Сборник переводов произведений башкирских авторов на английский язык

МИНИСТЕРСВО ОБРАЗОВАНИЯ И НАУКИ РОССИЙСКОЙ ФЕДЕРАЦИИ

Государственное образовательное учреждение среднего специального образования

УФИМСКИЙ

ГОСУДАРСТВЕННЫЙ КОЛЛЕДЖ РАДИОЛЕКТРОНИКИ

УТВЕРЖДАЮ Зам. Директора по УВР

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« » 2006 г.

Сборник переводов №5 произведений башкирских авторов на английский

язык

По дисциплине Иностранный язык

Согласовано Методист УГКР

________________

Уфа-2006

Рассмотрено На заседании

кафедры иностранного языка

Зав. Кафедры

Разработал преподаватель

(Ф. И.О.)

Предисловие

Данный 5-ый сборник переводов произведений башкирских авторов посвящен 450-летию присоединения Башкортостана к России. Это второй сборник переводов башкирских авторов. В сборник включены как произведения классиков башкирской поэзии участников Великой Отечественной войны, так и современных авторов: Myстая Карима, Мусы Гали, Баязита Бикбая, Рашита Нигмати, Рами Гарипова, Назара Наджми, Рафаэля Сафина. Анисы Тагировой, Рауля Бикбая, Тимера Юсупова.

Весь материал может быть использован при подготовке внеклассных мероприятий по иностранному языку, особенно при подготовке к 450-летию присоединения Башкортостана к России.

Рецензия

на 5-ый сборник переводов на английский язык произведений башкирских авторов

Данный сборник посвящен 450-летию присоединения Башкортостана к России. Это второй сборник переводов башкирских авторов. Он включает произведения классиков башкирской поэзии, участников Великой Отечественной войны и современных авторов.

Сборник может быть использован во внеклассной работе преподавателями иностранного языка в УГКР и других ГОУ СПО г. Уфы и РБ, при подготовке мероприятий к 450-летию присоединения Башкортостана к России и других мероприятиях.

Рецензент: - преподаватель английского языка УГКР, отличник СПО РФ.

Рецензия

на 5-ый сборник переводов на английский язык произведений башкирских авторов

Данный сборник - второй сборник переводов на английский язык произведений башкирских авторов. Он посвящен 450-летию присоединения Башкортостана к России.

Сборник включает произведения поэтов-фронтовиков и современных авторов. Среди них Мустай Карим, Муса Гали, Баязит Бикбай, Рашит Нигмати, Рами Гарипов, Назар Наджми, Рауль Бикбай, Аниса Тагирова, Рафаэль Сафин, Тимер Юсупов. Сборник может быть использован преподавателями иностранного языка УГКР и ГОУ СПО г. Уфы и РБ.

Кандидат филологических наук , преподаватель БГПУ.

I’m as an eagle…

By Mustai Karim

I’m as an eagle in the heavens

I was proud and was young

I didn’t kneel to the world

But I’ve kneeled to love.

The youth has passed gone with the wind,

And the dust has gone behind it.

And now when I’m to cross the road

I try not to raise the dust

Only I’ll not be able to bend down

Even to Pighambar Mukhamet

He’s bending as if being a thin stem

Again to this Love.

The road’ll become. . the whitest snow

Will cover the heavens.

So as they say

The so forecasting heavens.

And before the very death

There’s no wish to kneel.

And before this very love

I’ll kneel, there’s no harm.

Missing

By Mustai Karim

It’s raining and raining

The yellow autumn…

Where’re you, Bikbai,

Nigmati, Aghish?

You’ve left us

The world’s beauty.

As if a orphan

Today this soul.

We were not always

Only quite all right,

We were not always

Well-being of course

The great discussions

Were not alien to us.

Even not absent of course.

The white and the black

We considered to be too low

We were glad to be worthy and mistakes.

After you have gone,

We’ve became a bit petty,

We were worried

But became peaceful.

Your demand – isn’t too I’ll enable

The talent – is careless

Don’t feel sad by troubles

And don’t trouble me.

It’s raining and raining…

The yellow autumn, the grief.

Where’re you, Bikbai,

Nigmati, Aghish?

You’re now faraway,

The voice won’t reach

The years are between us

The years – are passing,

The years’re gone melancholy.

About the Birch Leaf

By Mustai Karim

Look at the globe: the Earth’s globe

Here it is the

Bashkiria is on it

With it’s size of a birch leaf.

It’s only the size

Not more

Of an ordinary leaf,

And the birch itself – the great Russia-

So green, so high!

With centuries

The fire tried the showers and the frosts,

To tear off that leaf from the birch

The overseas faraway winds

And the frosts

From the very morning.

And how many caterpillars

Have stuck to it in olden times? “Religion”,”Obedience”,”The sovereign”!

