31 ali tal england, uk Unbounded Void (VIII) 36 ram krishna singh jharkhand, india Nude Delight - Şîpalaklîk zewukî Let’s Meet - Tabîşayîk
BAŞ KABÎMÎZDA ON THE COVER
“Abdullah Tukay, kemalînda” “Gabdulla Tuqay, Maturity” Artist: Rushan Shamsutdinov
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 nikita síteneskúw Duwa Elif Anaktarîñ kaytarîp bermesí Gúzellík yamanî Ózresím Túşúnğe 1 Túşúnğe 2 Haykuw Kararname Manzúme
38 edmund spencer Travels in Circassia, Krim Tartary, &c. (XXII)
6 taner murat scythia minor (little crimea) Kókten sesler - Temúçin (XXVIII) 8 gabdulla tuqay (abdullah tukay) Shuraleh The Water Maid A Tale about a Goat and a Sheep Mother’ prayer 18 tom sheehan massachusetts, usa A Kommando Loose in Maine (I) 26 chuya nakahara A Bone - Bír súyek Poem: An Evening in Spring - Manzúme: Bír baár akşamî Poem: Evening with Sunlight - Manzúme: Kúneşlí akşam Poem: Sad Morning Manzúme: Kaswetlí saba
CONTRIBUTORS MEMBALAR Rushan Shamsutdinov Tom Sheehan Ram Krishna Singh Ali Tal
Nazar Look 1
nikita sĂteneskĂşw
(1933 - 1983)
2 Nazar Look
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(1933 - 1983)
Duwa Mení bagîşlap yardîm et kózímní ğuwup kaytar şiyleríñ kórínmez tuwuşuna yúzúmní. Mení bagîşlap yardîm et kaálbímní ğuwup kuy parmaklarîñnîñ arasîndan ğan buwun. Mení bagîşlap yardîm et kóteríp at ústúmden eskí kewdemní ezíp turgan ğañî kewdemní. Mení bagîşlap yardîm et kóteríp at ústúmden. tabiyatîmnî awurtîp ağîtkan kara melekní. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Elif Taa uzaklarda, uzaynîñ ortasîna taa yakîn túkenír kaálbím. Başîm, mayşîrak alewídiy, kórínmegen kollarîñda ğanîp sîğak kózlerín kaybetíp turar. O ğarîgîn karadakî-deñízdekí bulutsuz kewdesínden pesler. Hem muğizelí şikáar hem aşlîk yardîmî – ğeryúzí, Muğizelí suwsama fîrsatî – deñíz. Herzaman sîğak kózlerín kaybetken, kolarîñnî ğakkan yawaş alew. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
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(1933 - 1983)
Anaktarîñ kaytarîp bermesí Sení sagînmay tura-alganîmnî sagînaman. Kaswet, o túşúnğe tuwul o bír madde. Aşa onî, eger kím men aşayğak kíşíñ bolsa! Hayat ağîsî maddedír, tuwul siyíretmesí. Sení sagînmay tura-alganîmnî sagînaman. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Gúzellík yamanî Sení tuwurganîm yîkpal ekenín dep aytmam. Sáde bír muğize ekenín aytarman. Ólmemege kara, súyerkem, Eger başîna şîga-alasañ, ólmemege kara. Mením ómírím kettí, seníñ de yîkpalîñ. Tek aytağak şiyím şodîr, ke ekewmízníñ yaşagan yerí bo dúnyadîr. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
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(1933 - 1983)
Ózresím
Kararname
Men konîşkan bír kan tamgasîndan başka bírşiy tuwulman. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Túşúnğe 1 Mením kóríşíme kóre şayiríñ óz şagî yoktîr; şaknîñ óz şayirí bardîr, hem umumiy, her kaytîm óz şayirín kórer. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Túşúnğe 2
Mení unutsalar unutsunlar çúnkí kollarîma kúnúm kalmaz, kolsîz da tabarman şáremní. Mení bîrakîp ketseler ketsínler çúnkí ayaklarîmnî súymen, men hawa man da ğúrermen. Bírózím kalsam da kalayîm çúnkí kanîm deñízge agîp keter zaten. Yer bar. Bútún kabîrgalarîm parmaklîk engelídiy kóteríldí. Yeterlí ğarîk bar. Kózlerím yúz kapatkan tek yúzlúk kórer. Ama o mevğut bolmay taa, onîştan yer bar, yer kóp, bar. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Sízge bírşiy aytağak bolaman, bír kere taa aytkan bolsam da: men şayirge bek inanmam, men şiirge inanîrman.
Manzúme
(Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Aytsî, kúnnúñ bírínde sení tutup ayagîñ tabanîn ópsem, ondan soñra, óbúwúmní ezmiyğek bolîp, sen bíraz topallap ğúrer edíñ, tuwul mî? ...
Haykuw
(Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Karañgîlîknî karartîp, mína ğarîk kapîlarî. (Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
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Nazar Look 5
scythia minor (little crimea) www.tanermurat.com
Kókten sesler - Temúçin (XXVIII) Kesím 62 Íste kudamdan razîlîk Móñlík atka atlap, tozlata dumanlata Dej Seğannîñ úyúne barîp toktadî ke Yasugay Batîrnîñ sózlerín yeríne akelsín. O yetíşíp barganda Dej Seğan úynúñ aldînda íş kóre edí. Bírbíríne alîşkan ekí bala da, Temúçin men Bórte, óteberí uzaklîkta, bír terekníñ katînda, oynap tura edíler. Dej Seğannîñ úyún karap ğúremen. - dep toktattî, Móñlík, atîn, Dej Seğannîñ katîna. - Dogrî yerdesíñ, ğolşî. Men bolaman, Dej Seğan. - Mením de atîm Móñlík, Móñlík Baba dep aytîlaman, Koñgîratlardanman. Yasugay Batîrdan elşílík men keldím. Kaberler yaman. - dedí. - Kayîr-ola! Aydîsa, úynúñ íşíne buyursa! - dedí Dej Seğan úynúñ kapîsîn kósteríp. "Ózím de yaman şiyler sezgen gibí bola edím, ya" oyî man, elşíní íşerge kírsettí. Elşíní otîrtîp, bír kade suw uzattî. Soñra kadení yeríne salîp, ap-ak şîrayî man tîşarga şígíp: - Temúçin, kelsí balam terakay! Aydî, bíraz íşímíz bar. - dep bakîrdî, ballar oynagan betke karap. Temúçin men Bórte ğuwuruşağuwuruşa keldíler. - Bórte, sen barîp neneñe bíraz yardîm etíp tur! Kara, eşkí sawup bírózí ogîraşa. Bar, otîr katînda, belkím bírşiy kerekse yardîm etersíñ. - dep kîzîn kuwgan soñra, kíyewún alîp úynúñ íşíne
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kírdíler. - Mína, balam, úyúñden kaberğí keldí. Aydî, ekewmúz katlî-katîna otîrîp, barabar alayîk şo kaberní! - dep elşíge karap bekledí. Móñlík Baba ayak ústúne turup, aşaga karadî. Soñra ekí kózín yokarga tígíp, her ğúmleníñ aldînda esín derenderen tartîp, elşílígín bakîra-bakîra şakîrdî: - Yasugay Batîr aw moñlîgî şegíp kaldî. Aw moñlîgîndan, raát yukî yuklay almay, kózkapaklarî aşîk. Temúçinní bek kîdîra, Temúçinní bekliy tura. Ulî man barabar awga şîgağaklar. Koñgîlîndan ayuw kuwup, kaytarağaklar. Yoksam, Batîr, moñlîgîn atîp, kózín ğumup, raát yukusun al-almayğak. "Íste kudamdan razîlîk, bellet uluma buyuruk!" dep ğíberdí. - Ayse, kudam şonday moñlîkaswetlí túşken bolsa, ulî şîksîn, ketíp kórsín! - dedí Dej Seğan, nazarî aşada. Bo sózlerní eşítkende Temúçin, sessíz kalîp, başîn aşaga aldî. Soñra tîşka şîktî. Artînda, Dej Seğan: - Yalan dúniya! Yalan dúniyam! dep, túşúnğelí-túşúnğelí kaldî. Bala úynúñ artîna ğaşînîp, o yerde şoñkayîp ğîlay edí. Bórte de, katîna kelíp, ses şîgarmay, şoñkaydî. Bírkaş dakka ewel kúlúşe-kîşkîrîşa oyîn oynay edíler. Şúndí, arkadaşî Temúçin, ğîlay-ğîlay kózyaşlarîn síle. Kîz da toktat-almadî, kózyaşlarîn. Baya sessíz-sedasîz otîrgan soñ: - Ne bolawuydî saga, arkadaşîm? Bo moñlîgîñ kaydan şîgawuydî? Karakaber aldîñ mî, yoksam? - dep soradî kîsîk sesí men, korka-korka. Temúçin ğîlap toktay almay, konîşalmay. Bír máálden Bórte, taa da, ğúregí atîla-atîla: - Bír yeríñní awurttuñ mî, yoksam? - dep soradî.
