A Mind at Peace, by Ahmet Hamdi Tanpinar, translated from the ...

Erdag Göknar
A Mind at Peace, by Ahmet Hamdi Tanpinar, translated from the Turkish by Erdag Göknar
(NY: Archipelago Books http://www.archipelagobooks.org/bk.php?id=37, 2008)
A Mind at Peace, originally published in Turkey in 1949, is Tanpınar’s magnum opus, a Turkish Ulysses,
and a lyrical homage to Istanbul. Set in the “city of two continents” on the eve of World War II (1939), the
novel captures the anxieties of a cosmopolitan family challenged by the difficulties of the early Republic,
which was founded on the ashes of the Ottoman Empire in 1923. In the 1920s and ’30s, Turkey
experienced a fifteen-year “westernizing” cultural revolution that attempted to distance it as much as
possible from its Ottoman-Islamic past by transforming everything from the alphabet to the legal system,
from education to the clothes people wore. Access to the past was restricted for the sake of developing a
future-oriented “new” society. Writers like Tanpınar lived through this transition and knew how to read and
write in both the “old” Ottoman script and the “new” Latin Turkish; in short, they were familiar with two
mentalities and the paradox of divided selves.
In Tanpınar’s ironic vision, however, the promise of “modernization” gives way to anxiety rather than hope
about the future. What is certain about this new world is not progress, but fragmentation and
destabilization. In A Mind at Peace, rapid social change is masterfully gauged through the way it registers
in the psyches of Tanpınar’s Istanbulite characters. He seems to be asking, “How does a Muslim society
on the periphery of Europe balance tradition and modernity?”
Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar (1901-62) is one of the pioneers of literary modernism in Turkey. That his work
has been deprived of an English readership for so long is a tragedy. Aside from one or two stories or
excerpts, nothing had appeared in English until the publication in 2001 of his satirical novel The Time
Regulation Institute (Turko-Tatar Press). All of his work deserves to be translated.
His heavy use of Ottomanesque vocabulary (Perso-Arabic) and long, complex sentences has added to
the challenge of translation. Upon my suggestion, Archipelago Books received the rights to perhaps the
most significant Tanpınar novel, A Mind at Peace (Huzur). The English rendering of this novel is long
overdue.
Tanpınar, the son of an Islamic judge, was a poet, novelist, and critic who worked as a professor of late-
Ottoman and Turkish literature at Istanbul University. Though he was known in his lifetime as a major
poet, renowned scholar, and prolific essayist, he was not recognized as a major fiction writer until a
decade after his death.

Today, Tanpınar is considered to be an icon of Turkish letters and is an influence on many contemporary
Turkish novelists, foremost among them Nobel Laureate Orhan Pamuk – whose novel My Name Is Red
(2001, Knopf) I also rendered into English.—Erdag Göknar
In addition to A Mind at Peace Erdag Göknar has written two other book-length literary translations: Orhan
Pamuk's My Name Is Red (Knopf, 2001), winner of the 2003 Dublin IMPAC Award) and Atiq Rahimi's Earth and
Ashes (Harcourt, 2003), shortlisted for the same award in 2004. He is a professor of Turkish at Duke University
and spends his time between Durham and Istanbul.
Ihsan
(City of Two Continents, August 1939)
Mümtaz hadn’t ventured a proper walk since his cousin Ihsan, an older brother to him, had succumbed to
illness. Except for summoning the doctor, taking prescriptions to the pharmacist, and making calls from
the neighbor’s house, he’d whiled away the measure of the week at his cousin’s sickbed or in his room
perusing books, thinking, or attempting to console his niece and nephew. Ihsan had complained of
backache, fever, and fatigue for two days before pneumonia heralded its onset, sudden and sublime,
establishing a sultanate over the household–-a Psychology of Ruin through fear, dread, woe, and endless
goodwill never absent from lips or glances.
The entire household slept and woke with the remorse of Ihsan’s affliction.
Mümtaz again rose to rue from sleep that train whistles bled with separate anxieties altogether. The hour
approached nine. He sat at the edge of his bed, preoccupied. A host of errands awaited him. The doctor
had said he’d arrive at ten o’clock, but Mümtaz wasn’t obliged to wait. His first order of business was to
hire a nurse. Given that neither Ihsan’s wife, Macide, nor his mother, Sabire, ever stepped away from the
sickbed, the children languished in ruin.
The elderly servant could easily handle Ahmet, but someone had to fully occupy his little sister, Sabiha.
More than anything, she needed someone to talk to. As Mümtaz mused, he smiled inwardly at the various
postures of his small niece. His affections for young Sabiha had taken on new proportions since he’d
returned to stay at the house: Is it a matter of habit alone? he mulled. Do we always happen to love those
in our midst?
To escape this line of thought, he returned to the quandary of the nurse.
Macide’s health wasn’t all too stable. What’s more, he was astonished she could withstand such stress.
Excessive worry or exhaustion would again reduce her to a shadow of herself. He had to get hold of a
nurse, yes. And in the afternoon he had to face that bother of a tenant.