But leaf the green

Among the brancles,

Being fed by the juice

Of its own mother.

And the storm, and the winds

Have been overcome,

Strengthens the merry tune of the leaves.

Three Days Running

By Mustai Karim

It’s snowing hard three days running.

Three days running,

Three days running.

And the dull pain of my wound

Three days running,

Three days running.

It’s snowing hard three days running

And the dull pain of my wound.

And with it a shell-splinter,

It has become into pain long ago.

It was found as an raw ore

In deep deposits of the Earth.

The heary ore was bought

“The King”, who was collecting hatred,

Who was casting mines in Roor,

And he was shooting at me on the Dnieper.

Filled with hot blood

The dawn was thundering

Then it became still

And the two splinters of that mine

Struck just the two of us.

One in the sergeant Fomin

(He’s lying in the depth of the grave),

The other was in me.

Twelve years it’s burning me …

It’s snowing hard three days running …

There comes the spring, again in snow

The spring will start to talk

The hatred – to the enemy won’t calm down

Because the blood doesn’t melt the metal.

But the old wounds are burning,

And in Paris three days running

They’re talking about wars

And it’s snowing three days running.

To Musa Ghali

By Mustai Karim

We didn’t notice how the birds have gone.

This autumn was rather sorrowful

May be the world has pressed at once.

May be we were all tuneless ourselves.

But still today some high soul we felt,

We came to the white springs that were calling us,

Murmuring the running water

The surroundings’re hearing not breathing.

… The sun has risen

And lowing below the sky.

Like your hair the white fogs

Are tied to the birch …

The white fogs cannot mean the trouble,

Of well-being we’re dreaming

Let’s go along the forest

We both are to circle it just silently.

The birches

Are eager every spring to appear leaves.

As to us through the white fogs

To the white winter we’re to go.

Let’s be stronger, my friend,

get through the snow.

Our feet’re not tired yet.

Drinking the water of white spring

No, the thirst hasn’t come.

In an Autumn Garden

By Saifi Kudash

As an old age,

The autumn garden

With golden is dozing birches leaves.

The sun,

Is leaving the earth,

It’s rolling behind the mountains, under the slope.

And they’re walking, not in haste,

Without aim,

There were the bright colours`re clear,

The two,

Who have become quite old,

as the autumn flowers do.

Here they were walking long ago

These young precious years,

Having forgotten the laws of shariat,

Just admitting only laws of love.

They were walking during spring nights,

The young ones,

Along this path,

Not in a haste,

Under the arm,

Perhaps for the

first time

Having felt that

the life’s wonderful!

But today they’re walking without sorrow,

Only they’re not, as yesterday,-

They were meeting spring then

And today - autumn is their time.

My Urals

By Salavat Yulayev

Oh, the Urals, you’re my Urals.

The great and the white Urals!

Under the clouds is your head

You went higher, my Urals!

My song is about you,

About my love to you.

Together with the full moon

You’re dressed with gold, my Urals.

So with the morning dawn

The Urals sparkles with silver.

A long your sides, the Urals,

The dark forests stood up,

And at your feet the Urals

The steppe – the green beauty

The white snow flowers blossoming in the meadows,

And the flowers, and the nightingales

They’re rendering the honor to Allah.

The birds tune honors loudly,

The first bright sunny beam.

And the sunny beam dawn

Just sees off, growing quiet.

Oh, you my Urals, my Urals,

The giant white Urals!

I’ve lost all the words

How to sing of you, the Urals?

So, begin to play, my kurai,

The song so that it would enter the heart,

And glorifying the Urals and all our land. We’ll glorify them without end.

The Stars Are Burning Above You, Salavat

By Musa Ghali

The stars are burning above you, Salavat,

The bright stars are burning in the sky.

Your horse’s soaring above the steep precipice.

The world’s spreading over him.

Stop, oh batyr, look around the world,

Let your way pass through the crowd of troubles.

But in front of you the aim ever-burning …

The Aghidel’s buzzing with a stormy abyss,

The waves’re rising to the white steep,

To that where our eagle

Has hardened above the water …

It’s covered by the reflection of the sun and the sky –

It’s burning with an eternal priceless stone

No, he didn’t spare him self in the battle with evil

Our Salavat,

He was flying straight –

To our land having sunk among

He’s brought the blood and tears, stormy wind of hope.

The battles were roaring, mowing the young ones

The willows’re weeping about them up to now …

… oh, our Salavat, through time driving,

As if you yourself are not stone but the flesh,

The spirit that came to win victory over trouble.

We’ll rise the truth to the peak of the cliff

Look at your land – how glad just it is!

You’re looking at your nice, strong people.

You’re streaming forward to happiness.

Oh, our Salavat

Through the mirage of the day

Your horse’s rushing –

You can’t hold it!

