The image of the Kurd in Turkish literature and popular culture is a relatively well-studied trope. Here I explore the converse: the representation of Turkishness by a master of Kurdish literature, Melayê Cizîrî (1567-1640), whose works are considered central to the formation of Kurdish cultural identity.
Cizîrî and Ehmedê Xanî (1650-1707), are considered two of the greatest Kurdish literary figures of the classical era. This is a special period because, though they remained divided, the Kurds then enjoyed relative stability after a period of intense conflict. After the Battle of Caldiran between the Ottomans and the Safavids, the Kurdish Emirates under the leadership of Idris-i Bitlisî secured autonomy from the Ottoman Empire in exchange for their support in the imperial competition between the Iranians and the Ottomans. This arrangement lasted about three centuries, from 1541 to 1874.
The main Kurdish emirates (mîrs) were Botan (1330-1855), Amediye, Ardalan (1170-1867), Bahdinan (1376-1843), Soran (1500-1835), Baban (1649-1850), and Bidlis (1183/1874). In this period, the Kurmanji dialect was enjoying a productive literary life, especially in the Botan-Bahdinan regions. This era of literary flourishing is so significant that many historians of literature note that almost every genre of literature written in the major languages of Arabic, Farsi, and Turkish had its counterpart in the Kurmanji of the period.
In my discussion I want to show how the Turks were imagined in one of those masterpieces of the Kurmanji dialect: Melayê Cizîrî’s Diwan, written in the 16th century. As its name implies, the Diwan included various genres of poetry; it has not yet been translated into English. The translations and paraphrases included here are my own.
What I want to do here is in part an interpretation, as I want to think of the text in terms of something beyond its immediate literary value. It is my belief that texts such as these to some extent reflect the subconscious of their author and express the milieu in which they were written. In them one can find a great deal of information about the social and institutional structures of the society. About customs, lifestyles, and religious beliefs, the status of women, etc. Even if we may not find these pieces of information systematically presented, we can still use them as clues. They can in turn provide answers to questions posed in other fields, such as history, anthropology, sociology, linguistics or theology. The images that occupy the collective memory of a people are formed over a long period of time. And they do not disappear overnight. They reflect the unconscious mind of society and find expression in the hands of different authors.
Cizîrî’s Diwan is an extremely sophisticated text and uses a deeply metaphorical language. There are always multiple layers of meaning. Cizîrî is a mystic philosopher of love and a master of poetic expression. He identifies God with all of existence and understands the divine through the image of the feminine. Let me give an example where the topic relates to both love and the image of the Turk.
Rûm û ‘Ecem ji her teref ceng û suwas e wan bi xef
Hindî û Zengî sef bi sef hatine ber lîwayê zulf
[The armies of Rum and Acem are everywhere engaged in hidden battle
While Indians and Zengis are gathered in ranks under the banner of Zulf [hair].]
Zulf is hair— but more than that, it is hair that is beautiful in the eyes of the lover. This first layer of meaning is the literal or surface meaning. Likewise, Rum, Ecem, Hind, and Zengi can be read simply as the names of peoples. But the second semantic layer has a symbolic meaning: the hair is a kind of obstacle that does not allow the lover a glimpse of the face of the beloved. In classical diwan literature- including the Sufî tradition- Hind or Indians (and also Habesh, Ethiopians) are sometimes used to denote sternness and blackness, while Rum or Turks are used to represent whiteness and beauty. And there is still a third layer of meaning. In Sufi literature zulf denotes the created world or masiwa, everything except for God—that is to say, everything which is transient, everything which perishes, everything which prevents the lover from reaching his true goal. And that true goal, of course, is God.
Just considering these layers, I want to highlight two verses that relate to the image of Turks in the Diwan:
Geh dil û geh can dibin Turkên te tên
Nakirin yexma û talanê xelet
[Whenever Turks come, they take either hearts or lives
They wouldn’t do that much plunder and pillage by accident]
Looking at these verses we may conclude that the image is grounded in repeated historical experience. Historically we know that when Turkic and Mongol tribes came to Anatolia and Mesopotamia they first crossed through the Kurdish lands and destroyed most of the region from Ahlat to Diyarbakır in repeated massacres. Armenians, Syriacs, Kurds and others took refuge in the mountains. The Kurdish lands were turned into a “buffer zone” between the Ottoman and Safavid empires, and were the site of frequent, bloody clashes. These experiences led to an enduring collective image of Turks in the Kurdish imagination.
This historical experience is the basis of a well-known poetic image: the capricious beloved as cruel Turk:
Turkîxwûnrîz xumarê me bi yek xemzegehê
Zuhdê çil sal li min zêr û zeber kir ji esas
[The beloved is like the blood-shedding, drunken Turk;
with a single dimple, she has shaken to the foundations our forty-year life of piety.]
Here, Cizîrî compares the beloved’s deeds to the acts of the Turks, both of which cause immeasurable suffering.
Her li dora Hecerê Swed Hebeşan çerx û tewaf
Tên wuqûfa ‘Erefatê bi sema Nûbî û Zeng
Sef bi sef Turk û Muxul doguş û Hindî di kemîn
Bi ‘eceb hatine cengê Hebeş û Rûm Fireng
Mîr û Kirmanc li holan qederek westane
In this segment the poet describes Turks and Mongols as warlike. They enter into Kurdish lands only for the sake of war and conquest. Other nations, like Indians and Ethiopians, are also seen as participating in this struggle. But the Kurdish Emirates, which find themselves at the intersection of this constant conflict, are exhausted.
Sometimes, Melaye Cizîrî praises the Turks and Arabs for their skill in the arts of war.
Aferîn ya şehsurwarê Tirk û rimbazê ‘Ereb
Lê li tolê asitanê çix bi wan le‘lan kirin
Dergehê fethê vebû îro li mehcûran ‘eceb
[Bravo, O Turkish horseman, O Arab spearman! / When the command to “Fire!” fires out from those mute lips, / That day we the forgotten ones will see the doors of conquest.]
Here the image of the Turk is used not merely to describe the Turks, but also to provide a desirable model for the Kurds in matters of worldly success. Cizîrî wants the Kurdish emirates to grow stronger and more successful; this success will come in part, he believes, by emulating the martial strengths of neighboring nations.
The image of the Turk in Melayê Cizîrî’s work belongs to an expansive semantic field. At root a fearsome warrior and inflictor of historical trauma, the Turk comes also to represent successful conquest and the power of self-determination. At the same time, associations with cruelty and captivation give the image of the Turk a place in Cizîrî’s representation of romantic love, always a double of spiritual love in the Sufi imagination.
Ibrahim Bor is a visiting scholar at Indiana University’s Philosophy Department and a senior fellow at Zahra Institute.