Verses and Poems

SUMMER

When summer in the mountains gains its peak,

When gaily blooming flowers begin to fade,

When nomads from the sunshine ref urge seek

Beside a rapid river, in a glade,

Then in the grassy meadows here and there

The salutatory neighing can be heard

Of varicolored 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 frolicking 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 (mare’s fermented milk),

Old men sit by a yurta, gossiping

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 shepherds not to raise the dust

Aiming to win the favour 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 (gown),

Leisurely swaying in their saddles as they trot

From nightly grazing come the young chabans (shepherd)

Whipping their lusty steeds god knows for what.

A long way off from the aul's (village) last tents

With movement and excitement getting warm,

On horseback, too, the bai's (rich, wealthy man) 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 man, unlucky thing,

The toady that had nigh gone hoarse to please

The haughty bais, unnoticed, watches on,

An sighs for sorrow that his time is gone.

 

AUTUMN

The clouds are grey and gloomy, boding rain. 

An autumn mist envelops the bare earth. 

 Having each other through the spacious plain,

To warm themselves, run foams of last year’s birth. 

No grass, no tulips. 

Silent everywhere 

Are children’s noisy games and young lads’ mirth. 

The trees like poor old beggars stand and stare,

Bereft of leaves, as naked as the earth. 

The men tan cow– and horse hides in big vats

And mend old padded gowns and winter garb. 

The housewives stitch up holes in the felt tents. 

Old women sit and spin their endless yarn. 

The cranes set off toward the south in flocks. 

The camel caravans go marching slowly on. 

All’s quiet and sad in the ails amid the steppes. 

Laughter and games until next spring have gone. 

A cruel wind blows. The air gets cold as ice. From chills old men and children suffer sore. 

The hungry dogs run off to hunt for mice,

Not finding bones and meat–scraps as before. 

The sky is black with dust raised by the wind.

The autumn’s damp, but as bad customs say,

To light a fire is a mortal sin

And so it’s dark in tents both night and day. 

 

WINTER

 

SPRING

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.

You can find Abai's other poems here: https://abaicenter.com/about-abai/verses-poems