{"id":1633,"date":"2024-04-17T12:10:16","date_gmt":"2024-04-17T12:10:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/?p=1633"},"modified":"2024-04-17T12:10:16","modified_gmt":"2024-04-17T12:10:16","slug":"me-poetet-nga-kazakistaninurbek-nurzhanuly","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/2024\/04\/17\/me-poetet-nga-kazakistaninurbek-nurzhanuly\/","title":{"rendered":"Me poet\u00ebt nga Kazakistani:Nurbek Nurzhanuly"},"content":{"rendered":"

Nurbek <\/strong>N<\/strong>urz<\/strong>h<\/strong>anuly<\/strong> \u2013 was born on May 29, 1995 in the village of Akermen, Merki District of Zhambyl Region. Nurbek Nurzhanuly graduated from the Faculty of Journalism of al-Farabi Kazakh National University. Then he received a Master\u2019s degree from Ardahan University, Turkey. He is the author of two collections of poems \u201cMu\u0144 A\u0131\u201d (Sad moon), and a book of prose \u201cT\u00e1ns\u0456z g\u00falder\u201d (Bodyless Flowers). He lives in Almaty and works as a correspondent for the newspaper \u201cKazakh University.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

A soft ray of sun falls on the flower in the picture,<\/p>\n

My soul \u2013<\/p>\n

Like last year’s newspaper,<\/p>\n

Left on your table faded in the sun …<\/p>\n

I didn’t even look at the calendar<\/p>\n

And tomorrow I will not look …<\/p>\n

There are sweet letters on the table in the stack.<\/p>\n

I’ll take a white cat, like in your yard,<\/p>\n

Lengthen my hair,<\/p>\n

Lengthen my time,<\/p>\n

I will close the creaky door …<\/p>\n

I probably won’t wait for you …<\/p>\n

And in the evening<\/p>\n

I will water the buds of the moonlight blossomed in my window glass,<\/p>\n

I will water the spring grown on my window…<\/p>\n

When I miss something \u0441over with the cool air,<\/p>\n

I turn on the lamp at night<\/p>\n

A soft paw slides over the floor.<\/p>\n

I turn on the radio with a hangover voice<\/p>\n

Although I don’t listen, but this is not a lonely room ..<\/p>\n

However, I’m waiting for a sad song …<\/p>\n

… probably won’t wait for you<\/p>\n

I pour tea in two cups,<\/p>\n

splash a little.<\/p>\n

I will drink hot tea with only a wish;<\/p>\n

… that the second cup does not cool!<\/p>\n

… You probably will not come, Inessa!<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

From my window<\/p>\n

I see dozing mountains,<\/p>\n

I see the frozen sky,<\/p>\n

I see a light that has not reached its goal<\/p>\n

I reach out my hand<\/p>\n

…Understand it.<\/p>\n

It’s snowing again<\/p>\n

I miss my mother<\/p>\n

Have my eyelashes touched<\/p>\n

I see stars falling.<\/p>\n

I see a village<\/p>\n

The sky which flows from<\/p>\n

my eyes…<\/p>\n

My past is my struggle<\/p>\n

…I see regret, disappointment, oh, my dear…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An empty cup in front of me,<\/p>\n

Bitten apple slice,<\/p>\n

And loneliness.<\/p>\n

Upset still<\/p>\n

Night sits in the corner.<\/p>\n

This is all because of me<\/p>\n

It’s all my fault…<\/p>\n

Your tired shuffling of your slippers scratch the floor.<\/p>\n

Candle hanging in the air<\/p>\n

Hanging over me all night.<\/p>\n

My fingers turned yellow<\/p>\n

Bottles out of my hands<\/p>\n

falling on the floor.<\/p>\n

…Once again I beg you,<\/p>\n

I bow my head before you…<\/p>\n

Opened up my heart, hung it in the sun<\/p>\n

Washed out early.<\/p>\n

It still hangs undried<\/p>\n

Drops dripping from my chest…<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Looks like me:<\/p>\n

Both the city and the garden<\/p>\n

Even a portrait, a desk,<\/p>\n

Paper –<\/p>\n

my soul didn’t go there<\/p>\n

A bluish sunbeam also streams in the air…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was a knock on the door, I opened it – and there was a shadow,<\/p>\n

The glass broke, and I looked and there was a night, a road.<\/p>\n

Houses here are lower than me,<\/p>\n

My old apartment is younger than me…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Only,<\/p>\n

The advertisement on the notice board<\/p>\n

Searching for its reader at night…<\/p>\n

If a bored wanderer snatches a piece, a page long whine in the wind…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The cars are swarming like flies are honking near my window.<\/p>\n

And the street, like a night owl, won’t close its eyes…<\/p>\n

The city wakes up with tears in its eyes – all in palaces and luxury in the background, and in a dream the poor fellow …<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Almaty, the cherry is ripe,<\/p>\n

