Folklore of Kürse Village (6): Folk Songs, Lamentations and Rhymes

Folk Songs

Folk songs, as we know, bring memories from the lives of our people, drawing them from years, even centuries, into the present. The people pour their sorrows, joys and melancholy into these songs. These are emotions that spring from the heart. Perhaps because they speak to our own emotions, every folk song that is on the tip of most of our tongues every day has a story behind it—if only it could be researched and examined—and there is certainly an aspect to it that conveys the life of a particular person. Here, I shall endeavour to present a few folk songs that were once sung in this village, along with their stories.

The Mehmet Ballad

As we know, during the years of the War of Independence, with the state’s control having broken down, bands of outlaws emerged in the villages; some of these began to engage in banditry. A man named Deli Mehmet, from one of the neighbouring villages, was a member of one such gang. When the Kuvayı Milliye began to be organised, the gangs gathered in Edremit to fight against the Greeks (on the Edremit Front).

Mehmet, however, could not leave his beloved woman behind in one of the neighbouring villages to go to the front. When he went to meet the woman he loved, he was shot and killed by his rivals. After Mehmet’s death, a folk song was composed about this incident. Izzet and Araboğlu, mentioned in the song, were villagers from Kürse and members of the old gangs, as well as being Mehmet’s friends.

The folk song is sung as a lament from the perspective of Mehmet’s mother. The song goes as follows:

Mehmet who fired Martini rifles,
Mehmet who strutted proudly,
The world could not contain you,
Mehmet, now lying in a narrow place.

Fire my loaded Martini,
See, my arms are bound,
Put the watch from my neck
On Araboğlu.

Rest in Edremit, İzzet,
Look through your binoculars, İzzet,
They’ve shot my Mehmet,
Set fire to Eşeler, Izzet.

The fields didn’t say a word,
Mehmet of all the Mehmets,
How could you kill him,
Mehmet, the bridegroom.

(Note: ‘Eşeler’, as mentioned in the folk song, is the name of the village where Mehmet was shot.)

The Nâyim Bey Ballad

This folk song is sung about an incident that took place in Ömerköy, one of the nearby villages. According to the story, back in the day—that is, in the early years when aeroplanes first appeared in Turkey—a pilot named Nâyim was engaged to a girl from Ömerköy. The pilot would fly over the village every day to see his fiancée, performing various aerobatic manoeuvres in his aeroplane. One day, whilst flying over the village, Nâyim Bey’s aeroplane crashed. The remains of Nâyim Bey, who had fallen from the wreckage, were left hanging from pine branches. In response, the villagers composed a folk song. It is said that in our village, too, this song was sung by women in the wheat fields and at various gatherings right up until recent times. I have included the four verses of the song that I have managed to collect below:

My aeroplane took off,
It spun round in the air,
Nayim Bey’s entrails
Got tangled in a pine branch.

My aeroplane has a wing,
With a pipe running through the middle.
If you ask about Nâyim Bey,
He’s got a sweetheart in Ömerköy.

My aeroplane has a wing,
It has a path across the sky.
He asks the shepherds
Ask the shepherds.

He used to set off from Yeşilköy,
He would alight at Halalca,
and would return
He would spin, sparkling brightly.

The Ballad of Koca Gökçe

According to the story, in the nearby village of Şapla, a young girl was given in marriage to an elderly man. The girl was not happy with this marriage. The villagers composed this folk song in the girl’s own words. The song was sung in our village, just as it was in the surrounding villages. I was only able to find and compile a portion of the ballad, which is said to be quite long. I present the sections of this rather old ballad that I was able to find:

She goes to the mountain like a greyhound,
He returns home like a lamb,
I am by his side like a girl,
Am I worthy of Gökçe?

He goes to the mountain like a grandfather,
He comes home like a flatbread,
I’m by his side like a bride,
Am I worthy of Gökçe?

You can’t feed a horse on barley,
Days do not pass with an old man,
You cannot tell black from white,
Am I worthy of Gökçe?

The Ballad of Haşim Bey

Haşim Bey served as village headman many years ago and was one of the village’s leading figures in his day. During his tenure, he rendered considerable service to the village and, amongst other things, had the village headman’s office built. It was whilst he was having this village hall built that he lost the election and was forced to step down as village headman. Following this incident, a folk song was composed in the village in Haşim Bey’s voice. I have only been able to find a very small part of this song, so I am sharing what I have managed to find:

I had the council chamber built,
I had the windows fitted,
Just as I was about to settle in,
But I lost the seals.