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scythia minor (little crimea)
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- Kózí aşîk, babam mení kîdîra... dedí o wakît Temúçin. - Tañrî ağîp, yardîm etsín! - dedí kîz. Ekewí de şo yerde, úynúñ artînda şoñkayîp kaldîlar. - Tew, n-íşliy eken bonlar? - dep karadî Ğotan Ana, Bórteníñ nenesí, onlarga. Íşín yarî taşlap, kollarîn etegíne súrte-súrte, katlarîna barayatîrganda, ğîlaganlarîn abayladî. Bírkaş dakka ewel koğasî man úyge kírgen yabanğînîda kóríp, şoyerde añladî: - Way, balaşîgîm, ne boldî? Kímge ğîlayatîrsîñ, ulum? - dep kuşaklap aldî Temúçinní. - Babama, Batîrga! - Tañrîga arka ber, balam! Tañrî kuwet bersín! Kel, bír suw íş, aydî, balam! - dep Temúçinní aketíp suw íşírtíp, betín ğuwdî. Íşerde, karakaberge inangîsî kelmegendiy, şaşîrîp kalgan Dej Seğan, Móñlíkten: - Kudamnî kórdíñ mí, ózíñ kózíñ men? - sorap, ne bolganîn añlamaga karay edí. - Yasugay akam bek kasta bolîp ğatîr, tóşekte ğatîr: "Tóşekten túşiyím" dese Tóşekten túşer hálí bírem yok. Túşúp, "Míniyím" dese Míner hálí bírem yok. - Míndan şîgîp ketkení bírkaş kún, aptasî tolmay, taa. Bírşiyí yok edí, sawsaglam. Okadarlîk hálí kaldî mî, endí? Bariy, yemegín aşay mî? Ara-sîra awuzun aşîp, tíl-awuz bere mí?
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- Şîrayî-túsí kalmadî Boyî-postî kesíkrdî Buwunlarî mayîştî Okkasîndan bek attî Erínlerí morardî Tílínden sesí taydî Ğandan umut azaydî Azgana kúní kaldî. Temúçin kírdí úyge, bír dereğege kadar ózíne kelgende. - "Ğel kuwsun!" dep ğíberdí, Yasugay Batîr. Ázírsíñ mí, Temúçin? - dep soradî Móñlík. - Ázírmen. Babamnîñ başka aytkanî bar mî? - Bar, "Ádet yerínde tabîlsîn!" dep ayttî. "Alînağak-beríleğekníñ başîna şîksîn!" dep ayttî. Şo man Móñlík Baba, Temúçinní alîp kettí. Keteğekte, Bórte, Temúçinge: - Sen borîşnîñ başîna şîk, men beklermen! - dep sawlukmanbarîn ayttî. - Borîşîñnî başînaşîk aket! - dep ayttî Ğotan Ana da. - Senden başka kórmiymen, bíz barabar kartayağakmîz. Sen borîşnîñ başîna şîk! - dedí, taa da, Bórte. - Borîşîña kara sen, başîna şîk! Bízge kalganga kaár etme, bíz yaparmîz! dedí Dej Seğan. - Tañrî sízden razî bolsîn! - dep, Temúçin awuldan şîkkan soñ, Móñlík Baba man barabar, artîna karamay at teptíler. Móñlíkníñ kelgen ğolîndan ketmedíler, tora Kulan Daknîñ betíne yúzún tutup şaptîlar. Onlar Kulan Daknîñ etegíne barîp ğurtlarî man tabîşkanda keş edí, bek keş, Temúçinníñ atasî, Yasugay Batîr, geşken edí. (dewamî keleğekke)
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(1886 - 1913)
Shuraleh (A mythical horned demon, which inhabits the forests of Tatarstan)
In vicinity of Kazan there's a village named Kyrlai, Their chorus is the mightiest when its cocks in loud cry. Not that born was I in Kyrlai, but I stayed there for a while, Hard at work with harrowing, sowing, harvesting - all in due time. I remember thick black forest, by the village like a wall, I remember field and lawn, soft as velvet in the dawn. Would you think that village's big? - No, my dear, not at all. Here is fresh water taken from the cheerful spring hole. Air isn't cold or hot - it's all comfortable there. When the raspberry - strawberry paint red the nearest lawn, In a blink of eye your pail will be filled with their lot! Fascinating land! Pines, fir-trees like the guardians stay alert, Often used to rest beneath them, turning powerful twice more. Here or there seeing mushrooms, sorrel, buds or flowers' blossom Under birch or aspen-tree - having been obsessed too close to them Such a balmy air's here from those blooming fragrancies, Colored blue and colored yellow, variegated red, white, lilac! And so motley butterflies are, making rivalry to bloom, Flying, taking off and coming, - fed with nectar are they all! And you feel sometimes as if birds of Paradise are singing, Making heart stop sweetly still, and your soul wings do quiver. All in one place, here they are! - theater, orchestra and ballet, Concert, circus, boulevard - all that makes you ever jolly! Huge as Khan Chingiz's troops, like the giant with thousands heads Endless forest starting there, as deep ocean rise in waves. I see through the ancient time, our forefathers lived in, Their glory, their names, lovely stories, lovely views Of their honorable state. As if curtains on the stage open are again And at last you see them all, wondering what we are now Still, we are the sons of Lord blessed!
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(1886 - 1913)
II I described the summer beauties, - autumn, winter are ahead. Maids innocent and black eyes will be featured a bit later. Sabantui celebrations, horse race, holidays on site If I each of them remember, I'll be too far from my path. Well, you see, that I'm diverted, thinking of the village fun, Would you tell me what's the title? - «Shuraleh» is signed above. Wait a minute, please, my dear, friend of mine, you see my puzzle In the moment when the village views again come into my mind. III And of course, that dense thick forest as we see it nearby Is a home to wolves and foxes - every beast of pray alive. Here a bear is sure to meet you, if you hunt him in a brake, These are common things to hunter - seeing hare, facing elk. But they say, black forest's homeland for the evil spirit crew: Devils, werewolves and goblins, shuralehs are frequent, too. Why not? Endless forest shows miracles, as do the skies Many miracles in heaven, never seen and never tried! IV That's a nice start to my story - small narration that I tell: It was summer full-moon evening, when Dzhigit left home, he dwelt, Making horse-way to the forest - needs some firewood to get. Stars were twinkling in the sky, horse was mettlesome, indeed — In a blink the dense drew nearer, and Dzhigit was inside it. Fascinating silence seized him, when he looked around, amazed. Dzhigit took to work at once, cutting firewood with ax. Oh, indeed, Dzhigit was master of his job, and quick at work, Night was flying by, invisible, as his ax was cutting log. Taken breath was light and free, and cool air braced Dzhigit, Ax in hand, - and there was nothing to retard him in his deed. Suddenly, the tranquil air has been broken by a cry, And the woodcutter has shuddered, as if bitten by a fly. Then he stood alert, all ear, to see Something on the path -
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Nazar Look 9
(1886 - 1913) Was it spirit or a human, or a werewolf's black mouth? Who was that disgusting monster, smiling such an awful smile? Ugly nose of the being touched his chin, as long as knife. Long thin hair of a beard, knotty all from top to toe, Deep black eyes without eyelids were sparkling as a coal. He was somewhat like a human, thin and lean, - if not a horn, Black horn, finger-size was leaning, middle forehead sticking on. Neither daylight, nor in night-time could you stand his look - God save! Though his crooked arms had the fingers, straight and long as are the nails. V So they stared at each other for a long time, and Dzhigit Bravely asked the ugly being: «Who are you and what's your wish?» «Don't be scared, you, the human, I am not an outlaw. Nor as innocent as baby, -1 am used to cheat you all. When I see the lone person in the forest - tickle guy, Now I see that you are single, and I dance for joy and cry! Show me your fingers quickly, let me closer to 'see, You'll play titi-titi-titi - titillating game with me!» «Well, I'm not against at all, no objections but at first Meet my will, it's not as big...» — «Tell me everything you want. I'm at your disposal, only hurry up, I'll keep my word». «Well, I see that you agree with my offer, - learn it now: See that heavy fir-tree beam? If I help you, on your turn Will you take it to my truck? Beam is chopped on your side — easy carry, easy go! Take the log by split and thus let us draw it on the slow. Have you caught idea? - then hurry up, you, timber-cow!» Shuraleh has followed strictly orders told him by Dzhigit, Quickly fixed his fingers in long and deep split of the beam. Now I think, you are aware, what woodcutter plotted on: There was a wooden wedge in open mouth of the log. Sly Dzhigit was very tricky, slightly hammering his ax. Shuraleh was quite submissive, sure that he winner was. Wooden wedge was loosened free by the knocks of ax at last, Shuraleh's ten fingers were clutched by the beam - so fast! That was moment, Shuraleh cried of pain and saw the trick, Pleading with his forest brothers to release him in a blink. Shuraleh was begging Dzhigit, praying him as saint:
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(1886 - 1913) «Oh Batyr, release, forgive me, save me for God's sake! Swear you, oh mighty human, forward since today I shall serve your will and never dare to attack! And your progeny and offspring never be unsafe, And my brothers in the forest will take care of them. Strolling in the forest never will be blame. Let's make peace, you see, enough I am chastised, bless you God! Do you like my troubles and pains?» - suffered poor creature, crawled. Silently Dzhigit was leaving for his home without a word, Seeing no other reason in the monster's screams and oath. Holding horse by bridle gently, stepped he forward, free to act... Seeing that he wouldn't follow him, Shuraleh said in despair: «Pitiless you are and hostile to the peaceful Shuraleh, Only thing before you leave — tell me name of yours, Dzhigit! Hope, that hearing my voice, brothers rescue me tomorrow If me only to survive - then they ask the name of wrongdoer». «Well, calm down and be quiet, - said the daredevil boldly, «Past» my name is, understood? I should be your elder brother. Now I'm leaving, say good-bye, and don't worry, cheer up!» Shuraleh still screaming, weeping asked for pity more and more, Pleading, threatening, entreating, loosing head of grief and sorrow: «Help! Release me from the split! Crime against me is sure Past has squeezed my fingers, cheat! Devil, gangster, killed me, poor!» In the dawn the shuralehs came to see him on the place: «Crazy, silly, senseless creature, long and loud is your cry, Shut your mouth and be silent, for your screams too stupid are, Squeezed your fingers in the past, then why are crying you at moment?!» (Translated from Tatar into English by Lalja Gilmanova)
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Nazar Look 11
(1886 - 1913)
The Water Maid (Told by a country boy) I Тhe summer day was hot and sunny, and I was swimming in the lake; A splash of water, games so funny and dives I liked to take. This merry way I did enjoy my playing for an hour And certain was I not to sweat, moreover short I was of power; So quickly I ran out of the lake to put my clothes on. But what was wrong? A sence of fear! And all my friends were gone! To leave the place I was about, but suddenly I saw a bridge. And on the bridge I saw an awful woman. Was she a mermaid or a witch? In the daylight, broad and clear, golden combs of hers I saw. She was doing her long hair, I had doubts no more. Breathless, frightened even shocked stood 1 there not so long; In the shade of old thick trees I felt tremor in my knees. Having combed her thick long hair, splashing water in the air In the waves she dissapeared. Oh, my Lord, I so feared. As for me I ran towards the bridge, thoughtless was of course that siege. But how great was my surprise: golden combs of hers beheld my eyes. What I did - I looked around. Not a single soul was seen. Like a thief I took one from the ground. Oh, of me it was so mean. Seeing nothing on the way, I was rushing far away. I was burning in the fire, would I get through all that mire? Time was endless, so I thought, looked around, her I sought. What I saw was awful, scary. I was followed by the fairy. «Will you stop? Don't run away! How unlucky is the day!» Shouting she was chasing in a line. «Don't you know the comb is mine?» I was trying to escape, she was roaring like an ape. In the field I was alone, being followed by her moan. Running this way so fast, came the village into view at last.