I fell in love with life even more…<\/p>\n

Learned to have fun…<\/p>\n

The rain pouring like cats and dogs\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Smiles at me<\/p>\n

young beautiful universe.<\/p>\n

I kiss your blue eyes<\/p>\n

When the light comes from your eyelashes…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Please, don’t sleep tonight<\/p>\n

Get up early to catch the first braided rays of the morning sun<\/p>\n

The sky is a diyine garden<\/p>\n

Listen to the voice and the calling of its night fruit.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Night is the kingdom;<\/p>\n

peace of mind,<\/p>\n

also, a servant.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The night is a palace, decorated,<\/p>\n

Beauty is like feeling.<\/p>\n

ruby sparkles,<\/p>\n

Like the eyes of a loved one…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then the dawn smiled<\/p>\n

White beam of light tickles<\/p>\n

Bare feet of a child.<\/p>\n

Is there a shard in the corner?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Reflection in the shadows –<\/p>\n

Its origin radiance<\/p>\n

Fallen from the predawn darkness<\/p>\n

under your feet.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Almaty, the ladybug has flown away,<\/p>\n

And the crimson evening came.<\/p>\n

My future is a dreamer child,<\/p>\n

My past is a serious teacher…<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Butterflies don’t fly in vain<\/p>\n

No wonder the wind blows from the east…<\/p>\n

Some of the birds chirped<\/p>\n

The universe seems to scatter bird songs in handfuls …<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What a beauty, what a marvel,<\/p>\n

I am dying of tender spring.<\/p>\n

As if the world will melt in my eyes<\/p>\n

When the birds flap their wings…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The herd of clouds is spreading<\/p>\n

in the blue sky<\/p>\n

heading west…<\/p>\n

Look at me,<\/p>\n

turn around time<\/p>\n

why are you in such a hurry…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Stop for a moment like you want to say goodbye<\/p>\n

As I look at the world-glass…<\/p>\n

Look at the steppe – a vital mother,<\/p>\n

Breeds flowers like babies…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gorgeous garden like my sister<\/p>\n

Make-up and perfumed…<\/p>\n

Crooked stones moving<\/p>\n

A child of spring was born…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You know,<\/p>\n

Today I saw an autumn,<\/p>\n

Even held his hand –<\/p>\n

hot, tender…<\/p>\n

He also recognized me.<\/p>\n

We went out.<\/p>\n

Worn out<\/p>\n

Conscience<\/p>\n

hands outstretched to the sky,<\/p>\n

A tear has dried up from my eyes…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Autumn spoke with me, and I answered –<\/p>\n

Leaves underfoot say “we are people, servants of God”…<\/p>\n

The soles of the feet to the outstretched palms<\/p>\n

I say “destiny” –<\/p>\n

now yellowed traces,<\/p>\n

And these footprints are leaves…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My face is paper:<\/p>\n

Love pen-stick<\/p>\n

lips turned pale;<\/p>\n

lipstick dried on my face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Has time hung onto a withered tree?<\/p>\n

Did it whisper, that he lost his soul?<\/p>\n

Clocks hung on the willow, blown away by the wind.<\/p>\n

Moon-leaf turns yellow at the tip of the willow…<\/p>\n

leaning on my eyelashes from the balcony of my eyes<\/p>\n

I’m looking for an autumn,<\/p>\n

tears at the tip of my soul…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The night is calm and quiet.<\/p>\n

Dreams Come True.<\/p>\n

Soft snow fell on my face,<\/p>\n

Gentle snow kissed me.<\/p>\n

Dried book – smells like letters;<\/p>\n

I would like to die at my desk<\/p>\n

while continuing to write…<\/p>\n

I would like to die<\/p>\n

continuing to love …<\/p>\n

Humpbacked – a dark lamp is gazing at the snow, the ice patterns…<\/p>\n

The night is deep<\/p>\n

the night is long, far away…<\/p>\n

Familiar white light is broken,<\/p>\n

A sky fed with dampness,<\/p>\n

wrinkled<\/p>\n

Dry snow falls:<\/p>\n

far from evil,<\/p>\n

away from helplessness<\/p>\n

and from me too…<\/p>\n

Falling snow is like letters<\/p>\n

Which fall a blank verse poem…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Nurbek Nurzhanuly \u2013 was born on May 29, 1995 in the village of Akermen, Merki District of Zhambyl Region. Nurbek Nurzhanuly graduated from the Faculty of Journalism of al-Farabi Kazakh National University. Then he received a Master\u2019s degree from Ardahan University, Turkey. He is the author of two collections of poems \u201cMu\u0144 A\u0131\u201d (Sad moon), […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1633","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poezi"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1633","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1633"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1633\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1633"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1633"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/migjeni.se\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1633"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}