Selected Poetry / Избранное (англ.)

Your uncle told us to look after you so you wouldn’t freeze», they said.

My uncle instructed that guy, Shest-pyat Sapyi, to bring a good sledge from Kazan, and it was attached to our rear. In front of us was the sleigh of some other folk from Yaik, loaded with various merchandise, so we travelled in a В«caravanВ». For this reason, feeling as if we were prisoners in the enclosed sleigh, suffering a thousand different inconveniences, we finally drove into Yaik in the evening of the eighteenth day of our journey.

In Yaik we stopped at uncle Sapyi’s. «We’ll have some tea first, and take you to your uncle and aunt later», – they said.

Later that evening, between the two prayers, I went to my uncle and aunt, accompanied by uncle Sapyi.

We met a young woman in a green quilted gown on the road. «This is your aunt, say hello to her», – Shest-pyat Sapyi told me, so I greeted her.

Their house was only about sixty feet away. I entered the gates, climbed up a very high set of stairs and stepped onto the second floor…

AUTUMN

Look around, my friends, autumn is here,

And winter in its white cloak is already near.

The birds are moving southward, flying far away,

They have a better place where it is safe to stay.

The forest dyed in yellow, soon all its leaves are gone,

The harvesters have gathered their grain and corn.

Naked seem the fields, bald like a Tatar’s head,

The lark dives from the sky, hunting for his bread.

Small pockets of grass retain the gleam of silk,

The sun is getting tired – its rays are growing weak.

Darkness ousts the light. It makes me so sad.

The wind is cold and nasty, spins around my head.

Autumn is depressing, as everyone agrees,

Flowers lose their bloom, leafless stand the trees.

A forsaken graveyard is brighter than this field,

Without the summer grass, gone is its glossy shield.

Six months of heavy slumber… So I can shut my eyes,

Oblivious completely to those gloomy skies.

Nothing will awake me, neither heavy wind nor rain,

I will awaken only when spring comes back again.

The carpet of young grass will tempt me to lie down.

Happy I will be like the shah showing off his crown.

I wonder why my people aren’t happy in their land.

So let the day take over, and night come to an end.

Will I ever see this happen while I’m still alive?

Just a dream it is, alas, first I have to die.