A SONG TO THE BLUE SKY OF ASIA
BRONTOY BEDYUROV TRANSLATED FROM RUSSIAN BY ELENA KOROLEVA
Art by Hanna Priemetzhofer
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Песнь Синему небу Азии
POEM BY BRONTOY BEDYUROV SELF-TRANSLATED FROM ALTAI INTO RUSSIAN
Песнь Синему небу Азии
Я
за собою оставил
открытым
огромное синее небо,
откуда прорезались
звёзды-глаза
человека,
жаждущие познать загадку
вечной истины жизни…
Это пылающий,
прожигающий душу
взгляд Кюль-Тегина.
Это мудрый,
проникающий в душу
взгляд Тоньюкука.
И солнце,
золотое,
проходящее ровно
по профилю лица, – это мир мой,
древний и новый,
мне незнакомый доселе.
Осели
от этой огромности неба,
от этой безбрежной сини
язычники-скалы,
откуда в первозданном обличье,
рокоча,
нисходит на землю ночь,
как синий мистический бубен.
Осели и мы
не в силах успеть
чуткие радары – сердца
приготовить к приёму
прорывающихся сигналов,
посылаемых будущим.
Но уже трещала башка
Голубого тюрка
от трасс расщепленных мыслей,
подобных падающим звездам.
И там
барабанили по глазам,
по глазам моей Родины
били дожди,
тихо скатывались они по склонам
горькой нужды и надежды,
смывая наши тревожные сны,
и раскатами грома,
раскрывая настежь глаза,
как зерна пшеницы,
дремавшие до весны.
Там раскосые взгляды
скользили привычно
по зеленым холстам плоскогорий,
подобно орлам, что срываясь со скал,
умирают, ликуя, в родимой стихии.
Там всходили колосья
до самого неба,
огромного неба,
но, опаленные зноем,
свисали бессильно,
не колеблемы ветром:
И не слышны были крики их,—
не успеют слететь
с обескровленных уст,
как их проглотит
синий воздух – орган тишины.
Спелых рассветов
им уже не дождаться!
И плоскогорья не в силах дышать,—
зеленые холсты растрескались,
в прах превратились,
достояньем унылой экзотики стали.
И лишь небо осталось,
огромное небо,
над этой землей,
где белые руки снежных вершин,
вознесённые к солнцу,
ловят дожди
и, смывая сны,
нагнетённые рокотаньями бубна,
блаженные,
войдя в экстаз,
бьют по бёдрам себя,
чтоб всколыхнуть тишину,
чтоб запел, загудел,
вновь обретя прежний,
утерянный голос надежды,
синий воздух—
молчавший веками орган—
и поведал все тайны,
что в себе до сих пор
он скрывал и хранил.
А я
за собою оставил
открытым
огромное синее небо—
Азии небо,
откуда прорезались
звёзды-глаза
человека,
жаждущие понять загадку
вечной истины жизни.
Это пылающий,
прожигающий душу
взгляд Кюль-Тегина.
Это мудрый,
проникающий в душу
взгляд Тоньюкука.
И солнце,
золотое,
проходящее ровно
по профилю лица,—
это мир мой,
древний и новый,
мне незнакомый доселе.
И попробуй меня
потрепать, покорёжить
ты – русый, безусый ветер!
О, Азии небо—
Вечное Небо!
О, Кёк Тенери—
Бог великих Небес!..
Алтай-Москва, 1967 г.
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by Elena Koroleva
Brontoy Bedyurov (1947– ) is the son of Janga Todosh Bedyurov. He was born in the village of Kulady in the Ongudai district of the Gorno-Altai Autonomous Region of the USSR (currently the Altai Republic of the Russian Federation). He graduated from the Literary Institute named after Maxim Gorky and finished postgraduate studies at the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences in 1981. His first poems were published in a newspaper in the Altai language in 1962, when the young poet was only fifteen. In 1969, his first collection of poems, The Colors of the Mountains, was published. It was followed by the collections The Month of Rebirth and The Heaven Tether. Folk life, customs, rituals, and Altai history play an important role in Brontoy Bedyurov's work, through to his later collections The Return of the Will and The Strongholds of Altai, published in 1983. He is the winner of numerous Russian and international literary awards. Brontoy Bedyurov's poetic heritage is diverse and polysyllabic; he is fluent in traditional Turkic-Mongolian rhythmic forms, as well as forms popular in the Russian classical and European literary traditions.
