Kitabı oku: «Selected Poetry / Избранное (англ.)», sayfa 2

Since the Kyrlai village was the place where I opened my eyes to the world, I felt I had to dwell on these memories a little longer.

That is why I will write several paragraphs about the changes, which took place there and about some other things preserved in my memory, and I will then leave Kyrlai.

Sazhida apa suffered from tuberculosis for a very long time. She was in such a bad way that father had to carry her on his back to the bathhouse or wherever else she needed to go. In the end she died. My father was also struck by a sudden disease one evening, after returning from another village, while he unharnessed his horse. There were different speculations about the nature of his illness, such as: «He was struck by the horse devil», «hit by a falling star» and the like.

My father didn’t stop working despite his illness, but he became lame in one leg.

One autumn day, after dinner, my father and mother were in the barn, and I sat by the side window reading the «Message to Hafiza», when a cart pulled up by our gate. The stranger tethered his horse, entered the house and asked me: «Where are your father and mother?»

«At the barn», – I answered. The man said then: «Go fetch them then.» So I ran to the threshing floor and said: «There’s a man at the house and he wants to see you.» My father and mother immediately came home.

Soon after, father and mother walked inside the door and greeted the stranger.

They prepared tea. This time, with a guest being present, they poured me some tea, too, and they even placed a piece of sugar in front of me, which they didn’t normally do.

When my father asked: «What business brought you here?» the traveler replied: «I came here for this child.»

Father was bewildered by these words. «Why so? Why did you come for him?» he said. After these and other similar questions the traveler began the conversation thus:

«I am from the village of Kushlavych myself. This boy is our imam’s child. We lost touch with him several years ago and had no information about him, but we now found him. It turned out that he is living here with you. In Yaik he has an uncle – a man married to his father’s sister. When this uncle of his found out that his wife’s nephew was in the care of such simple folk he decided that the boy should live with him in Yaik. At his behest in Yaik, I went in search of this child and I’m now taking him away with me.»

The traveler’s words upset my father and mother to no end.

«Splendid! We fed him three or four years, when the price of a peck of flour was so and so much, and now, when he became fit for work, you want us to give him to you… No way, forget it! If he has family, where were they before?» They began to bicker and exchange words like this.

Once in a while my mother would interject a remark: «No way! We don’t have any children to spare!»

To which the stranger, uncle Badretdin, responded with: «So you’re saying ‘No way, you didn’t have the right’ to hold someone else’s child… I’m going to take the issue before the village constable. We’ve been looking for the child all this time, but it turns out you had him all along. I’ll drag you through the courts!»

It’s not hard to frighten village people with such words and my poor parents caved in.

A little later, my usually headstrong mother said: «All right, dear, we’ll have to let go of him. Looks like we can’t have him as our child… Allah forbid that you should get into trouble!» – As she said this, she broke into tears.

Soon afterwards, like the sea that can’t calm down after a storm, my father, too, conceded at the end of the fizzling out dispute.

Giving me my old knee-length coat and worn-out felt boots to wear, they brought me immediately out of the house, and put me on the cart.

Weeping bitterly, my mother and father saw me off all the way to the field gates.

Mother cried out: «Don’t forget us! Don’t forget! If you do, you’ll become a hot ember in hell!» These were the last words I heard from her as we drove out of the village.

Since the situation regarding my departure was decided practically within a half hour or so, I couldn’t say goodbye to any of my village friends and acquaintances. I couldn’t explain anything to them.

Evening fell and dusk was already descending as soon as we left the village.

Along the way, we stopped in Uchile village to visit my grandfather. They treated us to some tea at his place.

Nothing much changed in this family except for the fact that Sazhida apa got married.

After we had our tea, we drove past Verkhniye Aty, Nizhniye Aty and Sredniye Aty until at midnight we finally reached my native village – Kushlavych.

Along the road, I must have been bounced around pretty badly in the back of the cart, because in uncle Badri’s house, I instantly fell asleep like a log.

After waking up, I saw that I was in a black hut without any chimney. There was no furniture here at all, nothing but bowls, cups, spoons, a scoop, a clamp, a breast collar, and other things of that sort.

We drank some tea. Uncle Badri had a big blue-eyed wife with a friendly face, named Gaisha, a 14 or 15-year-old son, Kamaletdin, a daughter, Kashifa, aged 12 and a newly born baby girl, Nagima. After tea, we went into the house across the way from this one.

This house looked nothing like the black hut I spent the night in: the walls were built of fresh yellow pine, there was nice furniture and decor, even a desk – for a villager like me the interior was more than satisfactory.

