30 molla penah vaqif Holiday 31 mihai eminescu End if… 32 edgar rider arizona, usa Bring Back Malone
BAŞ KABÎMÎZDA ON THE COVER
Laila Shikaki
NAZAR LOOK Attitude and culture magazine of Dobrudja’s Crimean Tatars Tomrîğa Kîrîm Tatarlarîñ turuşmamuriyet meğmuwasî ISSN: 2069-4784 www.nazar-look.com nazar.look@mail.com Constanta, Romania FOUNDER & EDITOR-IN-CHIEF BAŞ-NAŞIR Taner Murat EDITORS NAŞIRLER Emine Ómer Uyar Polat Jason Stocks COMPUTER GRAPHICS SAYAR SÎZGAĞÎSÎ Elif Abdul Hakaan Kalila (Hakan Calila) CREATIVE CONSULTANTS ESER KEÑEŞÇÍSÍ M. Islamov
Copyright reverts back to contributors upon publication. The full issue is available for viewing online from the Nazar - Look website. For submission guidelines and further information, please stop by www.nazar-look.com
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2 amy lowell A Gift - Bír bakşîş 3 sakutaro hagiwara Aerial Strangulation Hawada asuw
38 edmund spencer Travels in Circassia, Krim Tartary, &c. (XI) 40 nizamiy ibrahim (ibraimov) moscow, russia Photoshop: Sultan Ahmed Mosque in Istanbul
4 taner murat scythia minor-little crimea Kókten sesler - Temúçin (XVII) 6 tom sheehan massachusetts, usa The Rig Runner 12 abdurehim abdulla uyghuristan (xinjiang, china) Oh, Fathers! - Ah, Atalar! 14 wm. samuel bradford georgia, usa You Can Feel a Presence 24 laila shikaki california, usa Interview Watani - Watanîm 28 abay qunanbayuli Book of Words (V)
CONTRIBUTORS MEMBALAR Wm. Samuel Bradford Izzet Gafar Nizamiy Ibrahim (Ibraimov) QHA Edgar Rider Tom Sheehan Laila Shikaki
Nazar Look 1
amy lowell
(1874 - 1925)
A Gift
Bír bakşîş
See! I give myself to you, Beloved! My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.
Mína! Ózímní saga bagîşlayman, Yárem! Mením sózlerím kíşkene fílğandîr Olarnî alîp bír tartmağaga salmaña. Olarîñ píşímí kuğurlî we gúzel, Hem renklí-renklí, yakşî, ğîltîrawuk, Ózín tanîtmaga. Ezílgen ot man şeşek tatlîsî kokîsî Odanîñ íşín totîra.
When I shall have given you the last one, You will have the whole of me, But I shall be dead.
Soñgîsîn bagîşlap şîkkanda Ózím tamamîm bolağaktîr señkí Ózím de ólí. (Translated by Taner Murat)
2 Nazar Look
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sakutaro hagiwara
(1886 - 1942)
Aerial Strangulation
Hawada asuw
On a far night, the glinting pine needles Accepted lettings of remorseful tears. On a far night, the skies were frosty-white, The lofty pine clutched the hanging noose. Love made descent on the lofty pine, He was suspended in the posture of prayer.
Awlak bír keşede, şakkan şam iynelerí peşmanlîk yaşlarnî kiraga kablettí. Awlak bír keşede, kók buzlap agargan, Boylî şam teregí asuw ílgegín tutkan. Súygí túşkende boylî şam teregíne, O seğde hálínde asîlîp tura edí. (Translated by Taner Murat)
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Nazar Look 3
scythia minor - little crimea www.tanermurat.com
Kókten sesler - Temúçin (XVII) O zaman Bodonğarnîñ kózíne karap, yeşíl kózlí sarî biyke, Úriyañgay Adañkalarnîñ kîzî, şay dep kaytarîp saldî: Badiy de bír, tawuk ta bír Lezetlí píşírgenge, Yakşî da bír, mañka da bír Góñílíne tiygenge. Sorpa da bír, botka da bír Aşap yúzí kúlgenge Tuzlî da bír, tatlî da bír Pembe túşler kórgenge. Şerbet te bír, boza da bír Ğutum-ğutum íşkenge Kîşî da bír, ğazî da bír Kózí kózge kelgenge. Boylî da bír, kesík da bír Boyîn ólşep píşkenge, Kúndúz de bír, keşe de bír Ğúregí ğelpílgenge. Sokîr da bír, sagîr da bír Sayîp dertín tógíşkenge, Şolak ta bír, topal da bír Ekewleşíp ğúrgenge. Kara da bír, sarî da bír Kíygenge Dúlber de bír, şírkín de bír Súygenge. Adañkan Úriyañgağinníñ bo sózlerníñ artîndan, Bodonğar óz şadîrnîñ dogrîsîna koşagîn kurup, súygen kîskaayaklasîn karşîdakî ayîrî şadîrnîñ íşíne kondîrîp, şonday etíp tuttî. Kókte ay bír aylanîp kaytkan arasî geşer-geşmez, ayagîn zor tartkan sarî
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biykeníñ ğúrúşí túzeldí, zor algan esí de tînîşlandî. Bodonğarnîñ síptí ogîrî bolîp, yeşíl kózlí sarî biykesínden, awuluna ayak baskanda kursagî murununa ğetken Adañkan Úriyañgağinden bír ulî tuwdî. Ádetten anasî-babasî tuwgan balasîna, tuwganî man mutlak-mutlak, at takma zorînda bolmaganîna, kóbísí "Atnîñ ózí otîrsa taa temellí otîrîr. Turuşuna, kuyuna kóre uydurulur" dep, takma atnîñ óz konmasîn bekliy edíler. Bondan ayîrî şo da bar edí ke tuwumunda tagîlgan atî man nadir kíşí kalatan. Ka-tsen, ka-tsen keleğekte oga gene bír lákap kelíştíríleuydurula tagîlîp, o man kalîr edí. Aldîna îrk atîn, oba atîn da salganda, fazlasî man yeterlí. Bodonğarnîñ ózín sîkmamasî, uluna tuwumunda at takmamasî, sîratîşî tuwul, sîradan bír kip eken. Bodonğarnîñ ulun tuwa atasî bellí mí? Úriyañgay Adañka alarnîñ ádetíne kóre her íşke, her kîzmetke sîra man kírílgení úşún, kîskaayaklîga kósteríleğek saygîsîna da sîra man kíríle edí. Tabiy ke balanîñ tokîmî da bellí bolmaz. Bonîñ úşún uluna: - Zat balasî. - diy edíler. - Ğat balasî. - diy edíler. - O bala mî? Zadardan kelgen bír bala. - diytan edíler. - Ğattan bolgan o, ğattan! Zadar tuwma. - diytan edíler. - Yabanğîlîktan tuwgan baladîr. - diy edíler. - Bílínmegen, tanîlmagan yerden şîkkan bír baladîr. - diy edíler. Bo man, atî da Zadarday boldî. Mína, Ğat îrknîñ atasî, Zadaran îrknîñ atasî, Bodonğarnîñ bo Zadarday uludur, zadardan tuwgan bala. Kel zaman ket zaman bo Zadaran îrgîndan Túgúday atînda bír ğaş şîktî. Túgúdaynîñ ballarîndan bírsí Bórí Bulğuruw edí. Bórí Bulğuruwnuñ bír uluna da Kara Kayakan diytan edíler. Mína, bo Kara Kayakan namînda akay, Temúçinníñ ğan arkadaşî, andasî bolgan, Zam-Ulkanîñ babasîdîr.
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taner murat
scythia minor - little crimea
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Kesím 30 Baariy îrgî Adañkan Úriyañgağinge başka at salînmadî. Koğasî Adañkannî kolaylî we gúzel tabîp, oga Adañkan diytan edí. Obírlerí de, de Adañkan, de Úriyañgağin diytan edíler, kaysîn taa bek begense. Ózí men konîşkanda, tabiy. Başka yerde bolsa, Adañkannîñ ózí tabîlmay ózí sóz konîsî bolsa: Ána, ánaw apakay. Bodonğarnîñkîsî. Şonîñ atî ne edí, şo? Tutulup bagalî akelgen edíler de, şonlarnî! Şo bagar apakay. Ána, şo man, aldîndan Adañkan, ya Úriyañgağin, ya Adañkan Úriyañgağin deseler de, artîndan, tílíne kóre, lekşesíne kóre, "Baar", ya da "Bagar" diytan ekenler. O "baar" biykesínden Bodonğarnîñ bír ulî taa boldî, óz tokîmîndan. Balaga da Bagariyday dedíler, baylî akelíngen îrgîndan sayîlîp. Mína, bo bala, bo baylî anadan tuwgan bala, bazî yerlerde Bagarin îrgî dep malúm bolgan, başka yerlerde Baariy alar dep bílíngen îrknîñ atasîdîr. Aytuwlî pelwan, atî Çîdukul, Bagariydaynîñ bír ulî, buwuşma artîndan buwuşma kazanîp, Naadamga da katîlmak hakk kazangan. Buwuşma, Naadamnîñ eñ bek súyúlgen, begenílgen, sayîlgan oyîn, şabîştan bírem ústún. Bútún bayramlarda, tepreşlerde buwuşma kazangan pelwanlar Naadam sîrasînda bír araga kelír. Senede bír, Naadamga toplaşîp kasîn, kuwetín, beğerúwún ortaga salîr edíler. Kazangannî şîgargan soñ kúreşler, oyînlarnîñ úşúnğí kúnúnde tutulur, soñ kúreşníñ artîndan da, şarkî man, dúrkí men, oyînlarga soñ berílír. Naadam buwuşmasîn kazangan pelwan ómírğe namlî kalîr. Taşîgan atîn ğetegíne Buwuw tagîlîr, ólgenşík ğúmle ulusnuñ dîkkatîna láyîk kalîr. Atîna, kaytarîp alînmaz bír nam konar. Konmaz mî, ayse?
