Bartok in Turkey

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Bartok in Turkey

A. Adnan Saygun

The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 37, No. 1. (Jan., 1951), pp. 5-9.

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BARTOK IN TURKEYBy A. ADNAN SAYGUN

0NE day in May of 1936 I talked with my friend, the Turkish

musicologist Mahmud R. GazimihAl, about the means of set-

ting forth the t rue character of the folk music of Anatolia, hi therto

unknown to folklorists. Ou r train of thought had been started by a

monograph, in Hungarian, containing a map of folklore areas in

which the Anatolian peninsula had been indicated as belonging tothe Arabo-Persian region. We decided t o publish, each of us indi-

vidually, a booklet, with the end in view of correcting the error and

showing the ties that bound Anatolia on the one hand with Asia and

on the other with Hungary, Ireland, etc.

We did so without delay, and did not neglect to send copies to

the author of the monograph mentioned. After but a few weeks, we

received a letter from our addressee informing us of Rela Bart6k's

interest in the subject. Some bits of music were included, written

out by the composer, who wished to know ~vhe th er n Anatolia one

could find songs exhibiting this turn of phrase. Thus Bart6k

became interested in the folk music of Turkey and expressed a desire

to undertake a trip through Anatolia. His only request was for a

second-class round-tr ip ticket.

Towards the end of October he arrived in Istanbul, and from the

day after his arrival we went to work in the archives of the Con-

servatory hearing one after another the folk pieces there recorded

on disks. On one occasion, he jumped up and-clearly moved-asked

me to play the song o\er again. It ~ v a sa dance tune, in 9/4 nirsak

(irregular meter), divided thus: d di d d J . But no: he drew

my attention to certain irregular arid almost im erceptible pro-

longations whi -11 modified this rhythnl, thus: d d 5 ;d d .) , or- 4

d d d J h . I had to confess that my ears, accustomed to the

regul& aksak'Fl~~thms,ad played a trick on me and that my precon-

ceived notions had prevented my observing this barely perceptible

irregularity. This strange irregularity in a piece of dance music hadcome as a surprise to him.

His meticulous mind kept him constantly alert not only to every-



6 The Musical Quarterly

thing he heard but also to everything he saw. After a day of listening

to a great many records, we took a short walk through the streets of

Istanbul; and at one point he stopped in front of a store where hehad noticed a kind of h i t hat he had never seen before. We bought

some. I can still see him looking at it as we walked along, and then

stopping-as he often did when he had something important to say-

to ask me if we had any songs with texts describing this fruit. Thus

a new subject of conversation was broached-fruit and folk music.

How could I ever forget that, other example of his valiant and

keen spirit which, like a child's, was interested in everything, asking

questions and then hastening to make comparisons: how often in

Adana we ran after some wagon covered with rustic designs! He was

greatly interested not only in these designs but also in the way the

horses were hitched, and the various kinds of bells that were custo-

marily attached to them. Running thus from one wagon to another

was great sport; and often, leaving the wagons, we would stop before

the caravans of camels, to capture and savor the strange rhythm and

harmony of their bells.t t

JC

At Ankara, where he had given three lectures on folk music

(interestingly enough, the first in French, the second in German, and

the third in Hungarian) and three concerts, we had been able to

collect some songs. Perhaps it might be well to say a few words about

his manner of working which, in my opinion, deserves to be known

by folklorists. Bart6k had assigned to me the phonetic transcription

of the text; I took down this text only during the singing. For his

part, he tried to write down as exactly as possible the melody itself.If I happened to finish with the text before he had completed his

notation of the melody, I was to set to work writing down the melody

also, for later comparison with his version. Of course, I jotted down

on my piece of paper the necessary data about the singer, the place

where the song was collected, etc.

Using a metronome, moreover, we would indicate the tempo at

the beginning of each song; and with a pitch-pipe we would verify

and note the register of the voice. In the course of the repetition of

the melody, we constantly tried to indicate the variants that pre-

sented themselves and I was to pay special attention to the changes

that might occur in the course of the repetition of the text.

Obviously, it was not easy to write all this down at one time. But



Bart6k in Mersin, Turkey, 1936

Bart6k and the author (in light felt hat) in the district ofToprak Kale, on the road to the nomadic tribes in

the mountains



Bart6k on M ou nt Tiiys iiz

Bar t6k w i t h members of th e nomadic t r ibe of Ku marl i ,distr ict of Osmaniye



7art6k in Turkey

after this first part of the work had been completed, there remained

for us only the task of turning on the old Edison recording machine,

to get the song down on the wax cylinder. I was not at all pleasedwith this piece of apparatus, which had many inconvenient features.

It could not, for example, record clearly both the voice and the

accompanying instrument at the same time. Truly it was also annoy-

ing to Bart6k. But he preferred it to the other machines, which

needed either to be plugged into an electric system or to be accom-

panied by heavy storage batteries.

Near Adana, where we went in hopes of finding some nomad

tribes, the Master did not seem to me completely satisfied despite the

good harvest of songs we were gathering there. As we were coming

into one of the villages he told me why: he particularly wanted to

record some songs that were sung by women. This presented quite

a problem, for Moslem women would not easily consent to sing,

especially in the presence of a stranger. I did all I could to persuade

these country folk to produce a woman-whether a lively young girl

or an aged lady-to sing for us; but I was unsuccessful. They had

plenty of time to observe us after our arrival. Surely they could not

impute evil intentions to us; we did not seem to be bad fellows.