Children’s Rhymes

As is well known, children’s rhymes are harmonious, rhyming phrases that children recite whilst playing various games or as they begin to play. I’ve selected a few of them. Children recite the following rhyme whilst holding hands, waving their arms and spinning round:

Goat, goat, baa,
Climb onto my head
Come on, let’s go,
To Ayşe’s house
Ayşe’s grandmother is ill,
Her soup’s in the bowl.
Her handkerchief is made of silk,
She’s a dog.

(Note: The word ‘tete’ used here means ‘aunt’ in the village.)

The following nursery rhyme is also recited during the game. Two children hold hands again; as they begin to recite the rhyme, they wave their hands in an arc from bottom to top, as if drawing water from a well. At the part of the rhyme where it says ‘the ring goes round my neck’, without letting go of each other’s hands, they swing their arms over their heads and turn round:

My mum draws water for me from the minaret, draws water,
The ring goes round my neck.
There’s a bird on the minaret,
There’s silver on its wing,
My brother-in-law’s pocket is full of all sorts of nuts.
My mum draws water for me from the minaret, draws water,
And the ring passes round my neck.
They called my nuts
They called me a beggar
I’m worse than a beggar
I wander from street to street.
My mother draws water for me from the minaret, draws water,
And the ring passes round my neck.

The rhyme I’m about to share is one of those recited when choosing the ‘it’ player

. It’s recited whilst counting out.
Oooo (this sound is made by putting the index finger in the mouth),
Anya manya kumpanya,
A bottle of champagne.
I drank the champagne,
I reaped the field,
I’ve had enough of this game,
I’ve given up on this game.

During the counting-out, whoever the rhyme ends with is out of the game. The remaining players count out again to choose the ‘it’ player. This counting-out continues until only one person remains. The last person left becomes ‘it’ and the game begins.

Lament

The lament we present in this section was composed in the form of a hymn by a woman from the village named Miyase Duran, for her daughter Fikriye, who died at a young age after falling ill. As a hymn, it is still recited today in a melodious manner at Mevlit ceremonies, particularly those held in memory of the deceased. The mother, who felt deep sorrow at the loss of her daughter at such a young age, sought solace in her religious beliefs and expressed her feelings as follows:

The Fikriye Hymn

Let there be no complaint, let there be a tale,
I wept day and night, crying out for my Fikriye.
A subtle ache has entered my heart,
For years I wept, calling out for my Fikriye.

No more tears flow from my eyes,
A fire burns in the depths of my heart,
Leaving my mother, father and three brothers
I’m leaving them behind in longing.

My Fikriye, you have torn my mother’s heart to shreds,
For years I have sought a remedy for my sorrow.
When death comes, it spares no one,
So I went, submitting to God’s will.

In my dream, angels ascended to the heavens,
The heralds went to the heavenly procession,
They led me to the palace and the mansion,
They had all prepared, as if I were coming.

The Almighty has decreed it thus,
God has granted us Paradise,
O Messenger of Allah, grant us your intercession,
For my ummah, in the grave and on the Day of Judgement.

Thank God I did not live long in this world,
I did not commit sinful deeds,
I never neglected my prayers and supplications,
So that I might attain the pleasure of the Almighty.

Thank God, I have reached my goal with my Lord,
My place is ready in the highest Paradise,
I have but half an hour left in this world,
The veils will part and I shall depart.

My dear mother, come and sit by my side,
I shall never again take your hand in this world,
The Angel of Death has come and settled upon my body,
Saying, ‘You’ll burn when you die, my young lamb.’

Mum, you brought me to the age of sixteen,
I was a budding rose, yet you withered me,
‘Have I ever caused you any grief?
‘Forgive me, my child,’ she said.

Mother, you too, leave your worldly duties behind,
A bitter parting has come between us,
I am leaving now; the roads lie far ahead,
‘You’ll grieve when I’m gone, my child,’ they say.

Come, my brothers, let us seek each other’s forgiveness,
Let us speak of the paths to the Hereafter,
The Houris say, ‘Let us be reunited soon,’
They embrace me, saying, ‘Let us go.’

All my neighbours, come along too,
So that you may know my state,
If you have any claims against me, please forgive me,
Some call me ‘sister’, some ‘brother’.

Mum, I’ve never broken your heart,
I’ve never gone where anyone’s been hurt,
Mother, where did I find myself in this state,
It was by the will of God that I became a believer.

No one can know my plight,
Ah, how hard this young death must be,
I bore it myself, I knew my own sorrow,
So that I might enter Paradise—the Garden of Firdaus.

I never knew who I truly was,
I could never find a remedy for this sorrow,
Nor did I ever have my fill of my youth,
I grieve that my youth did not last.

May my mother see my clothes,
and say, ‘Where is my little one who used to wear these?’,
May she give alms to the poor and needy,
So that I may wear the robes of Paradise.

