed away. And he is the<br />
groom!<br />
Te da rê, ey Mîrê Peyvan, bê saz u maz li pêş te biçin. 5<br />
You went on your way, O Prince of Words, without having people<br />
walk before you.<br />
Şagirdên te heqe çûban bi mewkib ew cilil reş bin<br />
It would have been right for your disciples to go in procession dressed in black clothing<br />
Heta peyvên te jî, seyda, li vê ş’rê da jî geş bin.<br />
Even your words also, teacher, would in this poem have radiated.<br />
Ẍerîbê vê jîlnê bu şeva mirnê jî hu maye.<br />
The stranger of this world has been left like this for the evening of death.<br />
190 Chyet (2003) states that hişik means ‘dry’ for inanimate things, whereas zuha means ‘dry’ for living<br />
things.<br />
191 Or ‘castle.’
270<br />
Ji warê bê kesan, kes bu li baẍî xirş ew pir berbu.<br />
From the homeland without caretakers, there was somebody in the barren garden<br />
guarding it.<br />
Çi çaxek bu wî dest pê kir ku Kurdî hîngê bê ser bu. 10<br />
What a time began for him when Kurds at that time were without a leader.<br />
Kewek bu lê neçu ravê ji kewgiran 192 nekew girbu.<br />
He was a partridge but he did not go hunting because for the hunters this partridge is not<br />
a hunter. 193<br />
Bi rastî (Sadiqî) lewra dil bi navête avaye.<br />
Actually (Sadiq), that is why the heart is flourishing by your name.<br />
Te sîng da ber reşebayan bi xizmet çûye ezmanî.<br />
You led (put your chest) in front of the storms (and) you served the language.<br />
Me hulên tîj çi car neşîan bikulin ber derê xanî.<br />
The sharp scepters never could dig at the threshold of the house.<br />
Ji turî ra tu dergeh buî bi suzî. xuş zêrevanî. 15<br />
For the jackal you were the door with promise; you are a good guardian.<br />
Bi pîrî jî qelem geş bu ewî xizmet ne berdaye.<br />
Even in his old age the pen was sharp (and) did not stop the service (work).<br />
Çi tavek bu gelo ya geş li çaxê tarî u şev reş!<br />
What a bright sunrise for the people, radiance in the dark time and black night!<br />
Çirabu ew li ber çavan helat u gut ezim Ateş―<br />
It was a candle that choked in front of the eyes and said, I am Atesh. ―<br />
Bi Kurmancî gemî darê li derîayê zimanê xweş.<br />
With Kurmanji, a wooden boat in the sea of nice language.<br />
Ji pêş Le’lan wî peyv girtin. Niquvanê me Kurdaye 20<br />
In front of Le’lan he held the words. He is the diver of us Kurds.<br />
Mirîdê vîna Zînê bu nesaxê derdê Memê bu.<br />
192 Literally ‘partridge hunter’<br />
193 A partridge hunter uses a patridge to catch other partridges.
271<br />
He was the disciple of the love of Zeen. He was the ill one from the sorrow of Mem.<br />
Rundika Tac u Sitîê bu, fîẍana Sî u Xecê bu.<br />
He was the tear of Tac and Sitî, the mourning of Sî and Xecê.<br />
Xuş vîê gav u mijê bu ‘evdal bu çav her li rêbu.<br />
He was the dear one of time and fog; he was the quiet one, his eyes always on the road.<br />
Gelo! Lewra disujit dil ku cih kew evro valaye.<br />
People! That’s why the heart is burning, because the place of the partridge today<br />
is vacant.
272<br />
CX1<br />
by Cegerxwîn<br />
translated by Behrooz Shojai<br />
Dilê Cegerxwîn<br />
Cegerxwîn’s Heart<br />
Agir bi Kurdistanê ket, lewra haware dil;<br />
Kurdistan ravaged by fire, thus my heart is a cry for help;<br />
Sed baẍ u sed bistanî ket manendî bilbil jare dil.<br />
A hundred gardens and a hundred meadows devastated―I, dejected, like the disheartened<br />
nightingale.<br />
Pêtek ji Kurdistanê hat, mêalik u cergê min dipat;<br />
A flame came from Kurdistan, burning my lung and liver;<br />
Aman welat, aman welat―Bawer bikin, xwînxware dil!<br />
Alas my home, alas my home―Believe me, my heart is terrible!<br />
Bawer bikin, eî yarê min, heval u hem guhdarê min; 5<br />
Believe me, O my lover, friends and all listeners of mine,<br />
Her gav u her êvarê min, naxoş u hem bêzare dil.<br />
Every morning and every evening of mine, the heart is unwell and always despondent.<br />
Bêzar u pir naxoşe ew, kincên sîyeh – gûn – poşe ew.<br />
It is despondent and quite unwell, dressed in garments of mourning; it is sorrowful.<br />
Geh sîne, geh seîdoşe ew, geh heîderê kerare dil.<br />
At times light-hearted, at times it is Seidosh, at times it is the Smiter Haydar. 194<br />
Geh Rişteme, geh Xateme, geh Padîşahê Deyleme.<br />
At times it is Rustem, at times it is Khatem, at times it is the King of Dailaman.<br />
Bê yar u dost u hemdeme, lew mest u gerdenxware dil 10<br />
It is without lover and friend and companion, that is why my heart is drunk and twisted.<br />
Geh şahe ew, geh bêkese, geh Kurde ew, geh Farse<br />
194 The nickname of the fourth Khalif, Ali.
273<br />
At times it is the king, at times it is forlorn, at times it is a Kurd, at times it is a Persian,<br />
Geh berbere, geh çerkese, geh turke, geh tatare dil<br />
At times it is Berber, at times it is Circassian, at times it is Turkish, at times the heart is<br />
Tartar.<br />
Geh çole geh, zozane ew, geh Dêrik u geh Wane ew.<br />
At times it is wilderness, at times summer pasture, at times Derik and at times it is Wan.<br />
Geh şaxe, geh westane ew, geh mûşe, geh zinare dil<br />
At times it is standing (strong), at times it is kneeling (tired), at times it is mûş 195 at times<br />
the heart is a massive rock.<br />
Geh are dil, geh ave dil, geh tare dil geh tave dil. 15<br />
At times the heart is a flame, at times the heart is water, at times the heart is obscure, at<br />
times the heart is the light of the sun.<br />
Murxê seher der dave dil, lewra cegerxwîn pare dil.<br />
The heart is like the entrapped songster; that is why Cegerxwîn’s heart is lacerated.<br />
195 Meaning unknown. Muş is the name of a province in the Kurdish area of Turkey, however use of it<br />
seems vague here (whereas in the line above there’s a comparison drawn between Dêrik and Wan).<br />
According to Omar, mûş can also mean ‘unknown land’ (Omar 1992).
274<br />
CX2<br />
by Cegerxwîn<br />
translated by Behrooz Shojai<br />
Silav Li Sifra Hazire<br />
Salute the Feast (Dining-table) Is Ready<br />
Ey, sûxteyê bê nav u deng,<br />
Alas, the unknown wretch,<br />
Dijmin li ser balafire,<br />
the enemy is above the airplane,<br />
Pir leşker u top u tiveng.<br />
A full army and canons and muskets.<br />
Seîda ewe, ew mahire.<br />
He is the master; he is the skillful one.<br />
Sed salin ev zeyd u ‘emir, 5<br />
Hundreds of years are this zeyd 196 and life<br />
Cenge digel rîşa melê.<br />
In battle against the pen of the priest.<br />
Mertal di dest wan de bihuşt,<br />
The shield in their hands is heaven,<br />
Gurzê di dest wan agire.<br />
The club in their hands is fire.<br />
Şêxê ko tac u teîlesan<br />
The sheikh with crown and turban<br />
Weregirtye rengê xidir. 10<br />
has taken the shape of Green Knight. 197<br />
196 Meaning unknown.<br />
197 The muslim/islamic figure Khidir is close to the Western figure of Green Knight
275<br />
Rûniştîe li birca belek<br />
He resided in the colourful fortress<br />
Şahê ‘ecem şah nadire.<br />
(Against) the Persian Shah―the Shah is Nadir.<br />
Ew sofîê dîl u reben<br />
That severe ascetic Sufi<br />
Serqot u xwas u tazî ye,<br />
Is bare-headed and barefoot and naked,<br />
Digirî bi hawar u fîfan, 15<br />
Weeping in lamentation and moaning,<br />
“Şêxê me ‘Evdilqadire.”<br />
“Our Sheikh is Abdulqadir [Geilani].” 198<br />
Carek li şêx ew nanerî<br />
He never beheld the sheikh<br />
Da zanibe rast u derew.<br />
To see how righteous he is.<br />
Kincê li şêx u şal u qumaş―<br />
Garments on the sheikh are of the best fabric―<br />
Kincê li sofî çadire. 20<br />
The Sufi goes about in rags.<br />
Aẍa bi deh gundên xwe ve<br />
The landlord, owner of ten hamlets<br />
Bawer dike keîxusrewe.<br />
Is imagining himself to be Xerxes. 199<br />
Talanker u diz u keleş―<br />
Marauder and robber and plunderer―<br />
198 The head of the Naqshabdi Sufist Order.<br />
199 Likely Xerxes I of the Persian Empire.
276<br />
Wî daye ser rêça gure.<br />
He has taken the path of the wolves.<br />
Halê me kurmanca eve! 25<br />
(Behold!) This is the state of us Kurds!<br />
Em dê çilo serbest bijîn?<br />
How can we gain our freedom?<br />
Herçî ko çûyî guh medê;<br />
Forget the bygone ages;<br />
Silav li Sifra hazire.<br />
Salute, the feast (dining-table) is ready.<br />
Seîdayê rast u ronî ye.<br />
He is the teacher of truth and light.<br />
Lewra Cegerxwîn namîdar. 30<br />
Thus (that is why) Cegerxwîn is famous.<br />
Zana dizanin ew kî ye,<br />
The versed (educated) ones recognize him,<br />
Ên ker dibêjin kafire.<br />
The ignorant ones say he is a blasphemer (infidel).
277<br />
CX3<br />
by Cegerxwîn<br />
translated by Behrooz Shojai<br />
Dînê Me Tête Zanîn<br />
Our Religion Is Becoming Known<br />
Nifiînekê ji yezdan dikim, tu bêje amîn;<br />
I beseech the Lord, say Amen,<br />
Şêx u melayê Kurdan belengaz u geda bin<br />
Let the Kurdish Sheikh and preacher lament in mendicancy<br />
Lewra yekî ji wana qanûn bi zarê Kurdî.<br />
None of them wrote the law in Kurdish<br />
Ji bo me çênekir qet, ji ber vê em nezanin.<br />
for us at all, not one bit. That is why we are ignorant.<br />
Xwe pîr dikin di wez’ê hem sirif u ni’hu u mintiq; 5<br />
They make themselves old (seasoned) in (elaborating on) morphology, syntax and logic<br />
(in Arabic)<br />
Bê zar u xet u xwendin, li nav xelkê dewarin.<br />
We, the herd of people are (left abandoned) without language and script and<br />
ability to read.<br />
Payz u hem zivistan, her sê mehên biharê,<br />
Autumn and all of winter, all three months of spring,<br />
Her dem dikin mitala. Daxwaz ji wan re havîn.<br />
All the time they are pondering. We request only summer from them.<br />
Her dem dibên emin ê ko warsê nebî ne;<br />
They were always asserting, “We are the ones to bear the legacy of the prophet.”<br />
Lê def u çerx u govend wan kirine ayîna dîn. 10<br />
But they turned the drums and dancing into a rite of religion.<br />
Dibên, eger bi Kurdî ‘lim ko bête xwendin,<br />
Alleging that, if the knowledge was acquired in Kurdish,
278<br />
Em dê bibin Qizabaş, Kurd u Bixar u Maçîn.<br />
We shall convert to Qizilbash (Shiite Persians), Kurd and Sugdians and<br />
Trans-Chinese.<br />
Feqî bi xwe nezane, seîda dinêrî qamûs;<br />
The student of religion being ignorant, the teacher searching through the dictionary;<br />
Her yek bi dil dibêjin em miftiyê zemanin.<br />
Each one claims that they are the keyholder of the era<br />
Bi Kurdî ger bixuînin bê renc u bê giranî; 15<br />
[Let us] read in Kurdish without toil and drudgery;<br />
Bê qeîd u şeriḧ u ḧaşî cahil bi xwe dizanin.<br />
Even the ignorant would learn without conditions or deviations<br />
Dînê me tête zanîn bi her ziman u her xet,<br />
Our is becoming known in all languages and scripts,<br />
Bi Kurdî yan Firengî, yaxûd bi xetê Latîn.<br />
In Kurdish or European or even in Latin script.<br />
Welalhî bûm ceger xwîn ji derdê şêx u seîda;<br />
By god, shekh and preachers made me to despondent (Cegerxwîn).<br />
Qelem digel zimanim her dem bi ax u nalîn. 20<br />
The pen along with my tongue, always in torment and anguish.
