Recep Garip
He was born in 1956 in Sanlıca village of Tarsus district. He completed his higher education at Istanbul High Islamic Institute. Between 19882-1994 he served as the Cultural and Social Affairs Director of Istanbul Ümraniye and Eminönü municipalities. Recep Garip has been Adana Deputy at the 22nd Parliament for 5 years. He published Alemara, Büyük Akın, Çınar, Pulsuz, Yeni Sıla, and Ay Vakti magazines. He is the author of 25 published books. Over 30 years, Recep Garip has been doing oil painting, and he opened his 30 solo painting exhibition. His poems and essays have been published in many magazines such as Türk Dili, Mavera, İkindi Yazıları, İslami Edebiyat, Düş Çınarı, Yedi İklim, Susku, Hece, Ay Vakti, Dil ve Edebiyat, and Aşkın (e)Hali.

His works

  • Deprem Sesi / The Sound of Quake
  • Öğretmen Şiirleri / Teachers’ Poetry
  • Irmaklar Akar İçimden / Rivers Flow Inside Me
  • Savaş Türküsü / A Ballad of War
  • Mavi Gül / Blue Rose
  • Bir Leyla Düşü / A Leyla Dream
  • Mavi Türkü / A Blue Ballad.


O rain, I can read the news from your eyes
An image of a sopping wet city bleeds continuously
The child fallen to the night does bleed
It doesn’t know being lost in the darkness
The moon warming the night, the wind cooling it
They look like a rattle snake
As if a song being heard from afar
A lyrical fasil segâh and a bit of hicaz mode
Bats suck my inner parts
The city walls seem to be a labyrinth
Don’t worry, this is not going to stay like this
It rains continuously
My inner parts get wet
Really, to where it rains…

Rain maries the soil
The goods are enjoying themselves
The goods are near here; the goods are at a distant
Actually it is better that I find out about it
A voice is being heard inside of me
A voice being heard from all eternity
As if a breath coming from prophet Abraham
Rain, it rains continuously
My heart sinks
Really, to where it rains

A morning wind, a sad wind of flood
My wind rose is lost, what a shame
Maddened colts pass through me
Take a look antiquated sirs
There is no mirror, neither a comb
Human face is as crystalline as water
It comes barefooted through the heart of history
Poetry resembles noble horses, a standard in the skies
The milky way, ruined inns, gazel singers
A fire in Tophane, it seems like the spring arrives
What is all about this wind blowing from Baghdad
What is this atrocity, there are people crying in Aleppo
Rain makes my heart sinks
My soul is elated in Jerusalem
The earthquake inside me is a sheer flood
Really, to where it rains