The History of Kazakh literature

Kazakh literature, the body of literature, both oral and written, produced in the Kazakh language by theKazakh people of Central Asia.

The Kazakh professional bard once preserved a large repertoire of centuries-old poetry. In the mid-19th century, for example, a bard might recite a number of works attributed to such 16th- and 17th-century bards as Er Shoban and even to such 15th-century bards as Shalkiz and Asan Khayghı. These works have no independent documentation, but they differ significantly in style from the poetry of the 19th century and therefore may include some features of early Kazakh poetry. In addition, some of the bards of earlier centuries—such as Dosmombet Zhıraw, who is reputed to have visited Constantinople (Istanbul) in the 16th century—were apparently literate. When Kazakh poetry began to be written down in the second half of the 19th century, these works—which included didactic terme s, elegiac tolgaw s, and epic zhır s—were rarely anonymous but instead were closely identified with the bards of the recent or more distant past who had composed them, although the circumstances of their creation remain obscure. Among the classic Kazakh epics known from the 19th century are Er Targhın and Alpamıs.

By the 17th century, if not before, there had emerged two types of professional bards: the zhıraw and the aqın. These were primarily—though not exclusively—male professions. The zhıraw performed both the epic zhır and the didactic tolgaw and terme. Prior to the later 18th century, when Kazakhs began to lose their political autonomy, zhıraw s were sometimes advisers to sultans and khans, which granted them high social status. The aqın was an oral poet who competed with other aqın s, usually of different clans, at weddings or other celebrations; these competitions centred on improvised songs (also called terme s). While the zhır was the province of the zhıraw, the improvised song had stylistic variants that could be performed by either professional. Songs that praised a host, poetry, or a musical instrument, for example, were performed by both zhıraw s and aqın s.

Among the earliest Kazakh bards whose historical existence has been established is Buqar Zhıraw, an adviser to Ablay Khan, an 18th-century ruler of the Middle Horde. Other bards of the 18th and early 19th centuries are Shal Qulekeuwlı and Kötesh Rayımbekuwlı. During the 19th century several powerful bards, including Makhambet Istemisov and Shortanbay Qanauwlï, chose as their theme the diminution of the Kazakh way of life under increasing Russian pressure. Among the western Kazakhs of the Little Horde, this oral literary development reached its culmination in the second half of the 19th century and in the early 20th century in the works of Bazar Zhıraw, who combined the didacticism of the zhıraw with the quick wit of the improvising aqın. Bazar’s poetry frequently treats such issues as the types of behaviour that are appropriate to different stages of life; the responsibilities of different social classes; the opposition of heroism and cowardice, of contentment and greed, and of wisely employed speech and idle boasting; the consequences of success and failure; and the nature of literary language, a perennial Kazakh theme. Bazar’s long-lived contemporary Zhambul Zhabayev—who died in 1945, nearly a century after his birth—brought the oral aqın style into the Soviet era.

Kazakh oral poetry of the 19th century displays breadth and diversity unmatched by any other Turkicoral literature. The Kazakh literary concept of humanity is founded upon a complex interdependency of the natural and the human realms that is expressed through numerous metaphors dealing with animal life and the forces of nature. A didactic element is important in these works, but its basis is essentially human; religious models may appear, but they are one model among others and do not claim the absolute priority that they do in the literatures of other Muslim Turkic peoples.

In the middle of the 19th century, by which time the Russian conquest of Kazakhstan had largely been completed, two new factors began to influence Kazakh literature: members of the tribal aristocracy began to collect Kazakh folklore and oral literature, and, under the influence of the West, the first Kazakh written literature began to emerge. Chokan Valikanov, Ibray Altınsarın, and Abay Qunanbaev (Abay Ibrahim Kunanbay-ulï)—all of whom were writing during the mid- and late 19th century—mark the beginning of a new and essentially modern self-consciousness among the Kazakh intelligentsia. Valikanov was the first Kazakh to receive a full Russian education, and he was befriended by the Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky. A descendant of high-ranking Kazakh nobility, Valikanov also intensively researched Kazakh antiquities and opposed the penetration of Kazakhstan by orthodox Islam via the Russian Tatars. The poetry of Abay marks the beginning of modern Kazakh literature. Abay was an aristocrat rather than a professional poet, and he learned Russian, Chagatai, and Persian. Early in his life he rejected Islamic civilization as a model for the Kazakhs; he instead urged them to blend their native literary traditions with Russian culture. In his poetic work, he combined Kazakh aqın verse with Russian models, especially the poetry of Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin and Mikhail Lermontov. He translated Pushkin’s poetry into Kazakh and integrated some of these translations into a musical performance style called enshi, which was more lyrical than that of the aqın or the zhıraw. Abay thus set Kazakh poetry in a new direction that proved very influential during the 20th century.

After 1905, restrictions that had earlier been imposed by Russia on the publication of works in the Kazakh language were eased. Kazakh-language newspapers such as Ayqap, Alash, and Qazaq, each with a different cultural and political orientation, soon emerged. The generation of Kazakh writers active at that time, including Omar Qarashuwlï and Ahmed Bay Tursunov (Aqmet Baytūrsyn-ulï), were chiefly engaged in pedagogic and political activities. The poet Turmaghanbet Iztileyov was executed by Soviet leader Joseph Stalin in 1939 for his translations of Persian classical literature into Kazakh.

