Toate postarile (1376)
Poems by Nazakat Mammadova
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
Your Qarabagh is trampled by the enemies,
Your forests are the nests of Steppenwolf
We are always reprobated by strangers-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The happy days are left behind in the past,
Why didn’t stones fall when moving began?
As if we have been migrants for years-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The flowers decorated the mountains,
When nobody walked on it, it fell out.
Oh, my God, the native lands are captive-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The native lands are invaded by enemies,
For me both agha and slave are the same.
How long is from Khan Araz till Tabriz?-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
I am touchy remembering “Cidir duzu”
I shed tears calling my native “Shusha”.
I wept, cried for Khari Bulbul in enemy’s hands-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The lands were ruined by the enemies,
All the lands fell to the lot of the godless.
Dada Qorgud, how can you sleep in the grave?-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The parting with lands tastes bitterly,
If there are brave sons, but where are they?
Your daughters, daughters-in-law are captives-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
If only the lands are got back forever,
If only the happy days returned once more.
The whole world listens to your voice-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The martyrs’ blood wouldn’t be forgotten,
The invaded lands will be remembered.
We shall take vengeance for the lost lands,
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
Hey, he who can suppress my anger, come,
Hey, he who can sacrifice himself as Babak, come!
Hey, he who can enter the fights as Koroghlu, come-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
If only our voices are heard in Irevan,
If only our banners are proud in Qarabagh!
If only I ran straightly to those lands,
If my eyes kissed the lands of my country-
If my feet touch the soil of my Motherland!
The martyr top
The screams may reach to the sky,
Mother is singing a cradle song to a grave.
She embraces the cold grave every day,
As if she is at the cradle of her baby-
She is singing a cradle song to gravestone.
She looks for her son among the young boys,
The tears of longing drop out of her eyes.
Her heart is full of words- whom to tell?
She tells her words to the gravestone-
Mother smoothes her son’s gravestone.
Each day she tells him her new wish:
“My son, but you didn’t marry…
But I didn’t decorate khoncha for you.
But I didn’t spread henna to my daughter-in-law.”
Mother complains to the gravestone.
Mother begs to the sky, for to take her too,
She wishes to tell her words to the great God.
The voice is heard from the sky:
“Mother, your son is gifted with martyr top.”
Mother sings a cradle song to her son.
This is the sound of the martyr’s mother,
This is the sound of her sorrow.
Mother calms herself, she consoles
With her son’s being a martyr
Which is considered the highest at God.
The longing for lands
My heart is breaking under my chest,
If only we should value it in its time.
If only I became a wind, a mad wind,
If my words blew over my lands as wind.
The black rocks were like mountain fortress,
The mountains are the invincible fortress.
The pocked rocks are like the native sons,
My traces will be left on my native lands.
Tabriz, Derbend were once our lands,
The Goyche are ruined by the enemies.
The strangers invaded the city of Shusha,
Because of not casting glance on my lands.
The grief is like the sorrow of hearts,
This is also a destiny, this is a fate.
For many times my motherland was divided,
I am disgraceful at my motherland
If only I sacrificed my life for my motherland,
If only I knew all the secrets of my motherland,
If only I were a stone to enemies of my motherland.
If only I sacrificed for my motherland!
I long for…
When autumn comes the cranes move,
Their “homes”- nests remain empty.
They come back as soon as spring comes,
Again their “strange” nests become dear to them.
See, how many autumns, how many springs,
I long for my lands the fire of which is gone.
The cranes return back, but I can’t return,
To my native lands destiny of which is unlucky.
On one of the days I also shall return to my lands,
My heart whispers me, it won’t last so long.
If it is needed I shall sacrifice my life to death.
I say to the world: “No, it won’t last so.”
I am longing for my native lands,
I shall get over all the borders.
Of course, once I shall get over
The iron wires which define borders,
I shall get over those wires.