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Naadam buwuşmasîn kazanmak kolay bír íş tuwul ke. Her sene bír Buwuw tuwmaz ke. Her sene bír Buwuw şîkmaz ke. Bír, ya ekí Buwuw sîra man, Naadam buwuşmasîn kazanîp beş-on sene başkasîna Buwuw şîkmak fîrsatîn kaptîrmay aralar bar edí. Bír Buwuw, bír Batîr demektír. Bagariydaynîñ bo ulî, Naadam buwuşmasîn kazanîp, atî Çîdukul Buwuw boldî. Çîdukul Buwuwnuñ namî da, şekírdegí, tokîmî da, uz bolganîna, namîna, tokîmîna kóre batarîndan tabarîndan apakay alîp, awuluna otîrtîp, ğúmlesín tuttî, ğúmlesíne sîrasî man kerek saygîsîn ayîrdî. Oga kóre de toktamadan, meñgí, soñsîz, balasî bolîp tuwdî, awulî geñíşlep koraga aylandî. Mína, Bagarin îrknîñ aytuwlî kanatî Menen Bagarin alarnîñ tamîrî, bo Çîdukul Buwuwnuñ korasîn ortasîndan atkandîr. Îrklarnîñ, boylarnîñ, obalarnîñ arasînda ufak-ufak tíl kelíşím oynamasîndan, Meñgí Baariy, ya da Meñliy Baariy kanatî dep bílínír edí. Bazî yerlerde de, T a t a r l î k t a kóbísí, zaten bír kere kelíştírílgen Meñliy Baariy atî, Tatarğasîna bírtaa tartîp, ğ a ñ î d a n kelíştírílekolaylaştîrîla, Meñliy Bay ya Meñlí Bay bolgan. (dewamî keleğekke)
Nazar Look 5
tom sheehan
massachusetts, usa
6 Nazar Look
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tom sheehan
massachusetts, usa
knowing it was his own voice did not make it any more
The Rig Runner
reflective.
He
had
heard
it
before,
sometimes operatic, then in whispers, but not on the road. Never before on the road. Not behind the
For a pure moment trucker Rene Destot had felt above it all, above dawn at its tatters,
wheel. The road, with a justice all its own, has a demand all its own.
above the voice coming at him from day’s edge.
Now, in that clarity at hand, sudden
King of the throne he was, king of the hill, the
sunlight scattered ammunition out there on the
road having slammed under him all night long.
road in front of him, sudden flares of chrome
The 475 horses loose in the truck’s Caterpillar
flashing in every direction. About another day he
engine sounded their endless music, hummed
thought, odd and rampant shrapnel loose at
under his seat bottom, talked lightly to his wrists.
dawn, detonation and combustion everywhere,
(Controlled rampage, the voice had said long
decisions at hand, Sgt. Rumney at his feet and
before he used to think about owning a
crying, metal from their own high angle devils still
Kenworth, Earth-mover, star-hauler.) House-big,
burning its way through his body. A scant 50 or 60
highly modified for cruising, a Caddy in a sense,
yards ahead of him a car was broadside in the
the Kenworth T2000 went over the crown of the
road,
hill. He froze on the edge of the seat.
catalogue of the vehicle’s parts. And though there
Had the voice had been talking about this? Night has justice. Day has none. What curve in the road? Gray skies to the north were releasing massive shapes, taking on lesser ones. Night was crawling away on hands and knees. Rene, not yet bleary-eyed, knew the thievery of it, the moment, the uncertain reigns of clarity that can fall into one’s hands as night departs.
In
obstinate pieces the pre-dawn had been talking to him in the scary way it manifests intonations. Some days pass easily. This one will not. Hearken. Night is a beginning and an end. Even
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the
sun
almost
breaking
down
the
was apparently room on either side for safe passage of the rig, he thought his tires would take an unnecessary beating. He
identified
a
’98
Crown
Victoria,
slammed the gears in downshift, feeling the weight pushing at his back, popping the rig towards
a
slow-down,
the
gears
abruptly
humming their mesh of music, just like the back row of the orchestra at a Copland night at Symphony Hall. Forces, as always, were all around him. It was like stopping the world to get off,
some
kind
of
carousel,
centrifugal.
Remembering a French horn destroying a note one night deep in his past made him think about
Nazar Look 7
tom sheehan
massachusetts, usa
the way the crew packed the load back at
hipline, the bleached impact of his worn but neat
Swanton’s Ridge, not at perfection, thinking it
jeans. Rene, at 37, slim and rugged from a
might start shifting, daring to stand on its feet,
decent regimen and a usual tussle with weights,
threatening to jackknife. Then he saw the woman
even out on the road, was aware he had certain
step from behind the car and dart to the side of
attractions. Ease, supposedly, was one of them.
the road. In his mind was the converse turmoil of a lady in distress and the cost of new truck tires. There was feeble juxtaposition to contend with.
“Will the engine start?” he said, looking at the crown of the hill he had just come over. She was trimmer than he thought at first.
The rig slid by the left side of the Crown Victoria.
Gravel
and
shoulder
waste
and
perimeter-loose asphalt and pebbles sang under his wheels, pinged away as if from a hundred slingshots and he could feel the rig momentarily hang in the air. The woman, young, trim, hair proud-red and like a ball of fire, was waving at him as he veered by. For scant seconds the
“No. Just died on me,” she said. One shoulder shrugged. “There’s been trouble with it the last few days.” The shoulder shrug was the universal one, her head tipping to meet it, eyes shifting color. Her legs were marvelous. She looked clean as a new napkin, but her eyes darker at the moment.
trailer, potentially a deserter, AWOL in promise, tugged at his backside. From his lungs a pocket of air came loose with a bang. Gears shutting down into lowest low, the cargo still threatening movement, morning suddenly full of other energies, the huge Kenworth and its attachment
“You watch for traffic,” Rene said. “I’ll try to get it out of the road.” Noting her slimness again, how her red hair glossed against her neck, he advised, “Wave something. A sweater, a pocketbook, anything. Wave something.”
came to a stop.
He dropped into the seat, kept the door
In the side mirror the woman was waving at him. The voice, talking again, was unheard. Dropping
down
from
the
cab,
and jerked and he did it a second time. He tried it again and popped the gear quickly into neutral
the
demanding rigors of the road fully in his mind and having been in worse spots, he checked the tires on his side. He walked back to the young woman and the car. She was not in panicsville, though her cheeks were flared red. Instantly, with a quiet daring, her eyes measured his eyes, the depth in them, the span of his shoulders, his
8 Nazar Look
open, and keyed the starter. The engine coughed
after catching a minor thrust from the starter, and with one foot pushing got the Crown Victoria rolling on a slight grade and coasted it off the road. “I can give you a lift down to Crawford. It’s about twenty miles. There’s a garage there. Probably help you out.”
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tom sheehan
massachusetts, usa
“That’s great. Let me get my bags. Only a couple.” Her eyes, chameleons at work, were as green as a lagoon ought to be. She spun away with a youthful twist, energy riding off her frame. Other forces, the voice said, are about.
to kill him. I tell him he’ll be sorely missed, but that’s only a mere caution.” “What’s he do?” “He owns.”
Back on the road, the Caterpillar touching him in the wrists again, in the seat of his pants, Rene caught her from the corner of his eye. He
“That simple?” “That much and that simple.
If you’re
knew she was identifying the music on the radio,
going on to Boston, we’ll be going right by his
low and quiet. Her legs were remarkably elegant,
place. A long ride by. It’s like a border, like you
even, he thought, for the cab seat of a Kenworth.
need a passport.”
He’d saved for eight years for the rig, elegance itself, and here was more elegance sitting in his cab than he had ever dreamed of.
“Your mother?” “The owning killed her. I got out. I still love
“That’s lovely,” she said. “ That’s Nessum
him, in some way, but I got out. She worked
Dorma and I’m Lila Endwell.” Musically she said
forever for him, at anything, and when she wasn’t
it. “I was heading home to Ossipee, to see my
there any more, neither was I. She used to slip
family. From college. I teach, a half professor. Do
into my room at night, barefoot, smelling nice,
you always play that kind of music when you’re
and tell me stories. Sometimes she kept me up
driving?” Lila Endwell had turned to face him.
looking at the stars, the moon, telling me stories
Her eyes he caught first, now of another hue, not
her mother had told her. About witches and
lagoon green, not as dark as earlier, and then
sadness and losing the moon when you wanted it
her mouth. He could taste her mouth, the serious
most. And he was downstairs doing the books.
red lips. It was in his eyes.
We knew the difference, and the parting. We all parted before we knew it. As a kid it was all done.
“You’re blushing. I like that kind of honesty in a man. If you screw up, you screw up. That’s
really
charming,
courageous,
Before she died it was all done. Can you reach something like that?”
and
extremely sexy. Oh, my brother Tim says I’m too
“Yes. If you’re looking for something
damned direct, but life’s too short to be
besides the trucker response, I’ll find it for you.”
otherwise. Things need doing. My father is
He could have harrumped, but let it go. “I guess
godawful overprotective, now, but he’s the one
it’s like notes in music that come up in one place
should watch out for himself. Thinks he owns
but you know they belong someplace else. Only if
half the world and wants the other half. It’s going
you really listen, nothing else in your mind,
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Nazar Look 9
tom sheehan
massachusetts, usa
absolutely no taste in your mouth, no beauty in
hit a switch on the wheel and Eddie Arnold,
your eye, nothing to touch. Even the composer
somewhere in a corner of the huge sleeper cab,
never knew it. All things aren’t what they always
was about as sad as one can get, the kind of
seem. My pal Eddie drives a Diamond-T and he
song Sgt. Rumney had played and leaned on all
knows every damn word of Gilbert and Sullivan.
the time.
