Festival Internacional de Poesía de Medellín

Poetry in Tajikistan: Gulrukhsor Safieva



Poet with talent granted by the God

By Chingiz Aitmatov

….The water to the spring-water comes back again,
And life, unfortunately is managed by other laws,
With crowns of Djamshed and Nasr I will compare the love,
Though you will come back to me, but without the crown…..

This is how Gulrulhsor is singing in the garden, where many other famous voices are heard. It seems that there is a risk of not to be heard in that chorus of millennium old poetry, but she sings and she is heard…..

Form the ancient times the throne of poetry in the land of Tajiks is high, and those who desire to climb this throne are also quite a lot. But there are courageous ones (everything good is given birth by people, everything worse - is enemy to people), to whom such aspiration is appropriate to their face, to their talent. They are true poets, granted by their fate. But even they need to cover the rough school of sufferings for the harmony of word and thought, prior to being mentioned in the literature with world trepidations.

Despite all these difficulties Gulrukhsor Safieva maintained the right to sing in the garden of the fate selected poets of Tajik people.

While reading her poetry, you think all the time that how much can be hold by man’s heart. If this is love, it either shared or unrequited love, lost and newly revived, and countless are the shades of heart’s impulses, half-tones, shy hopes, flaming call, anger and bitterness – indeed, is it jus the same heart?!

This is the heart of poet Gulrukhsor Safieva…

SUN WITHOUT MONE   
1989-1996
(Verses with accent)
Moscow Publishing house “ACADEMIA”

About Khayam, For Khayam

Do not drink,
Do not drink,
Do not drink-
For diseased-
For me.

By tears of vine,
My cooled down bones
Let not be warmed.

It is the eighths century,
That I am drinking 

From the bottom of a jug
For myself,-

Myself-
Bottoms up,
Bottoms up,
Bottoms up!

***

The time has passed
Of my venture,
Painless of happiness delusion.
Not waiting awards,
Waiting no praises,
In struggle for survival.

I am living far away from life,
As if the sky and earth.
Greetings to sun!
I-
Shadow,-


That carries me!

Solitude

Evening.
Evening
Dark sky.
A lonely star
At the sky slope.
A lonely woman
On the unsteady balcony-

Life is passing

Return of going away

The spring is coming,
Comes like eternity,
So that to get older tomorrow.
The winter is going away,
As old age,
So that silently


To pass away….

***

Oh, how many times
Embraced by death
I was,
But only twice
The life was lovely:

When
I was born in pain,
When


I gave birth in pain…

****

I learnt
To grind
On the mill
Of my subconscious ness
All  nonsense.

But how painful for me,-
The thought hurts
Not about the death,


But about immortality of mean souls…

Imitation to Bassye

Grey house,
Grey smoke,
Grey thoughts –


Old age …….

Golgotha and an altar
(Song on the wind)

The strange fire is smoking inside me,,
My grief is burning inside me.
The strange demon shouts with laughter inside me –
My angel cries from the outside.

Entrusting my face to the dark clouds,
My SVETOCH became sick and old…
Oh Motherland-
Religion,
My Golgotha and an Altar!
My lonely parent,
My destroyed sanctuary;
I do not deserve you,
Living with you,-
Without you!

And, I disavow from myself,
Living, not harboring offence,-
To divinity of love and light,
To belated dawn……

I am not a refugee-
I am offended,
Rushing all over the world,
Bringing light,
Burning as candle at the wind,


The Zoroastrians fire….

*****

No war-
There is a vogue of typhoon
On the cooled off boulder.
There is no galloping-
There is a bee-swam,
At the mane of galloping horse!

The death has no past,
There is the cold glance of the eyes.
The life has no future-
Has cartridge,-
Temir 1,-


Bulat 2*

Birthday

Someone has gone,
In order not to return,
So that never come…..
Someone is coming back with slow step,
So that  not to approach me…..

But me at the vast expanses of dark curtains,
So sorrowfully,
So terrifying,
So crammed!
No wait for me
The toil from the world –
No letters,
No calls,
No songs…..