As he dressed, he repeated to himself, “Man, this scrap of a reed.”
Mümtaz, who’d been quite isolated during a formative period of his childhood, liked to talk to himself: “And
that entirely separate thing called life.” Then his mind turned back to little Sabiha. The thought that he
loved his niece solely because he’d moved back into the house beset him. In truth he’d been bound to her
from the very first.
Considering the circumstances of her birth, he was grateful even. Few children could so quickly fill a
house with such ease and elation.
Trying to engage a nurse for three days now, Mümtaz had collected a handful of addresses and made
countless phone calls. But in this land, one’s aim simply receded into the distance. Doubtless, the East
was the place to sit and wait. With a modicum of patience everything arrived at one’s feet. Six months
after Ihsan regained his health, for instance, a couple of nurses were certain to call seeking work. When
one was genuinely needed, however... This, then, was how the ordeal of the nurse went. As for that
tenant...
The tenant boded trouble of another sort. Since he’d let the small shop from Ihsan’s mother, he’d been
dissatisfied and complained, but for a spell of, say, a dozen years, he hadn’t once considered moving,

and for a fortnight running, he’d been making inquiry upon inquiry requesting that one of the gentlemen of
the house, or the good lady herself, honor him with a visit posthaste.
The entire household met this turn of events with disbelief. Even Ihsan, squirming with fever and cramps,
expressed his bemusement. They knew that the principal trait of the picaro was to keep out of sight, go
into hiding, and if not being sought–-or even while being sought–-to respond as belatedly as possible and
only after the greatest nuisance.
Mümtaz, having taken the responsibility of late for renewing the lease and collecting the rent, knew how
difficult it was actually to see the man even while standing before him in his shop.
Whenever Mümtaz stepped into the store, the shopkeeper shaded his eyes with black glasses as if they
were a potent talisman and, for all intents and purposes, vanished behind a glass shield, from where he’d
drone on about the stagnation of the market, the difficulty of eking out a living, and the blithe fortune of
men who worked on fixed incomes, such as civil servants; consequently he’d grow livid, berating himself
for quitting his job as a state employee and submitting to the elkâsibü habibullah hadith–-Muhammad,
beloved “merchant of Allah.” It was solely for this reason, to avoid consciously violating the example of
the Prophet, that he’d started out in trade. At last, he’d cut to Hecuba:
“My good sir, you are aware of what’s happening, it’s out of the question at present–-all due respect to
dearest Sabire. She’d do well by granting me a few days’ grace. She’s no landlord in our eyes, not at all,
on the contrary, she’s been a benefactor, a veritable fountainhead.
If she’d be so good as to stop by in a fortnight, I’d both be deeply honored by her visit and, inshallah, be
able to offer her a little something.” And by so stating, he’d leave the matter hanging in the balance;
nevertheless, as Mümtaz stepped back through the door, the shopkeeper, his voice quavering, would
continue where he’d left off as if startled by the enormity of the promise he’d now made: “But I’m not
certain it’ll be possible in a fortnight, either.” Because he couldn’t possibly say, “She’d do well by not
coming at all, really, the lot of you would do well by keeping your distance! For what purpose would you
deign to come anyway? As if it isn’t enough that I live in this absurd pinfold of a decrepit building, am I
also to pay you for it?” In lieu, he’d request postponement of deliberations to another, distant time: “It’d be
best if the good lady honored me with a visit toward the first of the month, or better still, midmonth.”
The Turkish Version:
Mümtaz, agabeyi dedigi amcasinin oglu Ihsan'in hastalandigindan beri dogru dürüst sokaga çikmamisti.
Doktor çagirmak, eczaneye reçete götürüp ilaç getirmek, komsunun evinden telefon etmek gibi seyler bir
tarafa birakilirsa, bu haftayi hemen hemen ya hastanin basi ucunda, yahut da kendi odasinda, kitap
okuyarak, düsünerek, yegenlerini avutmaga çalisarak geçirmisti. Ihsan iki gün kadar atesten, halsizlikten,
arka agrilarindan sikayet etmis, sonra birdenbire zatürree fevkaladelik halini ilan etmis, evin içinde
korkudan, telastan, üzüntüden, bir türlü agizlardan düsmiyen ve bakislardan eksilmiyen temennilerden
saltanatini, o yikim psikolojisini kurmustu.
Herkes, Ihsan'in hastaliginin verdigi üzüntü ile uyuyor, onunla uyaniyordu.
Bu sabah, tren düdüklerinin büsbütün baska korkularla kanattigi uykusundan, Mümtaz gene bu üzüntü ile
uyandi. Saat dokuza yaklasiyordu. Bir müddet yataginin kenarina oturup düsündü.
Bugün yapacak bir yigin isi vardi. Doktor onda gelecegini söylemisti; fakat onu beklemege mecbur degildi.
Herseyden evvel bir hastabakici bulmak zorunda idi. Ne Macide, ne yengesi -Ihsan'in annesi- hastanin
basi ucundan ayrilmadiklari için, çocuklar haraptilar.