Every damn word.”
“I like Country. I like him. It’s what the
“That’s wild! I’m sorry for the unintended
traffic bears, but no adjusting of personality. I like
aspersion. Are you a composer? A Musician? A
myself sometimes. I love my father, I guess, but I
music buff? Love Country and Western? Blues
don’t like him. I liked my mother and loved her,
besides the longhair? Where does Jazz fit itself,
barefoot, smelling nice, the moon in the window
on an edge?” Each of them realized that she
like colored glass. I think already I like you. You
could go on much longer, but was being
come this way often? Where from? Where to?”
temperate, allowing her eyes to change again. “You keep talking like that and I’ll remember you a long way down the road.” “Oh, you’ll remember my good legs and thinking about the oral stuff, the way you guys do. What do they say, every five or six seconds? My God, how can you drive? I think it comes with the equipment, doesn’t it? Part of the spec sheet? Au naturel. My God, I’d be running all the red lights!” He realized there was not an edge to her voice. It was the way she talked, so utterly natural. And for kicks the air caught a small grasp of a new aroma, an essence of personal
“I’ll go by three more times in the next week and a half.” He looked at a small calendar on the visor. “Then maybe not again for three or four months.” “Will you blow that crazy horn, if you have one, when you go by?” “Sure.” “I’d rather you stopped and knocked at the door, if you could manage it.” “What would your father say with this rig at his door?”
identification, more than newly cut grass or a vast salty marsh or a whole mountain cleansed
“All he has to dictate is his will, and I think
just after rain. It said, for that moment and
he’s done that by now. I’m on my own, up to my
forever, Lila Endwell. He didn’t know if he had
own. The critters in my puddle are the ones I
said her name or the voice had said her name.
float with.” She popped fully sideways in the
He pretended ignorance.
seat. “You’re coming back this way, right?”
“Head on and no red lights?” His thumb
10 Nazar Look
Her knees shone at the back of his eyes,
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tom sheehan
massachusetts, usa
a field of white, expansive, compelling. If he saw
bottle of Madeira she took from a small case she
much more of her, he’d explode. “Tomorrow,
brought with her. They made love in the Kenworth
back over the same route.”
cab, parked in a rest area with a dozen other trucks holed up for the night. Rene Destot fell in
“Let’s drop in, say hello, get the car
love after they made love, after she showed him
squared away, and then I’ll go to Boston with
there was nothing but silk under there. “It’s the
you. I’ll treat you to dinner. I’m on vacation.”
wave of the future,” she said. “It’s our call,” as
He
understood
the
aegis
of
her
argument. “I won’t leave the truck for very long.
she explained how she shaved herself. He shivered.
And never in the city if I can help it. The
He was in Vergennes, outbound, when he
investment is enormous.” If he ever needed the
found the suitcase on the lower bunk under a
voice, now was the time.
pillow and blanket. The neat blocks of currency
“Then we’ll party here. After, you can bring me back home, and when you leave you can blow that crazy horn.” Standing up beside the seat, she slipped into the back of the cab. In
were piled like Leggos in the case. He counted to a million and fifty thousand. There was no note, but he could smell her, like he could hear a high note left on the air.
half a yodel she said, “Hell--o.” There should
When he drove back to the mansion, the
have been an echo. “It’s like a damn gymnasium
police were there. There was noise, static, the
back here. I saw you looking,” she said. It was
sound of sirens. One trooper told him a woman
not coy. Did not come across that way. “There’s
had killed her rich father, and then herself. “No
nothing but silk under there. Nothing but silk.”
note,” he said. “Strange, you have to admit. Had
…They had stopped, met her father. She kissed her father after showering, steered Rene out the door, left her father on the huge porch in the exhaust of the Kenworth, in its shade. His
everything going for them. Or so it seemed.” His voice was distant, like coming down a long tunnel, night behind it, pushing for all it was worth.
shoulders were slumped. Rene, remembering
It all came back. Some days pass easily.
later, swore he could hear her mother telling a
This one will not. Night is a beginning and an
story in three rooms, in the huge hallway, in the
end.
dining room, in the den where they had a glass of wine. It was another voice, at least.
***
His cargo was delivered, a new load put on for a return trip. There was dinner for two outside the city. A few glasses of wine. Later, a
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Nazar Look 11
abdurehim abdulla
uyghuristan (xinjiang, china)
Oh, Fathers! All the poets talk of mother Do you not remember your fathers? They are such fathers That even tigers might envy. They are such fathers That many beauties admired them Sharp knives ready to strike If any betrayer should appear. Always wading through water in boots They have seen much suffering and disaster They have used horse´ s bits to drink from Crossed every mountain and plain. At the tips of their spears a bright star On their swords dawn´ s flame Their love for their country shields them from arrows Under their feet waves of blood.
In the shade mother sings a lullaby In mother´ s arms I close my eyes Father sings in the threshing ground Like a king who has captured a city. Conscience is calling my father Mother is worrying about the family The people´ s desires form a volcano in my father A river of tears, him in a boat. He traces of a thousand youths´ labour Is on each callous on his hands My every smile an endless debt To the knife and bow he carried. I am known as a party boy Oh, dear father martyr of battles. (Translated by Aziz Isa & Rachel Harris)
The slain lie in the desert The sky wept down tears Tamarind bushes welcomed them Lions and tigers were their coffin bearers. We are known as dancing youths Oh, fathers martyred in war. We are grateful for needles And forget the arrows of battle Epics are written for rifles But the sword created the world. When mother gave me bread from the oven My father fought in battle to give me freedom Mother gave me a cotton shirt Father gave me his battle flag. When I fell down mother cried Father picked me up and put me back on my horse He trained me well to withstand hardship So as not to be abused by my enemies.
12 Nazar Look
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abdurehim abdulla
uyghuristan (xinjiang, china)
Ah, Atalar ! Bútún şayirler “anam” man dedí, Atalarî yok eken este. Olar şonday atalar edí Ğolbarîs koygan edí heweske. Olar şonday atalar edí, Ne gúzeller bolgan edí şayda. Hançer bolîp kadalar edí, Bolsa melun her anda piyda. Dayima etík men suw geşíp, Kórdíler neday dertler, ballar. Hatta ğúgen men suw íşíp Gezer edíler taw-dalalar. Nizeníñ uşunda şolpan, Kîlîşînda tañnîñ ğalkînî. Watan aşkî oklarga kalkan, Ayagînda kannîñ dulkunî.
Sayalarda anam kollarî, Men kuşakta, kózím yukuda. Harmanlarda atam ğîrlarî, Şeher algan şahtay tuyguda. Şakîrîp kettí atamnî vijdan, Anam kaldî úynúñ dertínde. Elníñ dertí atama bolgan, Yaşî deriya, ózí kemíde. Biñ ğígítníñ himmet ízí bar, Kolîndakî herbír kattîda. Kúlúşúmnúñ pítmez borjî bar O íşletken hançer, sadakka. Men ataldîm toylarda ğígít, Ah, ğanîm atam ğenklerde şehít. (Terğúmesí Taner Murat)’tan
Telefet şap şóllerde kalsa, Asman ğîlap tóger edí yaş. Ğîlgînzarlar koyînga alsa, Şir-ğolbarslar tabîtka koldaş. Bíz ataldîk tanîşka ğígít, Ah, atalar ğenklerde şehít. Iynelerge kaside okîldî, Unutuldî ğenk men oklar. Túpeklerge destan yazîldî, Kîlîş man ğaraldî dúnyalar. Ótmek berse anam tandîrdan, Erk bergen atam ğenklerde. Íşkólmek berse anam pamîktan, Bayrak berdí atam seferde. Men ğîgîlsam anam ğîgîldî, Atam sílkíp mínsettí atka. Şabalarda rasat tabîldî Kul kalmayîm dep ğawlarga-ğatka.
