Mikail Mushviq

[Ziyadli]

Sing, Tar, sing, Tar, sing!

Verses of beauty go dancing around,

Sing-, Tar, sing, Tar, sing!

Dew on my soul is each sweet ringing sound.

Sing, Tar, sing, Tar, sing!

Who can forget you who once heard you sing?

Grief of the people, the tears of their heart—

This is their music, their fiery art.

Buildings that face the kiblah heard your scales,

Everything heard you, the sky and the ground,

Fathers in fur caps and mothers in veils,

Sighed as they listened to each singing sound.

Now it was gladness, now sadness again,

Gaily but warily glided the strain.

Full of deep sorrow you sing your lay,

Making all travellers go the wrong way,

Mountains and gorges re-echo your tunes,

Waves give an answer and echo the dunes.

Sing, Tar, sing, that in reverie I'd hear

Vernal ghazals of Seid, ringing far,

Sing, Tar, sing to enliven and cheer

That town of Shirvan—the entrancing Ganja.

Those who feel ill, find no pleasure in food,

Those who have heart-ache, a sorrowful mood,

Those who don't welcome the merry Spring-tide,

Mounting no more the inviting hill-side,

Those who are racked by pain in the breast,

Luckless and loveless, whose souls find no rest,

Found consolation and comfort once more,

Relish ol life, peace of mind at your door.

Tar, your high notes and low notes are heard

Piercing tlie air like the song of a bird,

Yet by a different emotion you're stirred,

Charmed is your heart, sweet your melody rare—

See the sad maiden with long, wavy hair;

Grief in your chords, Tar, painfully throbs,

That is the reason yuur melody sobs,

Numbers of people all heard how you groaned,

Palaces heard you of Shahs and of Khans,

Hearing you wailing, in unison moaned

Times immemorial and century spans. .. .

Sometimes your strings pacify and console,

Tar, the love of my soul!. . .

Carpets with patterns so colourful, fine,

Tints from the labouring hands, showing blood,

There on the carpets, in leizure, recline

Women with lips like a flowery bud.

Cup-bearer, help me, your wine has grown cold,

Come, do not harass the girls, you're too bold!

Eloquent poets with hungering heart,

Poets inspired to work with their art,—

Bards like Vagif and Nadim, men of lore,

Fathomed of beauty the charm to the core,

Listening, they heard how you murmured and sighed,

Heard how you sang, how your chords rang and cried.

Now for us, Tar, come, tune up and sing!

Who can forget your heart's wonderful ring?

Tar, no mosque did your song ever serve,

Always you struggled for life's happy verve.

Some disregarded your wonderful song,

Had no compunction in doing you wrong.

Who were the loolish who caused you to smart?!

Brainlessly, wickedly breaking your heart,

Dashing above you—a black, cruel wind,

. Hurting your strings, causing pain of all kind.

People who loved you—to grief were assigned!

Kindly you said to the people: "Be gay,

Laugh! do not sorrow, let grief fly away!"

Still the deep funeral melody swelled,

Tears through the melodies gathered and welled.

Sorrow remained and we saw no one smile,

People were sad and they wept all the while.

All of us wept, shedding hot, bitter tears,

Torn by predicaments, tortured with fears.

Tar, sing now, times have changed it appears.

Over the radio sounds your dear voice,

Over the wide world for folks to rejoice.

Tar, sing louder and gladden my heart,

Sing to my ear your melodious part. i

Bard, take your saz, sing of freedom at last,

Turbans and robes are now things of the past.

Tar, tune up, sing; your fiery lay

Called forth, the blushes of many a fay—

Blushes of maidens so lovely and gay.

Strings of the Tar are golden and bright,

Songs of the Tar—a source of delight.

Sing, Tar, sing, let your strings evoke

Happiness in the hearts of my folk.

Tar, in hearing your beautiful strain—

Happiness, peace I am sure to attain.

You are a weapon today in my hands,

I can make use of your tunes hot as brands,

Using you, Tar, quite freely at last,

One of your songs is enough to cast—

From every soul all the ghosts of the past.

Sing, Tar, sing!

People are standing about you, a throng,

Waiting to hear the delight of your song:

Workers of factories, women and maids,

Men on the tractors, and hands of all trades!

Sing, there is no one your song- to restrain!

Bitterness, sweetness are part of your strain: ,

This is the fiery beauty in you—

Art of my native, industrious Baku,

Cotton-fields vast of Ganja—poets' town,

Silk of Sheki, its silk-worms of renown.

Sing, Tar, sing, Tar, sing!

Songs of great beauty go dancing around,

Sing, Tar, let your chords ring!

Dew on the flame of my soul is each sound, i

Sing, Tar, sing, Tar, sing!

Who can forget you who once heard you sing?!

Life of the people, the joy of their heart,

Here is their wonderful, fiery art!

[Maestro]

Хорошо, что такие хорошие стихи переводят!

Пусть и в мире знают наших классиков.

[Samir]

Ziyadli spasibo bolshoe !!!!!

oxu tar oxu tar lalala;-)