Ihtiyar hizmetçi, Ahmet'le söyle böyle mesgul olabilirdi. Fakat Sabiha ile adamakilli ugrasicak birisi
lazimdi. Onun herseyden evvel konusacak insana ihtiyaci vardi. Mümtaz, bunu düsünürken, küçük
yegeninin hallerine içinden gülümsedi. Sonra, eve döndügünden beri, akrabasina karsi olan sevgisinin
daha baska bir hal aldigina dikkat etti: -Acaba, hep aliskanlik mi? Hep yanimizdakileri mi seviyoruz?-,
dedi.

Bu düsünceden kurtulmak için tekrar hastabakici meselesine döndü.
Macide'nin sihhati de öyle düzgün degildi. Hatta bu kadar yorgunluga nasil tahammül ettigine sasiyordu.
Biraz fazla üzüntü, yorgunluk, onu yeniden bir gölge haline getirebilirdi. Evet, gidip, bir hastabakici
bulmaliydi. Ögleden sonra da o kiraci denen derde ugramasi lazimdi.
Elbisesini giyinirken -Insan denen bu saz parçasi...- diye birkaç defa tekrarladi. Çocuklugunun mühim bir
devrinde çok yalniz kalan Mümtaz, kendi kendisiyle konusmayi severdi. -Ve hayat dedigimiz çok ayri
sey...- Sonra zihni tekrar küçük Sabiha'ya gitti. Küçük yegenini sade eve döndügü için sevdigini
düsünmek hosuna gitmiyordu.
Hayir; ona dogdugu günden beri bagliydi. Hatta dogusunun sartlari düsünülürse, ona karsi minnettardi da.
Pek az çocuk bu kadar zamanda bir eve teselli ve sevinç getirebilirdi.
Mümtaz, üç gündür bu hastabakicinin pesinde idi. Bir yigin adres almis, telefonlar etmisti. Fakat bizim
memlekette aranan kaybolur.
Sark oturup beklemenin yeridir.
Biraz sabirla her sey ayaginiza gelir. Mesela Ihsan iyi olduktan alti ay sonra bile bir iki hastabakici mutlaka
onu arayacaktir. Fakat lazim oldugu zaman... Iste hastabakici meselesi böyleydi. Kiraciya gelince...
Kiraci meselesi büsbütün baska bir dertti. Ihsan'in annesinin bu küçük dükkanini tuttugu günden beri
begenmemis, hor görmüstü.
Fakat söyle bir on iki senedir de çikmayi aklina getirmemisti. Bu adamcagiz iki haftadir üst üste haberler
gönderiyor, beyefendilerden birinin veya hanimefendinin behemehal tesrif etmelerini rica ediyordu.
Bu, evcek inanilmayan bir hadise idi. Hasta bile, humma ve sancilar içinde buna sasiyordu. Çünkü ev
halki, kiracilarinin biricik vasfinin, görünmemek, gizlenmek, aranmazsa, hatta arandigi zamanlarda bile
mümkün mertebe geç ve güç meydana çikmak oldugunu bilirlerdi.
Birkaç seneden beri kontrati yenilemek, kiralari almak gibi isleri yüklenen Mümtaz, onu hatta dükkaninda
ve karsisinda iken bile görmenin ne kadar güç oldugunu bilirdi.
Daha, genç adam dükkana girer girmez siyah gözlügünü, bir kudret tilsimi, büyülü bir silah gibi gözlerine
takar, bu cam perde arkasinda adeta görünmez olur, oradan piyasanin durgunlugunu, hayatin agirligini,
devlet memuriyetinde belli bir gelirle çalisanlarin saadetini anlatir, memurlugu birakip da, Elkasibü
Habibullah hadisine uydugu için, -evet, sirf bunun için, Peygamber'in bu sözüne, bildigi halde riayetsizlik
etmemek için ticarete baslamisti;- kendisine kizar, dövünür, nihayet:
-Beyefendi, vaziyeti biliyorsunuz, simdilik kabil degil; hanimefendiye arz-i tazimat ederim. Bana birkaç gün
daha mühlet versinler. O bizim mal sahibimiz degil, velinimetimiz oldu. Insallah on bes gün sonra
ugrarlarsa hem teserrüf etmis oluruz, hem de bir parça sey takdim ederim, diye isi müpheme baglar; fakat
genç adam kapidan çikarken, yaptigi vaadin büyüklügünden ürkmüs gibi sesi titreyerek;-on bes günde de
kabil olur mu bilmem ki...- diyerek tekrar söze baslar ve -mümkünse hiç gelmesin, hiçbiriniz gelmeyin, ne
diye geleceksiniz sanki! Bu çürük binada, bu acayip kafeste oturdugum yetmiyormus gibi, bir de size para
mi verecegim- diyemedigi için, -daha iyisi aybasina dogru, hatta gelecek ayin ortasinda tesrif
buyursunlar...- ricasiyle, bu mülakati gerilere, çok uzak zamana atmaga çalisirdi.