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Nazar Look 13
wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/
14 Nazar Look
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wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/
You Can Feel a Presence The first time I heard Sir call my dog Anna by a different name was when we were at the lake church. In the summers my church meets at the lake under a pavilion and people can bring their dogs. The piano under the pavilion was off key because it had been out in the sun so long. It is so old and dusty you could keep it outside and not feel bad about it. I started watching the boats when the sermon got boring. God told Daniel not to build a temple because He said not to. So don’t build a temple. What’s difficult about it? Anna saw the boat too. Her head lifted from her paws and I rested my hand on her head and folded her ear between my thumb and finger. "Easy, Annie girl." Her head went back down and my hand returned to my lap. Sir had heard me, and when I shifted in my lawn chair because the vinyl was hot and sticking to my leg, our eyes met. His eyes lounged in their surrounding wrinkles, not bothering to work themselves into a glare. I looked down at my lap. "Mean old bastard," I thought, "just because Anna likes me more." Then we passed the peace. "Let us stand and greet one another as members of the community of faith," the preacher said. I spent as much time as I could greeting Mamma, quietly stuck out my hand to the redfaced man behind us, and hid my eyes from meeting with anyone else’s who was any more than two steps away. The old women were the worst. "What’s the count today?" the preacher asked the red-faced man. He always counted
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everybody. That was his big contribution each week. "Three hundred twenty-six" he piped, "and eight dogs." "Thank you, Jim," the preacher said, slipping into a slight drawl he didn’t have during the sermon. He was a short man with high cheek bones and big teeth that caused him to lisp. You could only hear it when he talked one-on-one. "I’m thorry for your loss" he had said to me when Sir had introduced us. "Three hundred and twenty six! And only eight dogs? Good thing all dogs go to heaven." The people laughed and were glad to get their joke from the preacher. Momma reached down and Anna’s head met her. "It’s true," Mamma said to me, "She’s just like another person." The red-faced man looked over his shoulder at us and grinned at Anna, and that’s when I heard Sir call Anna something else. But I’m supposed to call him Grandpa and I never do, so I guessed it wasn’t bad. They made me wear sunscreen at the lake and I hated it. Mamma never wore sunscreen because she had olive skin that would get darker with the sun. She wore a straw hat so large that the brim drooped over. Sir always wore his one blue suit and never need protection, apart from a felt hat that he removed during prayer like the lid of a stale garbage can. The prayers were much better back when Mamma and I were Catholics. The scrawny priest would sing to us and his Adam’s apple would jiggle on the Latin. I could never hold onto the prayers from this current preacher even though they were in English, and I had to keep my head bowed so long my neck started to ache. The other good thing about Catholic prayers is you can get a candle to do the work for you. I had gotten good at doing that back when we went to Mass every day for Daddy. Mamma
Nazar Look 15
wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ showed me how and then she would go talk to the priest after Mass. That was back when Sir started visiting for longer stretches to see Daddy and help Mamma, to the point where his laundry had to be done at the house and I had to load his yellowed undershirts into the dryer. He came to Mass with Mamma and me, and he would sit when everyone sat and stand when everyone stood, like it was exercise to him. After Mass I showed him the trick I had learned about the prayer candles. I held his hand and walked him over to the statue of Mary, which was only a couple feet tall but sat on a pedestal elevated over me. I explained to him what the old woman had explained to me, that if you come and pray to her as often as you can you may see the statue move and smile at you one day. I always looked up at her. I didn’t want to miss that moment, and I was always bobbing my head up and down to peep at her six or seven times for each Hail Mary. Her face and her clothes looked waxy like a magnolia leaf. Her hands stuck out from many folds of the blue robe close to her sides, similar to a circus seal’s flippers, but I’m sure it’s because the seals imitate her and not the other way around. And she did smile at me once. I remember the certainty that she had done it. I had looked up at her and she had smiled right at me and I was petrified so that my mind had gone blank and I couldn’t remember the prayer and I ran to Mamma. Mary doesn’t show her teeth when she smiles. The brass candle rack stood before her. It looked like a little choir balcony, with only a few members attending. My quarter dropped with silence through the slot and into the metal box, which the priest had lined with felt so that it wouldn’t clink. I didn’t know that detail at first, and the first time I thought that the tin box was bottomless and the quarters fell forever until they clinked into the filthy bowls as alms for the people in hell. "It’s lined with felt," I had whispered up to Sir so that he could avoid the confusion. He closed his eyes and nodded slowly, and once I confirmed he understood, I retrieved a candle
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from the big box on the shelf at the base of the rack. I’d seen the exact brand of candle with the blue label sold at the grocery store and I thought it was a little weird that there was no difference between other brands of candles on the high shelves. Surely the label should say that these candles were intended for prayers, or that at least these candles should be higher up on the shelves. It would be unfair if one boy got prayer candles by mistake on his birthday cake because then his birthday wish would get an advantage. "The trick is to watch out for the draft," I told Sir after I lit the candle off of another one, then held it close while I whispered the prayer with closed eyes. I stuck the candle onto the lowest and leftmost prong, farthest away from Mary. "You don’t want to put them right in front of her because of that." I turned around and pointed upwards at the air vent of the ceiling that was polished brass with the clover-shaped grating. You could feel a slight but constant draft on the back of your neck, chilled, and it blew directly in front of the icon. The candles caught in this draft flickered and danced wildly when lit like the ones above the apostles or something. They burned and splashed wax sloppily down their sides and their tops were stained gray from all that bouncing around. They burned for no more than twenty minutes. My candle’s flame was straight and still, and it could burn for nearly an hour. "You see, Sir?" My prayer for Daddy will last longer." "It’s easy," I added after he said nothing. "Boy," he whispered, like he was out of breath, and then he turned away without finishing. Now Sir takes Anna on walks even though we let her out in the backyard whenever
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wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ she wants. "That’s just the kind of man he is," Mamma told me when I looked up from coloring a giraffe to ask, resting on my stomach and propped up on my elbows. The sound of Anna’s claws clicking on the linoleum was followed by the closing and slam of the screen door. Right before the slam I heard him call Anna a different name again. It was a boy’s name. I knew that monks change their names when they became monks after the Sunday school trip to the monastery off Exit 28 where they make honey; we had met three brother Gabriels and Mamma explained it to me afterwards. But I wondered why Sir had been calling Anna a different name, especially a boy’s name. I got up from the coloring book and went to the window. Sir was no longer walking directly away from the house, but had reached the sidewalk and turned right, and so I could see his profile and his mouth twisting every now and then as he muttered to Anna. I looked for him to mouth the name once more, but I couldn’t tell from the distance due to my eyes losing focus and seeing suddenly the closely knit metal grating of the screen over the window just in front of my face. "Mamma I wanna go walk with him. Can I please?" I asked, setting myself up for the grammar correction. She was much more likely to let me if I had an opportunity to be mindful of my grammar. "Say it right." "May I please go walk with him?" "Hurry to catch up," she said, turning away, pleased. I knew that for the first bit she would be watching out the window, meaning I had to run toward the old man with my arms out and head forward. The closer I got to him the softer I walked because you can feel a presence. I didn’t
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look at Sir either, but at the sidewalk just after his feet. I didn’t want him to feel my eyes on him. But Mamma had to know that I approached him, so he could know to watch after me. I kept going and I could hear Sir mumbling and I matched my pace with his to fall into his sound. I got within ten feet, and I didn’t want to breathe, certain he would notice, glare at me, yell in that hard voice, and be more suspicious of me for the rest of his life and I’d have to wait him out before I was comfortable in my own house again. "Dear Smiling Mary, please let my Momma not be looking out the window right now." My throat was clenched for the silent prayer. I looked back at the house and she was gone, and the long curtains were pulled to the side of the window. The breath I let out was silent as I slowed my pace to fall back from them, but as soon as I exhaled, Anna’s head jerked up. "Oh Anna," I thought. My lips were pursed tightly together so I could feel the blood pulsing around my mouth and my nostrils flared as I strained to yell within my mind and hope that the dog would understand me. She must feel it. Anna, please girl. Do not turn around. Don’t start walking toward me. Just keep going. Just go along with it for now." Anna closed her eyes and lifted her nose. She looked more full of herself than I’d ever seen anyone look. Anna! The word ricocheted in my mind. Do not turn around! I’ll give you some peanut butter when we get back. Mary stepped in, I’m sure. It made sense because when Daddy had brought her home as a puppy we were still Catholics and so Anna is still a catholic dog. I had to remember and make a list since I didn’t hear it from old ladies at Mass anymore: after smiling without showing her teeth, Mary can help with stubborn dogs.
Nazar Look 17
wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ "Move on, Isaiah," Sir said to Anna, quickening his pace while tugging at the leash. I let the distance between us grow. I knew, since he was walking along the fence on the Kimball’s property, he would be doing so for the next few minutes, and then he would either go left down the path that runs in the middle of the rapeseed, or turn right and take the path that leads into the woods. The hay was rolled and stacked and dotted the field like giant cinnamon buns. I was far enough away at this point where even if the old man stopped to tie his shoe and he looked over to the figure walking toward him, he would not be able to tell me from any other kid. If he looked, I would start skipping like a girl. The heat came up from the ground because the field had just been clipped. I had not seen them turn, and I couldn’t see them now, but I looked up the long path through the rapeseed that went on straight for a mile and I couldn’t see them, so they must have gone into the woods. For a second I remembered taking a shortcut to the post office through the rapeseed. You could either take a short drive or a long walk. Daddy had taken me for a walk. The sun shone on the fields on both sides, and each stalk reached up to it like a thin, outstretched hand. "If there were a million skinny green men looking for an arm, this is where they should come," I had told him. He stopped walking and tilted his head back and lifted his arms and smiled and I didn’t know if he was smiling at what I said or just wanting to feel the sun on his face. It didn’t occur to me until I was standing there following Sir and Anna thinking about it that maybe he was praying. "You’re right," he had said to me. "You know," he had said after he stopped doing whatever nice thing he was doing. He was still smiling and I could see the little gap between his front teeth and some of his dark hair slipped out of its place in the part over his forehead. "You’ve always got to walk on this path. It’s just rapeseed out there, let’s run in it for a little while."