When I saw uncle Badri’s barns full of meat, various grains, wheat and rye, I decided that he must be one of the richest people in the village.

Kamaletdin also showed me there large orchard, not particularly beautiful in the autumn but with a lot of bee hives.

After I walked into this white chimney house, I didn’t leave it the entire day and went to bed there.

In the evening, going through the books in the house, I stumbled upon Fruits of Conversation¹¹ and began to read it. I liked the last few poems very much and tried my best to understand them. However, since in Kyrlai I read only Hafiza and the religious-mystical book Sabatel-Gadzhizin, I was perplexed by the presence of indecent words in this book, and I began wondering: how could there be such words in a book?

Sometimes, under the influence of this book Fruits of Conversation I loudly argued with Gaisha abystai in the black hut, where she washed her laundry. My aunt put men to shame, while I ridiculed women.

Wherever I went, I was always singled out among other boys as the son of a mullah. Even in places where lots of children got together I wasn’t allowed to play tag with the girls. I also tried to behave as appropriate to a mullah’s son and use my own erudition.

Here’s an example. Once when I was at uncle Badri’s place, a man by the name of Sitdik, well known in the village, came to see me. He was drunk. He came up to me and said the words of greeting but I didn’t answer him; he gave me his hand but I didn’t shake it.

They asked me why I acted that way. I immediately answered with a line from Badavam:

 
«Don’t send greetings to a drunk,
And never shake his hand.»
 

In addition to the fact that uncle Badri’s whole family was amazed, my religious zeal became known to everyone in the village.

Shortly after uncle Badri had me leave Kyrlai, he had to travel to Kazan on some business.

I didn’t spend the entire month of his absence doing nothing. Kamaletdin and I attended the school in our village which was like a madrassah. There was so much to learn that we even had to stay there overnight sometimes. The honorable teacher in this school had the habit of hammering knowledge in his students. In this short time I was often horrified as I watched how he beat the daylights out of some of his students, treating them like dogs.

I found the possibility that the whip of the esteemed teacher was going to hit my back someday very frightening. Besides, it wasn’t particularly pleasant to be herded to the morning prayer together with the rest of the students, so I thought to myself: «Let uncle Badri return soon, then I could go back to Yaik!»

Finally, uncle Badri came back. He brought me a new hat, new felt boots and a new quilted coat. I was very happy to put on my new clothes, but I pulled my old hat from the heap of old clothes and hid it in the attic, so that when I come back one day I would find it there. This was another one of my strange actions.

After that we spent only a few days in Kushlavych. Then we packed our belongings and drove in the direction of Yaik.

After a day and a night on the road, we arrived in Kazan (most likely, from the side of the Hay Market) and finally stopped at some place.

Suddenly we saw a man running towards us with widespread arms: he had an almost entirely white beard but his eyes looked young.

«You’re still alive then?» he exclaimed, coming up to me. «Your mother saw you in her dreams just yesterday. Come on, I’ll take you home. You’ll have some tea and spend the night with us», – with these words he took me away.

We came home. Mom met me. She missed me, poor thing, and was also crying.

They prepared tea for me. Father brought some meat dumplings from the inn, and we had a good meal. They asked me how I was doing during the time I was away. I told them everything I could recall.

Nothing seemed to have changed in the lives of these parents of mine in the time we lived apart, except that my father’s beard turned gray, and that they moved from the New Quarter to the Old Quarter.

I spent that night at their place. In the morning, after tea, my mother washed me in the tub. She put a new embroidered skullcap on my head and gave me a pair of leather pants, something very necessary for a long winter journey.

When she was taking me to uncle Badri in the hotel, she wanted to give me as a keepsake a string of prayer beads and decorations for my skullcap called «Maryam-Ana»¹², but I refused to take them for some reason, saying: «You don’t have to do that. I don’t need anything. I’m going to a rich house.»

Our hotel room was quite average, neither good nor bad.

The man from Yaik who was going to take me there was called Shest-pyat Sapyi. He hadn’t arrived to Kazan yet, which is why uncle Badri and I had to wait for him for a week or two.

Finally, our long-awaited Shest-pyat Sapyi arrived and got himself a hotel room right across from ours.

A few days after that, uncle Badri moved my things to his room and, handing me six coins two kopecks each, 12 kopecks all together, left for his home in the village.

Hard as I tried to plead with him so he would stay for at least one more day – that’s how much I hated to part with him – he left anyway, comforting me with different kind words.

After his departure I remained with Shest-pyat Sapyi and his wife.

Both the clothes and speech habits of this man, who came from another city, seemed alien to me.