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(1886 - 1913) Soon the dogs began to bark, it was such a nice good mark. «Bow-wow-wow», - the dogs were barking, after her they all were darting, «Now it's your turn, be afraid, good-for-nothing ugly maid». So the business being settled, though the creature was too nettled; I achieved my evil goal. Heavens! I was on a roll! On my coming to my place, rushing home at such a pace, Told my mum I with a burst that enormous was my thirst. I showed her a comb of gold, tried to look so brave and bold, Words of mine that it was found seemed to her to have no ground. II Farewell! The sun went down and at once I went to bed. I was lucky not to drown. Thanks to God I wasn't dead. While I was upon my pillow, sleep did not befall on me. I heard knocking at the window. Oh, my God, I wished to flee. Notwithstanding all that noise, I behaved like real boys. But my mum was soon awake, would she know I was a fake? «Who is there making dogs to bark? Who is walking in the dark? Decent people stay at home, night is not the time to roam!» «People call me Water Maid and of gold my combs are made. One was stolen by your boy, give it back, it's not a toy!» In the sky the moon was bright. I was left by all my might. Trembling I lay in my bed. If I could, I would have fled. She was knocking all the time. Her concern was very prime. Water dropped from her long hair, was she only my nightmare? Mother quickly took the comb, threw away it from my home. Prompt she was to lock the door, she wished troubles no more. When we got rid of the maid, to the Lord she humbly prayed. Then she scolded me in time, stealing things was such a crime. Since that time I understood, let it be a thing or food, Not to touch and not to take what was left not for my sake. (Translated from Tatar into English by Aydar Shamsutdinov)
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Nazar Look 13
(1886 - 1913)
A Tale about a Goat and a Sheep Once there lived a man together with his wife. So often were they troubled by the life. Perhaps it was because they had a goat and a sheep, Which were so thin and even couldn't leap. «Wife, listen», said the man one day, «You know how short we are of hay. I'd like the goat and the sheep the real life to taste. For what they eat is just a waste». Without arguing the wife said to the man: «Let them together leave us, that's your plan. Of course, my husband, right words you've said. What's use in them? They've never even bred». The goat and the sheep were at a loss, But they obeyed; the man was their boss. So in a grief like this they took a bag And made the way through fields along the crag. In silence walked they rather long. The world for them was like a mournful song, And only God knew why them he led To see so suddenly a dead wolfs head. The goat full of fear wouldn't touch the head, The sheep was also scared, almost dead. Thus, stood they both close to the head, «You are to touch it», they to each other said. The goat said, «Oh dear sheep, so strong you are!» The sheep replied, «But bravery of mine from yours is so far» Thus, two companions, having chicken hearts, Were too afraid to take it in the hands.
14 Nazar Look
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(1886 - 1913) At last they took a hold of that big head And seizing by the ears to their bag they fled. Soon the monstrous head was in the bag, so deep. What a relief they felt, the goat and the sheep. So further walked and walked our two friends. The road seemed for them to have no end. But soon they saw a fire in the dark. «Let's there spend the night», the goat's was remark «Bad wolves are certain not to come to it. We shall be safe, the place is so lit». The goat wisdom saw in this advice. And hoped it wouldn't turn to have a vice. Close came they up to this bright light. What a nightmare saw they in the night. Four wolves were sitting close to it And boiling water for some meat. The goat and the sheep when saw this sight, The hearts of theirs sank; they got a lot of fright. «Oh, wolves, my friends, you are all here!» The goat said not to betray her fear. How happy were the wolves when them they saw; «The meat has come itself, we don't wish more. We shall be quick to catch them both. The meal will be the best, we take an oath». The goat said, «Don't think too much about meat. We have a lot of it in our bag, so neat. Don't waste your time, oh sheep my dear friend, We have a nice wolfs head for them to lend». The sheep was quick to take it out of the bag And showed it to the wolves without any lag. So using moments when the wolves received this smash, The goat went on cutting this enormous dash. The goat said «How stupid one can be? This tiny one offends my friends and me. We have twelve heads, so take a bigger one, You should respect my friends, it isn't fun».
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Nazar Look 15
(1886 - 1913) The sheep, thanks to our God, caught this trick To take the same head out of the bag she was so quick, And when in front of them another head was laid. Oh, poor wolves! Believe me. They were so much afraid. The wolves forgot the thought of eating. They only thought of rapid leaving. And having made the minds to run away, They waited for a chance to be on their way. The eldest wolf soon rose and then he said: ÂŤl guess for our meal we'll need some bread. I'll go to the village to look for some, My friends, I promise quickly back to comeÂť. Thus their chief went to the village for some bread. Time passed, but their waiting seemed to have no end. Of course, the eldest one was wise enough to flee. And this result was definitely to foresee. The wolves got frightened even more, For their chief was one who knew the law Of being fast and swift to run from danger, Especially if you met an awful stranger. The eldest one was followed by another soon, Who in his turn home went to take a spoon. Again in vain they waited for some time, But leaving friends for them was not a crime. The other two were also soon away, They didn't want to take part in the fray. The goat and the sheep soon felt a relief. It was the God who helped them and belief. The fire soon warmed up two our friends, They even cooked a meal from odds and ends. And having eaten, they rested for a while, The night was spent on such a soft big pile. The goat and the sheep woke up at dawn, They took the bag which saved them from that mourn Again they made the way through fields and woods, But as for us, let's part with them for goods. (Translated from Tatar into English by Aydar Shamsutdinov)
16 Nazar Look
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(1886 - 1913)
Mother’ prayer Evening comes to the Tatar village; the magic bright moon is in the sky Under its light all seems silver: houses, roofs, fields nearby Very silent. Working people fell asleep because they’re tired From the sunrise till the sunset they are working very hard Any sound heard around, even barking of the dogs But in one house in the suburb a little trembling light still burns An old woman in that house has knelt down on a prayer rug And her soul is soaring now very high in heavens’ hug She has raised her hands in prayer and her wish is only one She is whispering with devotion asking God to bless her son Bitter tears are slowly rolling down her wrinkled face Do you really suppose that God will not shed His grace? 1909 Translated from Tatar into English by Zelfiya Minnebaeva
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Nazar Look 17
massachusetts, usa
A Kommando Loose in Maine (I)
Jaeger Brecht believed he could be anybody, and sound like anybody; he could preach what he practiced. Hot August of 1944 clamped down around him, three or four miles beyond the fence of the Prisoner of War (POW) camp near Houlton, Maine. Jaeger Brecht, escapee, was
command of languages, an artful eye for
headed for Oxbow, perhaps fifty miles away
mimicry, and free in the world.
through the forest and, hopefully, a girl he had not seen since 1932.
It was about time!
He would become again what she had known.