The outstanding figure of Kazakh literature during the Soviet era was Mukhtar Auez-ulï (Auezov). A graduate of universities in Russia and Uzbekistan, he became a successful scholar, publishing editions of Kazakh epic texts. He began writing fiction while still a student. By the 1920s he had begun to study Abay, who had been a major cultural influence on his own family. This study led to the historical novel Abaĭ (1945–47; Eng. trans. Abai). Epic in scope, it depicts the social environment from which Abay emerged. It is both a moving narrative and a unique document of Kazakh life during the period of the Russian conquest and thereafter, when the Kazakh people were faced with fundamental economic and cultural choices for which their traditional culture had not prepared them.

 

Written by: Walter Feldman

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Book of Words

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

WORD ONE

Whether for good ot ill, I have lived my life, travelling a long road freaght with struggles and quarrels, disputes and arguments, and reached these advanced years to find myself at the end of my tether, tired of everything. I have realized the vanity and futility of my labours and the meanness of my existence. What shall I occupy myself with now and how shall I live out the rest of my days? I am puzzied that I can find no answer to this question.

Rule of people? No, the people are ungovernable. Let this burden be shouldered by someone who is willing to contract an incurable malady, or else by an ardent youth with a burning heart. But may Allah spare me this load which is beyond my powers!

Shall multiply the herds? No, I cannot do that. Let the young folk raise livestock of they need them. But I shall not darken the evening of my days by tending livestock to give joy to rogues, theieves and spongers.

Occupy myself with learning? But how shall I engage in scholarship when I have no one to exchange an intelligent word with? And then to whom shall I pass on the knowledge I will have amassed? Whom shall I ask what I do not know my self? What’s the good of sitting on a desolate steppe with an arsbin in hand trying to sell cloth? Too much knowledge becomes gall and wormwood that hastens old age if you have no one by your side to share your joys and sorrows.
Choose the path of the Sufi and dedicate myself to the service of religion? No, I’m afraid that won’t either. This vocation calls for serenity and complete peace of mind. But I have not know peace either in my soul or in my life-and what sort of piety can there be amongst these people, in this land!

Educate children, maybe? No, this, too, is beyond my powers. I could instruct children, true, but I don’t know what I should teach them and how.

For what occupation, for what purpose and for what kind of community am I to educate them? How can I instruct them and direct their paths if I don’t see where my pupils could usefully apply their learning? And so here, too, I have been unable to put myself to any good use.
Well, I have decided at length: henceforth, pen and paper shall be my only solace, and I shall set down my thoughts. Should anyone find something useful here, let him copy it down or memorise it. And if no one has any need of my words, they will remain with me anyway.
And now I have no other concern than that.

WORD TWO

In my childhood, I used to hear the Kazakh jeering at the Uzbeks.

“You Sarts in wide skirts, you bring your rushes from afar to thatch your roofs!” You bow and scrape when you meet someone, but you insult him behind his back. You are afraid of every bush; you rattle on without stopping, and that’s why they call you Sart-Surts.”

Encountering Nogais, the Kazakhs would ridicule and scold them, too:

“The Nogai is afraid of the camel, he soon gets tired astride a horse and takes his rest walking. Runaways and soldiers and trades – all of them hail from the Nogais. Nokai is what you should be called, not Nogai!”

About the Russians they used to say:

“The red-headed Urus, once he spies an aul, gallops fit to break his neck towards it, permits himself to do whatever comes into his head, demands to hear all the rumours and gossip, and believes everything he is told.”

“My God!” I thought then with pride. “It turns out that the whole wide world has no worthier and nobler people than the Kazakh!” Such talk rejoiced and entertained me.

But this is what I see now: there is no plant that the Sarts cannot grow, no land that their merchants have not visited, and such thing that their nimble fingers cannot contrive. Their laymen live in peace and seek no enmity. Before there were ant Russian merchants around, the Sarts provided the Kazakhs with clothes for the living and burial robes for the dead, and they would buy up front the Kazakh droves of cattle that father and son could not agree to divide between themselves Now, under the Russians, the Sarts have adopted the innovations more quickly than others. Exalted beys and learnt mullahs, craftsmanship and luxury and courtesy – the Sarts have all these.

I look at the Nogais and see that they can make fine soldiers and that they beat deprivation stoically. They face death with humility, protect schools, and honour religion – they know how to work hard and grow rich, and to dress up and have fun.

Not we Kazakh though we labour for their beys for a crust of bread. They will not let our beys into their homes “hey, you Kazakh,” they say, “our floor is not for your dirty boots to trample on.”

I will not speak of the Russian. We cannot hold a candle even to their servants.

Where has all our erstwhile joyfulness gone?

Where is our merry laughter?