I’m looking for the Beautiness

By Musa Ghali

I’m looking for the beautiness in the land

For to present them to you

That’s why I like the birches,

The spring colour of green.

Among thousands of nice flowers

Tell me, what do you choose?

If there’s beautiness let it’ll be all in the beautiness

Tender and subtle.

I’ll bring rude, fallen to down

Picking up the dewed ones?

May I pick up the tender water flowers,

Breaking the blue heavens?

May be I’ll put the blueness

Of the Urals before you?

May be with the spring flood

I’ll choose you?

I should give you everything on the earth

So that to step easily.

I should have a mighty strength

So as to save you.

I Became Wondered at This World

By Musa Ghali

I became wondered by this world,

The cloud has spilled seeing me.

Smiling and smiling the sun has

Hidden behind the mountain,

The golden twilight’s closed and whitened.

Having seen me, the spring has boiled,

The song makes to melody the reed.

As to my eyes the white pollen throwing,

The rye has gone disturbing beside me.

And what is it?.. Looking into my eyes,

The land trembled, too furious, waving.

The light appeared on the edge of the clouds,

The birds were twittering exchanging information.

Running and running along the evening field,

The write birches have come before me;

May be I’m furious in this world,

May be the universe has raged.

Having given the answer I’ve lightened myself

The first star’s the mere breath…

The land is quiet, the world is the same

You’re in love, my dear that’s it.

Your Letters

By Gainan Amiry

When lying in the cold trenches

There come warm letters to me

As if you came yourself

I meet them every day with joy.

Your letters just bring me

Your hot heart warmth,

My dear Urals proud crests,

The Aghidel’s moony nights

They are just dear to me,

The moony night just bring

Some light to my roads.

Your love just appear

On the battle fields of death.

The Spring Breath

By Musa Ghali

The snows a meting of the spring breath

The lychiris is telling something

The typhoons are going on the ocean, but I,

I love you so tenderly

The heaven’s cradled by melody

Carrion-crows open the blue heavens,

The stars’re burning and raining, and me,

I love you so tenderly.

The native land is in danger,

The stupids’re playing with fire,

The world is on the edge of danger, but I

I love so tenderly.

The Black Snow

By Musa Ghali

Was it in my dream or in the reality?

The sorrow covered the naked fields,

And the black snow fell upon the earth

With the frenzied and furious forces.

May be it’s the spirit of the not clean hand

Has sent these turbid storms?

The land was covered with black snows

Is it in a troubled dream?

Or is it in reality?

Or may be it’s the punishment for my sins –

That black snow, was that my fate?

Shall I hear any word… but the fields are silent…

May I take the floor! But there’s neither bread nor salt…

Oh, where’re my table friends?

Where are my merry companions?

I don’t know…

I’m alone walking without road,

I’m absorbing the grief of my land,

But who’s hurrying after me? While

I don’t make out in a stormy hazy dance…

And who’s waving me with his hand from afar?

Who cries to stop me?

I didn’t know the good and the evil with him,

I didn’t hear loud words from him

And the promises to be with him in a bad weather…

He only smiled and easily

Shook off the flying snow from my clothes…

And instantly the black snow disappeared,

And it became clear and light as before,

I will remember all my life

How they were crawling out from the holes

Those, timid… in dreams or in reality…

And may be its in dreams?

Oh, no, it’s hardly so…

I Like Round Things

By Musa Ghali

I Like round things, - I don’t hide it:

Here a young girl’s holding an apple,

Here’s the round sun’s glimmering through the clouds,

Covering the round lake with gold.

I thank the round wheels!

No peace

They gave me – they’ve showed half the world...

Making the circle round the green planet,

My darling’s waving her hand from the heavens...

My round table – I don’t feel offended to it

It gathers my friends around!

I’m glad to have seen the round flower – bed, -

The red saffrans’re burning with flame!..

We’re grasping the round mystery:

There’s nothing more perfect than the circle!

It’s so pleasant when people

Are hurrying with round sweet – scented bread to earth other!

And it’s not in vain the mystery of your soul

It’s in the round pupil all before me.

I’m in expectation under the round moon

I’m still circling and circling and not by chance.

And I’m surrounded by the sacred silence,

And I’m picking up the wonder of inflorescences

And I repeat: on the round planet

There should be as in life, as the circle quite perfect!..

All is Going Away In a Right Step

By Musa Ghali

All is going away in a right step

The transparence is going away

After the fog,

Night is going away after the gloom,

As the merriness will go away after

The gloom,

The setting beam on the rocks is trembling

-The day is leaving.

It is over, over lived.

The sun is stretching from the warm

Heavens,

It is heat, it dips their souls into

The darkness,

And the Earth becomes heavier, from bread

And it gives birth to a golden Grain.