No wait for me
Of mother, father,
(The flights from there are canceled!)
The feast of loneliness,
Birth day
Behind the blank wall of loneliness…
As if the Day itself gave me the birth!

The guest from the solar eclipse

                                   To  A. and M. the Akayevs

Hi to the alps of Alatoo
From proud swallow of Pamirs.
I came to you-
Because of suffering,
Because of humiliation,
From the feast of war-
From passing away….

I came to you
From killing,
Half-killed gazelle.
Licking over the blood-stained footprint,
I- the sub-killed victim….

….Forgot my own name,
But there was something in it
From the light, And from the sunset,
And from the dawn….

From the word Pinkish wild 3*
The shout “Wild” remained!
I followed the shout of Kanikey 4*
On hands and knees,
Without wings.

Went to Manasa.
That wept out by Issyk-Kul.
On the shoulders of proud Parnas….
Saving the light
And rainbow of senses
From darkness of ignoramus,
I in front of the whole world
Died hundred times
And twice was born…

I came to you,
Saving heart,
So let it not to be a killer.
I came, so that in white robe
To come back
To the triumph of light,
To the eminence of your hearts –
 The throne of my motherland…

I came to you


From the solar eclipse…..

Verses on resettlement of cemetery

No need for honours to the dead ones,
The dead ones need a peace.

Save, as the soul,
Save as the conscience,
The grave of dear mother,

After all the bones,
Stand on end,
When bulldozer goes all along it,
When for them,
The relatives are not crying,
But dog- bulldog raises a how…

And cries,
Cries fallen off jaw,
Burring itself with shame
In roots of wild cherry,
When,

Eating the cemetery berry,


Drink vodka…..

 

Home

I go home…
And there is no home!-
An owl, my sister-in-law,
From all the wrecks
Shouts to me
About death of faith, and no hiding!

Shut up, unfaithful witch!
Ana whether you need to cry for loss?
What do you know a blind,
About the night-blindness of sighted ones?

 

Do you know?
On who’s stone
The mirror of hope was broken?
In centuries you will not guess,
How oppress the dungeon of ignoramus.

The father’s glance from heaven
To orphan’s earth is cold.
The fate of Tajik- stepson,
Looks like godless stepmother.

The past is wrapped up in ashes –
The future is threatening with tsunami
I go home…
And there is no home!-
O God, what you have done to us?!

 

War

Deep breath of gun-
Breathe out of life.
At the forehead of teenage,
Purple locks-


War….

Self burning

 Live venturesomely, untalented,
Believing in faith of unbelief.
Shining with the scales of dragon,  
I wake up animal in envious ones.

Flying over myself with tiredness,
In order not to vanish under the heels.
I will be drawn in my tear,
And burst in stiffing tsunami…

I search the thing,
That has not lost,
Whether I will find,
That has not searched?
I go for self burning,-


Requesting fire form eternity…

Funerals

The smell of honey and slash-fire-
The fireplace got cold-
Smoke without fire….

 

Seven
Carry by shoulders
To mother’s skirt,
Endlessly blaming

Those, who take away
In trunk


Their sleeping father…..

Over the crashed ant hill

Everything is re-diged,
The sparrow is not fed up,
Over the ant hill-
The wheel of cart.

On  rooted stub
The sparrow hanged his head,
The ant’s caravan
All is crashed down…

For ants
Death, as the peace,


Never dreamt about…..

Dance at the ruins of the UNGERET 5 town

The brows set
In flying-
Eyes after them,
The hand set in,
High up and high up,
Legs after them.
The heart flies up,
And sun’s dick
Slipped down from the sky….
Dried out is tongue
As if a label,
 Slicked to the palate….

Around the torso -axis
The body was revolving.
Everything, that died out
In this town,
Revived in the vortex of dance.

We twirled around,
The world was twirling –
The Satan- Sheitan was twirling.
Such as over mountain’s blades
Hawk eagles are flying,


When see the wounded fallow-deer ….

The Satan’s visit

The crush of cross,
The whirlwind spinning,
The Ferris wheel.

