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Nazim Hikmet (1902–1963) is widely regarded as one of the most influential, and often controversial, voices in modern Turkish poetry. Born into an influential family in the late Ottoman era, he spent many years in prison for his political beliefs before leaving Turkey in 1951. He lived in the Soviet Union until his death in 1963.
Hikmet’s works were banned for decades in Turkey and his citizenship was revoked in 1951; it was restored in 2009. The selections below present nine of his most loved poems in contemporary, reader-friendly English renderings, poetic interpretations inspired by the originals rather than literal, line-by-line translations.
Top 9 Nazim Hikmet Poems (English Renderings)
1) Blue-Eyed Giant, Little Lady, and Honeysuckle
In his blue eyes lived a gentle giant.
He loved a petite woman who dreamed of a small house
a marble courtyard, honeysuckle at the door.
He was a giant in stature and in heart,
with hands so large they could cradle the sky,
yet he could not fashion the house she imagined
a door, a threshold where love might rest.
So the giant wept, quietly, inside his blue gaze.
The little lady, weary of the road, chose a dwarf with gold.
She found her marble garden, her open door,
honeysuckle blooming in the light.
Now the giant knows: for loving giants there are no graves—
only marble gardens where memory lingers,
honeysuckle breathing by an ever-open door.
2) Walnut Tree
I am a walnut tree in Gülhane Park.
My head is a cloud over the sea;
an old knot tightens in my trunk.
My leaves are like silk and like fish—
tear one gently and dry your tears, my rose.
With a hundred thousand hands I reach for you, Istanbul;
with a hundred thousand eyes I watch in wonder.
My pulse drums under the bark—
a hundred thousand heartbeats in the breeze.
I stand in Gülhane, a walnut in the sun,
and neither you nor the police can tell it is me.
3) Greetings to the Working Class in Turkey!
Greetings, workers of Turkey—
may peace take root like seeds in your fields,
and harvests be rich with bread and roses.
May the days ahead be just and bright—
no one used by day, no one starved by night.
Let liberty be your daily bread.
To those in the squares with books in their hands,
to the calloused palms turning the world—
under the crescent and star, your voice will lead.
Stand against the sultanate of money,
against darkness and fanatic heat—
raise your courage; let freedom speak.
4) Martyrs
Martyrs of martyrs, pride of a nation—
now is the hour to rise from your graves:
from Sakarya and İnönü, from Afyon’s plain,
from Dumlupınar’s earth made sacred.
Some were bound, some fell with hands free;
great roots reach down where your blood lies.
Your sacrifices hold us to account—
we remember, we are not absolved.
While you sleep, the enemy comes close.
Awaken—we have been deceived.
Rise and rouse us from despair—
let us breathe the air of the free.
5) Your Eyes
Your eyes—oh, your eyes—how they shine:
in prison or hospital they still find the sun,
like late May light on the Antalya sea.
Your eyes have wept, stood naked in sorrow,
yet never lived a day without daybreak.
They are as a child’s—wondering, wise—
and they fill the world with quiet magic.
Your eyes hold autumn and summer at once—
Bursa’s chestnuts, Istanbul’s glow—
and they keep their promise of a dawn
when people will greet each other like kin.
Read Also: The best 10 poems of Yunus Emre poetry
6) The Longing
A century has passed and I have not seen your face.
Let me circle your waist and close the distance.
Let your eyes hold no stillness—
let questions fall away like night.
A hundred years and still she waits
in the same small town for my return.
We sprang from the same branch once,
and even now I run back through the dusk.
7) My Beloved One
Beloved—if falsehood ever leaves my lips,
let my tongue break and grow silent—
so I may never say “I love you” in vain,
in happiness or in grief.
If my hand should write you a lie,
let it wither before it touches your hair—
for the embrace must be true
or it is no embrace at all.
And if my eyes should counterfeit your light,
let tears fall clear as glass—
and let them never be granted again
the grace of seeing you.
8) Traitor to the Homeland
The headlines shout: “Hikmet, the traitor!”
“America gives aid by the pound,” they grin,
Admirals smiling in the black print.
We’re a shadow under red, white, and blue—
so goes the chorus, and the charge is thrown.
Let me answer plainly: if loving my people is treason,
then write me down a traitor.
If homeland means profit for the few;
if patriotism demands another’s hunger,
if the flag rides the bent backs of the weak—
then I will not wear your word for love.
If “homeland” is bases and bombs,
if pride is measured only in might—
then my refusal is my fidelity,
and I will bear your accusation like a badge.
9) If You Are a Cloud
Above the sea drifts a cloud;
beside it, a ship of silver.
Within the water, a golden fish
slides through forests of moss.
A man stands on the shore, thinking:
shall I be the cloud—or the ship?
Shall I be the fish—or the moss?
Be none of these, my son—be the sea:
the whole that carries clouds and ships,
the sun, the fish and swaying weeds—
be the breadth that holds them all.
Note: These versions are interpretive English renderings intended to convey the spirit and imagery of Hikmet’s originals for contemporary readers.