279<br />
DD<br />
by Deyka Dalyayê<br />
translated by Şamal Akreyî<br />
Ji Nazên Te Xerîbim<br />
I Miss Your Childlike Ways<br />
Demê çipkên baraneka hûr sema liser pişta serbanê me dikir,<br />
When the wispy rain danced on our rooftop,<br />
dengê baranê xemeka dijwar di dilê min da darand.<br />
the sound of the rain was arousing a fierce sorrow in my heart.<br />
Ez dihimbêza teda mîna naneka gerim dinav devê birsîekê lexrîn da<br />
In your embrace I was like a warm loaf in a hungry mouth<br />
Dinav êk da buhjîn u<br />
We were dissolving into each other and<br />
tibilên min ji lêvên te têr şîr vedxwar u 5<br />
my fingers were drinking plenty of milk from your lips and<br />
hemî leşê te dikire buhar.<br />
your whole body was turning into spring.<br />
Hêşta ew aşiqim..ewa har<br />
I still love you..she who is wild (wildly in love)<br />
* * *<br />
Demê hetaf zer ki jiber tavyên ewran xu vedşêrin.<br />
Then the pale ray hid behind the sunlight of the clouds.<br />
Tu dibuye şev;<br />
You were becoming night;<br />
ez dibume stêr. 10<br />
I was becoming a star.<br />
Tu li min digerîaî<br />
You were looking for me
280<br />
bu maçeka ser pê.<br />
just to have a swift kiss.<br />
Te şer gel turîê dikir<br />
You were quarrelling with the darkness<br />
xu dimin werdikir u<br />
you were throwing youself at me and<br />
şevê sema liber maçên bilez dikir…..? 15<br />
the night was dancing with (our) swift kisses.<br />
* * *<br />
Eve çend buhar burîn u<br />
Many springtimes have gone and<br />
ez henasên te helid kêşim.<br />
I breathe your respiration.<br />
Ji xerîbîê neşêm êdî ji te dur kevim u<br />
Due to (my) longing for you, I still cannot go (fall) far from you and<br />
tu hindê nêzîkî.<br />
you are so close to me.<br />
Hindî sîtafka min. 20<br />
You are my shadow.<br />
bibure, neşêm sîtafkê bidesta bikirim.<br />
Sorry, I cannot touch the shadow.<br />
* * *<br />
Ez xewnekim di fincana qehwa te da;<br />
I am a dream in your coffee cup;<br />
tu şehîdê barana eşqêî.<br />
You are the martyr of the passionate rain.<br />
Ruha min digel xu bibe u<br />
Take my soul with you and
281<br />
ez u tu dê digurekî da nivîn u 25<br />
you and I will sleep in one grave and<br />
da ji te dur nekevim…?<br />
so I don’t stray far from you.<br />
* * *<br />
Payîzan te naz dikirin<br />
During the autumns were making you delicate (to be spoiled)<br />
Nazên te digel belgan diwerin.<br />
Your childlike ways were falling with the leaves.<br />
Min jî baẍçek ji şihrên bê hudeyî dane baî u<br />
I, too, threw a garden of absurd poems to the wind and<br />
tu dibuye zarukekê şuîm u 30<br />
you were turning into a restless child and<br />
şer digel baî dikir..<br />
wrestling with the air..<br />
Tu neşêî hemî belga vedeî u<br />
You cannot collect all the leaves and<br />
şihirên min vêdeî…<br />
you cannot gather my poems…<br />
Tu nabînî….?<br />
Don’t you see?<br />
* * *<br />
Demê tu li stivankê gerdena min dinêrî, 35<br />
When you look at my necklace,<br />
ji çavên te ditrsim.<br />
I am afraid of your eyes.<br />
Ne ku maçekê ji min bidizî u<br />
not that you will steal a kiss from me and<br />
dujeha xerîbîa xu bikeye sêva beheştê u
282<br />
to turn the hell of your longing into a night of paradise and<br />
zuî serda biçî u<br />
quickly become deceived and<br />
min ji beheştê derbêxî.? 40<br />
cast me out of your heaven.<br />
* * *<br />
Liser şeqama u<br />
On the streets and<br />
libin dara berî u<br />
among the trees of the wilderness and<br />
mezarê bê nav,<br />
unnamed graves,<br />
em dû belatînk buîn.<br />
we were two butterflies.<br />
Tejî henasên me haratî bu. 45<br />
Our breath was full of wild lust.<br />
Digel baî difrîn u<br />
We were flying with the wind and<br />
digel rujê ava dibuîn u<br />
we were setting with the sun and<br />
digel şevê dinivistîn u<br />
we were sleeping with the night and<br />
digel elindî hişîar dibuîn.<br />
we were waking up with the dawn.<br />
Hîvî dikem xu ji min ne vedze 50<br />
I hope that do not hide from me.<br />
min nehêle…….??<br />
Do not leave me!
Note: The dots and question marks in the lines of Kurdish are from the original author.<br />
Not understanding their purpose at times, I have used punctuation that seems appropriate<br />
for the English translation.<br />
283
284<br />
H<br />
by Hizirvan<br />
translated by Zeerak Kamal<br />
Bêhna Gulê<br />
The Smell of the Rose<br />
Gulek birîn, ji binê kirin, bêhin jê neçu.<br />
They cut a rose, cut it off; it did not lose the smell.<br />
Xabûr girtin; bi sed sikiran tev kirine cu.<br />
They blocked the Khabor; 200 with a hundred dams turn it into streams.<br />
Dîsa hemî çûne serê; xabûr her çu.<br />
The streams came together again; the Xabor continued to flow.<br />
Teyrek înan verûçkandin―nav jê ne çu.<br />
They brought a bird and deplumed it―it did not lose its name.<br />
Turevanek kuştin, goşt lê pirtpirtkirin, 5<br />
They killed a writer (scholar), cut his corpse into pieces,<br />
Agrek boş li ser helkirin, berzekirin.<br />
And ignited a massive fire on him (his body) and hid him.<br />
Xwelî ya wî jî bin axkirin,<br />
They also buried his ashes in the earth,<br />
Belê jinav xelkî neçu.<br />
But he did not go from among the people.<br />
200 A river that goes through the city of Zaxo.
285<br />
HS<br />
by Hisin Silêvanî<br />
translated by Şamal Akreyî<br />
Ew Xanîma Henê 201<br />
That Lady<br />
Ew Xanîma henê,<br />
That lady,<br />
ewa digel wêskî dihal diçit―<br />
who gets into an intoxicated state―<br />
sed sofî li ber pên wê av u avdiçin.<br />
hundreds of sufis disappear under her feet.<br />
* * *<br />
Ew Xanîma henê,<br />
That lady,<br />
ewa li ber perdê 5<br />
who behind the curtains<br />
dihizira ra mayî―<br />
goes deep into thoughts―<br />
runahîa dilê wê<br />
the light of her heart<br />
perdê spîtir lêdikit.<br />
turns the curtain whiter.<br />
* * *<br />
201 According to my consultant, the word henê is used to “refer to or point to something.” The author could<br />
have simply said Xanîma henê, leaving off the word ew, a demonstrative. Perhaps by using both ew and<br />
henê, the statement is emphatic.
286<br />
Ew Xanîma henê,<br />
That lady,<br />
ewa di duîkêlê ra mayî― 10<br />
who is stuck in the smoke―<br />
xweşe sîha girinjîna wê<br />
it’s nice, the shade of her smile is delightful<br />
dema pêkê xwe radikit<br />
when she picks up her shotglass<br />
* * *<br />
u dil ji min<br />
and from me my heart<br />
Ew Xanîma henê,<br />
That lady,<br />
ewa cigarê bi destê çepê digirit. 15<br />
who holds her cigarettes with her left hand.<br />
şewqa lêvên wê xweşî jê dizêt, u<br />
The brightness of her lips― pleasantness springs from it, and<br />
dirijit ser mêzê, u<br />
pours it out on the table, and<br />
mêza wê delalitir dibit.<br />
her table becomes more graceful.<br />
* * *<br />
Ew Xanîma henê,<br />
That lady,<br />
ewa Xudê di cwanîê da dahêalî u 20<br />
who God dipped into beauty and<br />
têkde delalî.<br />
every bit of her is graceful.<br />
Dema pêkê vala têdikit u bilind dikit u
287<br />
When she fills her empty shotglass and picks it up and<br />
hêdî, hêdî xweşîê li me direşînit,<br />
gradually sprinkles gladness on us,<br />
şewqa zendê wê<br />
the brightness of her wrist<br />
şemalkê ruhin dikit. 25<br />
makes the candle brighter.<br />
* * *<br />
Ew xanma henê<br />
That lady<br />
ewa destê xwe danî bin serê xwe.<br />
who puts her hand under her head.<br />
Çend delale!!<br />
How gorgeous is she!!<br />
xuzî ez destê wê bam<br />
I wish I could be her hand.<br />
* * *<br />
Ew Xanîma henê, 30<br />
That lady,<br />
ewa wek wê ne.<br />
who no one can be compared with.<br />
Li vê şevê, ewa enî spêde.<br />
On this night, her forehead is the morning.<br />
Ava bit mala wê,<br />
Bless her home, (may her home prosper)<br />
şad kir şeva me.<br />
She has made our evening cheerful.
288<br />
MQ1<br />
by Mihsin Quçan<br />
translated by Karwan Harbi Omarkhan<br />
(rojanên girtîekîne di bendîxanê da)<br />
remembering the days of my capture<br />
Birînên Şevên Xwînelo<br />
Wounds of Night Covered in Blood<br />
Dibêjin xewin<br />
They say that dreams,<br />
ji turê xwe der dikevin<br />
they leave their nets.<br />
xewna têda dihêt xwîn.<br />
Blood comes forth from a dream within.<br />
Min di xew da didît<br />
In a dream I was seeing<br />
sîngê esmanî yê derbuwî 5<br />
the chest of the sky had opened<br />
yê bûî birîn<br />
and became a wound.<br />
Rûyê erdî hizar carî yê kelştî<br />
It had cut the face of the earth a thousand times.<br />
roj ya sûr bûî ya buhijtî<br />
The sun became red and melted<br />
kuçik û tenîr<br />
the fireplace and oven<br />
bi ser û çavên nanbêja ve 10<br />
on the face of bakers,<br />
yên peqjîn
289<br />
those who are exploited.<br />
Jê dizêtin xwîn<br />
blood springs up from it.<br />
Heku xelk diçûne kezaxa,<br />
When people go to work,<br />
tîrkên mêwa jê dibarî xwîn.<br />
even the leaves of the trees are bleeding.<br />
helandina hemî coxîn û miştaxa 15<br />
Welding all threshing floors and spreading floors<br />
dibû bager ... dwîkêl û xwîn.<br />
was becoming a snowstorm … smoke and blood.<br />
Me nan kerkir―<br />
We start eating (cut bread)―<br />
pirî nav xwîn.<br />
full of blood.<br />
Çi kirase me dixo werdikir,<br />
What kind of dress did we wear,<br />
hemî leşê me dikire xwîn? 20<br />
making all of our body blood?<br />
Ji lehîa xwînê, çîa dirîn,<br />
From the flood of blood, the mountains are torn apart,<br />
bajêr dibirin,<br />
sweeping the cities away,<br />
dar û bar, û serên biçwîka vedirîn.<br />
the trees and riverbanks, and opening the heads of children.<br />
Didanên min xir di helweşîan<br />
All my teeth are gone (deteriorated)<br />
ji çavên min şilqa veda― 25<br />
From my eyes spill tears―
290<br />
agr û xwîn.<br />
fire and blood<br />
* * *<br />
ez hişîar bûm.<br />
I woke up.<br />
Pêyek giran dergehê malê ra havêt.<br />
A heavy foot slammed the door.<br />
Dilê min di sîngê min da<br />
My heart inside my chest<br />
bibû çîçkek xo di helavêt 30<br />
became a sparrow and is beating<br />
wek revdên gurga bi jor ketin.<br />
like a group of wolves they came.<br />
Tiveng kirne di sîngê min ra u<br />
They put the gun inside my chest and<br />
binav qab qiloza ketin.<br />
rumaged through my things.<br />
Pertûkên min<br />
My books<br />
vewjartin nîva malê 35<br />
they tossed them into the middle of the house,<br />
per perkirin, pirtkandin.<br />
cut the papers of my books and damaged them.<br />
nivînên me hemî dane ber singîa,<br />
They took a knife to all of our bedding,<br />
xir dirandin.<br />
tearing them all.<br />
"Li çi digerin têşkên zinayê,<br />
“What are they looking for, these bastards,
291<br />
gîfankên bajêrvanîê, 40<br />
these bastards employed by the municipality,<br />
kirmên axê û maşotên,<br />
caterpillars of dirt and (little green) worms,<br />
Xoşî û hîvî?"<br />
Pleasantness and hope?”<br />
* * *<br />
Şelyaî pêxas<br />
(He has) barefoot pajamas,<br />
bi ser û çavên herî û xwîn ve.<br />
mud and blood on his face again.<br />
Di kulanada jorda dibirim. 45<br />
I am walking along the road.<br />
Ez pê dihesîam.<br />
I recognize him.<br />
Xelk pencera yê vediken u<br />
People are opening the windows and<br />
careka dî zwî, zwî digirin.<br />
then they quickly, quickly close them.<br />
Li kulanê<br />
On the road<br />
kes ne dwêrîa xo bi min haî det, 50<br />
everyone is afraid of defending me,<br />
li ser milê xo zivirin.<br />
turning their heads.<br />
Herçende, min ji dil bawere<br />
Albeit, I believe in my heart<br />
heku bi şevê dimînin bi tinê,<br />
that when I am alone in night,
292<br />
yan di degirin<br />
or crying<br />
li ser mêzên vexarnê, 55<br />
at the drinking table,<br />
dikel diçin, bo min digirin.<br />
the smoke (that) is going (up), it is crying for me.<br />
* * * April 14, 1985<br />
Heku şevê<br />
When the night<br />
xo bi dehmanên bajêrî ve dikir tilove<br />
made itself tilove 202 on the hem of the city<br />
xo dikir pinî û pêve dirist<br />
made itself a patch and sewed itself on it<br />
heku qeralê tarîê 60<br />
whenever qeral 203 of the dark<br />
çengên xo didan<br />
gave their wings<br />
şenge kezîên kehrebê<br />
beautiful woman, braids of electricity<br />
dikêşane ber sîngê xove,<br />
pulls them to her chest,<br />
dimêtin ... dimêtin,<br />
sucking …sucking,<br />
berdane ve zerupêtî u xav û sist. 65<br />
She released (them) tired and disheveled.<br />
Li dirêjîa cadên bajêrî<br />
202 Meaning unknown.<br />
203 Meaning unknown.
293<br />
In the long roads of the city<br />
qêjîên bajêrvanîê dibehîn.<br />
the whole municipality is screaming.<br />
Kêm dibû girî.<br />
Very few people were crying<br />
Zer dibû kenî<br />
They were pale (unhealthy), laughing<br />
Bê dengîyê xîveta xo veda ji nwî. 70<br />
Without a sound, their shelter (tent) was appearing new.<br />
Bajêr dinivst.<br />
The city was sleeping.<br />
Hingî, dêmê te geş dibû<br />
At that time, when you were maturing<br />
dinav mêrgên hizirên min da,<br />
among the field of my thoughts,<br />
te dinav olîên xewnên min da<br />
you in the faith of my dreams<br />
dikir şev bêrî 75<br />
shared an evening of fellowship<br />
digel dilê min da reqsî.<br />
with my heart you dance.<br />
Hemî bihavên 204 leşê min<br />
All over my body<br />
sivig destekê lê gêrî<br />
quickly washing up.<br />
Te hwî kirbûm yarîeka mit,<br />
You had taught me a silent game<br />
204 Meaning unknown.
294<br />
car mendehoş da rawestî û 80<br />
sometimes drunk and standing and<br />
rik û rik çavên min nêrî.<br />
way by way you looked into my eyes.<br />
Car da xo keî befir û barî.<br />
Sometimes you made yourself snow and came down.<br />
Min sîngê xwe dikire kêrî<br />
I was making my chest a knife<br />
dema rojê kezîkên xo berdanexwar<br />
when the sun dropped its braids (rays) (onto the earth)<br />
da buhujî 85<br />
so that it melted<br />
yan da zîzbî<br />
or was angered<br />
li direka dwîr xo veşêrî<br />
In a place she hid herself.<br />
ev serê çend şevane<br />
The early start of so many nights<br />
li min hizrete<br />
I’ve been wishing<br />
mezela min 90<br />
My room<br />
berê şimka te maçî ket<br />
the upperside of the sandle you kissed<br />
Ne bêjîye min<br />
Don’t tell me<br />
têşke seyên li ber dergeha.<br />
the bastards are on our doorstep.<br />
Nahêlin bi jora min bikevî.<br />
I won’t let them enter my room.