When he questioned how he had managed all this, appraising the last dozen hours among
A stiff breeze put a chill on the back of his neck
other elements of time, Brecht knew the
despite the heat. But he was free and in a thick
answer… he was a soldier, right down to bone
forest, almost like being at home in Bavaria.
and the marrow, every last ounce. Luck, he
Semi-darkness brought solitude and time for
believed, had no part in it at all… not in any of
thinking. Fragrance from balsam fir trees
this get-away-quick stuff. And, on the plus side,
sneaked into his senses and reality and
he was more than a soldier; he was a
recognition crept into him; his chest nearly burst
Kommando. He was special. This POW thing
with expectation coming slowly in waves. For
was but a momentary disgrace; he’d see to that.
the last five months he’d been nothing but a
Precision, planning and precision, were cut and
kriegsgefangen, a prisoner of war, with no
dried for a soldier. Cut and dried, he’d make his
shackles but confined behind a high wire fence,
way home.
time sitting its weight on his back, but now he was free… Obersleutnant Jaeger Brecht of the
And all these years in uniform he had
Werwolf, the Jagd-Kommando, with a gifted
remembered Liza Van Dammen, who once in
18 Nazar Look
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massachusetts, usa glory days of 1932 visited relatives in Bavaria.
and back, to and from love, from and to the
She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. They
world. Later, from home, for months on end,
had spent the summer together, pushed into
passion close in her fingertips, spelling it out,
each other’s lap by their parents. The effects of
she wrote religiously, letters full of love and
one war were not over for the mere youngsters
poetry, erstwhile promises and mountains of
while another war loomed across the face of
hope, until he replied that he had joined the
Europe. This new threat was followed by All
army and would have difficulty communicating
Things
with a girl in America. In due time it would
German
kidnapping
in
in
general:
America,
the
Lindberg
Germany
yet
become verboten.
smoldering down to its roots from the last war, Hitler and the Nazi party making dire noises in
In the army, as his role in it developed, he was
the cellars and byways and back alleys of Berlin,
too busy to miss her letters. In the states, back in
Nazi newspapers inciting riots between Nazis
Oxbow, Maine, she was afraid to write; the
and
German touch, and all it promised to carry in the
Communists,
Herman
Goering
being
elected president of the Reichstag, and much of
coming years, piled too fully on her.
Europe holding its collective breath. Part way through his appraisal in the forest, With all that background the young German and
Brecht affirmed his stance, a belief in his
the young American escaped into each other.
rigorous self; he was a soldier, yea und fur immer,
They were young and beautiful. At sixteen,
who happened to need a change of clothes, a
under a moon and beside a lake, they made love,
proper walking stick, a knife for protection,
each for the first time. In that initial madness
different shoes, and a girl who could remember
they made love every night for a week pending
passion. Food would come to the hungry in a
her return home. Imagination carried them to
straightforward manner, a snare, a club, theft in
undreamt horizons, undreamt realities. She had
the night. Survival against all odds had been his
never known such passion; he had never seen
army course. The targets and obstacles came
such whiteness or imagined such hunger, how it
listed in his mind. But recently, relayed from the
carried from one day to the next. World-wide
guards at the camp, he heard the hard and
hysterias in the making welcomed their loving,
unbelievable words that German army officers
made a place for it even as history gathered
had tried to kill Hitler. How often would chance
speed by the day. A small island with only two
intervene in his plans, in other’s plans? Was it
trees on it, in the middle of a lake, served as
luck that Liza’s family had settled in Maine? Was
their trysting place; each day they rowed out
it luck when he said to one snotty American
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Nazar Look 19
massachusetts, usa officer, “Please don’t send me to Maine. It’s too
English, which, with a little practice, he could
cold there.” He could prime the innocents. It
use to modulate a northern New England
was his duty. Acquiescence and good fortune
dialect, also impeccable in delivery. For kicks, he
rose from the ploys in his acting.
could become anybody. Three of the guards at camp had been perfect targets for him, and he
Again he thought of her at the lake, how he had
aped them to a “T.” Innumerable times he could
been suffused with her beauty. For nearly a
hear the echo of his nasal and abrupt rendition
week the moon had been their bounty, laying its
of “Ayuh,” the exact way he had heard other
gold on them, touching their blood with a long
service people, “Maniacs,” he was told, who
reach. She had a certain neatness that called on
used it continually in his presence. Each time he
him, but she held to no routine in her
was imbued with not only a declaration, but a
lovemaking, nothing neat or coy about her
veritable truth: When he was on stage, he was
passion. And when he cupped her breasts the
the supreme actor. Comfort normally came to
first time, he was frozen in place. All the parts
him in solitude, and deep woods meant solitude.
stayed with him. It was as though a picture had
It was the best place for thinking; but it was here
been taken by his hand, then by his mouth.
where the word about army officers planning to assassinate Hitler had freed a small stream of
Yet he had not taken seriously the poetry that
doubt. All of it had to be put together.
she wrote, and now, bound by forest, he was scrambling to remember some of the lines Liza
Back at the camp, everybody believed he was a
had written. Not much came back to him, a few
plain Wehrmacht soldier, oblivious of the “big
straggly lines of little import, a few tender
picture,” a corporal as dumb as they come. That
words. Of course, those words now gained new
mimicry he could carry off as well as any role.
relevance. Perhaps she kept some of that love;
Yet behind him sat a dozen successful trips
he would have to rekindle all of it; it would be
behind Allied lines, which had been completed
required.
before his capture. And currently a map of Maine sat in his head, where he could see lakes
After his quick review, hungry, miserable in
and rivers over the long run of the state, and one
dirty prison clothes, he headed for thicker
small town that might house the only chance he
woods, the pine scent, sent all the way from
had for true escape. It had been a half dozen
Bavaria, drawing him on. On the plus side he
years since his parents had received letters from
was able to count on a few tools: Even in his
Liza’s parents because of the war, but he
present condition he had impeccable use of
remembered looking at a map of the state back
20 Nazar Look
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massachusetts, usa then, the romance of far places playing tunes
had all ready seen crossbills and chickadees.
with his imagination.
Sufficient food would be found in his line of march.
Brecht kept recounting himself, reforming old strengths after imprisonment, after escape.
Behind him, though, the war was a shambles,
There was a time he dotted every I and crossed
had become too messy even in the planning. He
every T that came his way. His uniform, crisp
had seen it coming, the way little sins were
and clean at any hour, could be hung and worn
allowed to become cardinal errors in life,
again an hour later, fresh as a newborn. The
positions, even in armor and supplies, all across
medals
and
the face of Europe and in all the battle zones.
warranted; in the eyes of many he’d been a hero,
He’d been behind the lines in North Africa, and
courageous, a courtier of death in any sense, and
Italy, and captured in France; the world was
palatable to the broad spectrum of the Nazi
shrinking for Germany, a chokehold growing
media at home.
with daily reports circulating in the camp; the
on
his
chest
were
lustrous,
Allies in Paris, American paratroopers in his Far at home.
favored St. Tropez, the vast machine of the German army now susceptible.
He was a product of his times, and now he breathed the air and the scent of the forest, the
The escape from the camp had been a solo effort
rush of fragrant balsam fir trees and white
from the outset. As usual, he had difficulty in
spruce, now and then some sugar maple. In a
finding comrades worthy of chance and charade;
new valley a new smell rose on the wind,
they had become too comfortable, too chatty and
perhaps honey bees working their tails off.
ingratiating with their wardens. The Americans
Hunger, though it would tend to govern his
at the camp were too generous, almost forgiving
actions, would have to stand in line, wait its
in their daily work, turning their backs on minor
turn. He’d live off the land, but shun roads,
transgressions, letting footholds develop. All this
railroads, the curves and shores of lakes and
was crucial to him as he planned his escape; he
rivers, even minor streams where anglers might
had to trust the Americans’ easy manners, their
play their secret pools. The balsam fir trees that
obscene laziness. Only the sergeant with the
surrounded him were much like the Norway
hard eyes and the dark birth mark on half his
spruce and silver fir of the Bavarian forests. Here
face would be a worthy opponent.
as there, animals would feed off the trees, the moose, the squirrels, the white-tailed deer. He
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He could remember his first mission, leaving
Nazar Look 21
massachusetts, usa timed explosives in a fuel dump after he had
bring all his past with him… every damned
walked right past a dolt of a guard, saying the
ounce of it. Berlin would be his own, a thespian’s
C.O. had sent him for a battery replacement for
town, his town. Yet he was aware the war would
his Jeep. “Shit, man, they send me back from my
never leave him, the scars as deep as blood and
recon outfit because I fucked up and I end up a
then deeper, his knife as keen as the one in a
fucking nursemaid for some asshole 90-fucking-
surgeon’s hand, just as sharp and just as deadly.
day wonder. Will wonders never cease?” He had slipped his arm over the guard’s shoulder and
Immersed in thought, caught up in himself by
then slipped the knife in the guard’s gut,
an impulsive idea, and emerging from a thick
twisting it home. War is hell, he had thought as
patch of brush, he was halted by the sight of an
the
flesh,
old man slowly plodding on a slightly worn trail
encountered bone, turned again in his hand.
twenty or so yards across an open glade. A
War is hell. He almost said, “Son,” seeing the
fishing rod pointed upward over one shoulder
young face of the guard as it passed by him
and a creel hung on the opposite hip. Across his
heading into eternity. Valhalla, he might have
chest, a bandolier of lures, sat the ammunition of
whispered, hearing old brass echoes, Wagner
a
beating about in his own blood. Excitement in
recognition; the man looked like his grandfather,
the handle of the knife. He’d have to watch the
who might have worn the same gear and the
ounce of sentiment that played at his backside,
same clothing as he set out for a day of fishing;
like a dash of condiment long forgotten on the
the lumberjack shirt buttoned to the collar,
shelf, but holding its true flavor.
sleeves cuffed and buttoned, corduroy pants
knife
made
its
way
through
fly
fisherman.
