Süýrgünortan
Süýrgünortan! Niçik görnüş!
Jöwza ähli zatdan ökde.
Ýaşaýyş ýöne bir ”myş-myş”
Tomus bu ýowuz toprakda.
Bir düýe ýatyr bagyryp,
Jokrama yssa çydaman.
Çaga dek boýnuny burup,
Kimden dileýär ol aman?
Bilmek aňsat göge bakyp,
Süýrgünortan gelse golaý.
Orta Aziýadan çykyp,
Afrika barýar tüweleý!
Sazakly tokaý ümsümlik,
Galmandyr dabaraň ýoky.
Şahada teni bir çümmük
Böküp ýör gara jok-joky.
Toprak ýaryk-ýaryk, diş-diş,
Eräp akýar çöl howasy.
Dutaryň sesine meňzeş
Jokrama yssyň owazy.
Bu dert berilmez her kime,
Başga söý bilen aram ýok.
Derman tapylmaz derdime,
Bu ili söýmeý çäräm ýok.
Translations of this Poem
Midday
Midday, just look around:
the heat raises the sand to a boil.
Life is nothing more than a myth
when summer comes to this land.
A camel on the ground, groaning,
doesn’t help against the heat.
What does it ask and to whom,
its neck bent into a question mark?
The day at its peak. The sun blind.
Mirages draw me in only to disappoint.
In Asia, a tornado is born
and wails past me on its way to Africa.
The forest of desert trees lies quiet;
strives to survive.
On a branch, a small body jumps around,
a sparrow burned black by the sun.
The ground is cracked and jagged;
the desert air melts away.
The wonderful music of the heat
is brief, and piercing.
I bear a worry in my heart
not everyone bears.
My homeland follows me everywhere.
I love my people. I can’t help it.
About this poem
This poem, representing Turkmenistan, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.