Article by Sergio Camellini:
THE FANTASTIC LOVE WORLD OF TARANA TURAN RAHIMLI'S POETRY
The author Tarana Turan Rahimili, a well-known Azerbaijani poet, shows how poetry has a universal semantic language. The masterful translation from English to Italian by the brilliant Claudia Piccinno gives significant confirmation in this sense. Well, the anthology: "I loved even a stone" (Edizioni Il Cuscino di Stelle), wanders into the fantastic world of love, with its many facets, even with autobiographical hints. The work begins with the poem: "They will recognize me by my love", which is a significant incipit to enter the original world of Tarana. Why original? Because there is everything and the opposite of everything about love: truth, lies, crudeness, sweetness, perplexity, anguish, happiness, pain, religiosity, life, death, contradictions. Often the Poet uses the title of the poem and also inserts it at the end, therefore, the repetition of the title itself emphasizes the main theme of the composition, in a sort of Freudian subliminal message. In the poem “Life is a Fast Train,” she mentions the good Lord as she does in several of her compositions: // My God, what is happening to me? Who makes me gasp? Who rushes life? Who is hurrying inside me? //. Therefore, in this lyric, her being seems to hang on four questions, free from the word love which, however, can be read between the lines, where current events quickly become yesterday. The closed, is a poetic hymn: // Today suddenly becomes yesterday, I'm going to embrace the next day. I don't live my life, I just fly through it //. In the poem “Good morning, Rome!”, a sweet melancholy for the Eternal City, including the Vatican, is highlighted. // Your sun smiles on me in the middle of winter…Old, great Vatican! Let there always be a happy life around you. Hey, stage of the Theater of Marcellus! May you always be lost in silence! Stay away from the “games” of the world stage; enchants my spirit. Of your immortal fame. Good morning, Rome! Good morning, Rome! “. The exclamation point, which the Poet uses, is an "admiring point", to signal a tone of surprise and joy. In the poem "I am a woman", female psychology is traced with a wise hand and fine skill, making a nice contradiction: "I am not a painter, I am not a composer, not even a gardener... but I know many colors that most artists does not know: The colors of love, of desire, of pain...
With the work “I fall on the road where you moved away from my gaze”: // You didn't recognize me, because I was a small tree, they cut me down prematurely, I didn't have any shadow...I am covered by the pain of my future. I fall on the road where you moved away from my gaze. I will look for you there //. Despite everything, the author who symbolically identifies with the character mentioned, is confident in the future. So, it is an anthology in which the balance coexists between an introspective reading and reflection, or rather, a journey through the sensations and emotions of an extremely sensitive poetic soul, but at the same time firm and decisive. The verses unfold between feelings, places and memories, weaving a varied interweaving between the word love and the hardness of the stone. In conclusion, the elegant poetic self of Tarana Turan Rahimili appears in every verse of her, confirming the natural beauty that belongs to her.
Sergio Camellini
Translated into English by: Claudia Piccinno
LĂSAȚI POETUL SĂ TRĂIASCĂ!
AUTOR MIHAELA CD
Lăsați poetul să trăiască
Căci clipa dulce pământească
Îi este scrisă-ntr-un destin
Din har celest în cor festin.
Lăsați poetul să trăiască,
Că-i fi-va pană îngerească,
Condusă pe-un zeiesc altar
De unic dumnezeiesc har.
Lăsați poetul să trăiască,
Din slova dulce românească,
Ce-i sorb amarul și clipa
Spre veșnicii-i duc aripa.
Lăsați poetul să trăiască
Atâta vrea să povestească,
Să scrie despre iubire,
Pentr-un strop de fericire!
Rapsodia iubirii
AUTOR: MIHAELA CD
Cântecul iubirii se mai scrie
Tot continuând ca la-nceput
Slove-ndrăgostite pe-o hârtie
Note pe-un portativ ne-ncăput
Si doina trăirilor transcede
Prin pâcla timpului arămiu
Și-o arie de amor purcede
Pe cerul dragostei prea târziu
Și-n ritmul de suflet se așează
O melodie legănată-n doi
Dansând pe-a vremurilor spetează
Sublim refren ce lin cade-n ploi
În simfonii ce-adună fericiri
De-nveselire se-nfioară
Ea,rapsodia-aceleiași iubiri
Pe-aripi de timp valsând ușoară
Dansul timpului
Autor MIHAELA CD
Clipele rad zburdand alene
Peste tărâmuri ce-s de vis
Trezind dormiri din altă vreme
Prin labirinturi spre abis
Dezgheață simțurile toate
În marșul lor trosnind domol
Versete se aud trunchiate
Pe partituri zâmbind bemol
De-atâta dor se-ngemănează
Cu timpul trist și diafan
Se-nlănțuie și-apoi vibrează
Căci văd c-a mai trecut un an.
Tren
U tom trenu,
kad pogledom pomilovah njegove ruke
I trnci se sjuriše niz kičmu
Cijelo tijelo potrese mi glad.
Pokajah se sto spustih pogled
Na lijepe, duge prste
Što dobovale su po stolu
I vidjeh kako mu na zapešću
ispupčena vena pulsira
sustižući ritam moga srca.
Zadržah pogled na njegovim trepavicama
I pomislih
kako bi bilo lijepo
Osjetiti ih ujutro
na svom obrazu.
তেরনে তুরান রহিমলির কবিতা
চিঠি যদি লিখলেই
তুমি চিঠি লিখেছিলে,
গন্ধহীন, প্রাণহীন
একটি পঙক্তিতেও
হৃদয়ের শব্দ নেই
তুমি চিঠি লিখেছিলে
শীতল রক্তের লেখা
উষ্ণ তবে অর্থহীন
কী করে পাঠালে এটি?
