Сочинение про расула гамзатова на английском языке

RASUL GAMZATOV
(1923-2003)

Rasul Gamzatov was born on September 8, 1923, in the Avar village of Tsada in the north-east Caucasus. His father, Gamzat Tsadasa, was a well-known bard, heir to the ancient tradition of minstrelsy still thriving in the mountains.
Bards were held in high honour. When Makhmud, famous poet of the previous generation, sang in a busy market-place, plucking the strings of his pandura for accompaniment, young and old would listen in silence with bated breath: even a bee’s flight could be heard.

In the early twenties of this century when the first Soviet lecturers came to a village women would sit with their backs to the speaker, who was not supposed to see their faces. But when a bard followed with his songs they would face him out of respect for his art and were even permitted to throw back their veils.

The young Rasul, impatient of any interruption, would listen for hours on end to the Avar stories, legends and fables his father would relate. «When I was quite small,» he recalls, «he would wrap me in his sheepskin cloak and recite his poems to me, so I knew them all by heart before 1 ever rode a horse or wore a belt.»

From the small window of his father’s flat-roofed house of solid stone he could see a patch of green field spread like a tablecloth below the village and, above it, overhanging rocks.

Paths wound like snakes up the steep slopes where caves gaped like the jaws of wild beasts. Beyond the mountain ridge rose yet another, arched and rough as a camel’s back.

As a boy Rasul would graze a neighbour’s horse for three days with the telling of a story as his reward. He would climb half a day to join shepherds in the mountains and walk half a day back just to hear a single poem!
In the second form at school he walked twelve miles to see an old man, a friend of his father’s, who knew many songs, poems and legends. The old man sang and recited to the young boy for four days from morning till night. Rasul wrote down what he could and went happily home with a bagful of poems.

He was eleven when he wrote his first verse, lying on a bull’s hide on the balcony at home. It was a poem about the local boys who ran down to the clearing where an aeroplane landed for the first time in 1934.

His father was his first tutor in the art of poetry. «Of my early poems he said that if you rummaged in the ash you might find at least a glowing ember,» Rasul recalls.

The title of his first book of poems was «Love Inspired and Fiery Wrath». He was overjoyed when girls in the mountains who had read it wrote to him—and to this day he cannot forget his pain on seeing a shepherd in winter pastures using a page to roll a cigarette. This was in 1943.

In 1945 with a few books of his own in Avar tucked under his arm and with a meagre sum of money in his pocket, he arrived in Moscow to enter the Gorky Institute of Literature. There in the stimulating company of younger poets and under the guidance of veteran writers he studied Russian and world literature and the craft of poetry. By turns he fell in love with Blok, Mayakovsky, Yesenin, Pasternak, Tsvetayeva, Bagritsky, the Avar Makhmud and the German Heine. But Pushkin and Lermontov remained his constant love.

Over the past fifty years Rasul Gamzatov has been one of the most prolific of Soviet poets. From his pen have come short love lyrics, long narrative poems, ballads, epigrams and philosophical octaves, which have won him millions of devoted readers.
Today he lives with his three charming daughters Zarema, Patimat and Salikhat in Makhachkala, the capital of Daghestan on the shores of the Caspian. His home is open to all. With pride in fine craftsmanship he shows friends his collection of splendid swords, riding cloaks, wine horns and the rust-brown pottery for which Daghestan is famed. Of the land of his birth, of its people and its poets he has drawn a fascinating, intimate and human portrait in his recent prose volume of musings and reminiscences «My Daghestan».

Winner of a Lenin Prize for poetry and honoured with the title of People’s Poet of Daghestan, Rasul Gamzatov is a well-known public figure, chairman of the Union of Daghestan Writers. He has travelled widely in Europe, Asia and America.

Rasul Gamzatov writes in his native Avar tongue, a language spoken by no more than 500,000 people. Yet even so the Avars along with the Darghins, Lezghins and Kumyks are among the largest ethnic groups in the two-million population of Daghestan, where 36 different languages are spoken. According to old legend the horseman who rode across the world distributing languages threw a whole sackful into the mountain gorges and told the people, «sort them out your-selves!»So the problem of translation is a familiar hurdle to the people of Daghestan, where books are written and published in nine different languages.
Rasul Gamzatov has been fortunate in his Russian translators, Naum Grebnev and Yakov Kozlovsky, many of whose brilliant versions have become classics of Russian poetry. So much so that Rasul himself, reciting his poems in public in the strongly rhythmic guttural Avar tongue, often follows on smoothly and spontaneously with the Russian translation which he also knows by heart.

The great poet of Dagestan, beloved by the people

His books were published in millions of copies, and speeches have always been sold out. Particularly popular were the songs to the poems of Rasul Gamzatov, albeit translated into Russian (the poet wrote in his native Avar language), but always heartfelt and highly artistic. It is known, for example, that Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev, listening to the song «Cranes» could not hold back tears.