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"Daddy! It’s as tall as me!" "Come on! Let’s go!" And he had taken my hand and we had run and I had felt his grip, which was strong against all the green stalk hands, which were weak, and I had figured out the sound of green because all I saw was bright green and all I heard was rustling, and that’s two absolutes, so they must be linked, except for when we took a big step and a lot of the stalks would fall down before us like Batman enemies, and only then would I get a glimpse of the blue sky and then it would all be green again, lightly slapping me all over and rustling and then me and Daddy laughing while we were panting on the road. I looked over and saw all the rapeseed we had flattened, and it was blunt and uneven like my green crayon after going home and drawing a page of all green stick men with one arm on the biggest sheet of construction paper I could find. Toward the end when the crayon was blunt the men got thicker, but all the rapeseed was thin. I kept following Sir and Anna. I did not realize how hot I was until I was under the shade of the trees, and sunlight speckled the ground, and it was warmer when I walked through the sun patches. My feet started to hurt because I wore my church shoes too long. I could feel the pressure running across the top of my feet because they didn’t bend at the toe. When I got to the pond, I took off my shoes and sat on the grassy bank. My shoes came off with a funny sucking sound. They hit the ground with a thud and I slipped my feet into the cold, still water and slipped them further into the sludge. The pond was stagnant and a good portion on the opposite bank had a curdled green algae on top. The water looked black in the shade. There were still fish in it though, and I’m certain there were one or two giant ones at the bottom. They were probably blind and had gray, eely skin, and they were masters at getting crickets off hooks. I had never seen the fish, but all you had to do was sprinkle bread on the top and it would vanish instantly with a glump. One
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wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ day I got the idea to put a piece of bread on the hook without any weights and I let it sit on the surface with more crumbs I had sprinkled. My body was tense and ready like when you see a scary scene in a movie for the second time. My bread wasn’t even all the way wet when I felt a tug and yanked. I could feel the weight of something, and I watched a small piece of wet silver come out of the water, make an arc over my head, and slam against the trunk of a birch tree ten feet behind me. I ran up to it, and saw a baby brim, three inches long, that I had stabbed through the stomach. It was already dead from hitting the tree. I took my feet out of the pond because I remembered about the snapping turtles, and Momma had gotten me thinking about infection and there had to be infection in those beaks. I left my shoes and continued walking down the path where it was bare, packed dirt and the dead leaves lined either side. My feet were chilled and picked up dirt as I walked. The only option left was that they had gone down to the river. I saw them there and my heart started pumping fast, and my memories left me. The river was more of a wide creek because it hadn’t rained in so long and when it was so shallow, you could see the remains of the long vshaped lines of stones the Indians had set up as fish traps. Now I could probably walk across and not get my shirt wet. A sandy bank three feet wide lined either side of the river and the banks rose into a steep, clay incline, revealing how high the river had once been. Sir stood in the sun and on the bank while Anna faced him, perched on the incline. From my angle it looked like Anna was taller than him. I continued past them, along the river, and then cut back from the side. I had a choice of going against Sir’s almost blind right eye or his almost deaf left ear. I approached on the side of his ear because he’d be less likely to hear me on the dry leaves and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t see very well at all without his glasses anyway. A large tree had fallen in the last
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thunderstorm which was now long dried out and gray, and it reached out over the water about twenty feet. I sat behind the base of the trunk and the enormous mound of earth hung in the air by the roots like it was waiting to fill a grave. I could smell the damp clay and I thought that if I breathed too heavily it would cake the lining of my throat and nose. Sir still had on his suit from church this morning, and in the sunlight it looked faded and worn. His hat was off and the cuffs of his white shirt were unbuttoned and folded back over the sleeves of his coat. They were pure white in the sun, and because I never saw him roll up his cuffs, to me it was as if he was exposing his bones. He paced along the bank. Anna was lying with her head resting on her front paws. "Jesus!" he said in a different voice than he used for me. Now he sounded like a goat. "He is God. What does that mean to you?" He pointed at her and Anna flinched at the sudden movement. "Forget Democracy. I don’t live in no Democracy. I live in a Kingdom. And the rules of my Kingdom sat in the tabernacle. What does that mean to you? "It ain’t proper," he shook his finger like he wanted to fling something off it, "to be prancin’ around in misconception, when you gotta Lord to bow to. When you got blood on you. And filth that you are! And there ain’t no water in this world you can be clean with. Only His blood, which flowed around two rusty nails, and His breast after being pierced by the spear – only that’ll save you." He paced around and his eyes never left Anna. I’d never seen Sir so awake, not since the night we all were awake because it was Daddy’s last night. Sir’s eyes were big and set like a cat’s eyes, and his eyebrows were lifted and that stretched out all of his wrinkles. "And what you don’t realize is you were
Nazar Look 19
wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ held under Him, and that precious blood dripped all down on you, cleansin’ you an’ savin’ you, smearin’ you, and now you done got filthy. Licking yourself like that! Filthy! But I ain’t failin’ you. I know," his voice fell to the ground like a smooth stone from the river, "my boy failed. I failed him. But I ain’t failin’ you. It’s all on me." Sir kicked the ground and a thousand little clods of earth hit the water. "Bead jugglers! And their monkey pope in a chef’s hat! Ha! And ‘once saved always saved!’ There ain’t no ‘once saved always saved,’ boy. Hoax!" He spat on the sand. "‘Once saved always saved’ is for cheaters and whoreenticers. They’ll be dragged from the pearly gates into the fire! By the hair! "And you been fooled the most: ‘All dogs go to heaven!’ Ha! Don’t you think for a second that’s how it is. Cute phrases and feelin’ nice ain’t nothin’ next to blood. "Don’t you hear Christ? Don’t you hear him callin’ you? Don’t it matter? You say you want Jesus, but the second it ain’t convenient your tongue goes dry. If you want Jesus," every time he said "Jesus" his fist fell into his open hand with a smack, "you gotta have Jesus when it ain’t convenient for you to have Jesus. You think rusty nails are convenient? "Look at you. You don’t even hear Christ’s call. You can’t hear the angel’s trumpet. Your ears is too plugged. Time to do somethin’ about that. Time to find God, Isaiah." Only half of all that I watched. I was looking right into his eyes though I knew you can feel a presence, but I had never seen those eyes so full. It’s like they were in their shells all along. My face started aching and I realized I had my mouth open like I was imitating him and didn’t know it and couldn’t refuse it, so I tore myself away and sat in the crater, porous with earth worm tracks with my back against the roots that felt as taut as a muscle with a Charlie horse. This man was not my grandfather. He was quick and
20 Nazar Look
loud and all his mean glances and stare-downs were gone so I could sit away from him and listen and know what was going on. I heard footsteps sloshing through the water and I turned around again to see Sir with his back to me, walking into the middle of the river with Anna in his arms, her paws up and bent, and her tail sticking out from underneath his arms. "Cup of salvation as wide as a river," he said almost with laughter in his voice as he made long strides. He stopped just before the middle of the river where the water was just above his knees. He paused. Anna was every bit of thirty pounds, and I could tell Sir tried to bend over at the waist, but after bending, the strain was too much and he snapped straight again. He turned slightly so I could see his profile. His teeth were clenched. He shifted Anna in his arms so that her tail was above her head. He moved slowly, but when Anna was nearly vertical, she jerked and pushed off of Sir’s chest with her back legs and landed feet-first in the water. Sir fell backwards and landed on his butt with his hands out behind him. He fell hard. As he sat in the water, dazed and still, I noticed water made him look like a wet cat when you see how scrawny it really is under all that fur. His face was calm except for his eyes, which were tiny knots and his chest slowly rose and sank with breath. I knew that expression; it was his tired look he gave me so many times. This time, though, it wasn’t directed at anything, and it went out around him, to the trees and water and smooth stones under the water that didn’t care at all. The realization came slow to me. I had to say the words in my mind before I got it. "He’s like a saint," I thought, and then I understood. My grandfather was St. Francis. Sir got up slowly and walked over to Anna. She was a few feet away, entertained by water bugs skimming on the surface. He bent
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wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ over again and placed one hand on her back. With Anna’s attention still on bugs, Sir scooped up water in his free hand and poured it on Anna’s head. He did this three times, muttering something I could not hear, and finally Anna shook her head and torso and snorted. I started thinking. Of course he never paid me any mind. Jesus wanted him to save the animals. St. Francis was my favorite, and I used to look at the picture of him with the robin on his shoulder and preaching to the wolves and rabbits standing next to each other. Sir’s head was bald like Francis. And no wonder he was always so mean toward me – I kept him from the animals. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I got about halfway to him and he noticed me. Anna saw me first and came galloping toward me with her mouth open in a long grin and her ribbony tongue flapping out. Sir, still standing in the water, had been watching her and his attention flicked over to me, his scowl returned from under the surface of his face and stopped me in my tracks. I closed my eyes and opened my arms and continued to run to him. The water slowed me down and the splashing soaked me to my waist. The stones underneath my bare feet were bone cold and slick with algae. My foot struck a sharp rock, one that was maybe only skipped across the river by some hobo that the water hadn’t yet smoothed. The slice wasn’t deep, though I could feel it was long because of the strip of warmth when everything else was numb. I shrieked and fell to one knee like I was kneeling, but God is good and he numbed my foot and I must be humble in the presence of a saint. I crawled the last ten feet to him and laughed and wrapped my arms around his lower legs. "What’s the matter with you boy? You hurt?" he said sternly, but more shocked than mean. "Sir!" I squeaked. "I understand. I’m sorry
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I followed you but I understand now and I love you and I believe. I believe!" I still had my eyes closed while I said this and the cold water kept me saying it and believing it. "Glory be" he said to himself and I opened my eyes and looked up at him and saw the last bit of afternoon burning behind him. He looked old, but the roughness had left him, and while it wasn’t a smile, his head was cocked slightly to the side and he looked at me with a corner of a mouth pulled up slightly, revealing a golden tooth I never knew he had. The words came to me from a place I don’t know and I wouldn’t have said them but I was with him and I felt a trust in him, and even though I didn’t know what they meant, I said them: "This is a new beginning." "Lay down," he said. "Your time come." The bottom half of me was already used to the water, but it was so cold to the rest of me I could feel the fluid in my spine getting colder. This was the new beginning however, and I lay there happy. My feet were on the bottom, but the upper part of me floated and my arms were spread out on the surface for balance. Sir bent down to me and asked if I repented my sins and had given my life to Jesus. I said yes. I had already thought of several questions I wanted to ask him after he finished, things like the number of animals he thought were in heaven and if the hawks still ate the mice in heaven. "You know that, dummy," I thought to myself. "No one eats in heaven because you’re satisfied all the time in God’s love." Sir put his hands on my chest and pushed the rest of me under the water. My ears burned, and I could hear Sir saying something above the water. All I could see were two strips of color, one bright and white, which was directly above me, and the other was the brown of the river. He pushed me down a little harder and I felt a rock change position under my back. I tilted my head up and saw more of the brown all around me. The white I couldn’t see because it was bright, but the brown is where I was and where the snapping turtles were. I knew they were in that
Nazar Look 21
wm. samuel bradford
georgia, usa
http://methodreader.blogspot.com/ river. Hundreds of the big ones. My chest got tight and I let out my air. They look like they’re made of mud and the river’s so dirty I couldn’t see my feet and they might be right down there by them. I could feel them looking at me. My throat made like it wanted to breathe, and I balled my hands into fists and pushed up with all my weight against the smooth stones, meeting resistance through Sir’s hands briefly and then finally came up from the water. "Get me out! Turtles!" "Do you believe in the glory of God?" His hands were still pushing me down as he stooped over me. I screamed. The smooth stones were not stones but turtle shells. "Do you believe in the glory of God?" he said through his teeth. "Yes!" He let go and I ran back to the shore, where Anna was now. The old man got down on his knees in the water and raised his hands in the air with his eyes closed. His body faintly swayed, or maybe he was loose enough to be caught by the current. There was no splashing and for the first time in several minutes the woods were silent. I was hot all over and felt like crying but I stopped because I was glad to be watching him now with him knowing I was there. I was with a holy man. Sir got up slowly and walked back to the bank, his eyes unraveled with fatigue and his wet shoes sloshing with every step. His suit was a darker blue up to his chest, and I could see the diagonal line where the water had reached. The water made the suit look newer.
