In a park with green and half-century-old trees, right next to the grass, in the shade of a tree, the old man reading a book in his hand, pointing to the empty bench next to him, "Can I sit?" With the voice of a young man saying, he closed the book he was reading in his hand, looked at it, and gathered himself by saying, "Sure, of course." The old man was continuing the book from where he had left off, when the young man said, "I am a poet, I even have a book, I am working on the second one."
This young man, who was suddenly the center of attention of the old man, continued his speech. "But I think you are reading other literature, I write in the style of freelance poetry," he said.
Old man,
"On the contrary, even if I read free poems occasionally, I can never compare them to a divan poem," he said.
Young man smiling;
"Why does he force himself so much. Doesn't it prevent you from being able to fully explain what you are going to tell, such as verses, couplets, stanzas, sections, syllable measures, rhyme, prosody, etc., which have many rules in many patterns?"
He paused for a moment, realizing that the old man had closed the book without looking at himself and had listened carefully to what he had said, and continued
"So many words will be in harmony and meaningful, why this effort? Wouldn't it be better to write free poetry, to have a better expression, and in a language that everyone can understand?" He said and added,
"I think freelance poetry is the best."
Having said that, the young poet looked at him, waiting for the old man to reply. There was no expression on the old man's wrinkled face. But there was only the tiredness of the lines left by the years. He was silent for a while. The young man was almost tired as he waited for her to speak and stared at him.
At last, noticing that the old man's wrinkled and gray beard was playing, the young poet focused and listened again.
Old man,
“Yes,” he said, straightening the slightly folded cover of the book in his right hand and left, and continued.
"If the purpose is to be comprehensible, we write our thoughts at length on a page by separating them from the punctuation marks of a prose. This is quite understandable, if it is prose. Writing carries the criteria of literature even if it is prose. But as long as we can qualify it as an essay, a story, a novel, etc. For example, it was my right to say "I went on vacation" or "A holiday with sea, sand and sun to listen to my soul, which is tired after a long work and stuck between the buildings and the noise in the city. That's why I took a nice holiday this summer and I almost rested my soul," he said. Just as he stopped and started to speak, the young poet jumped out. "Our topic is poetry, but" the old man smiled, "I know young man, that's exactly what I'm talking about," the young poet said, "how is it free? Isn't poetry literature?
The old man smiled
"Let me tell you how it is, the next thing is how long it would take us if we wanted to get to the top, maybe a few hours, what about the opposite mountain, maybe a few days, or maybe even weeks or months to get to the summit of Mountain. Maybe we can't stop midway and come back.
He looked into the eyes of the young poet and said, "If poetry is an art and you want to create works like yes in this art, you have to face the difficulties. Poetry lovers who read your writings should say what kind of harmony is this, how is the expression perfect. Ha, this does not mean that you will be good at writing poetry by just making up the rhyme. Divan poets were both the most intelligent artists of that time and the poets who had carved their pens with these difficulties. Now it is not possible to equate an expression that is riveted with those difficulties and a free expression. For this reason, if the poem tells how much it will be in a pattern, with how fancy and non-cliche words it will understand. "If you compare the writings of a divan poet with a free poem, it is an injustice done to literature," he said.
The young man thought and
"Yes, you may be right on some issues, but I like free poetry more. If you translate a poem written in the language of a civilization thousands of years ago to our day or if you translate these divan poems into another language, it will be a free poem. That's why the meaning of the poem is important. We I think we should look at what we understand from poetry and what it sums up to us in a fluent language."
Old man
“Boy, we're back to the beginning,” he said, smiling and continuing;
"I think that free prose writing will help to understand what is being said better. Let's explain what we want to tell without the trouble of poetry, isn't it better with prose writing? Besides, we won't waste time. Everyone can write, the reader can understand, it's better. If poetry is concentrated enough to summarize a book. If it has, it can be found pages to describe it as a publication.
They melted my soul, frozen it in the mold,
They put him on the ground as Istanbul.
Let's see, write the subject of these two in such a harmonious way with prose writing or free poetry. However, he will tell what he tells in a way that is close to this, so naively. In the end, let him explain what this is telling in such a short and concise way.” While the young man was going to speak, the old man continued to speak, “This is not divan poetry, you will say. If divan poetry is more difficult. Let me give an example there,
Is there a language capable of love?
There is no more.
"If you want to explain this example freely, I think it will take a little longer."
Young poet,
"When you say it well, contemporary poetry no longer accepts them. Contemporary poetry gives importance to poems that are easy to understand and easily explained. I am also one of those who prefer contemporary literature." After saying that, the young poet stood up and said; When he moved away from the old man by saying, "Well, I can't get enough of your conversation, let me." The old man called out.
"Young man!"
The young man turned to face him and looked at him, waiting for him to speak,
Old Man;
"I think you should try climbing Everest, not small hills," he said.
The Young Man smiled without saying a word, turned his back and walked away.