Salvador Dali
Is crying to the canvas….

Became an orphan
Sun without Mone!

 

The Satan’s visit….

Revolution

                        To Yadviga

Again the winter,
Again hibernating
On mane of wild horse.
Again  snowstorm –
Again drifting,
Over the ocean of being!

Again the moon is hanging as the melon,
On bare branch of silence.
The blind star
Is blinking steeply
From black wholes of height.

Again the war –
Again I am fighting
With myself,
Killing myself.
For me
No one
Secretly
Is not crying

Again on cemetery –


Spring!

****

 It is said,
That youth is stands
Between the sanctity and vice.
It is said
That the confession of the young one
Similar to psalms of the prophet.

When I was young,
I prayed to God,
All in tears,

For life
Approaching for me.
With all her coming sins….

When I blindly contemplated,


Not knowing the guilt of guiltless…..

The sign of trouble

The yellow leaf,
Falling down from the green branch,
Broke down at the feet
The newly born child –


No more mother……

Tiredness

Tired I am-
I am tired to live.
Tired I am,
I am tired to be.

Tired I am
To live-over be,
Tired I am
Live – my life….

In front of the people
Carelessly smile,
On mounts
                        Of my grief
Higher and higher
Climbing up,
So that silently
To cry,-
No, no!
So that to howl like a wolf…

Tired I am,-
I am tired to whimper,
To love you,
And to destroy myself.

I am tired to be a parrot,
About imaginary happiness
To speak…..
Tired to live,
Tired to be.
But to be, alas,
Does not mean-
To live

To live


To be.

Auto therapy

I am sick.

Pain-suffering
Purifies my soul.
I live!-
Live in hope,
That live will wake up live inside you.

I treat myself,
Undergo a cure from the live-
With stone,
With flint,
With mud.
 Bartering the life
For lightning,
For rainbow,
For bravery….

I learn,
Learn how to survive
Between the truth and lie.
I beg, I beg the fate:
Punishment –
But by love!

Oh, I drink, drink, gasping for breath,
Honey and poison-
From phial a.

I rush,
Rush in the live-
As tornado in the steep…

 

I fly-
I fly over the grief,
Elevating the hurt soul.
In order to fall down,
As speck of dust,
To kiss the eye of dew!

I search, - search chestnut horse
That carries me while dancing.
I come to you,
Aging,
In order to find myself again….

I hold on,
I cling to life,     
As dog’s rose for the fence.
I take from the life a little:
Death-
As supreme award.

And live,
After all there is nothing in the world
Sweeter then the life-
Poison-halva,
I live,
So that to die,
As sunset,


As blaze…..

Prayers of the elder before the sunset

Oh my Lord,
Let me at the sunset
To see   the eye of blaze,
Present me at the end of tunnel
The ray of strikening!

Oh my Lord,
Sinner that I am,
Frightful,
Though no one has killed!
Confessing,
That more then life
I do not love anyone!

Oh my Lord,
Generous presenter,
Prolonger of my term,-
I am grateful,
That better then Life


You have not created anything!

The return of the past

The same frown cuckoo
At the window.
The same fragile horse
Without racehorse.
The sun has the same smile,
Cold- shaky.
The oak has the same cap,
Snowy-white ….

The same way wood laid into the oven
By my friend,
The same separation gnaw me
By dump ailment.
The same way slides down to the abyss
My life.
Same sick is,
As my heart,


My motherland!

To Chechnya, burning in flame

Shameful I am,
That being so powerless,
When you are perished,
You parish standing!
When you are at your last gasp,
Shameful I am,
That I am alive, Oh Chechnya!
Fireplace burned not once,
Pain without sobbing,
The country of suffering.
My wild cry,
My silent moan-
Chechnya!

 

Chechnya-
My diseased consciousness,
The politics’ blood-stained novel,
Chechnya-
Wounded eagle,
My wounded Tajikistan,-
Chechnya!

Shameful I am that I am dancing,
 Oh, death,
In your carde ballet .
Shameful, shameful,
That I am living- not being responsible for anything!
Oh, my open wound,
Chechnya!
Oh my second Tajikistan,
Chechnya!