All three of us looked at the river, not talking. Then I started: "Sir, how many animals are in heaven? More dogs than cats? You ever saved a cat, Sir?" The old man’s face twisted up and he laughed in quick spurts. "There’s animals in heaven," Sir said as he climbed to his feet. "If you care to cleanse ‘em. I’m sure of that. Get on your feet, boy. Good. Now stand behind Anna and lift her up so she’s on her two back legs. Good. "Yes, I’m sure there’s animals in heaven. But what there never been ‘til now is an animal prophet. You believe in animal prophets?" "Never thought of it, Sir." "Well I have. You gotta make ‘em doubly clean. The angel of the Lord came down to the prophet Isaiah and placed a piece of burning coal on his lips. This here’s our new Isaiah." He pulled out a gold lighter from inside his coat and above the water line. It flashed open with a click of his finger, and with another click a two-inch flame danced above it. "Hold her still, boy." "Sir? No, we –" "Hold Isaiah still." ***
Anna had shaken herself off several times and she had come to sit by me on the bank. She looked darker with the water too and the hair on her ears was damp in coppery curls. Sir reached the shore and sat down too.
22 Nazar Look
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Nazar Look 23
laila shikaki
california, usa
24 Nazar Look
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laila shikaki
california, usa
Interview
TM: When you are not writing, where would we most likely find you? Laila Shikaki: In my apartment or with friends at school.
TM: Laila, as a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? Laila Shikaki: A teacher. TM: Are you happiest reading or writing? Laila Shikaki: Such a hard question to answer. I think I am the happiest while writing, although reading makes me extremely happy as well. TM: When did you first consider yourself a writer?
TM: Picture freedom in three words. Laila Shikaki: Movement.
Limitless.
Vastness.
TM: Are you an optimistic person? Laila Shikaki: Yes! TM: Are ever talk consider people to
there emotions that you won’t about in your verses or do you your life an open book for read through your poetry?
Laila Shikaki: So far, an almost open book.
I think I’m still coming to
TM: Do you think it is important for writers to be socially active?
TM: Did you ever ask yourself, "Why am I writing?"
Laila Shikaki: Indeed. It is in communication with others that we learn the most about them, but also about ourselves. This knowledge enables us to write.
Laila Shikaki: terms with it.
Laila Shikaki: I always ask the question; I don’t always know the answer. TM: What do you find most challenging about writing? Laila Shikaki: The starting. TM: Is your work process fast or slow? Laila Shikaki: Fast. TM: How many evaluations does the poem go through before you are satisfied with it? Laila Shikaki: Three to four times. TM: Rhyme or free verse? TM: Inspiration or perspiration? Laila Shikaki: Both. TM: How would you describe ambiance of your workspace?
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Good
music
Laila Shikaki: No, but I am planning to when I return back home. TM: What is the best compliment you have ever received regarding your writing? Laila Shikaki: My creative writing professor who was on my poetry defense committee telling me that he has never been affected by anyone’s thesis as he was affected with mine. It was very humbling to hear. TM: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
Laila Shikaki: Free verse.
Laila Shikaki: comfortable chair.
TM: Do you meet with a writing group or exchange work with other writers?
and
the a
Laila Shikaki: Teaching, writing, and hopefully building a creative writing space for Palestinians back home.
w
Sa
! a l ai
L , l bo
Nazar Look 25
laila shikaki
california, usa
Watani Watani, my homeland because of you I’ve lost many lovers. they couldn’t leave their havens to live in my heaven. they refused to leave the land of water for a land that has none, but in four months, I’ll be coming to you, my love. the first boy broke my heart; he left you to continue his studies. the second guy went back to where he came from- the Land of the Free. the third man is about to let me leave; the internet there is slow, he says. Watani, the singers have sung songs about you. the poets before me many, and the ones to come much more, still write words of love to you. but I want to see you. inhale, and apologize. the tears that are falling now are making me guilty. I shouldn’t cry; nobody cries before they see their lover. the first time he knew where I came from, he smiled. you carry a big bag on your shoulder, he hummed as if debating whether we should hang out. we did. he broke my heart, but not before I let him. Watani, you have let me believe that you will wait for me unchanged. but then you built more streets, buildings with blue windows reflecting the sun I’ve been told is everywhere, but I can’t feel it like that. not here, not without you, not outside you. Watanti, you grew, you expanded, you got hurt, but you hurt me too. you let me leave, but I got attached. now I feel comfortable in this area, and again you want me back. poets have written about you and I have as well. I will come back to you, but it aches my heart to leave this man. but for you, I will. For you, I will leave my heart broken, and bruised. for you, Watani my right hand will continue to write words about you, for you, because of you and dedicated only to you.
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laila shikaki
california, usa
Watanîm Watanîm, ata ğurtum seníñ sebebíñden kóp dost kaybettím. óz ğennetín taşlap mením ğennetímde taşîna almadîlar. suw memleketín taşlap kup-kurî memleketke razî bolmadîlar, lákin dórt ayîñ íşínde saga kaytîp keleğekmen, yárem. síptí ğaş kaálbímní ezdí; okîyğak bolîp sení terk etíp kettí. ekínğísí kelgen yeríne kaytîp kettí - Azatlîk Memleketíne. úşúnğúsí mením ketmeme razî bolayatîr; onda awlar bek yawaş şalîşatan dep ayta. Watanîm, ğîrawşîlar şakîrdîlar sení kasidelerínde. menden ewel şayirler kóp şayir, menden soñra kelgen şayir de, taa kóp seníñ úşún aşk sózlerí yazîp turalar. lákin men sení kóreğek bolaman. mení íşíñe tartîp, bagîşla. akkan kózyaşlarîm şúndí mení kabaátlí ete. Ğîlamamalîman; yáresín kóreğegíne bírew ğîlamaz. ka-yerlí ekenímní síptí úyrengenínde kúlúmsúredí. omîzîñda kayet awur bír ğúk taşîysîñ dep mîrîldadî kóríşíp turayîk m-eken dep túşúnúp kalganday. kóríşíp turduk. ğanîmnî ğaktî ama sáde músaademní algan soñ. Watanîm, mení bekliyğegíñní añlaştîrgan edíñ, deñíşmeden. lákin soñra sokak-sokak kurduñ, heryerde kúneşní kaytîmlatkan mawî penğírelí úy salganîñnî aytalar, ama men kóre almayman. míndan, sensíz, seníñ tîşîñdan. Watanîm, óstíñ, ğayîlîp kettíñ, ğaralandîñ, lákin mení de ğaraladîñ. ketmeme músaade berdíñ, lákin men saga baylî kaldîm. şúndí bo yaklarga tam alîşkanîmda sen mením kaytîp kelmemní ístiysíñ. Watanîm, ozanlar şakîrdîlar sení kasidelerínde, men de şakîrdîm. kaytîp kelírmen saga lákin bo insannî taşlap keteğegíme kaálbím bek kanay. ama, seníñ úşún, yaparman. seníñ úşún ğan beríp şegíşírmen. seníñ úşún, Watanîm, oñ kolîm man yazîp turağakman, sení añlatkan, saga bagîşlangan, seníñ sebebíñden, saga hasret etílgen sózler.
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Nazar Look 27
abay qunanbayuli
(1845 - 1904)
Book of Words (V)
WORD TEN People pray to God to send them a child. What does a man need a child for? They say that one ought to leave an heir, a son to provide for his parents in their old age and to pray for them after their death. Is that all? Leaving an heir — what does it mean? Are you afraid there will be no one to look after your property? But why should you care about things you will leave behind? What, are you sorry to leave them to other people? What kind of treasures have you gained to regret them so much? A good child is a joy, but a bad one is a burden. Who knows what kind of a child God will bestow on you? Or haven't you had enough of the humiliation you have had to swallow all your life? Or have you committed too few misdeeds? Why are you so eager to have a child, to rear yet another scoundrel and doom him to the selfsame humiliations? You want your son to pray for you after your death. But if you have done good in your lifetime, who will not utter
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АБАЙ prayers for the repose of your soul? And if you have done only evil, what will be the use of your son's prayers? Will he perform good deeds in your stead — those you have failed to accomplish? If you beg for a child who will experience the joys of the next world, it means that you wish him an early death. But if you want him to secure for yourself the joys of this world, then can a Kazakh beget a son who, on growing to manhood, will show care and concern for his parents and protect them from suffering? Can such a people and a father like you raise a worthy son of this kind? You want him to feed and clothe you in your decrepit old age? A vain hope,
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abay qunanbayuli
(1845 - 1904)
too! First of all, will you live to reach your
God has given, but you won't take! He
dotage? Second, will your son grow up so
has endowed you with strength to work
merciful as to care for you in your old
and prosper. But do you use this for
age? If you happen to own livestock —
honest labour? No! God granted you the
there will always be someone ready to
power
look after you. If you have none, who
assimilating knowledge, but who knows
knows who will provide for you and how.
what you used it for. Who will fail to
And who knows whether your son will
prosper if he works hard, perseveres
increase your wealth or squander what
without tiring and makes good use of his
you have gained by your labour?
mind? But you don't need that! You pray
to
learn,
a
mind
capable
of
Well, supposing God has heard
to get rich by intimidating, cheating and
your prayers and given you a son. Will
begging from other people. What kind of
you manage to educate him well? No,
prayer is that? It is simply plunder and
you will not! Your own sins will be
beggary on the part of a person who has
compounded by those of your son.
lost his conscience and honour.