WORD NINE

, too am a Kazakh. But do I love the Kazakh or not? If I did, I would have approved of their ways and would have found something, however slight, in their conduct to rejoice or console me, a reason to admire at least some of their qualities, and keep alive a glimmer of hope. But this is not so. Had I not loved them, I would not have spoken to them from the heart or taken counsel with them; I would have not mixed with them and taken an interest in their affairs, asking, “What are people doing there? What’s going on?” I would just have sat back quietly – or wandered off. I have no hope that they will mend their ways or that I may bring them to reason or reform them. So I feel neither of these emotions. But how come? I ought to have opted for one or the other.

Even though I live, I do not consider myself to be alive. I don’t know why: maybe because I’m vexed with the people or dissatisfied with myself, or for some other reason. Outwardly alive but completely dead within, that’s what I am. Outwardly irate, I feel no anger. Laughing, I am unable to rejoice. The words that I speak and the laughter that I utter seem not to be mine. Everything is alien.

In my younger days it never occurred to me that anyone could forsake his own people. I loved the Kazakh with all my heart and believed in them. But as I came to know my people better and my hopes began to fade, I found that that I lacked the strength to leave my native region and form kinship with strangers. This is why there is a void in my heart now. But then I think, perhaps it’s for the better. When dying, I will not lament: “Alas, I have not tasted this or that joy!”

Not torturing myself with regrets about earthly things, I shall find solace in the life to come.

 

WORD SIXTEEN

The Kazakh does not worry whether his prayers plase God or not. He does what other people do: he gets up and falls face to the ground in supplication. He treats Gos as though He were a merchant who has come to collect a debt: “That’s all I have, take it if You will, but if You will not – don’t ask me to get livestock out of noweher!” The Kazakh will not take trouble to learn and purifly his faith: “Well, that’s all I know, I can’t get any wiser at my age. It’s enough that people cannot reproach me for not praying. And if my speech is uncouth, that doesn’t matter in the least.”

But is his tongue made differently from other people’s, I wonder?

WORD TWENTY-ONE

It is hard to avoid at least a small degree of self-satisfaction and complacency. I have identified two kinds: pride and boastfulness.

A proud man has a high estimation of his own worth. He will do his utmost to ensure that he is not regarded as an ignoramus and an unreliable person who doesn’t keep his promises, as ill-mannered, arrogant and a shameless liar, a spiteful critic and a crook. Aware of the baseness of these vices, he will aspire to be above them. This quality is peculiar to a man of conscience, reasonable and high-minded. He dislikes to hear people singing his praises but, on the other hand, will allow no one to sully his name.
A braggart, on the other hand, does his best to be talked about as much as possible. Let everyone know that he is a batyr, rich and of noble of descent….! Yet what he overlooks is that people may also say things about him that he would not in the least like to hear. But, to the tell the truth, the other kind of fame-notoriety-doesn’t much bother him. Such braggarts are usually of three types.
The first is eager to gain fame abroad, amongst strangers. This is an ignorant fellow, but he still retains some human virtues.
The second wants to be famous in his own tribe. This type is a complete ignoramus and scarcely human.
The third one shows off before his family or in his native village, for no outsider would ever approve of his boasting. This one is the most ignorant of all, no longer a man.
He who strives for praise among strangers will seek to distinquish himself amongst his own tribe. He who desires acclaim from his tribe will strive for plaudits from his nearest and dearest. And he who is after the praise of his family is sure he will get it by extolling and praising himself to the skies.

 

WORD TWENTY-TWO

wonder whom amogst the Kazakhs of today I could possibly love or respect.

I would have respected a bey, but there are no true beys any more; even if there is one, he is not the master of his will and his wealth. At bitter enmity with some, he will, as a precaution, give away his livestock to others and eventually finds himself beholden to a good hundred people. He believes, in his stupidity, that he has shown generosity by responding to their humble requests, but in fact he becomes dependent on them. You would call him neither generous nor merciful. In his native land he struggles against his own people, squandering his wealth and currying favour with unworthy men. When the beys are at loggerheads, rogues of every kind appear, and they intimidate the beys and live at their expense.

I would have respected a myrza, but but now you cannot find a truly generous one; as to those who give out their livestock right and left, they are as many of these as stray dogs. Some part with livestock of their own free will in a bid to gain some advantage, while others do it reluctantly – these often do so just to make a show to gain the reputation of a myrza, running around as if he had salt on his backside; yet, more often than not, they become the prey of wicked people.

I would have repected a volost chief and a biy, but on our steppe, there is neither divine nor human justice. Power bought by servility or with money is not worth much.

I could have repected a strong man, but I see that everyone among us has the strength to do evil deeds one cannot find anybody prepared to do good.

I wish I could find a clever man to honour. Yet there is none ready to use his intelligence to serve the cause of conscience and justice, while one and all will be quick to guile and perfifidy.

I might have respected a feeble beggar, but he is not without sin either. It does not matter that he can’t even climb on the back of a prostrate camel. If he had the strength, he woud find the dexterity to pilfer a thing or two.

Who is there left? The cunning and grisping. There is no stopping these unil they ruin others completely…

Whom, then, shall we love and pray for? The stinking volost chiefs and biys cannot be considered. There remains lives by the saying: “If you want to prosper, avoid discord!”. Such a man incurs the displeasure of all and sundry, even though he may give away half of his wealth and tries, to no avail, to protect the other half from thieves and ruffians.