Brecht
felt
a
pinch
of
making a music he could almost hear. Nights were as bad as war, as all the gathered acts mounted for his review. Often he prayed for
How far had the man come on this path? Was
forgiveness, but he had been commissioned for
there a fishing cabin nearby? Did he have
this, this way of making his way in the world,
companions? Reluctance overcame Brecht as he
and the war… he was a sneak, a thief, an
withdrew
impersonator, but an actor who one day would
recognition of pleasure was erased. All his
be on the world’s finest stages, his name on
training took over; if he made a mistake, relaxed
marques, in headlines, women aching for his
a moment too long, he would end up paying for
torso. He saw himself in London, Moscow, Paris,
it. He could not suffer himself to be so
New York, stepping out in front of the lights,
indulgent; it would mark him a loser. There shall
Hamlet, Lear, old Hal himself, and he would
be no confrontations, were words and beliefs he
22 Nazar Look
from
possible
sight;
the
slight
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massachusetts, usa must stand by; he could not be enticed, pleased,
flash leaving her signature. Bird calls came from
excited by any ordinary contact… ordinary
the orchestra of shade above him, probably set
contacts can carry such inordinate revelations.
off by the doe, everything in the forest caught up
Be ever alert, he affirmed again and again. Ever
in linkage of one sort or another, life spelling
alert. You are a soldier. A Kommando!
itself out. He thought he’d best be aware of the connections, for he was now in the chain of life
Thoughts of Liza could not be allowed to imperil
that the forest sustained. Animals, like the deer
him, he avowed. Yet the thoughts of her had
and moose, and every sort of bird, must live on
crossed his mind, at the ends of flighty
and off the trees and brush and herbs that
reveries… on the island, between the two pine
spread their arms in a thousand ways. Back at
trees, her all around him, and their passion
the camp, whenever talk about the forest opened
buried in the moon’s yellow prison. Her richness
up by guards or support personnel, he absorbed
came back at a moment’s notice. Those were
all he could, filing it away for later use. Now he
moments he fell into a beautiful Hell.
was at that “later,” and it was not luck that brought him this far, not in any manner.
Ah, Kommando, he said, Life moves on, and the island disappeared and the twin trees and the
Often he wondered how he’d find Liza, or how
yellow moon, and the throb deep inside, the
he’d find her… what memories for her were still
sense of pushing on a body, and the body
vivid, recollective, favored? Too much had
pushing back.
passed between them, even in spite of the years without word. Images came at him, forced up
Some hours later, in a small dale full of shade
from below by her personal richness, which, he
and sweet smells, he saw a flicker of life, and a
had to admit, had never been experienced again.
doe rose slowly, looking about as if for
But she was merely an out now, a means to an
directions or odor detection. For a short time he
end, and the weight of that sudden judgment
felt her sheer and innocent beauty. It was
beat its way into his mind. He absorbed his own
knocked aside by the thought of someone, like
punishment,
himself, feasting on her meat. “Life is made that
rationalization; he could be good at that.
yet
realized
it
was
a
bare
way, Cookie,” he softly muttered, in practice of his on-stage presence.
On the other hand, animal life abounded, as part of the forest choir; birds at all levels of the scale
One movement of his hand to his mouth, him at
were resonant in the thick trees all around, as if
full surprise, and the doe bolted off, a white
he were in a large aviary in Berlin or some other
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Nazar Look 23
massachusetts, usa cosmopolitan center; nature’s introduction was progressing with a full texture of song and
A day later, a night’s sleep under boughs under
secret sounds coming from deeper, darker or
his belt, the outlook on escape looked brighter.
higher places in copse and thicker growths.
There was no way she could forget how they had simmered that first night and then burst
A small stream at one place came into a small
into week-long flames. And now, he was sure, he
glade and he pictured a pond or a lake behind it,
was within Oxbow territory. It would not be
pushing at the mouth of this stream. Hunger
long.
was stirring in his gut and the black flies were extremely aggravating. Security shot uppermost
A week after his escape from the POW camp,
in his mind, though; keeping out of sight,
Brecht was hiding in the brush behind her
gambling
absolutely
house. Everything in sight caught his scrutiny,
necessary, creature comforts, all in abeyance,
his measurement. He could have frolicked he
being the least of his yearnings. Two hours later
felt so good, the fifty or so miles from Houlton
he had found a change of clothes in a small
were behind him and Maine morning sunlight,
cabin at the edge of a pond sitting in a small
the raw power of it, bathed all the structures at
valley with an L shape. One end of the pond, he
this end of a dirt road. In all he counted in
was sure, could not be seen from the other end.
proximity of the house a dozen birdhouses
He found pants with a blue stripe, a blue shirt
hanging from tree branches or sitting atop poles.
with a torn pocket, and the treasure of a pair of
Three very busy birdhouses sat but a hand’s
boots that fit him, though with many miles
throw from one window of the house and early
underfoot. The rutted path to the cabin had been
feeders, a kind he did not know, bounced about
overgrown to a point it looked unused for many
like marbles loose in a jar. Each of the three
months. He had sat quietly behind a row of trees
birdhouses appeared newly painted, some even
watching it for hours. The wait produced in the
artistically decorated. Only the entrances of each
cabin, besides the clothes, a can of salt sitting on
house were dark, and he saw such entrances
a shelf, whose contents he wrapped in foil; a
near eaves of the main house and at the eaves of
bottle of catsup that he left for the next tenant or
a large barn. Liza, for sure, was artistic, and that
visitor; and a can of tuna fish. The tuna fish,
too made him feel good. The Maine sun added
saturated in oil, was a treat for him. With care he
to her color schemes as the birdhouses showed
buried the prison garb under a rock a hundred
off a sense of brilliance, the way art exhibits are
yards away, the empty tuna can was crushed
seen by a first-time observer.
for
food
only
when
and thrown into a deep pool of the stream.
24 Nazar Look
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massachusetts, usa From where he stood, sundry paths, other than
The rustic America Liza had extolled in her visit
the one he had used, went off in different
to Bavaria was there in front of him. Earlier, in
directions, their trail marks faintly distinct in
false dawn, in an upstairs window in the
grass and low brush. Apple trees, among other
shadowy morning, he had seen her, had seen her
trees, were scattered around the house as if the
for the first time in a dozen years. Her laughter
house a hundred years earlier had been built in
came back in a heady maneuver, and the sense
the middle of an orchard. A new aroma, thin as a
of vibrancy she had unleashed those dozen years
sheet of air, made him hungry, though he could
past also returned as he saw her nude with a soft
not identify the odor source. It was as though its
light behind her. Parts of the recall had lain
identity was creeping up on him and he looked
hidden for those years, as if their appearance
behind him to make sure nothing was nearing
would knock him out of timing or routine. He
his hiding place.
was a soldier first, trying for a full escape. Yet, in the morning light, there was an eruption at the
Nothing moved but leaves and birds and the
sight of her bathed in the yellow sunlight.
vapor-like waves of unseen heat. Leafy grape vines clung to a series of thin trees and poles
If he was able to see her alone, what would he
and would provide cover when he approached
say to her? How would he start? Had it been too
the house. Other structures sat fully in sunlight,
long for anything to come out of this trip, all this
lit up from antiquity, all well-worn, having been
planning? He shut off that thought and put it
long put to regular use. There was a barn with
away. It would happen. It had to happen.
repaired doors but a dipping ridge pole, a henhouse of sorts with wire windows, an
(to be continued)
outhouse between the barn and the house leaning with an odd tilt, a tire hanging from a tree on a length of rope that a bare wind touched slightly, and, finally, an old car rusting at the far end of a small garden plot, young trees at the onset of embracing it. Before long the vehicle, by slow corrosion and tenacious tentacles, would be absorbed into the landscape. He imagined again an old voice, coming from a long distance in the past, saying, “This too shall be dust.�
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Nazar Look 25
chuya nakahara
(1907 - 1937)
26 Nazar Look
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(1907 - 1937)
A Bone
Bír súyek
Look at this, it’s my bone, a tip of bone torn from its flesh, filthy, filled up with woes, it’s the days of our lives sticking out, a blunt bone bleached by the rain. There’s no shine to it, innocent, stupidly white, absorbing the rain, blown back by the wind, just barely reflecting the sky. Funny imagining, seeing this bone on a chair in a restaurant packed to the gills, & eating mitsuba leafy & boiled, a bone but alive. Look at this, it’s my bone, & is that me staring & wondering: Strange, was my soul left behind & has it come back where its bone is, daring to look? On the half dead grass on the bank of a brook in my home town, standing & looking – who’s there? Is it me? A bone sticking out a bone stupidly white & high as a billboard.
Karasa boga, mením súyegím, etínden kopkan bír súyek uşî, kírlí, dertke tolî, hayatîmîzîñ bellí bolîp turgan kúnlerídír, ğawun agartkan kyor bír súyek . Heş balkîldamaz, sabiy, akîlsîzğa ak, ğawunlarnî emer, esken ğellerden kaytarîlîr, kókyúzún şuwasîn zorlanîp akseter. Bír restawurantta solîngaşîna kadar oralîp ískembede otîrgan, kaynatîlgan mitsuba ğepare yapragî aşap turgan bo súyekní kórmek kúldúrúwğí hayaldîr, bo bír súyektír ama tírí bír súyek. Karasa boga, mením súyegím, siyíretíp karagan kíşí de menmen: kuğurlî, artta kalgan ğanîm kaytîp kelgen eken mí, súyegí bolgan yeríne karamaga ğesaret etíp? Kím bar eken, kasabamda, bír ózen kenarînda yarî ólí otlakta kím otîrîp karay eken? Ózím ekenmen mí? Bellí bolîp turgan bír súyek, akîlsîzğa ak, karatakta kadar boylî bír súyek.