295<br />
Yan ji ber rengê goma xwîna di jora min ve 95<br />
Or is it because of the color of the pool of blood inside my room<br />
tu newêrî?<br />
that you are afraid?<br />
Were, Xanîm.<br />
Come, lady.<br />
Hêvke şînwarên lêvên xo<br />
The remnant of her lips<br />
li ser leşê min<br />
on my body –<br />
çawa bizotkê cigara 100<br />
how the smoke<br />
guvenda xo ya girêdaî,<br />
creating its own dance,<br />
ya xwe kirîe rêzke mêrî<br />
making itself a row of ants.<br />
* * * May 2, 1985<br />
Li evê dirê<br />
In this place<br />
rêveçûna şev û rojan ya aloze.<br />
walking in the night and day is unusual.<br />
Rojê, kirasên reşê liber, û 105<br />
The day, wearing a dark cloak (overcast), and<br />
şev her şeve.<br />
night is all night.<br />
Ev dîware di reşandîne,<br />
This wall is being scattered,<br />
hemî navên mirovane,<br />
all of them are the names of people,
296<br />
xudanên wan,<br />
the owner of them,<br />
bo bîrhatin, 110<br />
for remembering,<br />
bi neênukên xo yên helkolayin,<br />
with his fingernails digging something,<br />
navên nwî tob şere ligel navên kevin,<br />
the new names fighting with old ones,<br />
hindek nava<br />
some names<br />
nêrîên nanî yên liser serî,<br />
bringing the basket of hot bread on the head,<br />
perindeyên dixon û direvin. 115<br />
and the birds are stealing (the bread) and leaving (flying away) quickly.<br />
Hindek nav dixwînelone―<br />
Some of the names were bloody―<br />
dixwînelone.<br />
bloody.<br />
Çipkên xwînê yên jê dikevin.<br />
Drops of blood were falling down.<br />
Eve li vêrê―<br />
This is here―<br />
navê (Hemuî) 120<br />
name of ‘Hamoi’<br />
navê (Temer)<br />
name of ‘Temer’<br />
navê (Silwî)<br />
name of ‘Silwee’<br />
navê hemî û her kesekê.
297<br />
name of all and everybody.<br />
Ji derê mala xo derketî û<br />
He left the door of his home and<br />
li kes û karên xo berzebuwî 125<br />
disappeared from his family and daily life.<br />
Eve li vêrê şev, xwîne<br />
This here night, it is blood<br />
(şev û xwîn ya têkhelbuwî).<br />
(night and blood mixed together).<br />
* * * June 20, 1985<br />
Hero ...... hero<br />
Every day … every day<br />
keratekê diînin sermin.<br />
They’re bringing keratekê 205 onto me.<br />
Dest û pên min yên giroc buwîn, 130<br />
My hands and my feet have become useless,<br />
nahên bermin.<br />
too difficult to work.<br />
Pisîara çend nava ji min diken;<br />
They are asking me for some names;<br />
min çi caran nebîstîne.<br />
I never heard any of them.<br />
Hindek kirîaran palden min.<br />
They accused me of something.<br />
Bi serê tekem 135<br />
I swear by my head. (You have to believe me.)<br />
Min ev dave neristîne<br />
205 Meaning unknown.
298<br />
I didn’t set these traps.<br />
Yên li hîvîê min sîçeloken.<br />
They are hoping to make me guilty.<br />
Min sîç nîne―<br />
I’m not guilty―<br />
ji bilî navê te serbarî û<br />
with the exception of your name and<br />
navê welat 140<br />
the name of (my) country<br />
di dilê min da dinivistîne<br />
sleeping in my heart.<br />
* * * July 3, 1985<br />
Bêhin dikem.<br />
I am smelling.<br />
Bêhna gemara mirnê dihêt.<br />
The dirty smell of the dead is coming.<br />
Diqulê ra min çav lêbû.<br />
I am looking through a hole.<br />
Memkê çepê yê zerîekê― 145<br />
The left breast of the beautiful woman―<br />
bi kêrê birî.<br />
cut by the knife.<br />
Mêhvanê nwî―<br />
The new guest―<br />
pezkanî berda axê û serjêkirî.<br />
sent the sheep to pasture and beheaded (them).<br />
Ev kalê birex min ve dikenît,<br />
This donkey beside me is laughing,<br />
serê xo li dîwarî didetin. 150
299<br />
hitting his head against a wall.<br />
xêzana wî bi xanîve sot.<br />
They burned his family inside the house.<br />
Kurê wî dane ber leqa,<br />
Put forth his son to be bitten (throwing his son to the dogs)<br />
verot kelot,<br />
wearing out his clothes,<br />
helawîst û heta mirî.<br />
left him hanging until dead.<br />
Bêhin dikem 155<br />
I am smelling<br />
bêhna mirnê ... bêhna tirsê.<br />
the smell of the dead … the smell of fear.<br />
Ditirsim bîstên van daî diza<br />
I am afraid twenty of them are paid thieves. (I’m afraid of those terrible people.)<br />
Vê carê li serê min bikevin.<br />
This time they are going to do the same thing to me.<br />
Çi sîtafka didet bin derî,<br />
Each shadow appears under the door.<br />
Her pêjneka ji derve bihêt. 160<br />
Each rape victim comes from outside.<br />
Teznik bi leşê min dikevin.<br />
I am shivering with fear. (Shivering is falling on me.)<br />
Aî, lê Xanîm..<br />
Oh, but lady..<br />
Çend gelekên didilê min da,<br />
How very much that is inside my heart,<br />
Dê bo te bêm.<br />
I’m going to tell you.
300<br />
Ger carekê çavên min bi çavên te bikevin 165<br />
If sometime my eyes meet your eyes<br />
da bêjme te<br />
to tell you<br />
mêr dibine çi<br />
what does a husband become<br />
demê mirin delnig û hiçka lê digirît û<br />
when death’s grip is taking off the cuffs and pants cuff and<br />
neşên biarîên,<br />
they cannot provoke,<br />
neşên birevin 170<br />
they cannot escape,<br />
Birastî, nazdar,<br />
In fact (beautiful) lady,<br />
girkekê keftî dilê min.<br />
I am shivering for fear. (A shiver fell in my heart.)<br />
Ditirsim bîstên van daî diza,<br />
I am afraid twenty of these sons of robbers,<br />
vê carê liser min bikevin.<br />
that this time they are going to do the same thing to me.
301<br />
MQ2<br />
by Mihsin Quçan<br />
translated by Karwan Harbi Omarkhan<br />
Helo . .<br />
Eagle<br />
Li nik me befir wa di barît<br />
By us it is snowing<br />
Li ba hewe jîk befir dikevît?<br />
Is snow also falling by you all?<br />
Mitayê me . . erê . . erê<br />
Our goods…yes…yes<br />
Befir Ya Li Vêrê<br />
Snow Is Here<br />
yê li kolana 5<br />
on the roads<br />
yê hewe jîk<br />
and yours also<br />
li kulana ye?<br />
Is it on the roads?<br />
Yan jî avahî bi dest dikevît<br />
Were you able to find shelter?<br />
Helo . .<br />
Eagle<br />
Esmanê me yê azrî 10<br />
Our sky is agitated<br />
car yê qêrî ya radihêlît<br />
Sometimes shouting and screaming<br />
ji helma wî diçîtin gurî<br />
from its breath it’s steaming hot
302<br />
Hindek cara diket girî<br />
Sometimes it cries<br />
heku li birîna xo dinêrît<br />
whenever it looks at its wound.<br />
Ew birîna . . 15<br />
That wound . .<br />
çavên stêra bo derkirî.<br />
that the stars took out their eyes for<br />
Helo . .<br />
Eagle<br />
Befrê nihal yên pir kirîn<br />
Snow filled the ravines.<br />
dawetên me yên bir kirîn<br />
covered our weddings<br />
Rêkên li gondê me birîn. 20<br />
It cut off the paths to our village.<br />
Helo . .<br />
Eagle. .<br />
Sehkene me . .<br />
Look at us . .<br />
em yê li nav derîa befrê da<br />
we are in the sea of snow<br />
li kolanên me<br />
on our roads<br />
li ser banên me 25<br />
on our roofs<br />
li ser mujîlankên çavên me<br />
on our eyelashes<br />
befre . . befre<br />
snow . . snow
303<br />
li derazînka<br />
on the doorsteps<br />
li nav zevîka<br />
on the fields<br />
li ser mil û pirçên biçwîka 30<br />
on the shoulder and hair of children<br />
befre . . befre<br />
snow . . snow<br />
evê befrê . .<br />
This snow . .<br />
rwîyin kiçên me sorkirin,<br />
made the cheeks of our girls red,<br />
maçî kirn<br />
made kisses<br />
li pêş çavên me 35<br />
in front of our eyes.<br />
Ne got şerme<br />
It did not say, “it is shameful.”<br />
Helo . .<br />
Eagle . .<br />
Dar û barên me ditazîne.<br />
It makes our trees and riverbanks cold.<br />
Hemî tişt li ba me di tezîne,<br />
Everything is cold where we are,<br />
jibilî xwîna dilê me . . 40<br />
except for the blood of our heart . .<br />
Tinê germe,<br />
It is only hot,<br />
tinê germe.
304<br />
it is only hot.
305<br />
MT1<br />
by Mu’eyed Teyb<br />
translated by Newzad Hirorî<br />
translation was published in: KRISTIANSEN, GEORG. 2009. From genocide to self-rule,<br />
adaptation of the Swedish text by Gudrun Winfridsson. Riga, Latvia: Livonia Print.<br />
Kî dê merwayê tena ket?<br />
Who will comfort Merwa?<br />
Kî dê Merwayê tena ket?<br />
Who will comfort Merwa?<br />
Ev soratîa hwîn, bi dev û lêvên merwayê ve dibînin ne sorava dayka wê ye<br />
This red colour, on Merwa’s lips is not the lipstick of her mother,<br />
yarî pê kirîn.<br />
which she used to play with.<br />
Ew xwîne xwîn...<br />
The colour is blood, real blood…<br />
Ev pinîên reş û şînên, 5<br />
Those black and blue marks<br />
hemî leşê wê dapoşîn<br />
covering her body,<br />
ne nîşanin; ne bwîaxên resmî ne...<br />
not a symbol; not a portrait…<br />
Ew seçme ne û birîn.<br />
They are cuts and wounds.<br />
Ev girî û hawara diket jî - bi xudê nenazdarîne - ew êş û azarin.<br />
She cries and pleads for help – by god, they weren’t babied (spoiled) - they are suffering<br />
and hurt.<br />
Cergê wê birîn...ey Xudayê Mezin 10<br />
Her liver is wounded…O Great God,<br />
kî dê vê tifala birîndaru bê xudan tena ke?!<br />
who will comfort this wounded and orphaned child?!
306<br />
------------------------------------------------------<br />
Ey Xudayê Mezin,<br />
O Great God,<br />
Kî dê vê kîna reşa, wekî jehrê, wekî şevî bi ser vî welatî da digirît binbir û fena ket?!<br />
Who will eliminate and extinguish this black malice―like poison, like night―that is<br />
over this country?!<br />
* * *<br />
Evro spêdê<br />
This morning (When this day dawned)<br />
Merwayê babek hebû. 15<br />
Merwa had a father.<br />
Her gaveka<br />
Often<br />
destên xo bilnd kirban li milê xo dikir.<br />
(whenever) she lifted her arms, he would set her on his shoulder.<br />
Evro spêdê,<br />
When this day dawned<br />
Merwayê daykek hebû.<br />
Merwa had a mother.<br />
Her gaveka diber ra çûba 20<br />
Whenever she would pass by (her),<br />
she would kiss her.<br />
maçî dikir.<br />
---------------------------------------------------------<br />
Evro spêdê<br />
When this day dawned<br />
Merwayê du xwîşk û birayek hebûn.<br />
Merwa had two sisters and a brother.
307<br />
Bi qelem û defterên wan yarî dikirin.<br />
She played with their pens and books.<br />
Evro nîvro kes jê nema. 25<br />
In the middle of the day her family was no more (they were all taken away).<br />
Ey Xudayê Mezin,<br />
O Great God,<br />
kî dê vê hemî kîna reş binbir û fena ket?<br />
who will uproot and annihilate all this black malice?<br />
Ey Xudayê Mezin,<br />
O Great God<br />
Merwa ya digrît,<br />
Merwa is crying,<br />
kî dê tena ket?! 30<br />
who will comfort her?!<br />
Eger sibe ji birînên xo jî ra bû<br />
Even if tomorrow she recovers from her wounds,<br />
mezin bû û bû bwîk,<br />
(and) grows up to be a bride,<br />
kî dê karê wê ket u<br />
who shall make her beautiful (prepare her, make her ready), and<br />
kî dê dest û tilên wê xena ke?!<br />
who shall colour her hands and fingers with henna?!