তুমি চিঠি লিখেছিলে
নিরাবেগ অনুভব
মন বড়ই অস্থির
রাত গেলো অনিদ্রায়
তুমি চিঠি লিখেছিলে
অন্ধ যেমন লাঠিতে
মাটি ছুঁয়ে ছুঁয়ে চলে
খোদক যেমন লেখে
সমাধিফলকে...
তেরনে তুরান রহিমলি
অনুবাদ : অনীত রায় ১৪ সেপ্টেম্বর ২০২৩
তেরনে তুরান রহিমলির কবিতা
স্বপ্ন মরে না
প্রতিটি মানুষ তার হৃদয়ের মাঝে স্বপ্ন নিয়ে মরে
মাটিতে বিলীন হয় এমনই কত অনিঃশেষ স্বপ্ন
গভীর অতল থেকে বাইরে বেরিয়ে আসে ইচ্ছেগুলো
এভাবেই ফুলগুলো পৃথিবীর বুকে মুখ তুলে চায়.
জীবনের যত সব স্বপ্নের পিছনে তারা ছুটে চলে
মানুষেরা থেমে যায় স্বপ্ন দ্যাখবার শুরুর থেকেই
সকল মানুষ চলে তার আপনার বাগানের দিকে
আশাদের কখনও কোনো রকমের শোকতাপ নেই.
সব আশা ফুল হয় আর এসে নেয় জীবনের রূপ
এসেই নতুন কোন হৃদয়ের মাঝে স্থান করে নেয়
প্রতিটি ফুলের ঘ্রাণ একটির থেকে অন্যটির ভিন্ন
জীবনযাপন স্বাদ লুকিয়ে রয়েছে অন্তরের মাঝে.
এ মাটির স্মৃতি থেকে সামান্য কিছুও বেরোতে পারে না
অবদমিত ইচ্ছেকে যে করেই হোক পাবার আকাঙ্ক্ষা
জীবনের ফুটে ওঠা ফুলের মতন
জীবনের প্রাণবান ইচ্ছের মতন...
তেরনে তুরান রহিমলি
অনুবাদ : অনীত রায় ১০ সেপ্টেম্বর ২০২৩
ছবি : তেরনে তুরান রহিমলি
তেরনে তুরান রহিমলি-র দেয়াল থেকে নেয়া
জীবন - শূন্যতা থেকে, শূন্যতার থেকে
এসেছে অস্তিতে.
মৃত্যু জীবনের সার কথা
শেষ মুহূর্তের উপলব্ধি.
জীবন - কোথায় যায়
এটুকু জেনেছো, ওটা হ'লো যাবার সময়.
পথ ভ'রে ছিলো শুভেচ্ছায়
বড় হৃদয়বিদারি.
প্রেম - হৃদয়ের বেড়া থেকে
বন্ধ হৃদয়ের ওপর গড়ায়
জন্মদিন - আরো এক পদক্ষেপ
মৃত্যুর দ্বারের কাছাকাছি.
তেরনে তুরান রহিমলি
অনুবাদ : অনীত রায় ১৪ সেপ্টেম্বর ২০২৩6
Urednik časopisa-moja malenkost
الإهداء
إلى روح ذاك الرّجل الذي رتق فراغات روحي...أبي الذي لن يجود زماني بمثله....
إلى النّور والصّمت
إلى الموتى المنسيين
إلى من سيقف يوما على قبري
إلى من قضوا بجائحة كوفيد 19 في العالم...
تمهّل قليلا كورونا
قليلا تمهّل
لأرى الشّمس تشرق من كفّي
لأشهد موسم جني الزّيتون في عينَيْ
لأسمع تلك الأهازيج الجميلة
ليأكل ذاك الطّفل الجائع رغيف كلماتي
ليشرب القمر من فنجاني
مذ صرختي الأولى
مذ ضحكتي الأولى على هذه الأرض
كنت معي أيّها الموت
في مكان ما من جسدي كنت تختفي..
كورونا تمهّل قليلا
قليلا تمهّل كوروتا
لأحتفي بك وتحتفي بي كما تشتهي وأشتهي
قل أيّ الفساتين أرتدي؟
الورديّ؟
الذّهبيّ؟
أم الأزرق النّيلي...؟
أأربط شعري ذيل حصان؟
أأعقصه إلى الوراء ؟
أأضع فوقه التّاج؟
أم أجعله ينساب على كتفَيْ كنهر السّان...؟
دعنا من المساحيق والأقنعة
سأغسل وجهي من رذاذ شلاّل الشّمس
سأطليه بحليب
أليس الأبيض ما تريد...؟
لك ما تريد
فقط اسمح لي أن أكتحل باللّيل قليلا
بعض اللّيل على الرّموش لا يضير
اخترت أن آتيك حافية القدمين
لأرقص معك طويلا
طويلا سأرقص
كما تريد سنرقص..