(Translation from Japanese by Jerome Rothenberg & Yasuhiro Yotsumoto)
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(Ingílízğeden Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
Nazar Look 27
(1907 - 1937)
Poem: An Evening in Spring the tin roof eats the rice crackers spring now the evening’s at peace ashes thrown underhand soon turning pale spring now the evening’s at rest ah! it’s a scarecrow – is it or is it? & a horse neighing? – nothing I hear only the moon shining slimes itself up & an evening in spring limps behind a temple out in a field dripping red & the wheels on my cart lose their grease the historical present was all I know the sky & mountains mock me & mock me a tile has just peeled loose from the roof now & forever it’s spring the evening is moving forward & wordless where it finds its way into a vein (Translation from Japanese by Jerome Rothenberg & Yasuhiro Yotsumoto)
Manzume: Bír baár akşamî úynúñ kalay tóbesí píríj pişkotlarîn aşar baárdír, akşam tîñîşîn almakta saklî kúller solîp kalîr yakînda baárdír, akşam raátlenmekte ay, bír bostan korkîlîgî – eken mí, eken mí? bír at kíşnemesí de? – bírşiy eşítmem sáde şamîrlangan mehtap topallagan bír baár akşamî da kîzîl tamgan şólde bír tapînagîñ artînda maysîz kalgan arabamîñ tegerşígí de tek bílgen şiyím tewúkiy búgúnúm kókyúzí men daklar mení mîskîllar, mîskîllar úynúñ tóbesínden bír tola yerínden oynagan şúndíden soñsîzgaşîk baárdír akşam sózsíz aldîna ketíp bír tamarîñ íşínde óz ğolîn tabar
Manzúme: Bír baár akşamî
úynúñ kalay tóbesí píríj pişkotlarîn aşar baárdír, akşam tîñîşîn almakta saklî kúller solîp kalîr yakînda baárdír, akşam raátlenmekte ay, bír bostan korkîlîgî – eken mí, eken mí? bír at kíşnemesí de? – bírşiy eşítmem sáde şamîrlangan mehtap topallagan bír baár akşamî da kîzîl tamgan şólde bír tapînagîñ artînda maysîz kalgan arabamîñ tegerşígí de tek bílgen şiyím tewúkiy búgúnúm kókyúzí men daklar mení mîskîllar, mîskîllar úynúñ tóbesínden bír tola yerínden oynagan şúndíden soñsîzgaşîk baárdír akşam sózsíz aldîna ketíp bír tamarîñ íşínde óz ğolîn tabar (Ingílízğeden Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
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(1907 - 1937)
Manzúme: Kúneşlí akşam
Poem: Evening with Sunlight hills retreat from me arms crossed over chest & sunsets colored golden mercy colored grasses in fields sing oldtime songs on mountains trees old hearts remote & still here in this time & place I’ve been meat of a clam a babe’s foot stamps on here in this time & place surrender stubborn intimate arms crossed walking off
tepeler aldîmdan kaşîp keter kol bírleştíríp kókírek ústúnde altîn renklí kúnbatîşlarî da merhamet rengínde meralarda otlar eskí ğîr ğîrlar daklarda terekler uzaklarda sessíz eskí góñíller bo yerde, bo zaman men bír karzak etí edím tamgalî bír bala ayagî bo yerde, bo zaman teslím akís yakînîm kol bírleştíríp geşer. (Ingílízğeden Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
(Translation from Japanese by Jerome Rothenberg & Yasuhiro Yotsumoto)
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(1907 - 1937)
Poem:
Manzúme:
Sad Morning
Kaswetlí saba
sound of a brook comes down the mountain: spring light like a stone: the water running from a spout split open: more a grey-haired crone, her story pouring out. mica mouth I sing through: falling backward singing: drying up my heart lies wrinkled: tightrope walker in between old stones. o unknown fire bursting in air! o rain of echoes wet & crowned! ............................... clap my hands clapping this way & that
bír ózen sesí kelír aşaga daklardan; baár ğarîgî bír taştay; bír şeşmeden akkan suw şaşîray; hikáyesí kuyulgan boz şáşlí bír ğadî da. tara taşlîk awuzundan dúrkí aytarman; utanîp şalîrman; kaálíbímní kurutkan buruşuk yalan; ğíp ğambazî eski taşlar arasînda. ay, hawada patlagan tanîlmaz ateş! ay, tajlangan kaytîk ğañgîrtîlar ğawunî! ............................... şarpîlday beríñíz şarpîldawğî kollarîm şonday da, bonday da
(Translation from Japanese by Jerome Rothenberg & Yasuhiro Yotsumoto)
30 Nazar Look
(Ingílízğeden Taner Murat’nîñ terğúmesínde)
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england, uk
www.arabworldbooks.com muezzin can only recognize the letters and only read them disjointed.’ Having a gammy leg which prevented him from being of any use in the fields, from a very young age the muezzin’s parents had enlisted him as a helper to the then Imam. He taught the young boy to decipher the letters and a few chapters from the Qur'an by heart.
Unbounded Void (VIII) 9
htOn hearing the muezzin's call for the night prayer, I stopped marking exercise books, promising myself to finish them on my return. I banked up the fire so that the room would be warm when I get back from the mathafa. Although the day had been sunny, the night was bitterly cold. After wearing my boots and overcoat, I decided to go to the mosque then to mathafa as it had been my habit. Peculiarly, that night I was the only man to pray behind the Imam. Although he normally was cool towards me which I had attributed to his jealousy of my success, that evening, to my surprise, he shunned me altogether and even did not return my greetings. Before my arrival into the village to teach, the Imam, who was a semiliterate old bearded man, had been a Qur’anic teacher. My sudden appearance had deprived him from this easy income. The village chief had told me, ‘The
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On leaving the mosque, I headed to the mathafa. From a distances I could hear the load ructions and assumed a fight must have broken out. As I come closer to mathafa, the adolescents boys, who habitually stood outside it, must have announced my looming arrival to the raucous crowd inside. The noise gradually abated then stopped altogether. When I entered and to my surprise the room was packed with the glum faces of men and youths. I came upon a mute, thick suspenseful atmosphere you could cut with a knife. Not being aware of any crisis happening, I assumed that the tax collectors had visited the village whilst I was in Al Qunaitra. As it was the custom, before removing my shoes at the threshold, I bid the grim gathering the evening greetings. But I received a silent reply. Manifestly, something was awry. Usually on my entrance, all the men present would rise up in due respect and vie with each other to seat me in their place. That evening, instead of the customary warm greetings, I was met by taciturn, accusing and suspicious glares. Astonished by this strange, uncharacteristic reception, I sauntered in, intent on sitting next to the village chief to find what had happened. To my great embarrassment, neither he nor the two men sitting on either side of him bothered to say, ‘Take the weight off your feet, teacher, Ali, come sit here, in my place.’ Feeling insulted, my face reddened with
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www.arabworldbooks.com my rising discomfiture. I was about to rebuke them for their bad manners when the village chief moved sideways, gruffly saying , ‘Sit, here.’ Still not privy to what was going on, I sensed the fuming ambience and thought that was, somehow, connected to me. I seated myself cross-legged next to the chief. It was usual that after a new arrival had seated himself, greetings would flow from mouth to mouth, ‘You have arrived at your home’ or ‘May your evening be bountiful’. No such words were forth coming. Even more strange, the young man who normally hand the new arrival a cup of Arab-coffee, did not move from his seat. After a strained pause, I lent towards the village chief and in a hushed voice asked him, ‘May Allah bring your problems to satisfactory outcomes. The Mighty hinders Shaitan, did anything untoward happen during my absence in Al Qunaitra?’ Before answering, for a long second he accusingly glowered hard into my eyes. As though he was stifling his anger, he said, ‘Teacher Ali, we are aware that we live at the edge of calamity. But we value our honour higher than our lives.’ Although still in the dark as to what had happened, his obscure words alarmed me. Feeling the silent tension encircling me, I replied with a question, ‘Allah forbids, has anybody been dishonoured?’ Uncomfortably, I sensed that all eyes were peering inside my head. The village chief again took his time before he looked fiercely at me and said, ‘It is better that you veil the woman’s honour before the story gets out of hand.’ Feeling
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enraged
by
the
appalling
accusation that closely touched upon my venerated person, my moustache began to quiver furiously with indignations. Trying not to express my mounting ire in words, in a dry suffocating voice I replied, ‘Be careful what you say, village chief. What do you mean? What woman are you talking about?’ 'Fatimah.’ The reply was immediate and unhesitant. On hearing her name, my anger somewhat subsided and turned into worry for her physical safety as if her well-being was my priority. In an apprehensive voice, I quizzed him, ‘What do you mean? Has anything bad happened to the destitute creature?’ Forthwith, the whole room erupted in a captious cacophony of entangled angry commotion. The circle of glowering eyes suddenly found a voice and serious accusations flew from all directions. The man on the other side of the village chief bawled loudly in disgust, ‘We are at the end of Time. No blood nor honour flow men’s veins.’ Another censured me openly, ‘Teacher, you buy her bloomers and we trust you to teach our children morals and manners.’ What I had dreaded most and everybody had been expecting at last gave vent to his rage. When from his seat on the right side to me, Fatimah's cousin jumped to the middle of the room, knelt on his right knee, and brandished his ‘aqal1 above his head. I began to realise the situation was deteriorating, things might get out of control and realised that I would not be able just to get up and leave. Quickly the situation escalated and it went from bad to worse. I felt a sense of abounding black panic creep into heart. In a
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www.arabworldbooks.com typical fellahin theatrical gesture, the cousin flung his aqal into the noqra fire as a sign of his extreme outrage. The foul stench of burning goat hair immediately began rising in blue columns above the fire, making the atmosphere even more acrid and threatening. His two sons immediately followed jumped from their seats and knelt next to him on bending knees. The pair also brandished their aqals then flung them over the fire. The black repugnant smoke darkened the room further. Heartened by his son’s support, Fatimah’s cousin raised his kofeah above his bold head began flourishing it in the air. His greying plaits were flinging from side to side. A deafening cacophony of supporting voices broke out. In terror I looked at the village chief. He pressed on me knee with his as if to say, ‘I am not abandoning you.’ In a roaring voice that rose above the hubbub, the cousin taunted me, ‘By the graves of all my ancestors, I vow by the honour of my sisters, Fatimah and her fornicator will not see the morrow. I am their beheader.’ The pungent smoke rising from the singing aqals dimmed the light of the oil-lamp to near shadows, making the atmosphere even more glum. A youth who had recently got married to the daughter of Fatimah‘s cousin and had not yet started to shave, rushed to the middle of the mathafa. He, too, threw his aqal into the fire. Wielding his kofeah and shaking his long plaits, in a thundering but trembling voice he vowed, 'I am with you my father-in-law. Our honour is one’ In those gone-by days, the men of the fellahin took great pride in the length of their plaits. Early every morning, youths vied with women to wash their heads with bulls' urine. It was thought to be a balsamic tonic for hair.