308<br />
MT2<br />
by Mu’eyed Teyb<br />
translated by Şerzad Barzanî<br />
Xewinek<br />
A Dream<br />
Xewinekê bide min ez pê bijîm<br />
“Give me a dream to live with<br />
yan fireka jehirê ez pê bimirim.<br />
Or some poison to die with.”<br />
Gunnar Ekelof<br />
Swedish Poet<br />
Şivêdî, Da!<br />
Last night, Mom!<br />
Min xewinek dît!<br />
I saw a dream!<br />
Xewina te xêre, kurê min!<br />
Your dream is a blessing, my son!<br />
Hêdî bêje..<br />
Gently tell me..<br />
Dîwar bi guhin! 5<br />
The wall has ears!<br />
Yadê min dît..<br />
Dear Mother, I saw..<br />
goya zemîn dibû mehfwîrek<br />
the ball of the earth changing into a rug.<br />
Xudê ji asimana hate xwar.<br />
God at once descended from the heavens.<br />
Wî serek girt;<br />
He took one side
309<br />
min serek girit 10<br />
I took one side (the other).<br />
Me daquta..me daquta..me daquta<br />
We shook it, over and over again.<br />
Paş em firîn. Çûîne ser stêreka bilind..<br />
Then together we flew. We went on a star far away..<br />
Hemî çîa u bajêr u gund<br />
All of the mountains and cities and villages<br />
bûne..zeryek nivistî u ruîs.<br />
became a beautiful woman, sleeping and naked.<br />
Şane, şane me hêv kirê.. 15<br />
With pride, with pride we looked at it<br />
Ne tax maîne,<br />
There was no crown (district),<br />
ne pistal maîne u<br />
no (military) boot (authority) remained and<br />
ne polîs!!<br />
no police!!
310<br />
MT3<br />
by Mu’eyed Teyb<br />
translated by Şerzad Barzanî<br />
Fireka Baî<br />
A Sip of Wind<br />
Kurdistanê!<br />
Kurdistan!<br />
fireka baî..<br />
A sip of wind, (please),<br />
ji çîayekê befir lê maî..<br />
from the top of a snow capped mountain.<br />
Evroke..çavbeleka min..<br />
Today .. my black eyed girl..<br />
ya girêdaî 5<br />
is in chains<br />
li bin kwînekê reş u drîaî..<br />
under an impudent (black and torn) tent,<br />
li nav deşteka bê bab u daî..<br />
in the middle of a desert, without father and mother,<br />
roja arîaî..<br />
where the sun is terribly hot<br />
xîzê şarîaî..<br />
the sand is burning all over.<br />
Zerîa min ya 10<br />
My beauty too<br />
di xuhê ra maî..<br />
continued to perspire.<br />
ezê ditirsim..<br />
I am afraid
311<br />
ji dilbera dêm befir u xwîn<br />
of the sweetheart with the fair and rosy complexion<br />
ji enya kever..<br />
of the forehead covered with dark hair<br />
ji bejina şirîn 15<br />
for her sweet stature<br />
ji dilê evîn..<br />
for her amorous heart..<br />
lê bûî birîn..<br />
but it became a wound..<br />
ji cergê zozan..<br />
for (her) soul (lung) of the summer pasture..<br />
lê bûî kovan.<br />
but it became a sorrow.<br />
Ezê ditirsim.. 20<br />
I am afraid..<br />
roja arîaî..<br />
that the hot sun<br />
kirêt biket..<br />
will make her face ugly<br />
hizar deqa..li enîê bidet..<br />
by making a thousand moles on her face,<br />
rengê çîa..<br />
that the beauty of the mountains<br />
ji dêmî bibet! 25<br />
will be erased from her face.
312<br />
MX<br />
by Mesud Xalaf<br />
translated by Şamal Akreyî<br />
Dahola Êşê<br />
Drum of Pain<br />
Êş, destebirakê hezê ye,<br />
Pain is a companion of desire<br />
hez di zîndana leşê me de rizî ye.<br />
Desire in the prison of our body is decayed.<br />
Tu êdî ber bi nemana êşê ve diheliyayî.<br />
You are forever melting in order to reach the end of pain.<br />
Bejna te berhema derûna nepeniyê bû.<br />
Your stature was a creation full of secrets.<br />
Wekî berê nema têhna rojan dişikest, 5<br />
It is no longer as before (when it) was quenching the days’ thirst,<br />
Ne jî,<br />
Not also,<br />
wekî berê, te guh li ber sirûdên biharistana helbestê bel nedikir.<br />
As before, you didn’t listen to the poem of spring seasons<br />
Şînahî dihatin xewa me, hingê xewnên me şîn dibûn.<br />
We dreamt of greenness―thus our dreams were turning green (growing).<br />
Bê sînor difirîn xweziyên bê nav û nîşan,<br />
Desires without name and address were flying without limit.<br />
Em li ber derazînka hesreta xwe de, li xwe digeriyan, 10<br />
We were at our sorrow gate, looking for ourselves.<br />
Di kefa destên me de stêr dirêjiyan,<br />
From the palms of our hands stars were falling down.<br />
Asîman keçel dibû,<br />
Heaven (the sky) was becoming bald,
313<br />
Şev sêwî, tenha û belengaz.<br />
The night was and orphan, lonely and miserable.<br />
Min bê dengiya dengê te guhdarî dikir.<br />
I was listening to the silence of your voice.<br />
Carina jî zemawenda dîtinê dûr diket, 15<br />
Sometimes the festivity of the sight was also wandering far away,<br />
Carina jî, tu bê xatir diçûyî,<br />
Sometimes you were also leaving without farewell,<br />
Û rengê te li cê jivanê dima.<br />
And your color would remain at the place of rendevous.<br />
Belkî kefenekî spî bû ew şev,<br />
Perhaps that night was a white shroud,<br />
Belkî jî, ne rasthatina du hêsiran bû.<br />
Perhaps it was also the crossing of two tears.<br />
Min bê te, ji van şûnwaran bar nedikir, 20<br />
I without you, I was not leaving from this homeland,<br />
û nik dareke tûwê, min destmala te diveşart.<br />
and next to a mulberry tree, I hid your handkerchief.<br />
Dema ku tixûbên hezkirina te ziwa dibin,<br />
When the borders of your love are becoming empty,<br />
Ev cîhan tar û mar dibe ji peyvên mirina serwext.<br />
This world is becoming dark and forsaken from the words of timely death.<br />
Çima, dilo, tu hez dikî dûr bikevî?!<br />
Why, sweetheart, do you like to be far away?!<br />
Dizanim, 25<br />
I realize<br />
Teniyatî di rojên dûriyanê de,<br />
That loneliness in the distant days<br />
Sermediya veşartina tîke dilekî gunehkare,
314<br />
Is the eternity of hiding a broken down passion,<br />
Û aryanên ser lêveke xatirxwastiye.<br />
And the pains on a lip has been the bidding of farewell.<br />
Awirvedanên çiyayên kovanê, bi ser keskegotinên salên me de digirtin,<br />
The glances of the mountains of griefs are covering our years of fresh sayings<br />
Di wê werzê de kenê te pîrejinek bû, 30<br />
During that season your laughter was an old lady,<br />
Hebûna kulîlkan, di bin ebayê welatê tozê de vajî dibû,<br />
There were buds being turned upside down under the covering of the dusty land,<br />
Bijale bûn aşûpên bextewariyê,<br />
The visions of happiness were scattered,<br />
Hatine kuştin pirpirîkên dengê agirê birîndar,<br />
The butterflies of the sound of wounded fire were killed,<br />
Ji quntarên çiyayê Toros jî,<br />
Also, from the Toros mountain,<br />
Dengê bilûreke, xwedankuj 206 dihat. 35<br />
It is the sound of a flute, the killer was coming.<br />
Êdî, tu jî, ber bi hembêza jandariyê ve diçûyî û hêdî hêdî, hêmin û asûdeyî.<br />
You as well were approaching the embrace of pain and slowly becoming restful.<br />
Sîbera reşê şevê konê xwe vegirt ser bejna te.<br />
The shadow of the black night occupied its tent over your stature.<br />
206 The person taking ownership in doing the killing.
315<br />
SS1<br />
by Şaban Silêman<br />
translated by Ibrahim Abdullatif<br />
Gutgutik<br />
Rumors<br />
Gutgutkeka bazarî…..<br />
A rumor from the market…<br />
Yê dibêjin, tu heş min dikeyî?<br />
They are saying, do you love me?<br />
Pist pisteka dihête kirin....<br />
A secretive gossip is taking place….<br />
ku tu ya tu 'işqa min dikeyî .<br />
as if “will you love me” (“fall in love with me”)<br />
Vê gutgutkê ..... 5<br />
This gossip….<br />
Hindek yê ji keyfa pê firî.<br />
Some are flying out of happiness (on clouds).<br />
Hindek yê ji qehra pê mirî.<br />
Some have died by sorrow from it.<br />
Çîçik dara siharîya,<br />
The birds (in the) morning tree<br />
kurtîya duhî bu êk û dû vediguhêzin.<br />
exchange the summary of yesterday.<br />
Gulêt baxça êvarîya 10<br />
The flowers of the evening garden<br />
rwîdanêt nwî yêt rojane bu êk dibêjin.<br />
tell each other the new (fresh) daily news.<br />
Lê tinê gutgutikeke û pistpsteke<br />
But there is one gossip and rumor;
316<br />
nizanim direwe yan rastîyeke.<br />
I don’t know if it is a fact or a lie.<br />
Hind dibêjin ...............<br />
Some say……<br />
û dîtina êkê ji evîna min, 15<br />
and seeing someone for love,<br />
tu bûye agir û gurî<br />
you became the fire and flame<br />
roja paştir tu bibûye rejî û xwelî.<br />
(on) the day after you had become coal and ashes.<br />
Hind dibêjin,<br />
Some say,<br />
jimêjwere mêrga şaşa têlefona min<br />
for a long the plain of my telephone screen<br />
ji mesicêt te buharbu, 20<br />
from your messages was spring,<br />
maç û dila mil bi mil rêz û qentar bu.<br />
(images of) kisses and hearts, shoulder to shoulder, (were) in line and qentar. 207<br />
Hind dibêjin ................<br />
Some say………….<br />
tu ya digel min hatîye dîtin,<br />
(that) you have been seen with me,<br />
sîyar li pişta 'ewrekî.<br />
riding on the top of a cloud.<br />
Di xilweta 'eşqê di cizbe çuyî. 25<br />
In the passion (heat) of love you indulged.<br />
Emê li pişt stêra berze bûîn,<br />
207 Meaning is uncertain; qenter means ‘a line of camels.’
317<br />
We have become lost beyond the stars,<br />
û pirça te di destê minda<br />
and your hair in my hands<br />
ya bûye sîlaveka reş.<br />
has become a black waterfall.<br />
Ji gurrîya birîsêt maçêt me,<br />
From the flame (heat) of the lighting of our kisses,<br />
şeva reş dibû rojek geş. 30<br />
the dark night became a radiant day.<br />
Lê tinê gutgutkek û pistpisteke;<br />
But there is one gossip and rumor;<br />
Ez nizanim direwe yan rastîyeke.<br />
I don’t know if it is a lie or a truth.<br />
Lê ev gutgutke hîvîyeke.<br />
But this rumor is a hope.<br />
Xewneka jînê bi cih diînît.<br />
It is a dream that is bestowing life.<br />
Lê ev pist piste dermaneke; 35<br />
But this is rumor is a remedy;<br />
tev birîna dikewînît.<br />
it heals wounds.<br />
Ger direw bû,<br />
If it was a lie,<br />
eve xoştirîn direwe.<br />
this is the best lie.<br />
Di bajêrê me da hatîye kirin.<br />
It is has been done (told) in our cities.<br />
Eger rast bû, webû. 40<br />
If it was correct, it was the truth.
318<br />
Eve dergehê beheştê;<br />
This is the door to heaven;<br />
bi dar û melben li ber min hate vekirin.<br />
with (its) wood and columns it has opened for me.
319<br />
SS2<br />
by Şaban Silêman<br />
translated by Ibrahim Abdullatif<br />
'Eşqa Dihokî Ya<br />
Dohukian Love<br />
Xatwîna min..<br />
My dear..<br />
Li kulanêt bajêrê me<br />
In the alleys of our city<br />
hero evîneka dihête tîror kirin.<br />
everyday a love becomes (the victim) of terror.<br />
Evcar çewa, 'eşq bi aşkrayî―<br />
This time, love is in open view (not in secret)―<br />
ji me dihêt qebwîl kirin? 5<br />
will it be accepted of us?<br />
Xatwîna min..li bajêrê me<br />
My dear..in our city<br />
ew kiça bi 'eşq gulekê,<br />
that girl with a love flower,<br />
yan bi evîn silavekê,<br />
or with a love-filled hello,<br />
yan ji dildarî ramwîsanekê<br />
or from passion a kiss<br />
pêşkêşî kurekî biket, 10<br />
presents to a boy,<br />
êkser dihête serjêkirin.<br />
instantly becomes beheaded.<br />
evca çawan<br />
So how to
320<br />
'eşq û evîn bi aşkrayî―<br />
Love (Arabic) and Love (Kurdish) in open―<br />
Li vî bajêrî dê ji me dihête qebwîl kirin?<br />
In this city will this be accepted of us?<br />
* * *<br />
Xatwîna min.. 15<br />
My dear..<br />
ev di bajêre.. seyîr, û entîkeye.<br />
this in the city.. is unexpected and atonishing.<br />
Bi roj, hemî miruvên Xwedêne.<br />
In the daytime, everybody is pious.<br />
Bu rwîmetîyê, hemî di lêne.<br />
For show (to others), everyone is ready.<br />
Hemî tobedarin, 208<br />
Everyone is penitent,<br />
teqwadarin, sucdeberin― 20<br />
religious, bowing (in prayer to God)―<br />
û bi şev û nîv şevan,<br />
and at night and in the middle of the night,<br />
behra pitir, gîyanewerin,<br />
most of them are animals,<br />
bêy êkudu bi heramî.<br />
without each other’s knowledge (secretly) in sin.<br />
Li pawanê duxînêt hev diçerin.<br />
In path of each other’s belts and zippers they prey.<br />
* * *<br />
208 One who promises to never do something unrighteous again.
321<br />
Xatwîna min.. 25<br />
My dear..<br />
Li Dihokê<br />
In Dohuk<br />
pîrekalêt heştê salî<br />
80-year-old elderly men<br />
bi hêz û vejena dolarî―<br />
with strength and the shaking of the dollar―<br />
pîlan li berin.<br />
plans are in mind.<br />
Her şev kiçekê di hingêvin, 30<br />
Each night they descend upon a girl,<br />
desta li sîng u<br />
hands on chest and<br />
berêt çarde salî digerin<br />
on the frontage of 14-year olds they journey<br />
heta xudanêt bazbenda û niviştuka.<br />
until the vendors of horoscopes and niviștuka (religious writing to ward off evil spirits).<br />
Bêy (bsm allh) û bi hîmmeta mîrê ecina,<br />
Without (in the name of Allah) and with power of the king of the Jin,<br />
liser bişkojkêt memka diçerin. 35<br />
on top of nipples of the breast they graze.<br />
Û sîyasetvan û avakerêt medenîyetê<br />
And the politicians and the builders of civility<br />
bi bend û birge û peyrewê mafê afretê,<br />
with the lines (of articles) and lines (of laws) and programs of (in the name of) women<br />
rights,<br />
her şev her êkî li her teniştekê,<br />
each night each one of them next to each other (in the bed),<br />
du li berin.