And already - the spiders weaving

It’s web,

Over the fields there is the light

Of early autumn,

And the rustling of the autumn

Leaves,

And it is flight and it is dying.

Ceased the thunderstorms - up to

The new summer,

The cranes have trumpeted

The road

The eternal way, the eternal

Wind is into our back,

But there is no other way

I’m my turn And so little

Is left

I’ll have burned as a beam

I’ll sink,

I'll vanish

The eternal way,

The Eternal wind into our back.

I need the only thing just passing

So that lines of my earthy word

They could pour as bird-cherry in

May With leaves rain above the Earth,

I don't want to be sorry

At all

For those who will come and

Will go out, I didn't wait for mercy

In my life,

I didn't look for privileges hourly,

I didn't ask for a better fate.

I simply lived. As I could with my own might

We Are in the Remarkable Forty-first

By Musa Ghali

We were in a state of bliss

Here on the mountain slope.

And lower - near the cliffs, in the view-

The black tornado was circling

Above the black ploughed field.

Yes, tornado and the time, as if this

Tornado…

Having broken through into the

Fates imperiously and severely

That time of springs and love

To death

It is led us to fight from our

Native village...

And even now the tanks are

In my dreams

And the self-propelled guns

With black crosses

We 11 forget...

On the native land.

The warm rain is drizzling

Over us

My friends, they are living

In the mountains –

And our feelings and dreams and Childhood...

And you've left not merely your ashes on

But the light feelings of Imperishable inheritance.

My Oath To People

By Shaikhzada Babich

The words ringing with gold

I’m singing not for the sake of

honor,-

I’m singing for my native people

In my native golden – flourishing land

Not for the sake of gold

it’s sparkling

The pen with a silver word,-

Let the song penetrate into people

For it`s heart being- silver.

Not for the sake of a gardener

I`ve grown the flower-bed of beauty,

But for the sake of my native people

Whose daughters are like flowers.

But I composed my songs,

But not I sated them with fire-

My people is passionate and honest

Composed them in it’s heart!

I don’t offend on my failure,

On the coldness of freezing roads,

I’m crying of the people’s fate,

That it’s weak and poor.

Let me perish as victim untimely,

Let the youth period pass,-

I gave the oath to my people

From the silver and gold.

Love

By Bayazit Bikbay

Love – is the life fruit

It flourishes only once,

The man feels it’s taste

Only once in his life.

If you don’t happen to taste love,

Then you wouldn’t be a man,

He wouldn’t ever feel at all

The nicest beauty of the world.

Anybody being born on the Earth

He cannot avoid the death,

But he who didn’t know the love

He has been buried just alive.

Patience

By B. Bikbai

A girl' s waiting for the spring,

Just as an early flower,

She can't draw her eye from faraway roads,

She's pining for a long time.

The summer's passing away

But the girl is patient,

Just he seems to come in smiling,

The happy...

The winter's come. The hard frost.

The girl's thoughts are warm:

Her boy will return as spring,

Summer or winter some day!

If I don`t Return.

By Rashiti Nigmati.

I shan`t come back, then don’t set the monument:

I was only fulfilling my debt.

If remember, you’ll say:

the lad was usual,

And for the peace in the world he perished.

The evening cuckoo will cuckoo,

The nightingale will whistle about me,

By songs the girls round dances

Will recollect about the soldier in spring.

The flowers will blossom in the native meadows,

The willow will whisper over the river,

The lad will see her girl off-

I’m glad to see such a monument.

If I don’t come back.

Let it be not in vain

My life was given.

Let the Soviet people’s life

Will be light-in the memory of the soldier.

But the birches over my grave,

They don’t cry as yet

So that to return soon-I’ll rush into the batlle

My hand won’t spare the enemies.

Salavat

By Rashit Nigmati

Two hundred years above the native steppes

Have rushed since that time as a storm.

But up to now it's not wiped out by years

Your glorious name, our hero.

Together with us you were fighting bravely:

Just on the tank in the fighting smoke.

The name of Salavat was burning Just singeing the fascists by fire.

And under the banner of our winged father land,

As a signal calling to fight,

The ringing song about Salavat,

Have been leading inspiring forward.

Lighting up the faraway steppes.

Salavat is standing as a statue

And I’m sending my best wishes to him

Hello, my friend, my contemporary, my colleague

The First Love

By Rami Garipov

As the first blue spring thunder

You were the thunder in my early youth,

As the late warm rain’s just appeared

You remained in my heart as the rainbow.

Only this bright clean beam of the rainbow

It didn’t support the two rivers:

You’re to me as if some mysterious fairy tale;

As if to sing the melodious song.

I go crazy from loving you,

I think I’ll never love so any more –

If some strength comes to my hands,

As if there’s no work enough on the earth!..