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Heartened by the extra support, the cousin let everyone know, 'All you present here be witnesses to my vows, I swear by all the Names of Allah, Fatimah, forever, your name will be shame and disgrace upon me and upon my sons. From this day on, the spilling of your blood is lawful to me, my sons and their sons to the seventh paternal grandparent.’ My anger reached its zenith as I began to comprehend the terrible dimensions of the charges that had been heaped upon me. Shaking with outrage from the top of my head to the bottom of my soles, I bellowed, contemptuously, 'Have you gone mad, you miserly old man? You are a coward and cannot kill a fly. Do not wrong me and that helpless woman.’ As my sense of indignation became overwhelming I flew into a passion. I publicly chided him, 'In the name of shame, since when have you and your sons had honour and thought Fatimah was your kin? Where is your honour when she walks hungry and naked in the village lanes, scavenging from dumps? Where is your kinship and protection when children throw stones at her? You are coarse, mean very stingy. Although you have three wives you cook yourself. You put behind lock and key any scraps of food left. These men sitting here, speak ill of your avarice and cowardice.’ My voice rising with my anger above the mathafa‘s hubbub, I went on tongue-lashing him for a few minutes. The verbal quarrels raged until everybody who had something to say had said it. I am sure you can imagine how quickly the situation deteriorated into a quagmire of false allegations that the cousin’s face and mine were mere inches apart. Had it not been for the intercession of the village chief, we were about to barter blows. Most of the people present,
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www.arabworldbooks.com especially the younger men, sided with the relative of Fatimah against me. They accused me of taking advantage of my position to dishonour them. In the rising temperature of the exchanges, somebody shouted the words, 'Fatimah is a whore and an adulteress and you are a fornicator.’ The mere mention of the word whore made the blood of the cousin’s sons and son-inlaw boil. The three charged towards me threatening, ‘I must kill you. I must kill you to cleanse my honour.’ The village chief and other worthies of the village jumped up to their feet and stood between us. A seated older man who had kept silent until then, yelled from behind the men standing in the middle with the stink and smoke hovering over their heads, reminding everybody, ‘Fatimah is not a virgin. She is a divorcee. By the laws of the clans you cannot kill the man until you kill the woman.’ Alarmed that the matter had reached the discussion of bloodshed, the village chief turned into the frenzied mob and, using his full authority, he warned them, ‘I remind you all that no adultery or rape had taken place. The laws of the clans say, if the woman is a widow or a divorcee, then the man must marry the woman. Her dowry is double those of a female of a similar social status.’ You cannot imagine what grief and bitterness enveloped my entire body and soul. I was railing with bane. Of course, the idea of wedding had been long held sacred in my heart but now it was suddenly seized upon by those ignorant people. My marriage dragged me in the village dirt lanes before other fools whom I might encounter and star at me in an unrecognisable
34 Nazar Look
form. Although, somewhat relieved to come out with my skin unscathed from that extraordinarily deadly impasse, I realised that I had to yield to the village chief’s ruling. But great deal of furores continued to erupt from Fatimah’s cousin and his sons, objecting to the pronouncement, affirming that their honour could only be cleansed with blood. Whilst they continued to make spectacle of themselves, the men separated into smaller groups, discussing the village chief’s verdict. For a while it seemed to me that they had altogether forgotten me. You cannot imagine how much I wished for that. Leaden with troubles, I heavily carried myself back to my seat where I sat taciturn, barely taking notice of what was going on around me. I sat staring blankly at the floor but inside my mind there was a tempest of dread swirling, thinking, ‘How I will explain all this to my parents, my father in particular. From whichever angle I look at it, it is bad news.’ Yet, at that moment I was unable to think of the obvious which was divorcing Fatimah, leaving the village and never return. Maybe out of guilt for putting me in this life and death situation, the village worthies came and sat facing me. Speaking on their behalf, their chief in a decorous tone he said, ‘To avoid further threats and the possible spilling of blood, teacher Ali, we think that marriage is the only rational outcome.’ I do not know how I found my voice again. Trying to assume a sensible attitude the catastrophe that was befalling me, I said, ‘Gentlemen, I am in your hands, but I want you all to know I bought the clothes for that poor woman out of charity. There was not an ounce of bad intent in me.’
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www.arabworldbooks.com Within an hour, I found myself signing my contract of marriage to Fatimah. Of course, the timid woman had no knowledge of what was happening in the mathafa on her behalf. Although, everyone knew that she was a divorcee and by the laws of the clans she could stamp her own marriage contract with her seal or fingerprint, no man thought of consulting her. To make the situation even more absurd, the cousin hushed his sons and started to haggle over the dowry. No doubt covetous of my talked about wealth, he insisted that the advanced dowry must be five liras paid to him. It is no exaggeration if I say that probably was the largest sum of money he or most of the villagers ever possessed. Only a few months earlier he had sold his cousin for a bundle of sheeted apricots and a pound of molasses worth no more than a few piasteres. Undoubtedly pondering the possibility that I could divorce Fatimah and leave the village, its the worthies had stipulated in the marriage contract that in case of divorce; a diadem decorated by ten English gold sovereigns2 and thirty silver coins; a gold nosering; a necklace of blue beads; an anklet with bells; a fleece, four woollen mattresses and four double damascene cotton quilts; a bureau mounted with mother of pearls and a carved chest. These items were written in Fatimah's name as her delayed dowry in the event of divorce. Reading what was going through my mind, the village chief added, ‘Ali, we hope your marriage will be long and fruitful, but we have to guarantee the poor woman has something to live on if you leave her.’ Fatimah never asked for any part of her dowry. The truth was, that she really never knew that all those things were hers until I told her. By
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the standard of the fellahin women, she was probably their richest. When I described to her the events of that night, the pained look in her eyes would forever haunt me. Her soft, sweet reply resounds in my head with every breath I take, ‘Ali, you are the embers of my heart. I wish for nothing more than your pleasure. Your smile is my real dowry.’ The village chief's wife carried the clothes, which I had bought that fateful afternoon, to the hut with a plate of food. Fatimah was sitting in dark, when the woman told her, ‘You deprived of the Mercy of Allah, Heaven has opened its gate for you this night. On the morrow you will be lead to your groom. Teacher Ali’ Years later, I asked the village chief’s wife, ‘How did Fatimah receive the news of her engagement when you told her?’ The good woman said, ‘That night I found Fatimah alone in the darkness of her hut. She was rolled in a ball in a threadbare blanket. She must have smelled the food which I was carrying before seeing it in the light of my lantern. I am not sure she heard me when I told her the Heaven this night has opened Its gate for you, on the morrow you will be wedded to teacher Ali. She just grabbed the food and greedily devoured it.
***
________________________ 1. A black goat hair headband worn to hold the kofeah down. 2. As the Bedouins only believed in gold currency, to engage them to the fight against the Ottoman army in Jordan, the British, through their agents such as Lawrence (of Arabia), were liberal with their plentiful sovereigns that, in their usage, they replaced the Osmanly (Ottoman gold money).