322<br />
two are with them.<br />
di ser hindê ra, li Dihokê 40<br />
On top of that, in Dohuk<br />
hemî bu 'eşq û evînê,<br />
all of them for love (Arabic) and love (Kurdish),<br />
lomekar û hetikberin.<br />
are criticizers and defamers.<br />
* * *<br />
Xatwîna min,<br />
My dear,<br />
ez çi bikem<br />
what can I do<br />
ku em li Dihukê bizanîn, 45<br />
when we in Dohuk know<br />
merem ji evînê bi tenê―<br />
that the purpose of love is only―<br />
ne girtin û hilmirîstina lêvaye.<br />
not holding (kissing) and kissing lips (only).<br />
Merem ji evînê bi tenê―<br />
The purpose of love is only―<br />
ne talankirina sîng û beraye.<br />
not ransacking the chest (breasts) and frontage (of the female).<br />
Merem ji evînê bi tenê― 50<br />
The purpose of love is only―<br />
ne têk şidandna kimaxa û<br />
not holding tight (with hands) the thighs and<br />
têk werdana pêyaye.<br />
cuddling of the feet.<br />
Merem ji evînê
323<br />
The intention of love<br />
ewe―<br />
is that―<br />
mirovî dilekê pak hebît, 55<br />
for one to have a clean heart,<br />
mirov bi zanît<br />
for one to know<br />
―cihê mirovî bitinê têdaye.<br />
―there is space for only person (in that person’s heart).<br />
3/12/2000
Appendix B – Interviews<br />
The following interviews with Badirxan Sindî, Mihsin Quçan, Mu’eyed Teyb and<br />
Reşîd Findî have been lightly edited for readability. The interview with Badirxan Sindî<br />
was done completely in English. The interview with Reşîd Findî was mostly done with a<br />
translator; however, occasionally Findî interjected English into the conversation. For the<br />
other two interviews, I utilized a translator. Note that the translator changed the<br />
interviewees’ responses, which were spoken in first person, into third person. I have left<br />
these translations as they are, in order to do the least editing possible.<br />
324
325<br />
INTERVIEW WITH REŞÎD FINDÎ<br />
Mr. Findî is the chief editor of the five volumes of Ahmed Nalbend’s poetry. The<br />
interview was held in November of 2009 at Spirez Printing. The translator was Silêman<br />
Silêman.<br />
EM: I’ll begin with some questions just concerning use of the interview, to use it<br />
for my research. So, I need your permission to use this interview in my research, in my<br />
<strong>thesis</strong> paper.<br />
RF: Yes, that is right.<br />
EM: And is it OK if this is published even in a journal or in a book.<br />
RF: No problem.<br />
EM: Can you first just state your name?<br />
RF: Reşîd Findî Yehya Dosky, the vice-president of the Kurdish Academy<br />
EM: Can you tell us what your job was on Nalbend?<br />
RF: My sole purpose was the editor of Nalbend’s creative poetry. I was the main<br />
editor and one of the main gentlemen who typed his poetry. His friend―Nalbend’s friend<br />
named Tahir Mahi―Tahir Mahi collected all his poems on paper, but in an old type of<br />
writing. Then after that, we collected them. We collected and typed them, and afterward<br />
typeset them for the press.<br />
EM: That’s a lot of work.<br />
RF: That collection of his poems is five books. I read all of them three times.<br />
EM: What do we know of Nalbend’s beginning? What started him writing<br />
poetry?<br />
RF: Nalbend didn’t go to school. His main school was going to the mosque. After<br />
that he got his mullah cleric, religious title. With his religious reading he picked up<br />
writing poetry. He was born in 1890. During that era the Turkish were ruling, the
326<br />
Ottomans. It was during this time that he picked up his religious skills, and then while<br />
going to the mosque, picking up his religious skills, that’s where he picked up his poetry<br />
skills. In the year 1918 the First World War ended. The Iraqi state was founded in 1921.<br />
After the First World War, in 1921, what he found was that the Kurdish culture and our<br />
main identity were lost. That’s where he picked up and he started writing poetry. Wilson<br />
was the president of the United States. Wilson, the president of the United States back in<br />
1921, he pretty much guaranteed that after the war each prominent state or country would<br />
be recognized as a country. One of the major countries that occupied the Middle East,<br />
especially Iraq, was Britain. They divided Kurdistan into many regions. That’s when they<br />
split Kurdistan, which is the way it remains, between Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Syria. This<br />
kind of lost the whole identity of Kurdistan and its poetry, because now it’s divided four<br />
ways. This division was one of the main sources for their poetry, their love―from the<br />
1920s to the 1930s. And that’s when they (Nalbend and other writers in general) started<br />
writing about the Kurdish people and the culture.<br />
EM: So was Nalbend influenced by other poets?<br />
RF: One of his influences was Xanî…and Cezîrî, they were two of his influences.<br />
The religious side of the poetry came because he was a Muslim cleric. The side of his<br />
love poetry came from the fact that he had three wives―three wives but not at the same<br />
time. One wife died, the second wife died, the third wife died. So that’s why his love<br />
poetry…it’s so powerful. Because he actually felt it, you know, he lived it. All of his<br />
wives died, the three of his wives: the first one died, the second one died, and the third<br />
one died. And so that’s why his love poetry is very strong. And then towards the end of<br />
his life expectancy, that’s where you see the erotic side of his poetry. His more political<br />
side of the poetry came in 1921, after, you know, we didn’t get our state or country, and<br />
he was a Muslim cleric. He saw that there was a lot of Arabic in the parliament, and, you<br />
know, the Kurdish people were not having their say. So that’s where the political or the<br />
antagonistic side of his poetry came from. The side of the poetry where he talks about<br />
other people in a nice way, or puts them on a high pedestal, is because all of these people<br />
helped him in his poetry, or whatever he needed help with. So that’s why there’s some
327<br />
poetry that he wrote that deals with a certain person and he praises him or talks in a good<br />
way about him, and this is because sometime in his life that gentleman helped him with<br />
something. It may have been financially, it may have been emotionally, it may have been<br />
with a book or it may have been with a home or anything of that kind.<br />
In 1961 he joined the Kurdish revolution. In 1963, after two years of the<br />
revolution, the Ba’ath party came to be recognized in Iraq. In that same year, the Ba’ath<br />
attacked the Kurdish people. Their military charged through Kurdistan. He was feeling as<br />
if they were coming for him, because of his writing. Because of this, the fear of being<br />
captured by them, and God knows what was going to happen to him, he actually stabbed<br />
himself multiple times in the stomach. In September 1963 he killed himself because of<br />
the fear of the Ba’ath party capturing him.<br />
EM: Here in Dohuk?<br />
RF: In the region of Barwarê. He was in a village, a village named Xişk Haşa. He<br />
killed himself in Xişk Haşa. After he killed himself, the Kurdish military (peşmergas)―<br />
they attacked the Ba’ath party and forced them to run back down toward the south,<br />
toward Baghdad. And they feared for their lives and ran all the way towards Dohuk.<br />
Unfortunately the sad thing, see, is he killed himself before that happened.<br />
SS: The next thing he’s going to talk about is some types of his poetry.<br />
EM: Let me ask one more quick question. Is Nalbend the name of a village?<br />
RF: His full name is Ahmed Amîn. Oh, nalbendî is the word for someone who<br />
fixes the hooves of a horse. His dad―that was his profession. I don’t know the name in<br />
English, the profession where they put the horseshoe on the feet.<br />
EM: Blacksmith?<br />
SS: He says the name in English is “blacksmith.”<br />
RF: His dad―that was his profession. He (Nalbend) chose to go and study<br />
religion. He didn’t follow in his dad’s blacksmithing work, but took his father’s title. He
328<br />
was from the village of Amediya. His dad was originally from Amediya, but his<br />
occupation was based in Barmarnê.<br />
When Nalbend came into poetry, he was one of the new poets, the new form of<br />
the Kurdish language. The poets before Nalbend wrote in three different languages: in<br />
Farsi, in Kurdish, in Arabic. When he came and he started writing, he kind of distanced<br />
himself from those poets and wrote only in Kurdish. It was not only him; there were other<br />
poets. About 20 poets…Salih Hyusî, Mela Anwir Mahî…<br />
SS: The poets he just named were a few of them that followed him and only<br />
wrote in Kurdish.<br />
RF: He loved poetry so much and was so good at it that he’d use any scrap, he’d<br />
have a cigarette box, and write on that cigarette box. And he would take a napkin and<br />
write a poem on it. Anytime he wrote a poem, he’d pretty much duplicate it. He wrote<br />
two copies. One copy for him, one for his good friend Tahir Mahi.<br />
EM: What are the classifications, the themes, subjects, of Nalbend’s poetry. He<br />
mentioned them in a previous conversation. I didn’t record them.<br />
RF: The themes of Nalbend’s poetry were love poetry (evîn dar), erotic poetry,<br />
religious (dînî) poetry and, I guess, politics (sîasî) you can say…..and Kurdish culture.<br />
That was the fifth one.<br />
EM: What forms did he use? Çwarkî?<br />
RF: Çar. Ruba’i. The new (modern) type of poetry he didn’t write.<br />
EM: Did he write any in the style of tercîa band?<br />
RF: I haven’t seen it.<br />
SS: Is that a Kurdish word?<br />
EM: Kurdish and Arabic.<br />
RF: The example that you wrote, he said that we have the same type of examples.<br />
It’s very, very familiar. They call that Zarrora Şiarê, ‘necessary.’ It’s Arabic and means
329<br />
‘necessary.’ Sometimes, like you said, for example, they’d take the Turkish Kurdish, and,<br />
because of that word’s syllable length or sound, put that word in the poem. So sometimes,<br />
like you said, it’s where one word might have been too long, or you reached 16 (but want<br />
15). They’ll take one word that has the same meaning to reach that 15, or sometimes<br />
they’ll use the abbreviation. You can see for instance in some of the examples when he<br />
(Nalbend) used the months in Arabic. But he’d tweak it so that it fits to his poem. It’s the<br />
same month but written in a different type of form, abbreviated to fit the style of his<br />
poetry. The early poets were really good at this when they wrote in different languages.<br />
And sometimes you couldn’t distinguish the differences. Nalbend also wrote some of<br />
these types of poetry. These were some of their experiences of the early poets and their<br />
knowledge of three, the ones that we know of, three languages, which is Farsi, Arabic<br />
and Kurdish, Turkish. There might’ve been more. This is what they know for sure. This<br />
knowledge of language was kind of like a bakery with dough. However they wanted to<br />
form the dough, they could form their poetry.<br />
EM: For the ruba’iyat, the çar, are there different names for the different qafîas?<br />
209<br />
RF: He said if he had more time presently, he’d bring you all the types of qafîa.<br />
Right now he can’t remember. But in the next meeting, he’ll be more than happy to tell<br />
you.<br />
them.<br />
EM: I can see different qafîas. I see but I want to know if there are names for<br />