There is nothing to be done: him shall we pity and pray for.

As it is, I have found no one else.

 

 

WORD TWENTY-THREE

Here is but one joy and one consolation which, like a curse, hangs over the Kazakh.
He rejoices when he meets a wicked man or sees some wicked deed, saying, “May ALLAH preserve us from that! Even he considers himself a worthy man, and compared to him, others are as pure babes.” But did ALLAH say that it is enough for him to be better than such-and-such a person? Or perhaps clever people promised he would not be counted among the wicked if he should find someone more ignorant and vicious than himself? But can you become better by comparing yourself with a scoundrel? Good is learnt from good people. In a race it is understandable to ask yourself how many runners are still ahead of you, not how many fast horses are behind. Does it make to a loser any happier whether there were five or ten Arab steeds behind him?

Now, in what does the Kazakh find consolation? Says he: “We are not the only ones like that, everybody does it. Better not to stand out from the crowd and to stick with the majority. A feast that you celebrate with everyone is the greatest feast. “But did ALLAH bid him to live only in the midst of a crowd? And has ALLAH no power over multitudes? Has the Most High not chains enough to fetter the throng? Can everyone attain the highest knowledge, or is it accessible to only a chosen few? Are all people equally endowed with genius? Or just one in a thousand? Who says that the multitude cannot be humbled? If the people are stricken by disease, is it not good if half of them remain healthy? Don’t you need someone with a good knowledge of the lie of the land when thousands who lack it are wandering in the wilderness? Which is better for a traveler: if all his horses starve to death all at once, or only half of them? Which is better: if all of the people suffer from dzhut or at least half of them survive? What consolation is it to a fool if there are thousands of other dolts around him? Will a suitor win his intended bride if he tells her that all his family suffers from bad breath? Will his betrothed be comforted by the thought that he is not the only one?

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Fierce Grey

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

The last thing the boy saw was the familiar ear, torn at the remple in the dog gight when the wolf had lived in the village.

He was already dead when the wolf flew over him like a whirlwind and without pausing ripped open his cheek with a curved fang.

They picked up the bpy’s body at night, took it into the aul and laid it by the hearth in the yurta.

His old grandmother sat down at his feet.

“My own little colt,” the old woman kept repeating, “my own little colt!”

And her dried-up, weak-sighted eyes could not shed the longed-for tears.

Then came the turn of the huntsman Khasen, famous in these parts, and his reddish-and-white borzoi.

Khasen had traded a horse for this dog in Semipalatinsk. Pn its forehead there was a small white bald spot with four equal-sized rays, and so its owner had named it White Star – Akkaska.

Akkaska’s name was well heared-of abroard. Everyone knew him and some thought he was a descendent of the legendary hound of the hero Bogambai of the Kanzhygalys, that is praised in song.

The dog was thoroughbred, proud and irascible. When fed he would seize his meat with a growl. Khasen would chain him in camp, and the hound would allow only his master to approach him. The village mongrels avoided Akkaska and barked at him from a distance. Akkaska did not pay any attention to them and, yawning lazily, lay flat on his belly for hours, his long muzzle on his long lags. Only the hunt fired him and then he would easily overtake any horse, barking resonantly and horribly. His eyes gleamed like a wolf’s, but with a reddish, not green, flame, like two bot coals.

Khasen lived with the herders for a few days, studying Fierce Grey’s habits and asking about him. The men spent the night in grass huts. And all through the nights the heated arguments about the lone wolf that had killed Kurmash did not die down around the campfires. But Khasen did not hear anything that was new or unexpected to him.

They said the wolf’s was mad. They said it was no wolf at all but a hyena. There had to be some reason he was unthinkably voracious. Khasen did not believe in fables.

“He’s a wolf,” he said. “And a wolf does not feed on hay!”

The herdsmen cursed and threatened. “Ah, if only we could get our hands on him!”

Khasen chuckled: “What will you do? Tan his hide?”

And only the better words of Kurmash's father cut Khasen to the quick. At his son’s grave he had told the hunter: ‘You are an experienced fellow… brave and stubborn… True, it’s not easy to catch a werewolf. But if you don’t finish him off, remember you are no relative of mine and not a bold djigit, you are not needed by anyone and your dog is not worth a farthing. Don’t show yourself before our eyes then.”

Khasen decided to gather the herders for a battle – he would not manage otherwise. He did not have to talk them into it.

At dawn before the battle Khasen did not give his dog any meat to eat. He placed a bowl of soup made from fine crumbs of dry sheep cheese in front of him. Akkaska ate quickly and did not take his eyes off his master. The intelligent dog understood that there was to be a big, important hunt, a dangerous chase.

“Well, Akkaska,” said Khasen fondling his dog’s ear, “it’s either you or he, there’s no other way. Dead young Kurmash will be the third member of our party…”

Akkaska attentively looked his master in the eye, wagging his ginger tail.

They went out into the steppe and Khasen released his hound from the leash so he could limber up his legs and warm up his chest. Akkaska tore over the snow, bluish in tne morning twilight, in enormous bounds.

