I was born in the exuberant, fertile countryside, in fragrant brightly colored flowers, sun-fried fruits of the south. The wilderness inside me, that is, my wilderness, is the Taurus wilderness which has taught me how to breath and think. The sorrowful wilderness of my childhood, the educative sparking wilderness of my youth. It is my wilderness with its dryness, its wild flowers, its oaks, its figs, olives, and peppers roasted under the scorching southern sun.

Now, when I refresh my memories, I think of rainy days, whether it be winter, autumn or spring, a cloudy but bright sky, a sharp wind, a cold stillness emanating from the working and tired earth. I remember a little sun appearing and disappearing behind the shifting wandering clouds, making the earth darker each time it hid behind the clouds. I remember those short days of January and February with northeaster as if it were today, the sounds of our steps would echo against the wall as we walked briskly on the road covered with a thin layer of ice. When I came home from this walk, my feet would hurt and my face would be on fire. Still, I would feel tense and strong, as if I had just come back from a victory.

I remember the vineyards houses. I remember the grass fires that were lighted towards the evening. What a joy it was for us children, full of poetry. Then beds would be laid on the roofs. As soon as we ate our meals, we would immediately go to bed. We would watch the stars that started to get closer to the earth, think about the greatness, supremacy, and sublimity of Allah, and dive into the purest sleep among the falling stars.

While listening to the beautiful stories told by the grown-ups on the vintage days, a heaviness would fall on our eyes under the sad light of the gas lamp and we would fall asleep. The life was very simple and plain, but people were peaceful and happy. The children were happy. There were no radios, televisions, heating boilers, washing machines, and detergents. There were stoves and gas lamps, but the people were peaceful and happy.

Then, due to my father's civil service, we left the country of poetry. I was a child of seven or eight at the time. This was our first time far from home. The return to the country of poetry after a six-year separation, most of which was spent in Malatya and some in Tunceli. The years when we took our first steps towards youth. I understand once again that the ties between me and this fresh, free world have never been broken, and have become thicker and stronger with each passing day. Now, a slow approach towards poetry.
We meet the magazine 'Hamle'. Nuri Pakdil and his friends publish it. It is a magazine published by the literature branch of Maraş High School. There, for the first time, I come across a poem by Sezai Karakoç: I keep repeating the lines of 'Are you the winter sun/ You burn but you don't heat/ If there is no middle of a river/ Will I remember you'. It looks different and beautiful to me. I read beautiful poems and articles in 'Hamle'. 'Hamle' is a magazine published by high school students, but it arouses repercussions throughout Türkiye. My passion for poetry is growing. Then the high school was next to the barracks, in a stone building from the Germans. While walking around the garden, a friend whom I can't remember now hands me the famous 'Mona Roza' poems of Sezai Karakoç. These poems blow me away.

Then I fell in love with Nuri Pakdil's short stories, prose and criticisms in 'Hamle', and new horizons are opening up in front of me. Our meeting with Nuri Ağabey will be later. Then 'Hamle' is in our hands. Under the supervision of our esteemed teacher Mustafa Atatanır, we are publishing 'Hamle'. How did we meet? I don't remember at all how I met with Cahit Zarifoğlu and Erdem Bayazıt, with Ali Kutlay, with Sait Zarifoğlu with Hasan Seyithanoğlu and Faruk Balık, with Akif İnan. I remember only how we met with Şeref Turhan; he had just returned from the military service, Nuri ağabey had introduced him. Then we spent all our nights together. Me, Şeref, Cahit, Erdem and Akif were poetry lovers. Ahmet and Hasan were outside the world of literature, but we were still close friends. Their interest in literature was much later. Faruk was a good listener. At night, he would listen to the poems I read on the way to the barracks and we would get grieve together. Yes, the nights... The nights of the country of poetry… Sait used to write poems too, but for some reason he could not find his line. One day, his brother Cahit attributed this to his writing a lot. Indeed, Sait used to write lots of poems. What happened to those poems? I can't help but mention one side of Sait, he had a heart of gold, a heart of pure essence. He still has. I would not study, nothing would interest me except literature, philosophy. That's why I'd have make-up exams for algebra, geometry, and whatever yet I don't know. Sait used to search high and low for me in Pınarbaşı in order to make me study. Sait greatly contributed to my graduation from high school. If it wasn't for him, they would have handed us the document. Anyway, back to poetry.

We used to read the magazine Varlık at that time. It satisfied our need for poetry and literature. There was also a magazine published by Abidin Kısakürek, I don't remember the name now. But this magazine was pale beside 'Varlık', it could not run with it. There was also a magazine called İstanbul. İstanbul was a more sophisticated magazine, but it did not have the effectiveness of "Varlık". With Abidin Kısakürek's magazine, Istanbul had a right-wing outlook. 'Varlık' was something more innovative.  One day, we met Mehmet Beyazıt at the Erdem's house. He was quite older than us and was a very interesting person too. He was telling me things I hadn't heard before. It was through Mehmet Ağabey that we met with the 'Büyük Doğu'. And meanwhile, 'Büyük Doğu' began to be published again. We were reading the master with great appetite, storms were blowing in our souls. And in the meantime, a weekly magazine called "Pazar Postası" began to appear, or rather began to come into our hands. The magazine was coming to Şeref's bookstore next to Çocuk Bahçesi. We saw "Second New" there. At first, we found odd, but it didn't take long for us to adopt this movement. Now we have started to join the caravan. We were reading poems and poems by walking up and down with friends in the windy nights of Maraş, this unique country of poetry. When the "Varlık" magazine resisted the "Second New" movement, it lost its effectiveness and withered away. Is it possible to resist the flow that comes, does what time requires, and responds to a need?

Then all aboard İstanbul. I studied the last year of high school in İstanbul. Then the Faculty of Letters and the 1960 Revolution. Nuri Ağabey is in military. A letter arrives from him. In this letter he wants us to meet Sezai Karakoç, he gives his address. We are going with Rasim. Karakoç was then the finance controller in Karaköy. We meet. This time, a whole new world is opening up in front of us and it continues. And I constantly experience Maraş in my poems. In all of my poems, there are indirectly or directly the yields of the country of poetry: Bizim oralarda hüzün/ Geceleyin gündüzün/ Göğüslerde dağlanır/ Gözlerde oyalanır/ Ağaç dallanır/ Sularla kanlanır/ yenilen hüzündür/ içilen hüzün/ Geceleyin gündüzün.