RF: Next time I’ll bring them for you. 210<br />
209 My present understanding of the word qafîa is that it means ‘rhyme scheme’ or perhaps ‘verse form.’<br />
210 I was not able to meet with Mr. Findî again during this time of research.
330<br />
INTERVIEW WITH BADIRXAN SINDÎ<br />
The interview was held in Sindî’s home in the Fall of 2009. It was conducted entirely in<br />
English.<br />
EM: First, Doctor, thank you for all your help thus far and the opportunity to ask<br />
you some questions?<br />
BS: Yes. You’re welcome, anytime.<br />
EM: First, can I ask you to state your full name?<br />
BS: My name is Badirxan Abdula Sindî<br />
EM: Thanks. And regarding these questions I’m going to ask, and your answers,<br />
is it your understanding then that, is it OK for me to use them for my linguistics study, for<br />
my paper.<br />
BS: Yes, I agree with you to use all of this information.<br />
EM: And you understand that these things could be published in a journal.<br />
BS: Yes.<br />
begin?<br />
EM: Thank you. First, can you tell me how did your interest in writing poetry<br />
BS: In the beginning, yes. When I was in secondary school, I remember that I<br />
was really interested in reading poetry. But at that time it was forbidden for us in<br />
Kurdistan, especially in Dohuk and Zaxo, to talk about Kurdish literature or Kurdish<br />
poems. So at that time, most of the people here in Dohuk didn’t know that there was<br />
Kurdish literature or Kurdish poets. They didn’t know. But I had heard when I was in<br />
college―after that stage―I heard that there were two famous poets. One was Ahmed<br />
Cezîrî and the other was Ahmed Xanî. Ahmed Cezîrî is usually called Melaye Cezîrî. I<br />
tried to get their literature work, their poems. It was so difficult to get them, but finally I<br />
got one, a hand written copy of Melaye Cezîrî and really liked it. That was in 1966 or<br />
‘67. And after one year, I got some of Ahmed Xanî’s work, and since that time I started<br />
to study Kurdish literature and to look for Kurdish literature, and I tried to get some
331<br />
contact with poets. Indeed, my first drive into looking for Kurdish literature at that time<br />
was the feeling of Kurdishness. And Kurdishness means “the feeling of being a Kurd” or<br />
the feeling that I am a Kurdish man and I have the right to be like all the people who have<br />
their freedom and independence―and one of the markers of our cultural identity is our<br />
language and our literature. Because, as you know―and I think we talked about this<br />
subject last time―we have a very big problem, which is the Kurdish problem. Kurdistan<br />
is divided into four pieces and is ruled by four foreign countries, four foreign<br />
governments: Turkey, Iran, Iraq, Syria. The drive was patriotic. This was my drive to<br />
look for our Kurdish literature. And when I was in the college, I started to write some<br />
simple poems about Kurdistan and about our rights, and these simple poems became<br />
songs. The students, Kurdish students in the university in Baghdad―not in Kurdistan,<br />
because at that time we did not have a university here―the Kurdish students started to<br />
sing these poems, and that’s why I felt very happy and encouraged to write more. Yes.<br />
So, this was my start with Kurdish literature.<br />
EM: You mentioned Ahmed Cezîrî and Ahmed Xanî. Who are your favorite<br />
poets, and why do you like them?<br />
BS: Yes. I can’t say who is my favorite, Ahmed Xanî or Melaye Cezîrî. I love<br />
both of them, but I love Ahmed Cezîrî as a poet of poetry technique and a poet of love<br />
and emotional feeling. And I love Ahmed Xanî as a man who addressed the Kurdish<br />
issue, because he was a patriotic poet and he had philosophical ways in thinking. So we<br />
can consider Ahmed Xanî one of the best Kurdish thinkers. He was so clever in bringing<br />
logic and thoughts into the poem. So really, I respect both of them. And I can say that if I<br />
am a poet, I can say I am a student of two teachers―Ahmed Xanî and Melaye Cezîrî.<br />
EM: Well, I think you’re a poet. Many people are reading your work, for sure.<br />
Can you speak about changes that have occurred in Bahdini poetry, both good and bad?<br />
BS: Actually, because of the political situation, most of our poets of this<br />
generation, and the young poets―they didn’t read the classic literature and they have no<br />
idea about what has been written before now. Because most of this literature was
332<br />
forbidden, and they started after the Kurdish society here in Iraq got its freedom; that’s<br />
when they started to read and write in the Kurdish language. So they are beginners. They<br />
began with no roots really―with no real roots, literature roots. They try to copy the<br />
available literature of other countries or other nations. So, we can say there are a lot of<br />
poets here in Dohuk―and even in Sulemaniya and Erbil 211 ―who just imitate the<br />
Palestinian poets, French poets, Italian poets, American poets. They read some translated<br />
work and they try to copy the same experience and the same literature, but they put it in<br />
the Kurdish language. As I think about it, this is a bad thing…maybe a bad thing.<br />
Because I believe that the original literature is the literature which grew in this society<br />
with a good respect to the past and with a good view to the future. That is why we can see<br />
a lot of work in Badinan and Soran. Some poets who think these are the modern poems―<br />
They think that modern poetry is when you say something illogical, when you say some<br />
strange things, when you say some nasty things, when you try to be strangers in your<br />
society. They think this is modern literature. They try to pretend that they are the<br />
generation of renewing the literature. And some of them say, no, we are not renewing the<br />
literature; we are establishing the literature and everything that has been said before us, it<br />
is not literature. To them, Kurdish literature is starting now. These are extremists and<br />
most of the people―they don’t like this sort of literature because they say they can’t even<br />
understand what they are saying when reading these poems. Something strange.<br />
Something foreign from logic. Even the poet sometimes doesn’t know what he is saying.<br />
But on the other side, we have got some Kurdish poets who have done respectable work<br />
and they try to give a message through their poems, and depicted themselves. They read<br />
the previous work, like Xanî and Cezîrî and the whole history of Kurdish literature. So<br />
we have some famous and very good poets in Kurdistan in general, such as Sherko Bekas<br />
in Sulemaniya, Abdulrahman Mezurî in Badinan, Mu’eyed Teyb in Badinan, as well as<br />
some others.<br />
211 Duhok, Sulemaniya and Erbil are cities in the Kurdish region of Northern Iraq.
333<br />
EM: We talked about five different names for your types of poems. We say theme<br />
in English…subjects. What are the Kurdish words for those classifications? For example,<br />
patriotic. 212<br />
BS: We say niştimanî, hozana niştimanî. It means the poems that describe<br />
patriotic feeling.<br />
EM: Eulogy<br />
BS: zêmar, hozana zêmarî –And zêmar itself means a sort of crying―when you<br />
are alone and lose something, some valuable thing, especially when we lose one of our<br />
relatives or somebody close to us. He travelled away and never returned or passed away.<br />
So, this sort of crying or this sort of sadness we call zêmar, which is different from the<br />
word girîyan. The word girîyan means ‘crying.’ This is near to the English word, girîyan<br />
and crying. But girian is the crying when everywhere you can cry, like outside the home<br />
or at home. People can hear you when you cry. This is crying. But zêmar is when you cry<br />
in your loneliness, and you are alone and you cry for some personal thing. So, we call it<br />
zêmar.<br />
EM: We had the subject of love or a romantic poem. Do you have two words to<br />
describe those two, or is there just one word?<br />
BS: In Kurdish we use the word evîn and evînî―the same thing. We use it for the<br />
meaning of ‘love.’ We don’t use ‘romantic’ because romantic is not in the Kurdish<br />
language. But I think there is a difference between romantic poems and love poems,<br />
although we don’t have this sort of classification, or these two words like you have. You<br />
have love and romantic love, and you can use both of them for the same meaning, maybe.<br />
But I think, I prefer to use the word romantic for poems―for my poems―because I<br />
212 During my initial conversation with Sindî, which was not recorded, he shared the Kurdish names of the<br />
themes he writes in. I had taken down some notes, to which I was referring during the interview. Sindî<br />
agreed with my English translations of his Kurdish terms as we talked about them during this original<br />
discussion.
334<br />
understand love. There is no real love without respect. Love is mixed with respect. That<br />
is why I prefer the word romantic rather, or more, than the word love itself. I don’t know<br />
if I explained it very well to you―my idea.<br />
EM: Another one we talked about was social issues, problems in society. What<br />
would you call these?<br />
BS: We call it cevakî. Cevak means ‘society’ and cevaki means ‘social.’ So, I<br />
have some poems which deal with our social problems in Kurdistan. And we have a lot of<br />
social problems, because Kurdish society is changing from old values to new values,<br />
from old culture to new culture. That is why we have a lot of problems related to or due<br />
to these transitions. We’ve got some people in the traditional class and some in the<br />
modern class in our society. We’ve got some people who believe in religion deeply and<br />
we’ve got, on the other side, some people who do not believe in religion at all. We’ve got<br />
people who believe in our customs―Kurdish customs―and we have another side; we’ve<br />
got a lot of people who believe in European customs and modern customs. So there is a<br />
contradiction in our social life. In my poetry, I try to describe these problems and to find<br />
some solutions to our problems. So, we can call these poems as poems of the social field.<br />
EM: The last one is secularization.<br />
BS: Yes, yes…Our Kurdish language has been affected too much by Arabic<br />
because of respecting Islam and the Islamic Qur’an, the Islamic Bible. We lost a lot of<br />
our traditions, our customs. We started to think as an Arab somehow because of the<br />
religion. Most of the people think that Arabic language is the language of God because<br />
the Qur’an is written in Arabic. They believe that in the second life all nations will speak<br />
in Arabic. Most of the people in my country respect Arabic language more than their own<br />
language. But now we have started to think in different way. I am one of these poets, but<br />
there are a limited number of secular poets. Because you have to be very brave to write<br />
on this subject. And this feeling is reflected in my poems, a few words in one poem or<br />
sometimes in the whole poem. You can feel this in a lot of my poems.
335<br />
EM: Thank you. Can you describe the different forms you use? The first one was<br />
2 lines. You called it methnawî.<br />
BS: methnawî, yes<br />
EM: Another one you called çuarkî. There are different types of çuarkî.<br />
BS: çuarkî, yes.<br />
EM: Sometimes the first and the third, the second and the fourth. You also<br />
mentioned tercîa band. Can you say something about that and what it means?<br />
BS: Tercîa band is two words. Tercîa means ‘repeating, to repeat something.’ It<br />
is an Arabic word. Band means ‘to tie something’ and it is a Persian and Kurdish word.<br />
Band sometimes means ‘rope.’ It means ‘belt.’ It means ‘arrested man.’ Sometimes it<br />
means ‘slave.’ Sometimes it means a man who is always related to some other man. That<br />
is why in Badinan, we say ez banî. It means ‘I am in your band, I am your servant, I am<br />
your slave, you are my lord.’ Can you imagine the originality of this word?<br />
EM: It expresses humility?<br />
BS: Yes. Tercîa band means when you have to repeat something and to fasten the<br />
last word with the whole line in the poem.<br />
EM: Are there any other forms that you do not use that other poets use?<br />
BS: Actually, I use the Classical way and the Modern way. I use both of them.<br />
EM: Beside methnawi, çuarkî, tercîa band, there are no other names?<br />
BS: There is another way. There was another way. Now nobody uses that way of<br />
writing a poem, which consists of a line of Kurdish―one line using the Kurdish<br />
language, another line using the Arabic or Persian. Melaye Cezîrî used this way in some<br />
poems. I haven’t used it because I try to use only Kurdish. I would say that you only find<br />
a very few non-Kurdish words in my poems. All of my work is written in a pure Kurdish<br />
language. So I didn’t use that style, mixing Arabic and Kurdish language.<br />
EM: Are there any forms that are uniquely Kurdish?
336<br />
BS: Most of our styles in writing poems―it’s the same as those used in Iran or in<br />
Arabic language or even in Turkish. All these nations have the same ways of writing<br />
poems.<br />
EM: And you mentioned that the meter, or the number of syllables in poems―Is<br />
this always the choice of the author, or do you have names for the length of lines or<br />
meters?<br />
BS: It starts from six to seven and goes up to 16; 16 is the top. It is the poet’s<br />
choice how to write. This we call it “the way” of the poem. But in Arabic language, there<br />
is something more complicated than our style. They call it bahar. Bahar means ‘the sea.’<br />
There are 16 oceans or seas in Arabic language. It is so very complicated and our<br />
Classical poets―Kurdish poets―used these bahars, like Melaye Cezîrî. It gives the<br />
poems more rhythm and more music, really. It gives the poems a sort of music. It is<br />
something like musical tones and the time in musical notes. Every sign in musical writing<br />
is dependent on the time, half or quarter. When we use this 16 or 14 we…well, two things<br />
control us in this measurement―the vowel and the consonant. (pause in interview)<br />
EM: When we paused, you mentioned the special form in Arabic that is very<br />
difficult. We are saying that for the length of a sentence―the line in poetry―the poet is<br />
limited by the vowel and consonant. What were your thoughts when you said that? You<br />
were going to say something else.<br />
BS: This is the basic thing. In Arabic poems and Kurdish poems, always in the<br />
area of the Middle East―this is the basic measure of a poem, the “way” of the poem.<br />
Because as you know, any speech in the world is based on vowels and consonants. So,<br />
when we try to analyze any line in traditional or Classical poems, you will find the same<br />
number from the first line to the final line. This is the simple way of measuring the<br />
poems. But in Arabic, as I told you, there are the bahars. They developed something<br />
more complicated from this basic thing, vowels and consonants. They derived 16 aspects<br />
of measurements or 16 different styles of measuring the sound, such as VCCCV, VCVCVC,
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CVVC, and each one gives you a sort of a music. I respect this thing, but it is so difficult<br />
and so complicated.<br />
EM: In the traditional poem, what can a poet do to make a line fit the meter, for<br />
example, if it is 15 syllables and he wants only 14? Can he change spelling?<br />
BS: If you change the spelling you get something. We call it hozana, ‘poem,’<br />
leng. 213 Leng describes a man who has some difficulty with his legs so that when he<br />
walks, he can’t walk in a normal way. So if you change the spelling, you’ll get a leng<br />
poem. And this is not good for a poet to have a leng. It’s a handicapped line. You have to<br />
change the words and find the right one which gives the same meaning with the right<br />
measurement of the syllables. To make the total of the line go with the other lines, 16 or<br />
15 or 8 or 9. It’s up to you.<br />
EM: Sometimes in American poetry, and I think you see this sometimes in<br />
Shakespeare, he will take a letter out. For example, the word “shower.” Like a rain<br />
shower. But it will be spelled as if it is one syllable not two. You say the word “shower”<br />
but when it is said in the poem its ‘show’r,’ and it’s spelled s-h-o-w-‘-r. The ‘e’ is taken<br />
out. Do you understand? So, can you do this in Kurdish?<br />
BS: Yes, we do this in Kurdish. This is because Kurdish has some subdialects.<br />
The people in Zaxo [where Sindî is from] speak differently from the people in Amedy<br />
and Akre and Dohuk. Sometimes the people in Amedy omit one letter, one sound, when<br />
they speak, while in Zaxo they pronounce the whole word. So our poets here or in<br />
Sulemaniya or in Hawler (the Kurdish name for Erbil) get an advantage from these<br />
differences between the subdialects. I am from Zaxo, but when the word I need doesn’t<br />
go with my poem, I’ll take it out and use the same word in a subdialect that consists of<br />
one syllable, not two, like in my subdialect. For example, I take it from Akrê or Amedîya<br />
and use it in my poem to go with other lines in my poem. Do you understand me now?<br />
213 The word hozan is another word for a poem or poetry. The word Sindî describes here is leng, or lang,<br />
which Chyet (2003:348) lists as meaning ‘lame, limping’ or ‘awkward.’