Khasen split up the men into several groups and sent them in different directions, himself ascending with Akkaska to the stony top of a lone hill exposed to all the winds. The hunters divied up the village curs and galloped off. Khasen spread out a thick felt carpet among the sharp stones, made Akkaska lie down on it and stretched himself out alongside him in the snow, holding the dog by his collar.

Akkaska lay quietly under his master’s hand with only his ears turning incessantly from side to their miles-long ring. Akkaska hunched himself in an unusual way, his muzzle lowered. Had he been distracted by a hare’s burrow? Borzois love to hunt hares.

No, Akkaska was not mistaken. The wolf suddenly showed himself, unheard, where the dog expected him – in the quiet, deserted, snow-covered hollow. There he was, the crafty, creature! The drifts of unbroken snow were shifting and crumbly here. A horse could not follow his fresh tracks without sinking in up to its belly.

The wolf ran at a quick trot, fast but unhastily, cautiously, and Khasen bit his lip in momentary doubt, glancing at the dog. The wolf was in top shape and from a distance looked like a colt with a wolf’s muzzle.

The spitting image of a werewolf?

The wolf was downwind from them and did not smell the hunter and the borzoi. But Khasen could not hope that the animal would come within him and released the dog, saying: “Go on… Sick him!”, and himself ran to his horse, tied behind the rock.

Fierce Grey immediately, at first glance, correctly estimated the character and strength of the ginger-and-white borroi. He would not be able to run away from this dog. The borzoi bolted down the hill toward him with a resounding, thundering roar. He was lean and twice the size of the black-and-tan hound. Behind him, between the humps of a camel, the wolf caught a fleeting glimpse of a man with a smooth black stick. The battle was all around. He had to act fast.

The dog and the wolf collided on the snowy slope, and the dog’s momentum knocked the wolf off his feet, but he himself lost his balance and went rolling too. Both leaped up, closed on each other’s fangs and pulled apart with bloody maws, breathing hoarsely. Fierce Grey had meet his match…

Several times the wolf threw himself on the dog and received a heavy, well-aired blow from his fangs. But the wolf dodged, managed to get above the dog on the slope and seized him below the ear, as he had the leader of the wolf pack at the beginning of the winter, but Akkaska did not bow, forcefully shook the wolf and broke loose, leaving a hunk of ginger fur and skin in his teeth. Fierce Grey realized that this encounter would not soon be over. And a rider was already galloping down the hill, shouting excitadly:

“Hold, hold, my lovely! A-akkaska-a!”

Fierce Grey gave a short yelp and rushed head on. The dog and the wolf again clashed fangs with such force that sparks would have flashed had it been dark. And then Akkaska, not guarding himself, remembering only what the man had yelled, stuck his nose right into the wolf’s maw and held and held him fast by his lower jaw.

Now they could not be unlocked. The dog gnawed the wolf’s maw and the wolf his, and neither could topple the other.

Khasen galloped up. The horse pranced under him, rearing. Khasen’s hands also pranced. He flung down his gun, jumped out of the saddle and, also without thinking of himself, threw hiw whole, body, down on the wolf’s rock-hard hack. He drove a wide knife in under his shoulder-blade.

Akkaska freed his torn muzzle from the wolf’s convulsively gnashed teeth and walked off to the side. He stood there for a while and fell onto his chest. Fierce Grey lay opposite him on his side.

The hunters began to ridw up, and one of the them shoved his whiphandle between the wolf’s teeth, opening his black-red maw, and all were amazed at its size.

“A devil!” said one of them as he walked away.

“Kokserek!” said Khasen, carefully examining Akkaska’s wounds.

They brought the wolf’s carcass into the aul and threw it down by Kurmash’s yurts. Here his old grandmother identified Fierce Grey, as Kurmash had, by his torn ear.

“Kokserek!” cried the old woman, wringing her hands. “May you be thrice damned… Have you no conscience? You blood-suck-er!”

And she weakly kicked at the wolf’s bared teeth.

 

