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Remembered Today:

Bülent Ecevit

The Plummed Goose

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Dear Pals,

Last night Bülent Ecevit, Turkish statesman and prime minister (1974, 1977, 1978–9, 1999–2002), but also a poet, writer and journalist, died at the age of 81.

Bülent Ecevit studied Sanskrit, Bengali, and English and translated works by Rabindranath Tagore, T.S. Eliot and Bernard Lewis into English. He also worked for the BBC.

Attached is a poem he wrote on Gallipoli in the 1980ies ...



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Many thanks for posting that

Mr. Bülent Ecevit's poem appeared in the 'The Gallipolian' No.85, Winter 1997,

however it deserves a wider audience and I hope that more members of the GWF will read it here

'The Gallipolian' also gave the following biographical notes [supplied by M. Kamal Yilmaz, Secretary of the Turkish Association of United Nations]

"Bülent Ecevit, a Turkish politician, journalist and poet was born in Istanbul in 1928. After graduating from the American Robert College in Istanbul he worked as Secretary to the Press Counsellor at the Turkish Embassy in London. He had also studied psychology and Middle East History at Harvard. Elected an MP for Ankara in 1957 for the People's Republican Party (CHP) and a member of the Constitutional Assembly in 1961 he became Minister of Labour in the Cabinet headed by Ismet Inonu (1961-1965). Subsequently he became Secretary-General and later Chairman of the Party and served three times as Prime Minister. Currently [this was written in 1997] he is Chairman of the Leftist Democratic Party (DSP) and Deputy Prime Minister. Bülent Ecevit, who is married, has written six books in addition to his poems."


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Guest gumbirsingpun

all i can say is that my mum considers him tae be a great politician on and aff during the period 1974-2002,

heres ane o his poems

tha steps

ye wull climb these steps slowly,ane bi ane

through swirlin leaves,tha colour o tha sun

and look a moment,weepin,at tha sky

er face grows faint,even as tha fountain pales...

in tha crimson heavens evenin has begun

leanin tae earth tha roses bleed tae death

on flamin branches bleed tha nightingales

are ye waters burnin?,why is tha marble like bronze?

a secret langage spreads intae tha soul

in tha crimson heavens,evening has begun

bülent ecevit

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