338<br />
EM: So a word has to exist already elsewhere so people understand? So you have<br />
to use a word from a dialect that exists?<br />
BS: Yes. I can give you an example about this thing. Like to say çend car tu<br />
hati?―çend car, which means ‘how many times,’ çend car. In Zaxo they say çend car.<br />
The last letter is r. Çend carA..tu hatî? Çend cara tu hatî? In Akrê or in Amedîya, they<br />
say çend ca tu hati? The r is omitted now. Çend ca, which means çend cara; the r is<br />
omitted. So if I’m writing a poem with 15, and I put çend cara, and it becomes 16, I’ll<br />
take out çend cara and put çend ca, because it gives the same meaning. But çend ca, so<br />
it’s one syllable less. There are a lot of examples which gives the poet some ability. It<br />
gives the chance to vary.<br />
EM: Yes. You said the end of the line is called qafîa.<br />
BS: Yes. Actually, the qafîa will be nicer and more musical if the last two letters<br />
are alike, not just the last one letter, as in ra. Like, you say bira, and the second line is<br />
dira. It means ‘a lot of areas.’ And the third line is çira. Çira means ‘why’ in some<br />
places. And you say, gira; it means ‘some people holding something.’ It is not just the a<br />
but r and a. It makes the poem stronger and more perfect. And some poets use the three<br />
last letters the same. This is so difficult because the alternatives will be less than one<br />
letter, the alternatives of words that end in the same three letters. I try to use two letters. I<br />
prefer to use two letters because society sometimes needs a lot of music of the poem, to<br />
make them listen to you. This is one of our problems, when you have a message in your<br />
poem. When you really care to make the people listen to you, you have to put something<br />
in your poem to make them listen. Sometimes it is the meaning, some brave words or<br />
sometimes the music itself. So I have to think in my poem, I have to dance in my poem to<br />
get their attention to make them listen to what I’d like to say.<br />
EM: On to a different subject. I believe you said something about a moment of<br />
time that you were feeling something so strongly that you had to write the poem as free.<br />
It was your first.<br />
BS: Yes. It was the time I wrote my first free poem. Free of ‘way’ (form)
339<br />
and free of qafîa. Because I couldn’t write at that time, because the subject was so<br />
passionate, so emotional, and I was really astonished when I had that experience.<br />
Everything was off. Everything was gone. That was when all the Kurdish fighters had to<br />
withdraw to Iran and put down their weapons, and there was no revolution. This was in<br />
1975 when the Shah of Iran and Saddam Hussein―they signed what they called the<br />
Algerian Treaty. So when I heard it, I was shocked and I couldn’t believe that everything<br />
was over, because Kurdish people and the fighters had been fighting for years―from ‘61<br />
to ’75. It was for 14 years. And I started to write my poem, and I felt, really, I can’t use<br />
the qafîa, I can’t cater to the vowels and consonants. So I put my poem about that subject<br />
in a free style, and that was my first time when I wrote in this style. And later I started to<br />
write some other poems in this way.<br />
way?<br />
EM: Did you say you were the first to do this? Did other Kurdish poets write this<br />
BS: Yes. There were some others before me who wrote Kurdish poems in<br />
Dohuk―not in Sulemaniya―but in Dohuk. They wrote some poems without qafîa, but<br />
there was measurement and ‘way.’ But I wrote at that time without qafîa and without<br />
‘way.’ Pure, free poem. So, that is what Mu’eyed Teyb said on the back of my book.<br />
EM: Can you say something about the performance style of poets? Kurdish poets<br />
perform their poems when they present them. They don’t just speak them; they have a<br />
way of saying them. Where did this way come from? Is it Kurdish? Do other cultures<br />
perform this way or is this a Kurdish way?<br />
BS: No, I can’t say it is a Kurdish way. It is something in the Middle East. The<br />
Persian people―they read in the same way. The Arab people read in the same way. It is a<br />
common way.<br />
EM: It’s very old, I guess.<br />
BS: Yes.
340<br />
EM: Is there anything else you think I should know about analyzing Kurdish<br />
poetry? Are there any other thoughts you have that will help me in analyzing Kurdish<br />
poetry? Things I haven’t asked you.<br />
BS: Yes. (pausing of recording)<br />
EM: What do you see as the ambition, the drive, the desire or things that poets<br />
past, present and future have? What they hope to gain?<br />
BS: In my opinion, if you put most of the Kurdish poets in the same room,<br />
together their ambition would be for Kurdish independence. To have our independent<br />
state which we call dawlet. We want to have our freedom and, according to the human<br />
rights, we have full right to get rid of this situation which was established by Britain after<br />
the First World War. We need to be just like Persian people or Turkish. We need to be an<br />
independent state. Some of the poets―they deal with this subject openly. Some others<br />
like to but don’t write about it for some political reasons maybe. Most of my poems deal<br />
with this subject in a symbolic way, indirectly. So, this is one of the common goals which<br />
all of the Kurdish poets really want to achieve in the future.<br />
The second subject or second desire is social freedom, to get freedom in our life,<br />
especially the freedom of relations between male and female in society. We have really<br />
severe traditions about this subject, and as I think and as I believe, the Kurdish society<br />
before Islam was more free than this time, because the Islam religion limits the<br />
relationship between male and female and love. And I think this doesn’t go with our<br />
nature as a Kurdish people. We need a lot of freedom. We are in the twenty-first century<br />
and it is still forbidden to announce―for any young man and young girl―to announce<br />
that they are in love. It is a crime. Girls are killed now. Some fathers, some families have<br />
to kill their daughters when they feel or they know that she is in love with somebody. We<br />
write indirectly in our poems about this subject. We condemn this type of life. It is not<br />
our life. Really, it is an Arabic or Islamic life which they enforced us to adopt 15<br />
centuries ago. If you read our history before Islam, we were more modern than now. At
341<br />
that time we respected women more than now. It was forbidden at that time to have two<br />
wives.<br />
The third subject is: the poets try to criticize the matter of democracy in our<br />
society. They talk about democracy. We believe in democracy. We respect democracy.<br />
We love democracy, but on earth we don’t apply democracy. We don’t apply democracy.<br />
Do you follow me? You can’t find democracy practically. You can’t find it. We talk<br />
about it. We love it. We like it, but we don’t try to have it really, and to live in it. This is<br />
one of our―I don’t know if this is the right word in English―but one of our duplicities.<br />
We have a dual personality, most of us. For instance, I write about love and I have some<br />
poems and songs which describe love as a nice thing and a beautiful thing. Not just me<br />
but this is an example. Me and other poets or other educated people. We talk about love.<br />
We like love; we describe love as a beautiful feeling, but we don’t let our sister love<br />
somebody. So this is the duplicity. What I mean is that we have double personalities<br />
inside us. And most poets try to criticize this sort of people. We have to adapt; we have to<br />
work and do according to our beliefs. But unfortunately, until now, we couldn’t establish<br />
such a society. I think the people in Europe and America are better than us and Eastern<br />
societies in this subject. When they believe in something, they exercise that thing in their<br />
life and they do it.<br />
And the fourth desire of poets, which I started―I think till now I am the only one<br />
in Badinan adopting this style. Or I talk about it most commonly. It is the matter of<br />
secularism. We should adopt secularism, and we shouldn’t mix religion and government,<br />
religion and school. I am not in agreement with teaching religion in schools. I am not in<br />
agreement with our condition now, when the teacher of religion comes to class. He says<br />
all the Christian people should leave now because we have a religion subject. I can’t<br />
stand this and I struggle against these things. How can I establish a democracy in this<br />
society when our education system and our teachers in schools make this sort of<br />
discrimination between pupils. “You go out because you are Christian. I have a special<br />
thing to speak to my Muslim students.” I can say this is a sort of crime, it is a social
342<br />
crime. So these are the main subjects which drive the real poets in Kurdistan, and in<br />
Badinan especially, as far as I know, which make them write their poems.<br />
EM: Thank you so much for your time. I enjoyed it.<br />
BS: Thank you. You’re welcome. Anytime.
343<br />
INTERVIEW WITH MIHSIN QUÇAN<br />
The interview was translated by Shivan Toma and was conducted at the office of Metin<br />
magazine.<br />
EM: I’ll begin with a couple of questions regarding interviewing for my research.<br />
Well, first, can you state your full name?<br />
MQ: His name is Mihsin Mihamed Xovir, but he is known as Mihsin Quçan<br />
EM: Is it your understanding that I am here to research for my university?<br />
MQ: It’s OK.<br />
EM: And that what comes out of this interview could possibly be published in<br />
my paper or a linguistic journal.<br />
MQ: No problem.<br />
EM: Thank you very much. I wondered if you could begin by telling us how your<br />
interest in poetry began.<br />
MQ: When he was eight years old, he was in a village called Barmanê. As a<br />
result of 1961 revolution, it’s called “September revolution,” his family moved to Mosul,<br />
due to the war, I mean. In Mosul he felt that he was a stranger, an outsider because he<br />
among the Arab children, he was the only Kurdish child. They spoke differently than<br />
him. Continuously he was longing for his village, his little dog, for his mountains, for<br />
snow and these things. So these dreams, which were lost from him in his childhood, he<br />
tried to visualize them in his mind, in his imagination. And day after day his imagination<br />
grew bigger and bigger.<br />
In Arab places, Arabic places, poetry is advanced there. They like poetry a lot. It’s<br />
just like eating and drinking, I mean. Their proverbs are all in verse and poetry. And<br />
when he saw himself different from them, at the same time he liked that he also has his<br />
own poetry which is like theirs, I mean, but different―in Kurdish. So he experienced<br />
homesickness for his homeland, for his village and these things; and his being among a
344<br />
culture in which poetry is advanced, he saw that it was a good chance for him to increase<br />
his knowledge about his own culture through poetry. And he continuously educated<br />
himself through reading poetry, studying, writing and memorizing poetry. And then he<br />
started to write poems. And in the 70s he published his first poems, and at the very<br />
beginning the critics said that a new star is shining in Kurdish poetry. So this was his<br />
beginning, his starting point.<br />
EM: Who were your favorite poets, and why do you like them?<br />
MQ: There’s another problem with us Kurds, that is, Kurdish people. At the<br />
beginning, he didn’t know anything about Kurdish poetry. But he had a friend, a<br />
Christian friend, his name was Theodor Yuhena. He was the first one to write some of<br />
Xanî’s poems for him. So at that time he liked Xanî. But after that he liked all the<br />
Classical Kurdish poets. But it was too late, I mean, because he already started without<br />
knowing anything about Kurdish poetry. But for him he regards Cezîrî the best poet, not<br />
only on the level of the Kurdish world, I mean, but all over the world.<br />
EM: Can you speak about the changes in Kurdish poetry as it developed?<br />
MQ: At the beginning Kurdish poetry consisted of the likes of Cezîrî, Fekir<br />
Tehran, Nalbend. It was written in their Classical form with one line here and one line on<br />
the other side. But starting from 1972, the beginning of the 70s, you can say modern<br />
poetry started with Mihsin Quçan, Adbulrahman Mizuri, and Feisel Mustafa. Some<br />
people say Mihsin Quçan came at the first. Some say, for example, the other one. But<br />
with these there poets, Kurdish poetry was changed into the modern style. As for Sorani<br />
before them, it was changed before them. Even Kurmancî 214 was changed before them in<br />
Syria, like Mir Amadat, but they didn’t know about each other.<br />
Starting from the 80s, like 1981, 1982, Kurdish poetry was just in one form. I<br />
mean, after it was free verse, free poetry. It was all about patriotism―national poetry. For<br />
example, if you said “my sweetheart,” it referred to Kurdistan. If you said, “my mother,”<br />
214 Quçan is likely referring to poets like Cegerxwîn who’s family fled to Syria when he was young.
345<br />
it was Kurdistan. But after a while, he was the first one. In the 80s, he by himself, as<br />
something unique for him, changed Kurdish poetry into something psychological―to<br />
make like a psychological revolution inside yourself. He took this angle in poetry, I<br />
mean. So if you see, for example, realistic poetry, there was a group of people who wrote<br />
realistic poetry. But he found himself alone in writing psychological poetry. And then in<br />
1985, he started his modern movement in poetry. He wrote about death, deterioration: the<br />
names are Helweşîan, ‘Deteriorated,’ Melen, 215 Bûn, ‘Being.’ These are names of his<br />
poems.<br />
And then in 1991, a huge change happened in all Kurdish people. It was<br />
something that was not expected, an unexpected change. All the ideas, mentalities, values<br />
of the Kurdish man at that time were changed and new things came in their places. All<br />
the educated people at that time had a socialist background, like Lenin; but at that time<br />
everything was deteriorating, let’s say, changing. The war against Iran was ended and the<br />
chemical weapons ended. America warred against Iraq so that it would come out of<br />
Kuwait. And the uprising started, and then the Kurdish people saw themselves as free,<br />
without Saddam now. And soon after, a mass immigration happened among Kurds when<br />
they escaped to Turkey in the mountains, and they suffered a lot of starvation and<br />
things―and this was another turning point in Kurdish life. And it was just like a<br />
nightmare or a dream, that America―which was against our beliefs, our ideas―that<br />
America itself came to help us and protect us. And we were peşmerga, ‘Kurdish<br />
military!’ So, we were in Iran and were just like rural people; but then we came into the<br />
civil life in cities. The Kurdish man who was low esteemed before―now he highly<br />
appreciated himself.<br />
Maybe he will make this speech long so that you will know about our<br />
background, why we in Iraq were in a closed society. We didn’t know anything about the<br />
world, through books and things. But after that―after Saddam, 216 or after the uprising<br />