From the very outset of his life you
Supposing you have chosen this
will be telling him lies, promising him
path and gained possession of livestock.
now this, now that. And you will be glad
Well, use it to get an education! If not for
when you manage to deceive him. Then
yourself, then for your son. There can be
whom can you blame when your son
neither faith nor well-being without an
grows up a liar? You will teach him bad
education. Without learning, no prayers
language and terevile other people, you
or fasts or pilgrimages will achieve their
will condone his misdeeds: «Now, don't
purpose. I have yet to see a person who,
touch this obstinate lad!» and encourage
having
his cheekiness. For his schooling, you
means, has put it to good use. Ill-gotten
choose a mullah whom you pay little, just
gains are likewise ill spent. And nothing
to teach him to read and write; you
remains
teaching
bitterness of disappointment, anger and
him
to
be
cunning
and
underhand, you make him suspicious of
acquired
of
wealth
such
by
wealth
dishonest
save
the
anguish of the soul.
his peers and graft on bad inclinations. Is
While he has wealth, he will boast
that your upbringing? And you expect
and swagger. Having frittered it away, he
kindness from a son like that? In the
will brag about his former affluence.
same way, people pray to God for wealth.
Impoverished, he will stoop to begging.
What does man need wealth for? You have prayed to God? Yes, you have, and
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***
Nazar Look 29
molla penah vaqif
(1717 – 1797)
Holiday It is a holiday, don't know what to do All sacks are empty in household of ours Rice long gone, butter exhausted too No meat we have, nor cheese that's ours In this world we own nothing that's ours Nor does happiness grace our homes Vagif, don't pin your hopes on brains of ours Glory to God, our brains somewhere roam
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mihai eminescu
(1850 - 1889)
And If... And if the branches tap my pane And the poplars whisper nightly, It is to make me dream again I hold you to me tightly. And if the stars shine on the pond And light its sombre shoal, It is to quench my mind's despond And flood with peace my soul. And if the clouds their tresses part And does the moon outblaze, It is but to remind my heart I long for you always. (Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu)
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Nazar Look 31
edgar rider
arizona, usa
Bring Back Malone “Okay class we are going to watch some Kurosawa. Remember we will have a test on the prior work of Fellini, Bergman and Godard.” Professor Sturgess is an intellectual film professor. He spent his whole life watching quality films. Sammy and Roger are taking this class not because they want to but sort of have to. Although they are film majors they wish there was a separate department for just entertainment. Their love of action movies drove them into the fine arts department. But something is missing no car chase or pyrotechnic class in the semester schedule. During a break, the professor walks over to Sammy and Roger. “What are you guys watching.” Sammy and Roger look up as if busted. The professor grabs the DVD boxes .“ These are the names of the movies Deep Trouble and the sequel Deeper Trouble. One word.Terrible. You could spend your time watching the greatest films by some of the greatest directors. And you spend your time on earth watching Hank Malone movies. He’s not even a good actor.” “These movies are awesome.” Sammy says impressed by his own lack of verbosity. “Pure nostalgic bliss.” Roger smiles in agreement. “Pure crap. More like it.” The professor adds shaking his head. “This guy Malone he’s out of shape and skinny. He doesn’t even look like an action star.”
32 Nazar Look
“Yeah that’s exactly why we like him. He’s like a poor man’s Bruce Willis.” “Yeah man. Anyway what was I saying. Hank Malone lives here.We gotta do a movie with this guy. We gotta write a movie just for him. What about it man a major comeback .Man that’s it. We should call it Back In Business. Remember when he used to say....” Roger is cut off by Sammy. “That’s already been taken. And yeah I remember. You’re right. Yeah we gotta find that guy.” Sammy agrees. “Can I borrow these movies.” Professor Sturgess asks. Roger and Sammy raise no objection. Professor Sturgess grabs the movies and walks back up to the podium. He pulls the microphone closer making sure everyone can hear him. “Okay class. Pay attention. I mean close attention. This is what I refer to as bad film making,bad acting and bad directing. Bad. Bad. So bad. Lets watch a scene from Deeper Trouble.” Half the class cheers the more serious part of the class groans. “I know some of you know about quality films but we need to show the other example.. First of all let me say critics brutally and rightfully so attacked his other commercial flops Take This and Take That. Can you believe that those are the actual titles. Let’s watch.” On the film screen , Footage shows Hank talking with an attractive actress. She looks positively disgusted by Hank and even more disgusted that she has to partake in this type of movie. “You’re an idiot Malone.” The actress says twirling her hair back in an awkward fashion. Hank tips his patented dusty hat down as if in a sign of respect. “Maybe but I’m, good with a gun.”He takes his gun out of his holster slides
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edgar rider
arizona, usa
another clip in. “Heads Up.” Hank says warning the actress. The woman screams Hank raises his gun and shoots the intruder dead with one impressive shot. Hank yells out and tips his hat once more “Back to business.” A group of assassins surround Hank. The actress passes out in an overly dramatic fashion. Hank uses his foot and pushes her aside. Suddenly out of nowhere Janitor Reed appears. Janitor reed has appeared in films with Hank toward the end of his career. The studio felt that Hank needed a partner in action and Hank felt it was one of the studios better ideas. Janitor Reed exclaims, “Did somebody call for a Janitor. Always expect the janitor to clean up.” Janitor Reed pulls out an AK. He opens up several rounds with bodies scattering. Some of the class breaks out in further applause. Suddenly the university screen goes blank. Some of the other students breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s enough.” The Professor says turning the video off. “Class see what I mean.” He rubs the end of his glasses with a Kleenex and squints his eyes. He acts as if the film caused them a burning sensation. “Class you are dismissed.” The students scatter as the professor looks at his watch thinking to himself ‘thank God this is over’. As Roger and Sammy exit the door, The professor interrupts them. “That guy Malone needs to be in a different movie. If you guys can accomplish that then you guys could become actual filmmakers or maybe get a decent grade for once in your lives.” Sammy looks surprised , “Did you hear that.” Roger grabs an enquire type tabloid “Yeah, It says here in this magazine....Hank’s real name is Herschell Puplick and he lives here
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across town and hangs out in this dive bar.” Sammy and Roger tell the rest of their friends: Jake is their fateful key grip and Caprice is a make up designer. Sammy and Roger tell them to meet them at the pub. They are all about to meet their hero Hank in the flesh. Except Caprice who wouldn’t know Malone from Norris. She is a very attractive fiery red head who ends up taking charge every once in awhile. She is one of the boys and doesn’t mind keeping the boys in line. Jake doesn’t say a lot just carries equipment. Just like Hank does in his bad detective movies, they talk to the owner of the local pub, a dingy little dive, called the Last Round. “Yeah he comes in here every Thursday sits over there. The owner points to a dimly lit corner. “By himself. Bastard.” Tuesday turns into Thursday quickly. As they walk in, they see Hank sitting by himself. He looks like just like he does in the movies with his hat and trench-coat. Hank Malone is talking to his beer. Hank looks even more ruffled then in Take This or even ‘Take That’. The after shadow on his face has grown thicker. His demeanor has become even more severe. Hank looks at his beer and grimaces, “That’s not funny don’t say things like that. Sammy asks,” Hey are you talking to your beer.” “This is Hermy. Who are you guys “ Hank looks up doesn’t recognize anyone. Although it has been a rough night with many drinks. He could know these people but its been along week for a Monday no less… Roger begins his pitch to Hank.“Were film students. We are big fans. We got this idea. Were going to change your world Hank. . We’re going to get people to see you in a whole new light.”
Nazar Look 33
edgar rider
arizona, usa
Hank looks at his beer in a condescending manner. “Film students. Game changers. Right Hermy.” Hank chuckles sipping on his beer. He mumbles something incoherent to Hermy. Sammy interrogates, “What’s your beer saying to you now.” Hank Malone mumbles more random nonsense and then smiles ,“Drink me.” Jake looks around at his friend,” This guy is a little whacked.” Hank ignores them staring at his beer. Caprice asks Malone “Must kinda suck to be forgotten. No more guns no car chases." Roger disagrees, “That never goes out of style.”
"Let me give you a card.” Sammy hands Hank a card. Hank puts it in his pocket without even looking at it. “Think about it.” Sammy adds. “We need to find Janitor Reed.’ Roger pats Hank on the back. “Who’s Janitor Reed.” Caprice asks admittedly she is not an avid Malone fan. “It was his partner. He was so cool dude he would just appear and kick ass. You’ll understand when you meet em. A real tough guy.” Hank doesn’t even respond barely looks up and then continues his conversation with his drink. “Will be in touch.” “See ya.”
Hank slunches over more doesn’t respond continues slurping his drink in an obnoxious manner. “C’mon, its Hank Malone give the guy some respect.” Caprice orders beers for her and everyone else. Before anyone else can grab one she is done with her first. “Anyway we have a project for you. It’ll put you back on the map. At least we think. What do you say.” “One more movie man.”