Maybe I’ll always be loosing you,

Maybe another one will appear soon?..

But still your vivid name

It will be the firing birth – mark in my heart.

The Sad Beauty of Your Lakes

By Musa Ghali

The sad beauty of your lakes

Fill up my eyes from the child hood.

The space of fields is dear to me,

And your forests and the heavens.

I’m catching the smile of your rivers.

Your wind as if has given me wings.

I like when in the far away mountains

The growing evening fog is dancing.

And the very piece of your reed

It’s just dear and pleasant tear fully.

Because I myself grew up as a small stem,

Some time ago.

You’re the bread and the light of my soul

I went to the fight to death for you

And the flowers that have blossomed

They’re shed with my blood alive.

My mother land, my land

I’m breathing your breath

Only say and I’ll do anything

Even the impossible I’ll do.

The Autumn Rain

By Raul Bikbay

The people cursing the heavens

They’re walking along the slipper road.

So many days running the rain

Is turning the road into mud.

In the sunnyless and moonless air

The clouds seem to have slowed.

While the rains’re drizzling,

The time seems to have stopped.

You just only try to stop it!

The tracks are like

strips and strips

And while the rain’s drizzling

Just the time is going on.

And so along the rainy and snowy road

Let be walking along forever.

The finest years are drizzling

Along these slippery paths.

And the gone years once

We’ll miss with great wish

Just these autumn paths,

Just these penetrating rains.

One of us is Lightning the Other’s Thunder

By Anisa Taghirova

One of us is – lightning, the other’s – thunder

Both of us are of one fate

Through the tears while laughing and laughing,

The rays from my mummy’s glance.

When you are agitated, being a lightning

I was thundering as a thunder.

As a shower rain our feelings.

So evil are the breast of my land

When you’re passing

Circled by a firing bend,

As a thunder came to my heart

Having awaken happy feelings.

If there were not you

I needn’t return here,

The echo is lost in this way.

Thunder is not possible without you,

There’s no melody for you in the world.

By Anisa Taghirova

In order to throw stones into my flower garden

You've appeared to be eager to see me,

Though may be I was to weep

But I've laughed

Laughed at the pettiness.

I laughed at meanness

I turned away

And I put my face to a slight wind.

And then I felt myself higher

And prouder than you.

Just in old times Bashkir beauties

They didn't lean their heads before hard times:

And in fairy-tales toipars were riding high,

In blue mountains they were searching height.

Together with men they were fighting together.

They didn't give a bit of their land to enemies.

It's not only to decorate themselves,

The arrow hitting just along.

What're to me the life pettiness',

When my life toipar is with me

My heart is full of real love,

And the firing arrow as well.

If You Don’t Believe

By A. Taghirova

If you don’t believe me, don’t love me,

He, who doesn’t believe, can’t love and be loved.

Do believe me, says my proud heart

If you don’t believe really don’t be leaning

He who doesn’t believe –

Is deprived of the beam and the song

Only those who believe, loves silently,

Only those who believe are really happy.

SONNET

By Anisa Taghirova

The life was merciful to me.

If the sorrow, the misfortune came,

It calmed me.

When mountains being’re destroyed above

My head,

It's showed the way to my selfcouciousness.

The life quite often was

Hard to me.

When I was playing and laughing,

It made me sad.

If my dreams become as white sail

The black sail sees me off.

My fate's in poor state,

My merriness went to fire flame

I myself seem to be used to it.

In my noisy sea of life

It's constantly changing

The black sail and the white sail.

SONNET

By Anisa Taghirova

Don't say that all's gone, and ended,

Don't be offended on your fate

Being subjected to yellow grief

Don't lose your hope, don't lean your head.

See how on the surface of water

The moon path winds’re blowing.

When the waves are cut by waves

The sea itself is not itself.

Then the sea turbulence stills,

The white sea-gulls set on the still waves,

The sun radiates the rainbow.

If your dreams break, don't break yourself

Listen to nature, to the earth breath,

All be gone, all will end.

Sonnet

By Anisa Taghirova

The best of the rhymes,

The best of the melodies -- is sonnet.

The rhyme makes it creative

Takes it's radiance from Allah

Very often stones and pebbles cover

The rhyme — the best of the precious stone.

Sonnet — is or, the silk thread,

That's a waving, nice bit of coral.

The rhyme is a present to us

The land sunk in my heart pole.

There's a power of a talisman in a sonnet

From the land, the heavens and the fire

The rhyme is the precious stone of a melody

The sonnet is the shah of the precious stone.

Sonnet

By Anisa Taghirova

Excuse me for my hard character,

For your day spent without me.

I've made you lonely and unhappy,

I didn't see happiness myself.

I've put my habits aside

Along the hard pebbled path.

