Gulu AGHSAS (Azerbaijan)

Gulu AGHSAS (Azerbaijan)

Gulu Aghsas is one of the well-known representatives of the contemporary poetry of  the Azerbaijani literature. These poems written by the author in 2000s.

Gulu Aghsas was born in Aghdam of the Garabagh region (currently occupied by Armenia) of the Republic of Azerbaijan. He lost his father very early and when his homeland occupied by Armenian troops his family moved to Baku. The subject matter of his poems is diverse and thought-provoking.

Writing in a modern form, Gulu Aghsas has also published his own interpretations of the traditional poetic form of free verse. Gulu Aghsas”s poetic voice is rarely integrated, always standing outside of a social group or society itself, watching and remembering but sometimes becoming a part of it.

“A child is a little bit like a blank slate,” Gulu says,”íf you write the right things on it, it will say the right things. But unlike a slate, a child can begin to do the writing: the child tends to write what has been written already. As to me I began to write when I was 9, but I didn”t know what was blank slate or inspiration or gift. I didn”t know what was habit- is it bad or good? But I was writing, I was reading… Reading…. Most probably Reading books made a great impression upon me and the books that I read made me to write the right things on my childish slate…”

“Rilke made on me a great impression” he says. “When I read his letter to a young poet I understood the real meaning of the writing process, mental state of a poet who was going to be known…” Rilke said: “When you understand that you must write – don”t write for a while, test yourself, and do other things. But if you see that you really can”t live without writing, return back to writing…”

Gulu Aghsas tested himself as Rilke said and began to write…

But he writes when he wants to write…He came to poetry from journalistics. But he came to journalistics not because of fame or something else, he says, “I devoted myself to journalistics only because of not earning money by fiction and literary word…Never!”’

 The translator aimed at selecting the following poems which are generally considered to be good and presenting special interest, either because they are typical of a peculiar time or new literary lines, or they appear to have exercised an influence.


There Is Much Love…

There is much love…
and so much grief,
But what is missed then?
If God hurls stones-
It hits,
but fear is missing again…

I am your devil child, God!
Give me a dead body-
I return him back to You alive,
Send me something empty-
I fill it
and send you back to the sky.

And I still live my life better
than a daily bread that You gave…
I want to fall to Your feet-
to hoist You upper than Yourself…


Keep A Wish In Your Soul

Keep a wish in your soul,
And part it into two.
A faithless is a godless?
Come to the same place.

Keep a wish in your soul,
Let you be very busy.
My soul dripping tears-
was its roof riddled?

Keep thousands dreams in your soul,
Let your wishes come into true.
I would go away to the Death,
Stay and live! My dear beloved!

-Can you bear such a parting?
-I will seek for a word here…
-Have you waited for me again?
-I will wait for you There…


My Fingers Are Adroit…

My fingers are adroit so
that they can stretch where they want.
They are looking for eyes to take a fancy-
They gain for me an enemy.
One finger is ready to pull the trigger,
The target is me, myself.
I put up with its capricious,
I am the one who bears it.
I have tatooed the numerals on my hands
from zero till nine.
When it takes the girl”s hands
it never let them go on leave.
It fears the cold,
It feels cold even by greeting.
For two lines of verse
It can be short of breath till morning.
My hands are short,
My fingers are in the grave[1].
Father, let your spirit help me
Let my finger moves a bit.
The grief is
dancing in my soul,
There is no roof, no floor.
My God,
give me a warm death,
Let my finger not be cold.


The Dawn

is the soul of night
that breaks in the sky.
Do you know?
– I don”t know.
Don”t put into wind-post a leaf-
it is closed.
Do you know?
-I don”t know.
Your heart
is your inwards door?
let me see what you have there!
Life has been shared by God…
and you are left like remnants.
Do you know?
-I don”t know.
We all
are indebted to death,
We never
find a way out of it!
The Qod
doesn”t make us to feel hurt…
but makes the death to examine us.
Do you know?
-I don”t know.