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Zhambyl Zhabayev

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

Zhambyl Zhabayev

Zhambyl Zhabayev was a Kazakh traditional folksinger According to a family legend, his mother, Uldan, gave birth to him near Mt. Jambyl, close to the headwaters of the Chu River while fleeing an attack on her village. His father, Dzhabay, then named his son after the mountain. As a boy, Jambyl learned how to play the dombura and at age 14, left his home to become an akyn. He learned the art of improvisation from the akyn Suyunbai Aronuly. Jambyl sang exclusively in the Kazakh language. Jambyl Jabayev died June 22, 1945, eight months before his 100th birthday. He was buried in Alma-Ata in a garden which he cultivated with his own hands. Many patriotic, pro-revolution and pro-Stalin poems and songs were attributed to Jambyl in the 1930s and were widely circulated in the Soviet Union. The Kazakh city of Taraz was named after Jambyl from 1938 to 1997. Jambyl Province, in which Taraz is located, still bears his name. It has been claimed that the actual authors of published poems of Jambyl were actually Russian poets, who were officially credited as "translators." Poet Andrey Ignatievich Aldan-Semenov claimed that he was the "creator" of Jambyl, when in 1934, he was given the task by the Party to find an akyn. Aldan-Semenov found Jambyl on the recommendation of the collective farm chairman, the only criterion of choice was that the akyn be poor and have many children and grandchildren. After Aldan-Semenov's arrest, other "translators" wrote Jambyl's poems. In a different account, according to the Kazakh journalist Erbol Kurnmanbaev, Jambyl was an akyn of his clan, but until 1936 was relatively unknown. In that year, a young talented poet Abilda Tazhibaev "discovered" Jambyl. He was directed to do this by the First Secretary of the Communist Party of Kazakhstan, Levon Mirzoyan, who wanted to find an akyn similar to Suleiman Stalsky, the Dagestani poet. Tazhibaev then published the poem "My Country", under Jambyl's name. It was translated into Russian by the poet Pavel Kuznetsov, published in the newspaper "Pravda" and was a success. After that, a group of his "secretaries" - the young Kazakh poets worked under Jambyl's name. In 1941-1943, they were joined by the Russian poet Mark Tarlovsky. 1994 — «Жамбыл: Адамзатың ұлы жыршысы» Zhambyl: The Great singer of mankind film director Kalila Umarov.

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Korqyt Ata

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

Korqyt Ata

The great thinker of the Turkic peoples, the famous bard, storyteller, kobyzshy. Known as a historical figure, who left a rich literary and musical heritage. Korkut or crust - the legendary Turkic-songwriter and composer of the IX century, a native of the steppes along the Syr Darya. Creator kobyz bard, storyteller, patron of poets and musicians. Legends about Korkyt found in Kipchak Turkic peoples (Kazakhs, Karakalpaks), and especially the southern Oguz branch: Turkmen, Azeris and Turks. They almost all common folk epic "Oguzname." Legend of Korkyt Legend has it that the crust from the youth could not come to terms with the transience of human life, so I decided to fight against the inevitable death. Tormented by his thoughts and driven by the dream of immortality, the crust moves away from the people, but everywhere he sees death: in the forest - rotten and fallen down tree tells him about her death and the inevitable end for the most Korkyt, in the desert - feather grass, the sun burning out tells him the same thing, even high mountains have told him about their pending destruction, consistently adding that the same end awaits Korkyt.

Seeing and hearing all this, the crust in his solitary anguish hollowed out tree shirgay - the first kobyz pulled the strings and began to play it, pouring out his painful thoughts and feelings. He put his whole soul into these tunes, and the wonderful sound of his strings sounded for all the world came to the people captured and captivated them. Since then, the music he created and Korkyt kobyz go walk the earth, and the name Korkyt remain immortal in the strings kobyz and in the hearts of people. "The Legend of Korkyt deeply optimistic sense of it is that the crust is found immortality in the service of humanity art created by him" (Valikhanov Ch Ch Collected Works. - Alma-Ata, 1961, Vol I).

Tribute to The monument in the Memorial Korkyt ata Karmakshy near Kyzyl-Orda region of Kazakhstan, 1980 According to legend, at the request of the Korkyt, his grave was laid kobyz the soft sounds in the wind at all times. A landmark in the form of kobyz after Korkyt-ata was built in 1980 in Kyzyl-Orda region Karmakchinskom region of Kazakhstan. Authors - B. Ybyraev architect and acoustician physicist S. Issatayev. When the wind blows it starts to sound much and passing all can hear the melody of wind. The monument can be seen from the windows of passing and immediately trains running from Moscow to Tashkent and Almaty. In place of burial Korkyt on the banks of the river Syr about the X-XI centuries. mausoleum was erected "Korkyt-Tube", which means in common - Singin 'in the pipe. Over the centuries, it has come to destruction. In 1997 he carried out the restoration of the monument Korkyt. Created a whole architectural ensemble - a complex with amphitheater, hotel and other objects. And in 2000, when it was a museum. In 2001, Kazakhstan established the Public Fund "skin" for the purpose of dissemination of knowledge in the community about the impact of culture of the nomadic Turks in world music. Since 2006, the Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Kazakhstan and Akimat KyzylordaHotels hosts the International Festival "Music of Cork and the Great Steppe". In 2008, in Astana, Kazakhstan broken Square and the monument is the composition "Korkyt kobyz." Korkyt name called Kyzylorda State University, the airport "Korkyt-ata" in Kyzyl-Orda, the streets in the cities of Kazakhstan.

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Akhmet Baitursynov

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

Akhmet Baitursynov

In 1895-1909 he was teaching in aul volost colleges in Aktubinsky, Kostanaisky and Karkaralinsky uezds. In 1905 he starts taking part in the political activity. He was one of the authors of “Karkaralinsky petition”. For the critics of tsar administration in 1909 Baitursynov was imprisoned. In 1913 Baitursynov opened the newspaper “Kazakh”. After the establishment of Soviet authority Baitursynov deals with the enlightenment activity. Since 1919 he was the member of Kirrevkom, he became the national enlightenment commissar, the member of Soviet Central Executive Committee and Kazakh Central Executive Committee. In those years, study materials on Kazakh language, textbooks in order to increase literacy, ABC book written by Akmet Baitusynov. The ABC book had several editions in the twenties. However as a former member of Alash-Orda in 1920 he was arrested and exiled to Arkhangelsk and his wife with his daughter Sholpan were exiled to Tomsk oblast. But in 1934 thanks to the intercession of Peshkova (wife of Maxim Gorky) who worked in the Red Cross Commission, Akmet Baitursynov was freed. However, in October 1937 he was again arrested and shot.