Grievous year of 1995

 

*****

Winter
Wintering
Not in the mountains,
Not in the snowdrift,
 Not in the backwoods.

Winter
Wintering
All seasons
In hell


Of lifeless soul…. <`>

******

Verses are not written- they are happening   
(A.Vosnesensky)

Verses are not written-
Dictated
From heights.
Verses are not born-
Waited
From teardrops silence.

Verses can not speak
The language of fire and ice,
Verses will blast as disaster,
In order to reply to death: no!


In order to reply to life: yes!

*****

By birth of the light
From darkness.
By birth of the spring from the winter,
And life triumph over smoldering.
And color of sunset – by smile of the dawn-
May be the Lord recompense evil on the land.

Derelict village

Dead rivers.
Naked glaze.
At the heavenly threshing-floor-
Cloud stack.

Drunken whirlwind is dancing,
Whimper old dog.
From the sunny disc
Yawning coldly


To the earth – the prophet….

*****

In broken mirror-
A broken light of face.
The winter is lighting up it’s cigar
At he porch.
The color blood – ashy black ….
The death has sent
It’s messenger to the hut.
Pain – is the death of will-
Testing
The patience of the wise man.
At last Confuzio, has matured,
Beginning from the end.

                                  

THE BIRTHDAY OF PAIN  
(Lyrics and poems)
Published in 1995 in Bishkek publishing house “Kyrgyzstan”

Derelict child (Novel about the soul grievance)

                   1
He is clear,
As sheet of paper,
Not touched by denunciation.
He is fragile,
As eye’s lens.
He is delicate, like shine of rainbow
Over the mirror-like surface of river.
He - the supreme punishment,
Unfamiliar to the law,
He –the supreme tradegy,
Unfamiliar to Ethyl.

                        2
He wants to live,
He must live,
He will live-
For spite of importunate vampires!
The child of sin
Not knowing his sin
Before the sinful world.

Whether the Avel knew,
That by Kain,
His own brother
He will be killed?
                       
                        3
The chilled is derelict on the pavement-
Between the sky and earth,
His eyes-
The eyes of innocence,
The eyes of judgment –
Are following him,
Are following us,
Are following me… 

                        4
On the pavement –
Abuse and wailing …
Toss about, toil over
The human race.
As if this living clod –
The only victim
Of human’s anger.
As if by miracle-human
No one was killed in centuries –
Not sold and not derelict, and not crushed.

As if before this little one,
There were not wars,
There was no fight.
As if brutality
Of Adam’s sons
Was merely in our dreams.

Yes, derelict is unsinful person,
So that to match with brutal ones,
In order vices and troubles
To multiple by their deeds.

                        5
On the pavement –
Abuse and wailing.
And everybody is crying for the baby,
As if for own guilt,
Or, may be, for the own fate…

                        6
HE and SHE
Are kissing
By sinful lips.
HE and SHE
Are flying in happiness
Over the pavement – over us.
HE and SHE
Are touching, not touching,
The stones of the saint altar
By their foreheads
HE and SHE
Are marrying loftily and proudly…
The Jesus ‘grief is inconsolable,
 The Jude’s joy is   merciless.

                        7
The living clod
Is on the pavement
Is sucking his tasteless finger,
The devil is laughing,
Bu angel is crying.
The saint has come to earth,
That to become a murderer-
A real one, unsophisticated…

                        8
Delicated is the child.
The child is delicated –
As betrayal is not forgiven.
                        9
He wore a hat and tail-coat,
She has a veil, and immeasurable sin,
And l magnificent wedding dress.
On the pavement,
As if on heels of passer-by,
The heart is beating-
Warm and living one…
He wants to live,
He wants to be,-
Not knowing,
What it is…
The heart is warm and living …
Though not loved,-
Unconquered!

1. Iron (Turkish)

2. Damascus/damask steel (Persian)

3.the meaning of the author’s name

4. the beloved wife of Kyrgyz Hercules Manas, Tajik

5. Here, in Siberia the ancient writings were found 

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