 I Don”t While Away The Days

I don”t while away the days now,
Dress the day,
let me sell it by auction.
Pet me like a cat,
I will cause you to climb to tree…
The words
that I throw and nibble like seeds,
What if they hit your heart?
I have died on my feet because
no one take me from ground.
The God put a stone
on the back of world market,
He left for us
in the shop-window:
a breath of air
and a drop of tear.
And He went away…


The End Of The World

There is no like of this disaster,
As if the vein of sky was cut.
The cloud with its hands
Striking its land-knees
because of God’s wrath!

The bane is raining from the sky,
Everything is coming down what
there has under the God.
Mullah[2]  who is in pulpit, goggled so much
The dead whom he buried swimming in the street.


You Are Everywhere

How many days and hours
remained of my life, God?
So long,
You don”t call me,
I am waiting for Your deposit, God!

Who stopped Your way,
tell me who stood on Your way?
Where I will go,
which hell I go to,
where is coming Your tidings from?..

When I will ride at a gallop
on the doom horse?
The horse would fly away from below me,
and I also would fly from below You.
Wherever I fly,
my sin would fall upon me,
Maybe I tell my mistakes,
and redeem my fault by words?
…Did You remember-I fall in love
with Your favourable woman?
Neither I married nor I gave her to others,
do You remember?
I put Your eyes on the road-
wound my feelings deeply…
I beseech Your hand-
keep me on them!
Many times
You inspired me,
but couldn”t write a single word,
You made a fire in my heart,
but I couldn”t get warm-
I was ungrateful.
You know,
I poured a wine to the place
where You brought disaster a little bit,
You know,
I curled my lips to the world You set up,
Your plenty of blessings
didn”t even stiffen my spirit,

I abused my fate,
I abused my fortune given by God,
Your mercy much more than my sins,
and I have a begging
going round in my soul,
Give me a place to go to repent, God!
Give me a place
where I can see You everywhere,
I agree to redeem my fault
what You told me there,
If You can,
You make me to sate with You there…


Disabled By War

My legs were lost
on the roads of my homeland,
so I returned
face downwards
pushing the invalid’s wheel.
My two children are in tears
and my wife is unlucky…
She is ready for every order
and doing my biddings.
She takes me out for a walk
but at the same time, she is looking…
…she is a loose woman…
There is haram  on my table –
but I keep silent…
I have two hungry children-
but I keep silent…
I have kept silent
but within myself I bellow:
“You defended your country!”
“How have they honoured you?”
…my legs were lost in the battles
for my homeland,
now look,
how she “thanks”‘me…


I Only Tell You…

I only tell you-my poor child,
Your father is a pickled jar
in the poor home.
It is opened simetimes
from holiday
to holiday.
The day you were born
is holiday more or less
and I have some words for you-
For God”s sake,
let it be not look like a toast
or father’s admonition
or grumble.
Maybe they will go to the aid of you
whenever in a hard day.
The bird doesn”t outfly with bird,
The poet doesn”t wrangle with poet.
The bird sings on the branch,
The poet writes on the sheet.
The woman
can”t be told a lie,
The truth is a man,
if I am not mistaken,
Of course,
woman needs a man.
The man cant”t be told the truth,
The lie looks like a woman more or less,
and that is why
each man wants to taste a little bit the lie,
And don”t forget-
I was unlike to anybody
I was without kith or kin,
You seem to look like your father.
…That is all, my child,
It is late, you sleep.
The sky is so careful
putting a wick on the back of night
by star…

Translated by Kamran Nazirli

[1]   I am as poor as you, father, I can”t help you

[2] Mullah is derived from the Quran term mawla. However, used ambiguously in the Quran, some publishers have described its usage as a religious title as inappropriate. The term is sometimes applied to a Muslim man or woman, educated in Islamic theology and sacred law. The title is derived from the Arabic word “‘mawla”‘, meaning “vicar,” “master” and “guardian.” In large parts of the Muslim world, particularly Iran, Kurdistan, Pakistan, Azerbaijan, Afghanistan, Eastern Arabia, Turkey and the Balkans, Central Asia, the Horn of Africa and South Asia, it is the name commonly given to local Islamic clerics or mosque leaders.

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