He was a poet, the founder of the first national newspaper, translator, teacher and one of the organizers of the autonomous republic Alash-Orda. He had the positions of the deputy chairman of Kazakh revolutionary committee, the first national enlightenment commissar; he was also a member of Kazakh Central Executive Committee. Together with hundred thousands of innocent Soviet citizens Baitursynov was declared the enemy of the nation.

For the first time he was repressed in 1929. He was in the exile in Arkhangelsk oblast till 1934. He came back to Almaty. In 1937 he was repressed for the second time. On 25 November 1937 he was executed by shooting. He was rehabilitated only in 1988.

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Chokan Valikhanov

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

Chokan Valikhanov

Chokan Chingisovich Valikhanov (his full name is Mohamed-Khanafiya and Chokan is his nickname given by his mother) was born in November 1835. His childhood passed in the steppes, amongst the people. He received his primary education in his native village of Kushmurun in a Kazakh private school where he learnt Arabic, got the idea about the oriental poetry and studied painting. The latter was his real passion and Chokan’s sketches show that he was a very talented artist. His father was attracting Chokan to collect the materials regarding legends and introduced him to the highly-educated Russian scientists, engineers and officers.

Chokan’s further career was predetermined by the family tradition and by the education he had received: he was a Russian officer, intelligence officer, diplomat and a functionary fulfilling various orders from the tsar administration. In the cadet corps he started to love travelling and he had the dream “to open unknown Asia to the world”. The global science received his notes about the brilliant extract from “Manas” – “Death of Kukotai Khan and His Commemoration”.

The most ancient and stable roots of Kazakh mentality were reflected in his several studies, in particular, in the articles “Shamanism Traces of Kyrgyz (Kazakhs)”, “On Islam in Steppe”. In the study of Zoroastrian shamanism nature Chokan is the undisputable leader.

He devoted his articles “Ancient Legends of Great Kyrgyz-Kaisats Horde”, “Zhungar Essays” and others to Kazakh oral folklore. Emphasizing the poetical and musical soul of people, Valikhanov tells us the legend according to which there is a magic bird that, when flying over the earth, provides people in the shade of its wings with the small part of its ingenuity. The legend is like that: the bird flew over the Kazakhs so low that they received the musical talent. Valikhanov underlines also that the poetical folk creating work of Kazakh people gives the “full picture” of its “historical and spiritual life”. His comments about features of the akyn-improvisers, about the types of songs, about the rhythm of Kazakh poems are very interesting. He wrote down the folk epic poem “Kozy-Korpesh and Bayan-Sulu”.

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Sultanmakhmut Toraigyrov

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

Sultanmakhmut Toraigyrov

Sultanmakhmut Toraigyrov is a great Kazakh poet-democrat. He was born on 29 October 1893 in Kzyl-Tau rayon of Kokshetau oblast; he died on 21 May 1920.

When he was four Sultanmakhmut lived in Bayan-Aul rayon of Pavlodar oblast. When he was thirteen he started writing poems. He wanted to study in the cultural centres; he read a lot striving to obtain modern complete education. However he had to start working. First he worked as a school teacher, and then since the autumn of 1913 he was a secretary in the editorial staff of the first Kazakh magazine “Aikap”. In the magazine he published his poems, publication and essays. Since 1914 he worked as a teacher again in Bayan-Aul and Katonkaragai, in the autumn of 1916 he managed to take courses in Tomsk. Those years he formed his writing credo.

“Having entered the way of the search for truth I will not recede, I will bear all the difficulties, I will overcome the fatigue and I will go through all the misunderstanding. And I will be faithful to my ideas”, says the poet. After the February revolution in 1917, trying to be closer to the people he came to Semipalatinsk. He had joyful feelings like all the other intellectual people of the Kazakh society during that period. “I want to be the sun, which would shine through the darkness for my people”. Sultanmakhmut supposes that the era of freedom has come and it is the time for each nation to live independently and to create its own country. Toraigyrov starts contacting the people from Alash-Orda Party, publishes their articles in “Sary-Arka” newspaper. Supporting the ideas of the “Alash” leaders he admires them in his poems.

Sultanmakhmut wrote about the destiny of Kazakh women and promoted their emancipation. His lyrics are rich with the philosophical thoughts but his poetry quality was revealed especially in poems “Life of Wandring” (“Adaskan Omir”) and “Poor Man” (“Kedei”, 1922). It is the first poem, in which each chapter is related to a certain life period of a man and which criticizes social injustice and violence together with general philosophical and didactic thoughts. But more clearly the critique of social injustice and violence is expressed in the second poem, in which he showed the specific life of a poor Kazakh man. Toraigyrov is the author of one of the first Kazakh novels “Beautiful Kamar” (1933), one of the founders of this genre in Kazakh literature.