Certainly they could trust us. Finally, our host promised me that

after dinner his wife and his daughter would sing. I hastened to tell

Bart6k the good news, which he received with childlike joy. We

waited impatiently for the dinner hour. Finally it was announced.

After dinner, we sat back with our cups of good Turkish coffee,which had been roasted, ground, and brewed right there and which

the Master liked so much. Suddenly a person among the little group

of observers who had accompanied us on this trip, addressing our

host, blurted out, "Well, where are the women?" I can still feel the

blood rush to my face. At that moment, a glacial silence invaded

the room, where there were about fifteen of us, including the others

who had been invited. This was one of the most insulting things

that could be said to a Turkish peasant. Our host glanced with flash-

ing eyes at the one who committed this piece of folly. No one moved.

And Bartbk, though he did not understand a word, was fully aware

that something serious was happening: he remained puzzled, his

cup of coffee in his hand, his eyes fixed on me. I tried to open a



The Musical Quarterly

conversation (insignificant, I well knew) by speaking of the village

mill we had visited that afternoon. After that, we had to take our

leave. The next morning, at dawn, we left-the two of us-withoutsaying anything to anyone.

In a neighboring village we had the good fortune of finding two

musicians, one of whom played the zurna, a kind of rustic oboe with

piercing tone, and the other the davul, a species of primitive big

drum. This was the first time Bart6k had seen these instruments.

That evening, we set up our equipment in a schoolroom, full of

country people, our inquisitive spectators. Seven oil lamps spread a

pale and wavering light in the room. As usual, before recording we

were to write down the melody of the zurna and the rhythm of the

davul. The musicians began to play, and-something strange re-

sulted: the blows that the old fellow gave to his instrument made the

whole building shake. The panes of glass in the windows never

stopped making their extraordinarily droll answers to the powerful

drum-beats. The piercing cry of the zurna made the air of the room

most vibrant, producing a deafening and bizarre roar. And to crown

the situation, as each blow of the percussion instrument jarred both

the oil and the wicks, the light of the seven lamps dimmed in

cadence, almost going out, and then in a moment coming back on

again most brilliantly, so that there was a peculiar and constant

alternation of light and darkness in the room. I can still see Bartbk,

with a start, dropping his pencil and paper, signalling me to con-

tinue, and carrying his hands to his ears. H e remained thus, his ears

tensely stopped, to the end of the performance. This posture that

he assumed greatly amused the country people, who did not cease

laughing. Truly it amused us too.Bart6k had set to work for some time studying the Turkish

language. The words common to the two languages repeatedly be-

came the subject of our conversation. Having encountered consider-

able difficulties in convincing not only the women to sing but also

the men, whether young or old (for they had a vague apprehension

before a stranger who did not speak their language), I proposed to

the Master that we make up a sentence that would be almost the

same in Hungarian and Turkish. Then whenever we again met

some people who were intimidated by the presence of a stranger, I

would take over and give them a litt le talk about the history of the

two peoples, in which I would say that the Hungarians were only

Turks who had settled somewhere else, that they always had spoken



9artok in Turkey

Turkish, but that evidently in the course of the centuries their

accent had become more or less different. After that I would ask the

composer to repeat the sentence we concocted. Bart6k would repeatit readily with an anxious smile barely visible on his lips. Of course,

everyone understood it, and after several disquisitions on this sub-

ject we quietly set to work. Here is the sentence:

In Hungarian: Pa mu k tar l dn soh drpa, alnza, teve , sdtor , bal ta, csizma, kicsi

hecske van .

In Turkish: P a m u k t ar la s inda c ok a r pa , a l m a , de v e , ~ a d i r , a lt a, g iz m e,

kiiciik k e ~ iar.

(Translation: In the cotton field are much barley and many apples, camels,

tents, axes, boots, and young goats.)

We returned, first to Ankara, then to Istanbul, where he took the

train for Budapest. The trip had convinced him of the close relation-

ship between Turkish and Hungarian folk music. We decided to

collaborate on these songs and publish them together. From Buda-

pest he sent me copies of some of the wax cylinders I had transcribed.

I sent him the translation of the texts.

In 1937 he was expecting me in Budapest. But, alas-the political

situation was daily becoming more grave. I had my anxieties; he had

his. One day I received a typewritten letter from him-which sur-

prised me, since he had always been accustomed to write by hand. It

was after the Anschlzlss. Bart6k told me in his letter that since Vienna

was being occupied by the Nazis he could no longer maintain con-

tact with his publisher. On the other hand, he saw clearly that he

could no longer live in Hungary. He asked me if I could find a

position for him in Turkey that would permit him to establish per-

manent residence there. We could then work together advantageously

on the study of the folk music of Turkey which, he said, was of lively

interest to him. He would be content with a very small salary. Alas,

again! I was not able to obtain anything for him. Some foreign

musician who had been given the job of organizing musical educa-

tion in Turkey stood in the way. In leaving Hungary, accordingly,

he went to find his home in the United States, whence he was not toreturn again to the Old World.

Documents

Bartok in Turkey