May my mother grieve and weep for me,
May she find joy in the company of my brothers,
May she always pray for me,
May my mother yearn for me, calling me her young lamb.

Stretch me out to my full height,
Let them pour my water when the cauldron is full,
May my mother weep for me when the Day of Judgement comes,
Saying, ‘You were the light of my eyes, my child.’

I was but a little bird who flew from the nest,
I have turned my back on this mortal world,
Do not forget me in your prayers,
May my Lord be praised, so that I may be remembered.

Mother, lift me up and take me for a little walk,
For my time amongst you is short,
Have my grave dug by the roadside,
So that I may always be remembered in prayer.

For two years my heart has burned within me,
My cry has risen to the heavens,
On the eighth day of Eid al-Adha,
You departed, that I might be a sacrifice to Allah.

Father, you taught me to sing like a nightingale,
You had the Holy Quran recited seven times,
You won the admiration of all the worlds,
I yearn, for I could never get enough of reading.

My place of learning was Balıkesir, my village was Kürse,
My name was Fikriye, daughter of Niyazi Hoca,
May my epic be told throughout the world,
May God Almighty have mercy upon me.

A Rhyme by Mustafa Taşdemir

I thought it appropriate to include here an example of an independent rhyme I received from Mustafa Taşdemir, one of the village’s most charming and witty residents, as well as a ‘Menu’ arranged in the style of a ‘mevlit’. The rhyme is recited at weddings or large social gatherings by M. Taşdemir, who is always the life and soul of such occasions; the ‘Menu’, on the other hand, is recited in a melodic style, just like a ‘mevlid’.

The Rhyme

My dear friends,
A year or two ago
I was at the market in İzmir.
I looked around
to see if I could spot a friend or two...
Oh my, what do I see...
All my mates turned up right in front of me!
Who, you ask?

Giggly Kerim, Selim the Pear Seller,
Havran the Milkman, Bayram the Egg Seller,
Ramazan the Gypsy, Yılmaz the Cart Driver…
I can’t list the rest.

I got on the train from there.
There were no seats on the train.
In short, we were in a right mess…
I stood there,
and listened in on the conversation.
I heard that inside
Of flesh, of sorrow,
soft things, hard things,
Cold and heat,
stoves and fireplaces,
From the village headman and the local councillor,
Elections, livelihoods,
From the Altai Mountains to India,
Fleas and lice,
and many other things.

During this journey, I eventually arrived in Bandırma.
Just as I was about to get off the train and board the ferry,
didn’t my foot slip a bit…!
Off I went into the sea…
I’m dying, drifting away, an arm is visible,
No, no, that’s not visible either
Just as I was thinking that, someone grabbed me by the hem of my trousers,
and pulled me out.
They turned me upside down and dangled me.
Are you wondering what came out of me?

Let me tell you, sir:

Exactly 48 mackerel,

52 sea bream,

78 frogs;

26 eels

62 rockfish…

A whole lot of stomach contents.
Along with these, 2 ship’s hooks,

92 crabs…

Forget about the other side…

Come on, lads!
Bring on the strong tea,
I don’t drink tea,
I’ll have a coffee,
With milk, please.
If you’re planning to give me a ring, dear citizens,
Dear guests,

my address is as follows:

In the Sorsavuş neighbourhood,
next to the stone shop,
The owner of the empty shop
the granddaughter of Abize,
Feride’s son-in-law,
From the chattering squad of the Capcup regiment
Son of the bitter turnip, son of the bitter chilli,
Osman’s son,

Osman’s father:

Mustafa Taşdemir

Menu

Let us begin with soup,
It is a must for every guest at the table.

The dishes came from the kitchen one by one,
And the fried chicken was placed in the centre.

Amongst the dishes came some courgette,
Have a nibble wherever you find it.

The dishes came from the kitchen, one by one,
Served with bulgur pilaf and fruit compote.

Amongst those dishes was aubergine;
can anyone resist this when they see it?

Chickpeas are a favourite in those dishes,
My stomach is rumbling like a tambourine and a lute from hunger.

O dear ones, our words are now at an end,
I suspect your eyes are fixed on the rice pudding.

Edited and read by Mustafa Taşdemir

All episodes of the series

1. Foreword and Introduction to the Village
2. Customs relating to birth and children
3. Folk Medicine
4. Superstitions and Folk Meteorology
5. Proverbs, Blessings and Curses
6. Folk Songs, Lamentations and Nursery Rhymes
7. Legends and Riddles
8. Fairy Tales
9. Rhymes and Ramadan Rhymes

Traditions and Customs page