The bag of songs is hung by young dervish

Where in the mountains I've lit the fire

Your songs're waving as the sea

The wind made it even without doubt

Who could think that they're hurt

On the right - the fate of abyss

On the left - the ticket - the black forest,

You go forwards - the stone wall.

Sonnet

By Anisa Taghirova

The roads where we've met with the sonnet

Were so hard, were too long.

The years're in chains year after year,

We've lightened the love star.

The night we've met with the sonnet,

There were the lightning and the thunder.

And it became full in dawn as a sweet juice

From the spring birches breasts.

How many years are we walking together,

Honest bride and bridegroom,

The nature is before the sign

But even now the dream

Having forgotten crossing my hands

We're often burning in flame.

Sonnet

By Anisa Taghirova

Salavat's blood's boiling in us,

Salavat's light hope.

Our spirits're not in him living,

And this hope made me the man.

So hope and hope as If you go down to the hell,

It again tries to make you hurry to heavens.

We'll get into the free day,

Let only be in health only your head.

And we're awaited by the ardent work,

Put away the doubtful thoughts,-

The human being's soul is healed by the song and the land,

And the rhymes need heart's power.

And I say it - uncle "oak", poetry is the present of a lonely land.

The Rhyme Written on My Birthday

By Anisa Taghirova

Today - is my birthday,

I’m-lonely.

I’m from faraway lands.

I’m looking into the window missing

The circling wing’s playing in the white snow.

I’ve remembered what mother was telling:

“You were born in strong frosts, in winter, storms.

Don’t be cool”.

I tried to warm you up wrapping up many times.

In winter period I’m thinking my thoughts.

The windows’re in thick ice

"My not sung songs, my girl,

Let you be able to sing them."

I was young, of course.

Other wishes I think I couldn’t wish.

The years have passed you’ve left the song road,-

my wishes have come true.

And now the song roads have gone me from my native land.

And I know and feel.

Today even from afar - the smell of mother's cooked food. I feel.

. My mother would treat her neighbor to various dishes.

She would be close to me

And her thoughts would be with me.

During dark night the moon grows in size,

The country’s price begins to grow in foreign lands....

The paths became close as heaps,

They’re celebrating the storms...

My People Behest

By Anisa Taghiroiva

Though I was born in the XX century.

My land

In your eternal year

On your song wings of millenniums

I’m rushing on the motherland’s heavens,

Your seven expectations, all seven beauties

Are living in me as in the depths of the legends.

Touching by good wings your troubles

All your life’s living in me.

They blossom in me these dashing scars

Of the whip’s raids on you

So that to grow as the grief’s of personal drama

Loving all your Bashkir build,

Look for your batyrs in the exiles, weep upon the unknown graves.

Black are your hard fate’s holes.

That has stolen so much energy of your heart.

So, I’m living devoted to your behest, and my thoughts’re guicker than the arrow.

And the god has given me the fate to be the poet

And that's why all people are nice to me and I've got nothing to boast of.

The imagination horse’s beating the hoof.

And in the sky my voice’s ruling as gerfalcon, keeping on the flame in your soul.

Love is - Happiness, love is - Tears

By Anisa Taghirova

You’re happy only with songs,

You’re with songs as with wings.

Together with my heart songs

It loved you yourself.

I’ve admired having listened to your songs.

I’ve seen you with a melodious co listener.

Let's be repeated with every meeting!

“The song - it’s happiness, the song - its tears!"

On the path of my life's fate,

Be real friend, my bosom friend,

Let my spirits be deep in my heart

Love is - happiness, love is - tears.

Bashkortostan - My Proud Akbuzat

By Anisa Taghirova

Bashkortostan, my proud Akbuzat,

What fate were you to have?

The monster has fortuned you

Thirsty of glory, blood, ovations.

The whips wrapped in silk worlds

The finish's needed anyhow

Being persuaded by the monster

We've come

We've all now exhausted

You can't fly now, my Akbuzat

And the wind doesn't see you off.

Very faraway goes away,

If you even don't take it,

You - are not shoed Even - got tangled.

As white silk's subtle flames

Are blackened by smoke.

Your copper eyes are very white and nice

Black blood is in the pupil of the eye.

Your path is covered with dust- bent,

It's not my native land's beauty.

The dreams are full of white clouds,

The fields are rich grass.

Bashkortostan, my proud Akbuzat,

My hopes didn't get out.

My thoughts're now strong wings to you

Light dreams are not lost...

Real men who can shoe you

The live and will live.

Your mane is combed by industrious girls

They live today and will appear soon

Forward let's get I’ll to horizons

The silk roads of new dawn

Real winds will part loving!

Our Mother – Russia

By Rami Garipov

You’re the most beautiful and wise of all,

Of all it is quick!

Not step – mother – but mother!

I’m only glad to see you only,

I can breathe only with you.