Rasul Gamzatov was born on September 8 1923, in the small Dagestan village of Tsada. His father was a famous Dagestan poet, and Rasul from a young age was instilled a love of poetry. Studied Rasul Gamzatov in the pedagogical school, then in the literary institute named after M. Gorky, after which he worked in the Union of Writers of Dagestan almost all his life.

Rasul Gamzatov glorified Dagestan with his work

The first collection of poems of the poet, devoted to the Great Patriotic War, was released in 1943 year, while still studying at a pedagogical school. With his works, Rasul glorified Dagestan, his homeland and made Avar language known throughout the world.

The people around him have always noted in him seething energy, sparkling humor and sharpness of mind. He always judged soberly, in any situation and in relation to any person, he could publicly pronounce what others were afraid of. “My mission is to write and help people every day” — this is how the poet saw himself. Early recognition and fame did not hinder him, but motivated him to create better and more.

Rasul Gamzatov was open, it was easy to communicate with him, he respected the interlocutor and very much appreciated talented people.

The song «Cranes» — a hymn to the dead horsemen

The song “Cranes” became a kind of common hymn to soldiers who died during the Great Patriotic War. Poems to the song Rasul Gamzatov wrote standing at the monument to Sadak Sasako, who died from the consequences of the nuclear explosion in Hiroshima. Suffering from radiation sickness, Sadaki believed she would recover if she made a thousand cranes. But she managed to collect exactly half. The girls’ friends raised funds for a monument, which became an anti-war symbol for the residents of Hiroshima. Standing at the monument, Rasul Gamzatov watched the assembled people, who had paper cranes in their hands. At some moment a flock of cranes flew in the sky.
Initially, in the text of the song, instead of the word “soldiers”, there was the word “dzhigits”: “It seems to me, sometimes, that dzhigits, who did not come from the bloody fields, were not buried in our graves, but turned into white cranes”. Mark Bernes persuaded the poet to shorten and change the text. “At first I resisted, but Bernes was able to persuade me that removing bad lines from a poem could be a bad poet. But to remove the good ones is only up to a good poet ”- this is how the author later told about this situation.

The translation of the song «Cranes» was made by Naum Grebnev, whom Rasul Gamzatov even called his co-author. “It (the poem“ Cranes ”) seemed closer to him than all other poems, for he himself is a wounded warrior who lost his relatives and friends in the war. It became his own pain for him, ”wrote Rasul Gamzatov.

The great Dagestan poet lived by creativity and therefore everything that came out of his pen was easily and closely perceived by the reader. “Poetry is excitement. The poet must catch him like a bird in flight. If there is excitement in people, then the heart misses the heart ”- this is how Rasul Gamzatov wrote about his life’s work.

The poet did not like everything unnatural and superficial. “I am a great pessimist and I respect pessimists. I am glad that I am a pessimist and therefore did not kill anyone. And today’s youth kills with great optimism. We have suffered a lot from the optimists. These telephone kisses and meeting love … «

Gamzatov Rasul 3 November 2003 of the year is gone. A lot of documentary films were shot about the poet, streets, airplanes, an asteroid, awards, libraries and educational institutions were named in his honor. Every year in the homeland of Rasul Gamzatov a large literary festival “White Cranes” is held, dedicated to his work. Today, the poems of the great poet sound like a farewell to all living on Earth.

Live long, live righteously,
Seeking the whole world to be a fellowship,
And neither of the nations blaspheme,
Keeping his own honor at the zenith.

Photo in the top from the site https://ndelo.ru

Инфоурок

›

Английский язык

›Презентации›Презентация по английскому языку:»Rasul Gamzatov is the singer of kindness and humanity».

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Rasul Gamzatov
Gamzatov receiving the Order of St. Andrew in 2003
Born	8 September 1923 Cada village, Khunzakhsky District, Dagestan ASSR, Russian SFSR, Soviet Union
Died	3 November 2003 (aged 80) Moscow, Russia
Occupation	Poet
Title	Hero of Socialist Labour (1974)
Awards	Order of St. Andrew (Russia) Order «For Merit to the Fatherland» (Russia,3rd class) Order of Lenin (USSR,×4) Order of the October Revolution (USSR) Order of the Red Banner of Labour (USSR,×3) Order of Friendship of Peoples (USSR) Order of the Golden Fleece (Georgia) Lenin Prize (1963) USSR State Prize (1952)

Rasul Gamzatovich Gamzatov (Avar: ХӀамзатазул Расул ХӀамзатил вас, romanized: Ħamzatil Rasul Ħamzatil vas, IPA: [ħamzatil rasul]; Russian: Расу́л Гамза́тович Гамза́тов; 8 September 1923 – 3 November 2003) was a popular Russian poet who wrote in Avar language. Among his poems was Zhuravli, which became a well-known Soviet song.^[1]

Life[edit]

Gamzatov was born on 8 September 1923 in the Avar village of Tsada in the north-east Caucasus. His father, Gamzat Tsadasa, was a well-known bard, heir to the ancient tradition of minstrelsy still thriving in the mountains.^[2] He was eleven when he wrote his first verse about a group of local boys who ran down to the clearing where an airplane had landed for the first time. A number of different poems by him also became songs, such as Gone Sunny Days.