215 Meaning unknown.<br />
216 Saddam Hussein, the fifth president of Iraq.
346<br />
you could say―satellite TV came into Kurdistan and things from Syria came. So there<br />
was a great opening up of the world towards Iraq. So all the norms were changed. These<br />
factors, which we discussed, affected the norms of writing poetry, of visualizing things―<br />
for example a tree, water, everything was changed. Even how to deal with your children,<br />
your wife, took another form. It was the other way around, it was changed.<br />
So this fast and successive change affected the way authors thought and wrote. In<br />
1994, after these changes happened, there was a civil war among the Kurdish people. In<br />
this year, 1994, a new movement called “Renovation Forever” grew and Mihsin Quçan<br />
was leading it. At this stage, mosques and religious leaders, political parties, the<br />
university, the whole of society with all the norms―all were like fire against this group,<br />
because there was a feeling of pride in this group. This group lasted not so long, only two<br />
years. And it was practicing everything, like civil life, in addition to writing poetry. So<br />
this group was finished. Some people died, some people immigrated. But its effect is still<br />
there, such as the poets who were under the effects of that group, as well as painters and<br />
those who work in the theatre. Even the religious men―when they go, for example, on<br />
Friday to the mosque, they admit that if there’s no renovation, there’s no life. These are<br />
the changes that he says happened in poetry.<br />
EM: You mentioned your poetry is psychological. Can you explain that and give<br />
an example?<br />
MQ: This is one example of psychological poetry, “Coming Back From Tired<br />
Thinking.” It’s a long poem, but, for example, the psychological effect is that the poet is<br />
describing, or is talking, to his sweetheart, to his beloved, saying:<br />
“If your eyebrows were like more (untranscribable word) and your hair was gray,<br />
you would be just like my mother.” So he’s making a comparison between his mother<br />
and his beloved.<br />
EM: So would you say this is just one theme of your poetry?<br />
1985.<br />
MQ: You can say it’s a theme, but it’s limited to a short period, from 1980 to
347<br />
EM: What are the other subjects you write about?<br />
MQ: He doesn’t believe in pure subject in poetry, as seen if you read his poetry,<br />
his poems. You can see a mixture of subjects because in the previous days in rural areas,<br />
for example, if you were a shepherd, you’d go outside to take care of your sheep and then<br />
you’d come back. But now, if we go outside in this urban setting, we don’t know what we<br />
will do. For example, if he goes home, maybe a neighbor will have a car accident and he<br />
will go to see him. Or perhaps someone has a newborn baby, or someone has died. So he<br />
says our feelings now are confused. We don’t have fixed style and he doesn’t have a pure<br />
subject to write about. And when he wrote, many times when he’d write poetry, he would<br />
cry and the paper would get wet. So he would tear it out and get another piece of paper,<br />
because a different subject would come into his mind.<br />
Another feature of his poetry is paradox, when two different things become just<br />
like each other. For example, in one of his poems he says, hatred and love inside me<br />
become like each other. So there were moments in his life that hatred and love are just the<br />
same, and also death and life.<br />
EM: So none of your poems are in the Neo-classical form, is that correct?<br />
MQ: Not all of them.<br />
EM: He has some in Neo-classical form?<br />
MQ: So this is an example that shows he has the Neo-classical form. These are<br />
here for documentation.<br />
EM: But presently you don’t write anything in Neo-classical form?<br />
MQ: No, now he is not a classic poet. Now he is, you can say, he’s a warrior<br />
against everything. For example, everything that is low he wants to make it high. And he<br />
doesn’t care about meter and rhythm or anything. He just leaves the image. Even the<br />
buildings in our city, he says, “I’m against them. I have a different idea in my mind. I live<br />
with them.” He sees that our buildings, our traffic lights, all things are trivial―even<br />
social values are trivial for him. He’s against them, I mean.
348<br />
EM: So strictly image, and the sounds of words are not important. Is it true? You<br />
translated that he said that he is writing about the images he creates with the words. So<br />
the sounds of words―even they’re not important.<br />
MQ: He doesn’t care about sounds of words, he says; it’s not something<br />
important for him. He can make ugly words beautiful with a new sense. In practical life<br />
he can, out of thorns, make a beautiful rose.<br />
EM: Kurds have a specific way of presenting their poetry when they speak it.<br />
Can he speak about this tradition?<br />
MQ: This is something of the individual. Everyone has their own style for<br />
reading poetry. He says, I read it one way, another person reads a different way. But the<br />
point is how to read this thing. For him, he has his own style of reading, and he is well<br />
known for putting music with the words. But now there is something bad in our society<br />
for poetry, which is reading just by eyes. Poetry is not just to be read by eyes but by<br />
mouth to the ear. That’s the way it should be.<br />
EM: Before people were writing poetry, when he lived in the village―did people<br />
have poetry that they remembered, and maybe fathers shared with children, and they<br />
spoke this way?<br />
MQ: He says in Kurdistan, in winter, the nights are very long. So when winter<br />
would come, everything would stop. You could not work outside. You would eat and<br />
drink and at night everybody would sit down. There were poems, of course, poetry, and<br />
there were stories, and there were poems for crying, for making fun, for nationalism, for<br />
everything. And, of course, their fathers would retell poems to children, or the<br />
grandfather or grandmother. There was something like that. But they would not say, for<br />
example, this is Nalbend’s poem or Cezîrî’s poem. They just recited the poem.<br />
EM: Who are the other, most popular, poets that write in this ‘new style,’ nî xaz?<br />
MQ: He says, those poets who write in my style, modern poetry, are Şamal<br />
Akrêyî, Hizirvan, Mustafa Silîma, Şikrî Şabas, Dr. Arif Hêto, Şaban Silêman recently,
349<br />
Sadîq Şabak, if you can call him a poet, all of them―except for Mula Tehsin, who he is a<br />
religious one, who thinks the change, to renew, is something like a sin. Although he’s a<br />
friend of his, Mula Tehsîn. But when he had his own group, Mula Tehsîn, as a religious<br />
man, fought them, was against them.<br />
EM: Just two more questions.<br />
MQ: You’re welcome.<br />
EM: Can you briefly state the different periods you spoke about, the different<br />
styles of Kurdish poetry, beginning with the Neo-classical?<br />
MQ: First Neo-classical, then free style [New Period], and then the psychological<br />
period, which was a short period, then modern poetry.<br />
EM: Is there anything else you think I should know about Kurdish poetry for my<br />
linguistic analysis?<br />
MQ: He says poetry by itself is something funny, you can say, and amusing. He<br />
says, when we say a word, for example, it doesn’t mean that word. It’s a figurative word;<br />
we mean something else. You say something but you mean something else. So maybe a<br />
set of images are in just one word. So when you come to do the analysis on the language<br />
of poetry, it is very, very different than any other types of language, like everyday<br />
language. He says, for example, he has a poem that he wrote right after he was released<br />
from prison. He says he wrote about dreams. Like in Kurdish tradition, he says, for<br />
example, if you see blood in your dream, it means you will depart from something. Or if<br />
you see that your tooth is pulled out, it means you will die or something. He says he<br />
collected these ideas and he put them in his poetry with a new angle, in a new way. And<br />
also a verse from the Qur’an―he says that when Joseph the prophet was one of the<br />
prisoners, he saw a dream about some people that would die. He put these ideas in his<br />
poems. So he says his reader should be someone who is educated, especially so that he<br />
understands the taste of this poetry. Not all people can read it.<br />
EM: Thank you for your time.
350<br />
MQ: No need. Not at all. No need for…thanks.
351<br />
INTERVIEW WITH MU’EYED TEYB<br />
The interview was held at Spirez Printing and was translated by Shîvan Toma.<br />
EM: First, can you state your name?<br />
MT: His name is Mu’eyed Teyb<br />
EM: I’ve come today ask you some questions about poetry, your life. Is it OK<br />
with you that I use this information in my research for my college?<br />
MT: I give permission for you use anything that I say for your research, for any<br />
kind of research.<br />
EM: And, it’s also your understanding that this could be published in a journal or<br />
my <strong>thesis</strong>?<br />
MT: It’s up to you. You can publish it anywhere you like, in a journal, in a book.<br />
EM: Thank you. Can you tell us how your interest in poetry began?<br />
MT: He says, at that time, we were Kurds, but we were studying in Arabic; school<br />
was in Arabic, in his generation. In 1970, there was peace between Barzanî and the<br />
government, the Iraqi government. Based on that peace treaty, one subject of Kurdish<br />
was studied in school. So that was the first time that he came across Kurdish poetry,<br />
Kurdish grammar, these things. So he was interested in Kurdish, and he liked that<br />
because he saw that even in Kurdish there was poetry. A collection of poems by Ahmed<br />
Nalbend was published at that time; it was a small one. He liked it very much, more than<br />
the Arabic poems that he was used to. And he felt afterwards that he also could write<br />
poems just like these poems. Thus he started, and the beginning, the real beginning was<br />
around 1974-1975.<br />
EM: You were in college, university by then?<br />
MT: No, he was in 9 th grade, in secondary school.<br />
EM: So, who are your favorite poets and why do you like them?
352<br />
MT: Kurdish, you mean?<br />
EM: Yes<br />
MT: When he first became interested in Kurdish poetry, he was introduced to<br />
Nalbend’s poems. At the beginning he was reading those. But after that he came across<br />
more modern poets like Badirxan Sindî; his language was nice, it was beautiful, and the<br />
content was also good. Then he moved to some Classical poets like Cezîrî and Xanî. And<br />
he also, he says, he liked some non-Kurdish poets, like Arabic poets.<br />
Concerning Cegerxwîn, he only knew of him by means of Shivan Perwar’s songs.<br />
He says this is a great problem for Kurdish. For Kurds―they didn’t have books about<br />
them. Only after that, when they were bigger, I mean older, they knew about Cegerxwîn<br />
and Cezîrî and others. There were no books. Because Kurds were not living freely, there<br />
was no freedom in Kurdistan. Maybe one poet in Dohuk was very famous, I mean, a very<br />
good poet. But if you would go to Erbil, nobody would know him. Or if you went to<br />
Mosul or Cezîre or Iran, nobody would know him. Kurds lived in a country that was not<br />
their own country―and the other parts were not independent―that’s why Kurds didn’t<br />
know each other. The second problem is the difference of dialects. For example, Sorani<br />
poets are not popular here. And vice versa, Bahdini poets are not popular there. Maybe<br />
because they cannot understand each other, that’s why.<br />
EM: Can you speak about the changes, the development, of poetry? What has<br />
been good? What has been bad?<br />
MT: From where till when?<br />
EM: From Nalbend to now.<br />
MT: Concerning Nalbend, he was Neo-Classical. He was attempting to write like<br />
Cezîrî and Xanî, but his language was more popular and his content had more variety, I<br />
mean, more subjects, more strategy, more extension. This was the first stage of the<br />
change. And Nalbend also talked about Kurdish nationality, about the movement of<br />
independence of Kurdistan. But as a political man, he was not that educated. Salih Yusef,
353<br />
you can say, was more knowledgeable about political issues than Nalbend; he was more<br />
aware. Then after that Badirxan Sindî and Abdulrahman Mizuri―their language differed<br />
from Nalbend’s language. Nalbend’s language had some Arabic words. But concerning<br />
Abdulrahman and Badirxan, their language was a purer Kurdish.<br />
Another change happened in Nalbend’s time. He was used to asking God to<br />
protect us and make us free. But Abdulrahman Mizuri, Badirxan Sindî and also<br />
Cegerxwîn―they asked people to become aware, to become educated. As for our era, our<br />
poetry, you know, before there was rhythm and meter and these things. But for him<br />
(Teyb, the interviewee), he wrote in free verse, free poetry without meter and<br />
(untranscribable word). In the past they were more like preachers, giving lectures to<br />
people. But for him, no; now he’s writing as an individual man for humanity.<br />
EM: Can he just mention what are the subjects of his poems?<br />
MT: Most of his subjects are about Kurdistan. They are either about fighting for<br />
their rights, for their independence and these things. And also, he has written about the<br />
tragedies of an individual man. Also about love, and about humanity and about<br />
nationality.<br />
EM: So, did he begin writing in form and then stopped, or did he begin with free?<br />
MT: In the beginning, 1974, he wrote form poetry. But since 1976, he has written<br />
in free verse. And regarding his form poetry, when he was in the peşmerga, ‘Kurdish<br />
military,’ in 1982, his family felt threatened, so they banned his poetry. So his verse<br />
poetry (poems with Neo-classical forms) no longer exists. There’s only one poem, which<br />
is here in this book. Because in 1979, the minister of information of Iraq set some limits,<br />
restrictions, his family prevented him from sharing and distributing his poems. That’s<br />
why his family was afraid in 1982; they banned them. But some young men liked his<br />
poetry―they memorized it. They wrote it by hand and distributed it to each other. That’s<br />
why some of them are still around. Of course, some of his poems have become songs.<br />
EM: Who do you think most influenced your poetry?
354<br />
MT: As a person, he cannot say anybody who influenced him. But Kurdish<br />
folklore songs affected him. He always feels he is indebted to them, which is there in the<br />
old methods and these things of Kurds.<br />
EM: Is there anything that you think that will be useful in my analysis of Kurdish<br />
poetry, or his poetry specifically?<br />
MT: He says you can make benefit of many printed things that are written about<br />
his own poetry, like masters theses and graduation papers by undergraduate students in<br />
4 th year and also some printed books. So you can see many like texts or subjects written<br />
about them. Otherwise he doesn’t know exactly what you need. But regarding the<br />
language of Kurdish poetry, if you start from Classical period, Ottomans and Persians,<br />
Afghani, these nations which were not Arabs, they were influenced by Arabic. So you<br />
will see many Arabic words or phrases in their language. This was about 300 to 400 years<br />
ago. The second stage started in the 19 th or 20 th century. Then Kurdish language was<br />
more pure, but it still contained a lot of Persian, Arabic and Turkish words. As for<br />
nowadays, you know that day after day Kurdish language is progressing, becoming more<br />
developed, and the number of those who write in Kurdish is much more than before. You<br />
know, when he started in the 1970s, until the 80s, only nine to ten people used to write in<br />
Bahdini, of course. But now there are hundreds because there are many magazines and<br />
newspapers issued in Kurdish.<br />
EM: Memnun, memnun, ‘Thank you, thank you.’<br />
MT: Ser çava (‘over my eyes,’ an untranslatable Kurdish idiom). Thank you.
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VITA<br />
<strong>Edward</strong> H. <strong>Magin</strong> Jr. did his undergraduate studies in international business and<br />
marketing at Temple University. After working for some years in business and<br />
information technology, he studied linguistics at The Graduate Institute of Applied<br />
Linguistics and ORSIL. Currently he and his wife work for SIL.<br />
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