Thinking about what Kazakh people need, Sultanmakhmut gives the priority to education, culture, science and engineering. In his opinion, education and training must pay great attention not only to body care but also to conscience, soul and spirituality. Without this, none of the technical achievements will make people happy. Can Kazakh people adopt the level of European civilization? With great optimism Sultanmakhmut forecasts that at most in 30-40 years Kazakh people will reach the European level of education, science and engineering. Level of Toraigyrov’s philosophical thoughts during that period can be judged by the titles of his articles and poems: “Socialism”, “Is This Justice?”, “Why do I Live?”, “Lost Life”, “During the storm”, “Belief”, “Who Is God?”. In these articles the philosopher leans on the works of Russo, Tolstoy and Marxists.

The last unfinished poem of Sultanmakhmut was poem “Aitys” with the subtitle “Competition of Urban and Steppe Akyns”. In the form of a dialogue the poet wanted to show the change of the old mode of life.

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Ilyas Zhansugurov

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

Ilyas Zhansugurov

Ilyas Zhansugurov Ilyas Zhansugurov was a Kazakh poet and writer. The town of Zhansugirov in Almaty Province is named after him and he is commemorated in Taldykorgan and Almaty. A friend of another classic writer Mukhtar Auezov, Zhansugurov was the First President of the Writers' Union of Kazakhstan from 1934 to 1936. He wrote the novel "Comrades" (1933), targeted against the Soviet power, but wrote loving poems such as "The Steppe" (1930) and "Kulager" (1936). He was repressed in 1937 as his writing was seen as a threat and fuel for Kazakh nationalism and he was shot on February 26, 1938.

Сабақтың тақырыбы: Ilyas Yesenberlin Kazakhstan: an epic struggle

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту

This was a recommendation from Kazakh nationals studying at Durham and Exeter universities. The institutions kindly put out calls to their international students after hearing that I was struggling to fill in a few of the gaps on the list earlier this year.

The Kazakh students at opposite ends of the country, however, were unanimous in their recommendation of The Nomads, a trilogyby Ilyas Yesenberlin (1915-1983). In fact, Aigerim in Exeter went further, not only pointing me to a site where I could download an Exxon-sponsored translation of the first book for a small registration fee, but also sending me a link to a subtitled trailer for Myn Bala: Warriors of the Steppe, a Kazakh film on a similar theme that came out this year (see below). She called it the ‘greatest movie of Kazakhstan’ and hoped very much that I would be able to find a full-length subtitled version to watch (I hope so too – it looks gripping).

But back to The Nomads. Focusing mainly on the 18th century, book one in the trilogy, The Charmed Sword, tells the story of some of the great battles that swept the territory that is now Kazakhstan. Depicting the cruelty and calculation of many of the tyrants that tussled for it during the second millennium – among them Genghis Khan and Timur – the narrative reveals the harshness and beauty of life on the plains and the source of the desire for an independent Kazakh state.

As the opening address from Kazakh President Nursultan Nazarbayev suggests, national pride and identity are central themes in the book. The idea that ‘only the creation of a united and powerful Kazakh state could save the people’ runs through the novel, clashing with the cynical ‘divide and rule’ strategy of rulers such as wily Khan Abulkhair, who fuels infighting among the steppe tribes and his own family to keep control of them.

In this world of betrayal and suspicion, only the ruthless survive. Indeed, the narrative is awash with accounts of extreme violence and cruelty – from the 13-year-old boy indoctrinated to order the execution of his own mother, to the lover who is tied behind his horse and sent to what should be a brutal death with the flick of a whip.

Yet moments of beauty and some wonderful insights into steppe customs shine through too. We discover how to train hunting eagles, for example, and witness the politically pivotal storytelling competitions in which zhyrau-songsters vie to sway the crowd with their conflicting versions of events.

The sheer volume of characters, events and information in the narrative can make it tricky for someone ignorant of Kazakh history, like me, to follow. Now and then, caught up in a welter of names and incidents, it is difficult to work out exactly who is fighting and what they are doing it for.

This isn’t helped by the language problems that riddle this anonymous translation. Although certain metaphors and statements strike home, there are numerous grammatical errors and odd word choices that cloud the meaning of the more involved passages. At times, readers will find themselves lost in the maze of a sentence, searching for a subject that does not appear. There are also one or two moments where the narrative seems to jump like a scratched record, as though something is missing.

The text, such as it is, however, reveals a work of great passion and importance. This epic story opens a rare window on the history of a region that, even in this age of global communication, remains closed off to most English-language speakers. Perhaps now, 15 years after this translation came out, it’s time for another edition.

 

December 20, 2012 By londonchoirgirl in Asia, The stories Tags: books, culture, Genghiz Khan, Ilyas Yesenberlin, independence, Kazakhstan, students, translation, war6 Comments

Конец формы

 

Сабақтың тақырыбы: How can Editors help writers do their best work?

Сабақтың мақсаты: Практикалық сабақтарда алған білімдерін тексеру

Өткізілу формасы: мәтінді айтып беру

Тапсырмалар: мәтінді оқу, аудару, түсінгенін айту