ABSTRACT
Every edition of the Kazak-language newspapers features poetry composed by school children and poet laureates alike. Collections of poems are sold at the Yasawi Shrine; the best ones become songs set to traditional tunes on the Kazak dombra and are sold on cassette tapes at the central bazaar, played live over the salesman's loudspeaker to attract customers. An honored guest is always treated to a recital of Kazak poetry and song. Harking back to the artistic tradition of the Kazak bard (aqın) and epic singer (jiraū, jırshı), Kazak poetry is replete with religious and ethnic themes. One modern literary genre celebrates the holy ground of Turkistan and the memory of its saints and ancestors: Pir tutqan Qoja Aḥmet Yassawīim, Sıyınıp arūaġınga bas iyemin. Ġasırlarġa kūä bop Türkistan tur, Qasiyetti topıraġıngdı basqan jerim. Qoja Ahmet Yasawi, you are my master, I worship and bow my head to your spirit. On your sacred ground I have walked, O Turkistan, witness of the centuries Babtardıng babı bolġan Arıstan bab, Qoja Aḥmet Yassawī tübing arab. Eki özen qosılıp tengiz bolġan, Ḥalqım-aū sıylamasang tübi qarab. Arstan Bab, you were bab of the babs, 1 And Qoja Ahmet Yasawi, you came from the Arabs. Joined in an ocean sea, these two rivers will dry up If you fail to honor them, o my people. Keremet ärūaġıng bolmasa eger, Salġızbas zȧūlim saray qolbasshı er. Saūrannıng topıraġınan kirpish iylep, Ämir - Temir ḥalıqtı oymen biyler. Because of your wonder-working ancestor-spirits The heroic chieftan built your towered courts; Pressing bricks from Saūran's slurried soil, Emir Timür planned to rule with an idea. Köp ulttıng basın qosıp saraptadıng, Älemdi bir özinge qaratqanıng. Ekinshi Mekke ataġan türki ḥalqı, Atıngnan aynalayın Türkistanım. Here you have brought many nations to confer And made the whole world gaze upon you Whom the Turks call the Second Mecca: O my Turkistan, let me walk around you. Ziyanat 2 etip kelūde tarıqqanı, Perzent tiler, özingnen zarıqqanı, Tümen bab ataġan ḥalqıng seni, Atıngnan aynalayın Türkistanım. Calling you the legion of babs, Pilgrims flock to you in desperate need. Childless, your people beg you for children: O my Turkistan, let me walk around you. Türki tildes ḥalıqtıng jüregising, Muḥammed payġambardıng tiregising, Tayqazanıng elingdi toyındırıp, Shıraġdandar shashadı nur säūlesin. The longing of all people of Turkic tongue, You are the pillar of the Prophet Muhammad. Your bronze cauldron is a feast for your people, The light of your glory shines in its vigil lamps. Jangġırıp Türkistanım tülep, bügin, Jastarım öner qūıp, aldı bilim. Qushaġıng ayqara ashtı san ultqa, Joġarġı oqū ornı Yassawīding. Now restored, my Turkistan has come alive: "My youth have learned art and wisdom today." Yasawi's school of higher learning Opens wide her embrace to many nations.