How many times I was swaddled by you

And you were taking care of my happiness

If I fell down, you gave me strength,

You were warning up by the last warmth,

You’re clear because it’s shining

The Moscow firmament is in your heart,

Because my Urals’re winding round

With it’s golden belt.

Russia - the great force

Taught us to talk as mother.

You Russia has opened our wings,

So that we could fly as eaglets.

You’ve given me to drink and I was fed,

You’ve presented two strong wings…

I call you my nice mother

And I want to be called sonny.

The First Love

By Rami Garipov

As the first blue spring thunder

You were the thunder in my early youth,

As the late warm rain’s just appeared

You remained in my heart as the rainbow.

Only this bright clean beam of the rainbow

It didn’t support the two rivers:

You’re to me as if some mysterious fairy tale;

As if to sing the melodious song.

I go crazy from loving you,

I think I’ll never love so any more –

If some strength comes to my hands,

As if there’s no work enough on the earth!..

Maybe I’ll always be loosing you,

Maybe another one will appear soon?..

But still your vivid name

It will be the firing birth – mark in my heart.

The Strain

By Rami Garipov

By the obvious for him reason

My friend says to me with reproach;

“Whatever you try, you're not Paganini,

And you're playing the only strain”.

All about the language and your native land as if so little

Then on the land you look around

But the old strain hasn't sounded,

And my friend is sure to have become an enemy.

One strain!

But from the people's soul

It comes to me, its tight thread.

If a hundred other strains break, if today,

It wouldn't be replaced,

It hasn't got any equal-saving from sorrow

It sparkles as the rainbow itself.

I'm not a spider that is ready to weave

The web in any corner for itself.

The strain is sounding calling,

And thinking that in olden times

For Pushkin, Shevchenko, and Tukoi

The very strain was really sacred

The only Sun's above us, but there's no limit

To light winning over the darkness,

And nobody's got tired of the nightingales

As an usual melody.

We're born and die in this world,

And note, not a hundred times but only once.

Than space that we call the native land,

It's just one, the language's only one.

Running over hundreds of strains are dearer

The unrepeated sound of the only strain.

And the rest ninety-nine ones, we’ll

Leave it with you, my severe friend.

The White Birch

By Rami Garipov

The white birch is waving and noising,

It is making disorder in it’s plaits,

And the cuckoo just on it’s branches

Spends its loneliness and life.

The cuckoo is calling and calling,

And the pair of birds seem not to hear the mournful one,

They do not hear it and don’t feel it alike.

Just only I hear the cuckoo song

I feel some sorrow in the cuckoo month.

And if you were the very cuckoo

I would have remained just on this birch.

The Stone Flower

By Rami Garipov

It’s not right to compare wonder with a fairy-tale –

There’s much place to wonders in our life.

That the wonder’s quite near - you believe with fear,

While you’ll not be sure in it yourself.

Once when I was wandering in spring about Moscow,

I’ve dropped into the exhibition town.

And just by chance there appeared before me,

Like a real wonder, the stone flower.

It was scarlet, and yellow, and purple,

As a rainbow, that rouge in the height.

Just lit by the Ural semi- precious stones,

It seemed to me a flower alive.

And I asked not hiding exciting:

Where’s your root?

How could you blossom here?

Whose hands carefully have been growing you?-

And the stone flower answered me:

My root is over there

Where’re the Urals mountains’ slopes,

Their generous beauty is alive in me.

The motherland’s smile - my color primemodial,

And it’s youth - my leaves.

And I shall be more beautiful from year to year, favor

And I shall be in favor for everybody-

It’s not in vain that people has such hands,

That they make the stone blossom.

From the Indian Note-book

(To the Indian Girl)

By Nazar Nadjmi

Murmurki, nadek, Murmurki!..

(Don’t hide your eyes, don’t hide!..)

From the Indian Song.

At that time I haven’t been in the Indian lands,

But I’ve heard the faraway song of yours,

Up to now I’m silently singing it:

Murmurki, nadek murmurki!..

I’m in the blossoming land

Having found myself in yours,

I came into by chance

Into this very small house,

It was not rich just your house,

But it was very welcome.

Murmurki, nadek, Murmurki!..

You’ve begun to sing...

And I’ve recognized the melody at once

Of this song,

That I heard often before

I’m admiring you

Was repeating in my soul:

Murmurki, nadek, Murmurki!..

I’ve just answered you with my Bashkir song

Very alike, you said,

Our songs

So why are you hiding the diamond of your timid eyes?

Murmurki, nadek, Murmurki.

Returning from India

By Nazar Nadjmi

I’m rushing to my motherland...

And downstairs as if sleeping

Having wrapped up in fog, Himalayas,

The unassailable giants are only protruding,

Sparkling by it’s ice-houses.