For example, in the middle of a conversation he would suddenly say: «I am a man advanced in years.» For the life of me, I couldn’t understand the meaning of the word «advanced».

Shest-pyat Sapyi wore a fur coat, and its collar and sleeves were trimmed with fox fur. I thought that perhaps he was «advanced» because he was wearing such a fur coat. Later, already in Yaik, I learned that «advanced in years» meant «old».

With the 12 kopecks from uncle Badri I bought myself salt-dried Caspian roach and sunflower seeds.

A few days after that, we packed for the road.

They made me sit on the lap of Shest-pyat Sapyi’s wife in the sleigh covered in matting, so that I couldn’t look around in any direction. They would let me out only when we stopped at a village to have some tea.

I begged them: «Let me walk by the sleigh. It’s better that way – at least I’d be free.» I was not allowed. «You’ll freeze to death. Your uncle told us to look after you so you wouldn’t freeze», they said.

My uncle instructed that guy, Shest-pyat Sapyi, to bring a good sledge from Kazan, and it was attached to our rear. In front of us was the sleigh of some other folk from Yaik, loaded with various merchandise, so we travelled in a «caravan». For this reason, feeling as if we were prisoners in the enclosed sleigh, suffering a thousand different inconveniences, we finally drove into Yaik in the evening of the eighteenth day of our journey.

In Yaik we stopped at uncle Sapyi’s. «We’ll have some tea first, and take you to your uncle and aunt later», – they said.

Later that evening, between the two prayers, I went to my uncle and aunt, accompanied by uncle Sapyi.

We met a young woman in a green quilted gown on the road. «This is your aunt, say hello to her», – Shest-pyat Sapyi told me, so I greeted her.

Their house was only about sixty feet away. I entered the gates, climbed up a very high set of stairs and stepped onto the second floor…

AUTUMN

 
Look around, my friends, autumn is here,
And winter in its white cloak is already near.
The birds are moving southward, flying far away,
They have a better place where it is safe to stay.
The forest dyed in yellow, soon all its leaves are gone,
The harvesters have gathered their grain and corn.
Naked seem the fields, bald like a Tatar’s head,
The lark dives from the sky, hunting for his bread.
Small pockets of grass retain the gleam of silk,
The sun is getting tired – its rays are growing weak.
Darkness ousts the light. It makes me so sad.
The wind is cold and nasty, spins around my head.
Autumn is depressing, as everyone agrees,
Flowers lose their bloom, leafless stand the trees.
A forsaken graveyard is brighter than this field,
Without the summer grass, gone is its glossy shield.
Six months of heavy slumber… So I can shut my eyes,
Oblivious completely to those gloomy skies.
Nothing will awake me, neither heavy wind nor rain,
I will awaken only when spring comes back again.
The carpet of young grass will tempt me to lie down.
Happy I will be like the shah showing off his crown.
I wonder why my people aren’t happy in their land.
So let the day take over, and night come to an end.
Will I ever see this happen while I’m still alive?
Just a dream it is, alas, first I have to die.
 

1906

EPITAPH TO MY BELOVED

 
I feel your heartbeat in my soul; you never died,
Your warmth and grace the two of us have tied,
And if you die, death is my only choice,
But while I breathe, I’ll hear your gentle voice.
You’re in my mind, yes, you are in my heart,
Not even death can break us two apart.
My love for you will never be surpassed,
And memories of it until my deathbed last.
 

1906

TO MY NATION

 
You occupy my thoughts both day and night,
Your health is mine; your plight, it is my plight.
For me more sacred than anything on earth,
Nothing could compare with my nation’s worth.
With boundless joy to you I will belong,
To you I’ll consecrate my poet’s song.
I don’t know why these words should ring so true,
I yearn to be the people’s poet, borne of you.
The nation’s dream above all dreams must soar
In my own mind, it maddens and it roars…
Oh Tengri, I will be her poet… loyal, whole –
That is the greatest aspiration of my soul!
Oh heavens, take my life, not my renown.
To be forgotten? Better yet to drown.
I will die; let forever live the glory of my name,
All my deeds and struggles will bring me eternal fame.
For when I die, death will not steal my name,
My deeds and efforts should enjoy eternal fame.
To be remembered by my people is my goal
I’ve written of my love, befriend me in your soul!
 