Hank replies “Yup.” He mumbling towards Hermy’s direction.
continues
Janitor Reed whose real name is Irwin Julius lives in a rent controlled apartment. As Sammy, Roger, Jake and Caprice pull up in there own version of a mystery van. They see a different Janitor Reed in a flower hat working in the garden. Janitor Reed looks like a shell of his former self wearing a baggy wife beater and plaid pants. He holds his water pouring it delicately. “Mr. Julius Didn’t you once play Janitor Reed in Hank Malone movies.” Roger asks.
“Yeah one more time. One more time. Hank. Hank.” Sammy tries to incite the crowded bar but gets a lackluster response.
“That was long ago.” Janitor Reed continues watering. He rubs the end of the plant. “Tisk , tisk not coming along.”
Hank looks back up and then looks back at his drink. “I don’t need it anymore. Don’t want it anymore right Hermy.”
“What happened to you guys. Those movies man. They were awesome.”
34 Nazar Look
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edgar rider
arizona, usa
“Hank happened man. Hank happened.” Janitor Reed takes a hoe and starts scraping the dirt from the surrounding flowers. “What do you mean?” “He changed. His confidence faded.” “Can you explain further man.” Irwin begins telling the story. According to Irwin, Hank met a young lady named Dorothy. She had two beautiful daughters from a previous marriage. Hank adored Dorothy and her two girls. One day they went to the park. A well known mafia man Victor Alfonse got out of his limousine. He tried to offer Hank a contract. A real job working for the mob. Hank refused. Victor became angry. Hank and Victor decided to exchange blows. Right in front of Dorothy and her two girls. The three stood there in horror unable to scream. Victor grabbed his gun out of his coat. He fires three shots killing the three. The best way to get to a man is to get to his women first . Hank grabs his gun. He tries to fire nothing but blanks. “Oh no prop gun.” Victor smiles knowing Hank will live out his days in agony. Victor knocks him out cold. Hank awakens to find his three girls covered in blood. He sobs uncontrollably. His world has been shaken. The violence of the real world has stopped him cold. Irwin shakes his head. “Never the same.” Irwin continues watering the plants . Irwin looks at the four young people. He points to his garden .“Can you guys help.” Sammy ,Roger, Jake and
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Caprice start helping pull up weeds from his garden. “ I don’t know man the studio asked him to make more movies. He just threw up his hands. I’m out.” Sammy listens. “We got this idea. See what you guys need is for people to see you and your movies in a new light. “ Sammy explains his idea of deconstructing the action formula. Jake almost steps on some flowers. Irwin stops him with a menacing stare. “Watch my petunias.” Irwin grabs a Hoe starts raking back and forth, “ I’ll talk to him.” “Right on. Man I am telling you this will put you guys back on the map.” “I’ll talk to him.” Alone in his hotel room, the busy street surrounding his decaying situation . Hank grabs his Jack Daniels drinks it straight out of the bottle. He pulls out the card that Sammy gave to him. Hank Malone stares at the card that says ‘One More Time Productions.’ Hank gets a phone call. He puts up to his ear and whispers. “Yup. Alright. Where. Alright the usual Wherehouse. He gathers his coat and heads out the door. The wherehouse is not far. He hails for a taxi cab. The cab arrives instantaneous. He waits for the driver to turn around and takes another drink. He enters an abandoned wherehouse. His instincts tell him he should be careful. “Hank “. Hank turns and hears a voice surround him from the dark. He instinctually puts his hand in his pocket but remembers this is no movie. And anyway he forgot to bring his gun. “Damn.”
Nazar Look 35
edgar rider
arizona, usa
Hank turns around Janitor Reed is standing waiting in the shadows. Hank doesn’t know whether to embrace him or take a swing. They have always been this way like lost brothers who don’t know how to reconnect. “Reed.” Hank answers his voice sounding more and more like gravel. “You know why I am here.” “Yeah gotta feelin.” Hank takes another drink wipes the liquor from his mouth with his shirt in an uncouth way. “Those kids. You know The film students. This could be it Hank our comeback or our one last farewell lets do it right man.” “Its a student film. Whose going to see it.” Janitor Reed looks into the other room and nods his head like ‘I didn’t say that.’ In the other room the crew sits quiet filming the scene .Once Hank says that remark they turn to each other a little annoyed but Sammy still keeps filming. Roger holds up his finger for the rest to be quiet. “One last time. For Dorothy she would have wanted that way man. One last send off.” Janitor Reed says finishing his pep talk. “Let’s go with it.” Hank concludes. “I’ll tell the guys.” “He’s in,” Sammy slaps Roger on the back.
“Wait there’s more.” Roger moves the camera lens to get a close up shot Hank pulls out a picture of Dorothy and the two girls sits and stares at it. He takes another drink Vodka causes him to fade to black. The camera lens fades as well. The next day during class, Hank appears in the classroom. Professor Sturgess looks disgusted “Guys I’m in.” “Yeah Malone is in.’ “What about Reed.” "Shh we already know." Sammy whispers to Roger. “Let me make that call he’ll be here.” Hank adds. “The next scene is in a supermarket.” Roger chimes in. “The next.” Sammy almost gives the real movie away.mean the first.” Wally’s Supermarket is the least likely of places for a Hank Malone movie. Malone looks through the isles. He grabs a shopping cart puts a box of cornflakes in it. He shakes it “They don’t pack it in like they used to.” ***
“We got it ,” Roger concludes whispering. “This footage is gonna be great. It’s like a different kind of action movie.” Sammy looks through the hole into the other room. Reed walks out of the room waving slightly.
36 Nazar Look
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Nazar Look 37
edmund spencer Travels in Circassia, Krim Tartary, &c. (XI) LETTER VI. CARLOWITZ - RIVER THEISS - INSALUBRITY OF ITS BANKS – SEMLIN - BELGRADE FORTIFICATIONS - PRINCIPALITY OP SERVIA FERTILITY OF THE COUNTRY - VAST HERDS OF SWINE - PRINCE MILOSCH - HIS GOVERNMENT - SIMPLICITY OP THE LAWS - COSTUME OF THE SERVIANS AND SCLAVONIANS - CASTLE OF SEMENDRIA - TURKISH FORTIFICATIONS SUBLIME SCENERY OF THE DANUBE - CASTLE OF GOLUBACS - SINGULAR POISONOUS FLY THEIR DREADFUL RAVAGES. After leaving Peterwardein, the right bank of the river presented a dreary plain of sand, the effect of repeated inundations, till we came to Carlowitz, one of the free military towns included in the cordon. Its situation, at the foot of a group of vine-clad hills, is most picturesque: nor is this the only advantage derived from these luxuriant vineyards, for the wine they produce is some of the best in Hungary; and the liqueur Absynthe, which is made here in large quantities, is equally celebrated. The only town worth mentioning between Carlowitz and Semlin, is Slankamen, the Ritium of the Romans. Here the Theiss, one of the most important rivers of Hungary, when viewed in connexion with commerce, forms a junction with the Danube, after having traversed an immense tract of that country, and
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also of Transylvania. The banks of this river are, with few exceptions, considered unhealthy, partly owing to the sluggish pace at which the stream travels, and partly to the inundations, which on retiring leave extensive marshes; but though sufficiently injurious to the health of man, the miasma does not appear to have the same effect upon that of the finny tribe, who are found here in an abundance unequalled by any other European river. At its mouth I saw, for the first time, the Danube fleet, a small flotilla of gun-boats; the bloated, pallid countenances of the marines who manned them, sadly evidenced the insalubrity of the situation. We now steered our course between numerous small islands to Semlin, advantageously built a short distance from Belgrade, where the Save runs into the Danube, after having formed the frontier between Hungary and the Turkish province of Servia. At Semlin we were detained four hours, before the military commander could find leisure to sign our passports. Did this originate from culpable inattention to the duties of his office ? Or is the Austrian government solicitous to throw every obstacle in the way of the steam navigation of the Danube ? We here took in a supply of coal, which the English engineer informed me was of a quality equal to any we have in England. The once-celebrated fortress of Belgrade, so long the object of contention between the Hungarians and the Osmanlis, now presents no sterner aspect than a picturesque ruin; but the style of buildings in the town, with the numerous minarets of the mosques, is so completely eastern, that the attention of the European traveller is forcibly arrested. The citadel, erected on a bold promontory between the junction of the Save and the Danube, in a military point of view, is most formidable; and if properly repaired and garrisoned, together with the fortifications on the low ground at the junction of the rivers, sweeping, as they do, every approach by land or water, might defy the
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edmund spencer strongest efforts of an enemy. Here I first observed a few boats with sails; which proved that this people, so little advanced in civilization, were yet better navigators than any I had hitherto seen on the Danube. The villages on the Servian side of the river were extremely miserable, the huts only appearing fit for quadrupeds to inhabit. The country, however, seemed most fertile, being beautifully variegated with noble trees, blooming corn-fields, pastures, and vineyards: indeed such is its fecundity, I was assured by one of our passengers, a landed proprietor of Servia, that the country is capable of nourishing a population of five millions; whereas, at present, it contains no more than about half a million. In fact, these provinces are still in a most primitive state, and land may be purchased at nearly as little cost as in the back settlements of North America. The inhabitants devote the soil, principally, to the maintenance of vast herds of swine, which prove very profitable; for a peasant, at first possessed of merely a dozen, finds himself, in consequence of their rapid multiplication, in a short time the master of hundreds, and having the privilege of turning them into the extensive forests which abound in Servia, their food costs nothing. For a market he resorts to Hungary, where he ever finds a ready sale; from whence they are transported into Austria, being highly valued by the accomplished gourmands of Vienna, on account of their exquisite flavour. (to be continued)
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