The man penetrated to this land up to now

Only by my mad dream of a poet:

I’m in India and I’ve heard in the backwoods of these mountains

The earthly paradise is somewhere.

Oh, what do people think of sometimes

Missing about the unreal happiness!..

And agitated, I’m rushing to my motherland as an arrow,

I’m rushing as an arrow higher than the paradise.

Along a Narrow path

By Nazar Nadjmy

Along the path in the rye field

I just touched her hand.

She is along the track of the wheel…

And I’m along the horse’s footsteps…

Just quite close to the village

The road begins to circle a bit.

We decided to go just strait

Along the narrow path with her.

The path is not the road, of course:

There’s no horse’s footsteps or the wheels’ track,

To those who go together it’s narrow,

And it’s not comfortable at all….

I’ve given the way to the girl, the young girl:

“Go ahead” I said to her

“You go ahead” she said “going behind me”

First I didn’t know what to do,

I was embarrassed for a while.

“Then, let’s go” I said

And I took her arm then…

“Don’t be so close to me,” she said,

Let the distance be a bit.

“No, I said the path’s so narrow,

We’ll trample the rye field”.

That my honey’s beside me,

And in order not to trample the rye field

The path mustn’t be so narrow.

Bird – Cherry Tree

By Nazar Nadjmi

All the trees have got different fates:

The oak is for the strength – in view,

But the bird-cherry tree was born to be beautiful and get into trouble

They’ve become brides in spring

And having watered by dew,

If has blundered by it’s whiteness,

And has conquered all by its beauty.

People were charmed by it:

How it’s sweet – scented, not confusing,

They were cleaning out it strip naked.

And the bird-cherry tree decided:

There’s no protection to me in the forest.

All I was bearing silently

It’s enough, I can’t any more!

Without flowers, without tasty berries

(There’s no peace because of them).

I’ll be living, not knowing trouble

I’ll get rid of all the trouble.

It’s enough, it’s enough – it repeated, -

I’m not to blossom from now on.

It’s no trouble – without flowers

I’ll be simply growing.

I said good – bye to leaves in October.

I’m covered with snow for winter.

I was sorrow till the spring.

And now what will you – say?

Again it’s standing white and white.

My Wishes

By Rafael Safin

I’m looking at the Aghidel with envy

And I’m looking at the high Urals with meditation;

To be forever – your fate and your aim.

And my life is a candle, that will blow up the death.

And who will come the next …

For all of us the years’re implacable.

Oh, should I become the Aghidel or not,

To carry the waters everlasting?

And if you want as the Aghidel be the river

The trouble is not large and the Urals gaud

Be the everlasting mountains

Let the gray clouds crests’ brushing the hero’s head,-

Just has murmured the Aghidel not loudly:

Well, my friend if you want, be a river,

Absorb the rains and clear if dews the drops,

And the sweetness of the spring waters lands,

And for centuries not to know peace.

Oh, my generous and dear land!

Sorry for my audacious envy.

Shall I be the river or the mountain-

And don’t know the peace forever.

Shall I be able to praise your beauty?

Without a young song about my land?

My dear land!

I should like to be your unceasing kurai forever…

My dear land!

I’m ready to do it –

And let the years be rush flying

The days are not imperious

Above the music of words,

When it sounds in people’s hearts.

By Timer Yusupov

We were both walking

Along the open fields

The sun is locked

It can’t go through

Your black plaits.

As if the trembling fish…

It can’t get through the years

Oh, it’s caught

It can’t get through

Your just shaggy tongue.

Your hair’s flaming brightly

It’s just splashing sparkling.

Why did I touch the plaits,

The sun has broken through

And the moon has broken through.

The life has gone, the life has gone,

I’ve got a son, I’ve got a girl

I’ve got the moon, I’ve got the sun

But I don’t feel plaits with my hands.

The Dawn

By Rauil Bikbai.

The path’s dodging to the ledge of the cliffs,

The dews smoking at the feet in semidarkness.

Breaking through the fog,

The golden beam

It sat on my shoulder as a bird.

And the branehes’re singing,

And the winds’re singing,

The coldness from the crossing touched my face

The Europe’s sun is born here –

On the old, as the time, ranges of the Urals.

The steep cliffs of my land, having stood up on the tiptoes

In a rosy smoke

Welcoming the nearest and faraway friends

As a head long sun

Having risen above them.

Let it floating on the peaceful sky

Over the world from one side to another,

Your window

And my window

Are being spilled by hot glow,

The refrain’s rushing to it over the tops

Of white-foamed strings and the loud-voiced birds.

The birches are flying,

Having no time to plait

The green plait in sounding coins.

The merry dawn fire’s shining brightly,

The high heavens began to play lightly,

To Europe -

From the ranges of my Urals -

The sun’s going

From the palm to palm.