Download document


He who shouts in anger is harmless

Fear the one who is silent in anger.


Stupidly studying, I missed life.

I caught myself, but it's too late. Here it is, halt!

Semi-knowledgeable - I thought I was a sage

And arrogantly waited for awards and praise.

He dreamed of leading the rest,

And they led me astray.

I am alone, and you can’t count the impudent ignoramuses,

And ridiculous jokes are now in honor.

I have no friends, no lover.

I sing wearily at the end of my years.

Oh, how vast the world seemed

That time, as I met the dawn of life!

Translation by A. Steinberg

Jelsiz tunde jaryk ai / At Windless Night

Through windless night the glinting moon

Illuminates in flowing waves

The village nestled in the vale

Where crests the overflowing stream

The thick-trunked, bare-branched tree

Speaks in whispers to itself:

Don’t you see the bustling earth

Turning its face green again?»T


The mountain echoed, including the muses,

The barking dogs are inciting.

Do you come and wait for,

To meet the dear one in lonesomeness?

Unceremoniously inspired you are,

Now cooling and then warming yourselves,

You cannot breathe, but seek for pleasure,

Apprehensively, frantically frightened

Lingering without saying no words

Heart of the beloved may be beating violently.

Tell whether it was she standing before you

Hiding her chin under your neck?


Spring came and melted the snow and ice.

The earth was covered in soft velvet.

Freed from winter's hibernation and heartache

all that lives dings with its heart to warmth and light.

The birds fly in and spring entered the blossoming garden,

and the youths made a racket like fledglings.

The old men rose again as from the grave

and are honestly happy to meet again their friends.

The families hurry to their kinsmen in the nearby aul:

embraces, exclamations—a happy commotion.

Young laughter is carried on the air in triumph.

The people have shaken off the winter worries.

Sharp cries come from the she-camels and the lambs bleat in the yard.

Butterflies and birds flutter in the ravines.

Powerful streams burble, wind and flow

under the fixed gaze of trees and flowers.

Swans and geese glide decorously past the banks.

The children rush about searching for birds' nests.

You gallop on your winged horse.

The hawk soars up, its plumage flashing,

you strap the prey to your saddle—

and the girls playfully block your way.

The young girls' costumes are wonderful.

The snowdrops flower and delight the soul.

The sparrows in the sky and the nightingales in the

ravines sing their songs

The cuckoo and thrush echo them from the mountains.

The trading folk come with new goods.

The peasants get down to reaping.

Everyone is rewarded for their long work and sweat.

The flocks multiply with the new young.

What a wonderful world the Creator has given us!

He magnanimously and generously gave us his light.

When mother-earth fed us from her breast,

our Father in heaven thoughtfully inclined over us.

Your soul trusts in the mercy of Allah,

who has breathed life with spring into the earth.

The cattle have grown fat in the steppe, abundance descends,

and man's spirits soar, he comes to from the time of losses.

Everything, except for the black rocks, is warm and pulses with life.

Everyone is so generous that the skinflints are angry.

You follow the rebirth of the world with rapture—

the soul finds its stronghold in the Creator.

Old women and men go out in the sun, the children are uproarious.

The herds bask in the sun, glossy and well-fed.

The trill and chirruping of songbirds flows.

The calls of the geese and swans come from the river.

The sunset has faded. The moon and stars triumph.

How could the beams of the stars not pierce the darkness.

But in anticipation of the return of the sun

they pale and lose their sparkle.

The sun now, like a bridegroom back from its travels,

arranges its bond with the bride-earth.

The stars and moon turn pale as they see

how light-bearing and immortal is this bond.

The warm wind brings the news to the moon and stars

that the wedding is nigh—the feast is open to all,

that the earth has thrown off its snow-white covering

and beams with a happy smile.

The earth has waited all winter for its beloved sun,

and united with it and slaked its passion:

This is the result of that everlasting passion:

all is in blossom, radiant as the fire-bird.

No one dares to stare straight at the sun,

but they love it and are warmed by its soulful heat.

And I myself saw the sun going into

its gold and purple tent in the evening.


When summer in the mountains gains its peak,

When gaily blooming flowers begin to fade,

When nomads from the sunshine refuge seek

Beside a rapid river, in a glade,

Then in the grassy meadows here and there

The salutatory neighing can be heard

Of varicouloured stallion and mare.

Quiet, shoulder-deep in water stands the herd;

The grown-up horses wave their silky tails,

Lazily shooing off some irksome pest,

While frisky colts go folicking about

Upsetting elder horses, at their rest.

The geese fly honking through the cloudless skies.

The ducks skim noiselessly across the river,

The girls set up the felt tents, slim and spry,

As coy and full of merriment as ever.

Returning from his flocks, pleased with his ride,

Again in the aul appears the bai.

His horse goes on with an unhurried stride,

He sits and smiles upon it, hat awry.

Surrounding the saba in a close ring,

Sipping their heady beverage — kumyss,

Old men sit by a yurta, gossiping yurta

And chuckling at quips rarely amiss.

Incited by the servants comes a lad

To beg the cook, his mother, for some meat.

Beneath an awning, gay and richly clad

The bais on gorgeous carpets take their seats.

And sip their tea, engaged in leisured talk.

One speaks, while others listen and admire

His eloquence and wit. Towards them walks

A bent old man bereft of strength and fire.

He shouts at shepards not to raise the dust

Aiming to win the favor of the bais.

And yet in vain he raises such a fuss —

They sit and never even turn their eyes.

There, tucking up the hems of their chapans,

Leisurely swaying in their saddles as they trot

From nightly grazing come the young chabans

Whipping their lusty steeds god knows for what.

A long way off from the aul's last tents

With movement and excitement getting warm,

On horseback, too, the bai's son and his friends

Enjoy a falcon hunt. The bird's in splendid form

At one quick spurt such falcons catch and bring

Crashing to earth the great, unwieldy geese.

Meanwhile that bent old maan, unlucky thing,

The toady that had nigh gone hoarse to plea

The haughty bais, unnoticed, watches on,

And sighs for sorrow that his time is gone.

translated by Dorian Rottenberg

Black Of My Eye

Black of my eye

Frame of my mind

Drink never dry

Love of my Life

Parting is winter, your absence is sorrow

I wish to stay until the morrow

Between your fair arms

when the nightingale sings, "Terrow"

The corners of your eyes

sparkle and they glisten

when you speak your solid words

everyone will listen

Black of my eye

Frame of my mind

Drink never dry

Love of my Life