1906

TO A HOURI

 
In heaven, if I chance upon your face
In it, I’ll see my own reflection’s trace.
I know that you beguile and charm,
Entrance, envelop, and disarm.
Your beauty is the heavens’ art
Celestial grace in every part.
I love you, love you without shame,
My love a constant, lapping flame.
I will forget worldly delights,
Your proud bearing in my sights.
Your every word a healing balm,
My soul awakens in your palm.
Your body dwarfs celestial spheres,
Your tongue a prayer for all ears.
No nightingale can match your voice,
Oh, who could part with you by choice?
You, who are holy and revered,
Mere mortals dare not touch you here.
Your beauty peerless and divine,
Among so many, still you shine,
An emerald, a precious stone…
But not the same as our own.
Of praises you shall have your fill
But earthly girls are dearer still.
 

1906

TO PUSHKIN

 
Pushkin Alexander, please accept my admiration,
I am a poet too, from thee I get my inspiration.
O wizard of the verse! Thou make the stones dance,
To be a poet without harmony or music – not a chance!
1 am enchanted by the magic strength of perfect rhyme,
God chose Alexander to be the genius of his time.
The Solar light and warmth defeat dark night and cold,
The world is blessed to shine under the Sun of Gold.
I dared to invade the orchard, where the tree
Of Pushkin bears its fruit. I tasted it… Delicious poetry!
I wandered in thy orchard, full of singing birds.
I flew along with them – I sang but in my own words.
Thy lyre is like a creek, it touches every nerve,
That’s why the monuments to you – you fully them deserve.
I never claim to understand thy credo and beliefs.
The only dream I have it is to learn from thy motifs.
O God Almighty, is it possible at all?
Bestow on me the talent that will match my call.
 

1906

MISFORTUNE’S CHILD

 
Why is it one’s fault if he is constantly in grief?
What am I to do, where can I find relief?
If my body and my soul are in the snares of misfortune
What should I do if my life is endless torture?
Since the day I was born I’ve spent my life in sorrow,
What should I do? Which path in life to follow?
If all those men became martyrs at Karbala¹³
Then what should I do in my devotion to Allah?
I am threatened to be swallowed by azhdaha’s mouth
With an army of evil around me, who will help me out?
In this world no one is more miserable
No other heart is more trapped in trouble.
Have you seen anyone so consumed by pain?
How can I live if all my sufferings remain?
O, my lady khanum, I beg you to believe
That my soul belongs to you, tell me how to live.
My life and all my thoughts – they’re devoted to you,
To be with you my soul desires – what should I do?
There has never been another man whose love was so pure
A speck of dust I am… How can I life endure?
 

1906

FROM BYRON

 
A year from now, you’ll chance upon this verse,
You’ll see, perhaps, this sad song run its course
And ponder how the poet must have yearned
To give his heart for you, he must have burned.
Though strange a little, he could sing a song,
This tragic figure with his love so strong;
You’ll think, he is no more; he’s played his part
Beneath his verse, he buried his whole heart.
 

1907

HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE

 
I harnessed a pair of horses. Kazan, I am ready to go.
The driver pulls the reins when he thinks they are too slow.
On this quiet evening the moon its shining gives,
The trees sway slightly, while the breeze gently stirs the leaves.
Deep in my thoughts I travel, all is quiet,
My eyelids become heavy, I’m already tired.
Sleep seeps through my sockets, my eyes won’t stay open.
The humming hive of dreams is sending me a token.
All at once I open my eyes. Oh! These fields I never saw,
The sadness of this parting holds me in awe.
Farewell, my country, I did not mean you to offend,
It was my wish to live and work in my beloved native land.
Farewell, my native town. This is my final chance
To throw at all your squares and streets another loving glance.
I am deep in sorrow; all my thoughts are gloomy and sad,
With only loneliness as company, no one can hear me, too bad.
My coachman is quiet and silent, much better when he sings
About our lovely girls, wearing pretty kalfaks and rings.
Why am I so upset, and why is my spirit so low?
I lost all my loved ones but I can’t let it go.
Who are those people – Biktimer, Minagali?
These strange places, these people – against me they rally.
O my loved ones, I know I won’t see you soon.
Life without you is empty like without the sun or moon.
These cheerless thoughts exhaust my brain,
Hot, bitter tears are ready to well in my eyes again.
Suddenly, I hear a voice like music to my ears:
«…wake up, shakird¹⁴. Rejoice! Kazan already cheers!»
Kazan’s in front of me, my torch, my sacred goal!
This name lights up my heart, encourages my soul.
«Coachman, hurry up, get faster to Kazan!»
It’s time for the morning prayer. I can hear the Azan.
O, Kazan, you are our sorrow and a powerful force –
The home of our ancestors, our hearth and source.
Here Heavenly Houris for us open their hearts,
Here shines the light of knowledge, sciences and arts.
 

1907