The poem included here is written in the form of a vers libre. It is a programmatic work for the author, who works with the goal of reviving the Altai language and its centuries-old history within the framework of contemporary world literature. The poet addresses his song to Tengeri. The open sky is the gateway to the centuries-old history of the Altai people, which Brontoy Bedyurov has made the central theme of his work. The modern Altai language, in its lexical and grammatical structure, is closest to the ancient Turkic language, in which maktals (poetic praises) were created in honor of Kül-Tegin and Tonyukuk, historical heroes of the 8th century. The author has devoted his work to historical folklore and has shown how historical heroes became part of the Altai landscape, such as the Baatr-Cliffs that represent heroes of the past who fought to defend their homeland.
Elena Koroleva (1979– ) is a historian, folklorist, and poet. She graduated from the history department of Novosibirsk State University in 2001. From 2001 to 2013 she worked as a field researcher in the Altai region, and thereafter worked as a professional translator of historical texts from the Altai language into Russian and other European languages. She is currently working on a dissertation on Altai folk legends as historical sources.
A Song to the Blue Sky of Asia
I
left behind me
open
an enormous blue Sky
from which pierced
the countless eyestars
of a man,
eager to solve the riddle
of life’s eternal truth…
The flaming,
soul-burning
gaze of Kül-Tegin.
The wise,
penetrating
gaze of Tonyukuk.
And the Sun,
golden,
sliding smoothly
across the surface of my face—
is my world,
ancient and new,
unknown to me hitherto.
From the immensity of Sky,
from the boundlessness of Blue,
the Baatr-Cliffs
subside.
And behind their backs
Night in its primordial form
descends,
rumbling
like a blue mystical tambourine.
And we too subside,
unable to prepare in time
sensitive radars—our hearts
for the intermittent signals
sent by the future.
But the head of Kök-Türk
was cracking already
from the trails of splintering thoughts
like shooting stars.
And there
the rains drummed
in my eyes,
in the eyes of my Motherland
the rains beat,
quietly rolling down the slopes
of bitter poverty and hope,
washing away our bad dreams,
with peals of thunder
opening the eyes wide,
like grains of wheat
dozing until spring.
There the narrow eyes
habitually slide
аcross the green canvases of plateaus,
like eagles that plunge off rocks
and die, exulting in nature’s elements.
There the grain rises
to the Sky,
the enormous Sky,
but, sun-scorched,
hangs powerless,
unshaken by the wind.
And its screams go unheard—
no sooner leaving bloodless mouths
than swallowed by Blue Air—
the organ of silence.
No ripe sunrises
now await them!
And the plateaus can’t breathe—
the green canvases are cracked,
turned to dust,
the property of dreary exotica.
And only the Sky remains,
the enormous Sky
above this land,
where the white hands of snowy peaks
stretch toward the Sun,
catch the rains
and, washing away dreams,
inspired by the tambourine’s rumbling,
blessed,
in ecstasy,
slap their thighs
to stir up the silence,
to make it sing, hum,
regaining the old,
lost voice of hope
Blue Air—
the organ silent for centuries
now tells the secrets
it hid and saved.
And I
left behind me
open
an enormous Blue Sky
from which pierced
the countless eyestars
of a man,
eager to solve the riddle
of life’s eternal truth…
The flaming,
soul-burning
gaze of Kül-Tegin.
The wise,
penetrating
gaze of Tonyukuk.
And the Sun,
golden,
sliding smoothly
across the surface of my face—
is my world,
ancient and new,
unknown to me hitherto.
And just try
to hit me, to beat me,
you, fair-haired, callow wind.
Oh, Sky of Asia—
Eternal Sky!
Oh, Kök Tengery—
God of great Heavens!
1967