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jharkhand, india
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Nude Delight
Şîpalaklîk zewukî
The coiled divine renews eternity in the body's cells fed on sensuous sweetness and moment's littleness
Burumlî mewla tuygî tatlîlîgî man we an ufaklîgî man kewdeníñ kanelerínde peslengen soñsîzlîknî tazeler
for years fleshly reign seemed spirit's radiance in the deep pit now suddenly sparks the itch for heaven's nude delight.
senelerdír ğismaniy húkúm ruhnuñ ziyasî gibi kóríndí deren şukurda şúndí bírden kîşîntînî tutaştîra kókleríñ şîpalaklîk zewukî úşún. (Taner Murat’îñ kaytarmasînda)
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Let’s Meet
Tabîşayîk
Before the bananas ripe let's meet at least once
Muz píşkenşík eñ az bír kere tabîşayîk
lest the fog dampen passion let's water our love
heweske suw sepmesín tumanga kaldîrmadan sewdamîznî suwlayîk
the sun is bright this morning and night's promising
kúneş bo saba aydîndîr keşe de ğúrek berúwğí
let's meet and unfreeze winter of years, drink some wine
tabîşîp erítiyík yîllarîñ kîşîn bíraz şarap íşíp
restore warmth of faith and hope and heal the breaches
inanş man umut sîğaklîgîn kaytarîp ayîrîlîşka derman tabayîk
without black goggles for seeing let's meet at least once
árúw kóstergen kara kózíldírík takmadan eñ az bír kere tabîşayîk
(Taner Murat’îñ kaytarmasînda)
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Travels in Circassia, Krim Tartary, &c. (XXII) Upon leaving the packet, the Pacha invited Captain Johnson, Mr. Newton, and myself, to take coff'ee and smoke a pipe with him at his chateau. After threading our way through an awkward squad of young tacticoes, we entered a vast anti-chamber filled with the attendants, who were drawn up in military array to receive us : these were the kefF-jis, tchibouque-jis, and toiitoon-jis of his excellency, a motley tribe, black, white, and brown. We then passed into a spacious saloon, where the great man was seated on a rich divan, close to the window, enjoying the cool sea breeze. The spiritual monitor, the moullah, sat beside him, indolent and heavy-looking as a camel ; and though I intend no disrespect to the priesthood, I cannot help saying that he was one of the most unprepossessing men I ever beheld, his cadaverous countenance exhibiting a mingled expression of malignity, ferocity, and fanaticism. He was, in fact, a personification of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, seated in the most inappropriate juxta-position with the god of good cheer ; for the Pacha was the beau ideal, in appearance, of good fellows. On entering, we made our salutations d la Turque, which the inveteracy of European habits rendered somewhat difficult; however, as we were already in some degree familiar with these essential observances in oriental manners, we did not perpetrate any remarkable gaucheries. The Pacha, in return, broke through the line of demarcation between the Mussulman and the Giaour ; for he arose, and made as near
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an approach to a smile as his sense of the dignity of a Pacha would permit, and politely motioned us to be seated. After a decorous lapse of time had intervened, and exactly at the moment prescribed by etiquette, our host, through the medium of the dragoman, bade us welcome. Then came another interval of silence, for, be it remembered, the high rank of a Pacha will not permit him to chatter incessantly. This pause continued till the darling tchihouque, the beloved friend of the Turk, the substitute for mirthful conversation in visits intended to be gay, and the welcome filler-up of pauses in those intended to be ceremonious, made their appearance. These were presented in due ceremony by the proper officer, the tchibouqueji, who crossed his hands on his breast and knelt on one knee as he introduced, with a neat little pair of silver tongs, the atesh (fire) into the bowl: when the important ceremony of ignition was concluded, he made another salutation, and retired. The pipes were really splendid, of the purest Turkish cherry or jessamine, with superb amber mouth-pieces. In short, their length and magnificence were befitting the state of a Pacha. The coffee followed, which was served on a gold tray by four herculean slaves as black as ebony, who knelt on presenting it ; and then retired to a corner of the room, where they remained like statues till we had finished. The fragrant fluid, which was so excellent that a teaspoon full might be diluted into a quart in England, was poured into cups of the finest porcelain, each reposing in an external cup of pure gold, prettily pierced and filigraned. When we had taken coffee, conversation commenced. The Pacha expressed a hope, that the differences which had just arisen between England and the Porte, respecting the unfortunate affair of Mr. Churchill, would be speedily and amicably arranged ; and also, that
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the alliances between the two governments might be cemented more closely. To this, of course, we made suitable replies, and after a few additional observations by our host, another hiatus ensued in the conversation ; but at this time it was of such an unreasonable length, that we made some slight demonstrations of our intention to depart. At this moment, a second party of slaves entered, carrying a massive silver tray filled with confectionary : these were followed by two others, one bearing a silver-mounted bottle containing perfumed water, and the other swinging by a chain, in the same manner as the sacristans in the Catholic churches, a silver filigree censer, from whose apertures issued the most agreeable aromatic vapours. One of our party, whose olfactory nerves were not accustomed to this stimulus, unfortunately broke out into a violent fit of sneezing, which sadly disconcerted his gravity, and absolutely curled the mouth of the Pacha into something that might be construed as a smile. Having, therefore, received all the honour prescribed by oriental politeness, we departed, highly gratified with the urbanity of our host, and his courteous reception. I shall now give you a slight description of what, perhaps, we may call the hall of audience, and which may serve for every other to which I may have occasion to introduce you, for they are nearly all similar in their appointments. The walls were painted a light green, and the floor covered with a superior species of matting, here called Egyptian.* As to furniture, there was none, unless we extend that appellation to a boarded seat, raised about fifteen inches from the floor, and carried around three sides of the room : this, covered by fine woollen cloth, and supplied with an abundance of cushions, bears the name of divan, and forms no bad substitute for a sofa to him who would
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take a siesta, or smoke a tchibouque. An Arabic inscription was painted in black letters over the door, to preserve the inmates from the evil eye ; and a few verses from the Koran ornamented the walls. The whole taste and ingenuity were expended on the ceiling, which was curiously wrought in tessellated woodwork; and being evidently recently painted in blue and gold, in the arabesque style, had a very pretty effect. I had almost forgot to mention, that my kind host, finding I was about to extend my travels through the neighbouring provinces, furnished me with a teskere, which he said would every where insure me, not only a hospitable reception from the Osmanlis, but horses for travelling; and by presenting it to the aghas of every town and village, it would oblige them to procure me a night's quarter, provisions, &c. LETTER XII. CHANAK-KALESI - JOURNEY TO TROY TURKISH HORSES - HUNGARIAN TRAVELLING COMPANION - VISIT TO OUR CONSUL, MR. LANUOR - ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY - APATHY OF THE TURKS - SERIOUS INDISPOSITION OP MY COMPANION - KNAVISH SURIDJI SCAMANDER - BOURNARBASHI - HOUSE OF THE AGHA - MOONLIGHT PHANTOMS - HOSPITABLE RECEPTION - HUNGARIAN REMEDY FOR INTERMITTENT FEVER - COURTESY OF THE AGHA - SITE OF TROY - PROSPECT FROM THE TOMB OF HECTOR. In my last letter, I mentioned our arrival at the castles of the Dardanelles. We landed at the town, (called by the Turks Chanak-Kalesi, from its potteries,) which clusters about the
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castle on the right shore: this, like every other I had seen in Turkey, was a filthy congregation of narrow lanes and pestilential alleys. It is, however, a great resort for shipping, as vessels are often detained in this port for several months by contrary winds; and I cannot but think, that a few towing steam-boats stationed here would find constant employment, and prove a lucrative speculation. While our horses were preparing, we inspected the curiosities of the town, a most meagre collection. The variety of costumes and features exhibited by the Turks, Greeks, Armenians, Franks, and Jews, amused us for a time; but that soon passed away, and we became tired of observing a melange of people, who, however they might differ in other respects, agreed in sitting more than half the day upon carpets, smoking the eternal tchibouque. We had not even the pleasure of finding our own consul; for in the late conflagration, that laid more than half the town in ashes, his dwelling was also included, which obliged him to take up his temporary residence at a village a few miles distant. My two countrymen and the Hungarian, to whom I before alluded, entertained, like myself, the intention of visiting the site of Troy. But when the wretched hacks of horses made their appearance, the courage of the party sunk to Zero,窶馬o doubt partly influenced by the feverish heat at which the thermometer then stood; and of our little party, the brave Magyar alone consented to bear me company. Indeed, the pommels of the Turkish saddles, the jolting trot of the horses, and the intermittent fever of Asia- Minor, might well deter any man who valued his comfort and health from undertaking the expedition: however, my curiosity and natural buoyancy of spirit overcame every consideration. Behold me, therefore, mounted on a saddle as broad as a cradle, with two loops
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of ropes for stirrups; and these so short, that my knees nearly reach my chin. We were accompanied by a young Israelite, who acted the part of dragoman and suridji; and as the Magyar wore his half-military costume, with a brace of silver-mounted pistols in his girdle and a sabre by his side, we presented to the wondering eyes of the Osmanlis rather a warlike appearance. This was probably the reason, together with the humiliated feeling produced among the people by the late successes of the Christian arms, that instead of being pelted with stones, too often the fate of former travellers, we were saluted with nothing worse than a few grins and hisses from the women and children. Our route for several hours lay along the sandy coast of the Dardanelles, and at every breeze that blew, the mobile dust transferred itself into mouths, eyes, and ears: add to which, the scorching sun drank up all the moisture of our frames. Vain was every attempt we made to allay our thirst; but fortunately, when at its height, we arrived at the residence of our consul, Mr. Landor, who, with true English hospitality, welcomed us to an excellent dinner; and those only who have been placed in similar circumstances, can estimate the boon at its full value. Our host, who had resided in this part of Turkey several years, amused us with a variety of anecdotes of the people, to whom he appeared much attached: he represented them as extremely well conducted, crime very rarely occurring, notwithstanding they are only a few degrees removed from barbarism, and left almost entirely to their own guidance. Their system of police is similar to that I have before described as established by Prince Milosch in Servia. (to be continued)
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