In 1939 he graduated from Pedagogical College. He had various jobs serving as a school teacher, an assistant director in the theater, a journalist in newspapers and a radio host. From 1945 to 1950 he studied at the Maxim Gorky Literature Institute.

Gamzatov was awarded the State Stalin Prize in 1952, The Lenin Prize in 1963, and Laureate Of The International Botev Prize in 1981.

Gamzatov died on November 3, 2003 at the age of 80 in the Moscow Central Clinical Hospital. He was buried in the old Muslim cemetery in Tarki, next to the grave of his wife.

A monument to Gamzatov was unveiled on 5 July 2013 on Yauzsky Boulevard in central Moscow.^[3]

Honours and awards[edit]

• Hero of Socialist Labour (27 September 1974)
• Order of St. Andrew (8 September 2003) — for outstanding contribution to the development of national literature and public activities^[4]
• Order of Merit for the Fatherland, 3rd class (18 April 1999) — for outstanding contribution to the multinational culture of Russia
• Order of the Friendship of Peoples (6 September 1993) — for outstanding contribution to the development of the multinational Soviet literature and productive social activities
• Four Orders of Lenin
• Order of the October Revolution
• Order of the Red Banner of Labour, four times
• Order of Peter the Great
• Order of Saints Cyril and Methodius (Bulgaria)
• Lenin Prize (1963) — for the book «High Star»
• Stalin Prize, third class (1952) — a collection of poems and the poems «The year of my birth»
• State Prize of the RSFSR, Gorky (1980) — for the poem «Take care of mothers’
• People’s Poet of Daghestan
• International Award for «Best Poet of the 20th century»
• Writers Award in Asia and Africa «Lotus»
• Jawaharlal Nehru Award
• Ferdowsi Award
• Award of Hristo Botev
• International Prize Sholokhov in art and literature
• Award Lermontov
• Award Fadeeva
• Award Batyr
• Award Mahmoud
• C. Award Stalskiy
• G. Award Tsadasy
• Order of the Golden Fleece (Georgia)

References[edit]

External links[edit]

• http://www.gamzatov.ru — Official site, coordinated by Ministry of national politics, information and foreign affairs of Dagestan (in Russian and in English).
• Gamzatov poetry
• http://gazeta.ru/2003/11/03/umerrasulgam.shtml — Necrology at http://gazeta.ru (in Russian)
• https://web.archive.org/web/20040707115614/http://www.dagpravda.ru/ob/rasul01-11-03.htm — Obituary in «Dagestanskaja Pravda» (in Russian)

Poems

Translated by Peter TEMPEST

Rain upon the sill—dazedly I dream of you,
Snow upon the hill—dazedly I dream of you.
Cloudless skies at dawn—dazedly I dream of you,
Fields of summer corn—dazedly I dream of you.
Swallows dip and dart—dazedly I dream of you,
Gather and depart—dazedly I dream of you.
Leaves that blow and whirl, leaves aglow with honey-dew
Give me no respite—dazedly I dream of you.
Surely you’re a girl better than I ever knew
If all day and night dazedly I dream of you.

My elder brother died twelve years ago
Upon the battlefield of Stalingrad.

My aged mother nurses still her woe
And goes about the house in mourning clad.

And there is pain and bitterness for me
In knowing I am older now than he.

FRIENDSHIP

Long have you lived and, still content
To shelter from life’s storms,
You cannot name a single friend
To whom your lone heart warms.

When years have passed and you are old,
People will turn and say:
«He lived a century, poor soul,
Who never lived a day.»

A HUNDRED WOMEN I ADORE

A hundred women I adore,
I see them all about.
Awake—asleep, I swoon—I soar
But cannot blot them out.
A girl I never can forget
First woke my heart to joy
When, coming to the spring, she met
A barefoot country boy.
The little girl seemed from afar
No bigger than her water jar.
Cool was the water that she knelt
To take up from the spring.
Cool? No! For, standing there, I felt
It scald my flesh, and sting.
Her glance, so keen and fancy-free,
Still to this day entrances me.

Later, wandering idly by
The dove-grey Caspian’s shore,
I loved a girl, but was too shy
To knock upon her door.
So I would roam about her home,
A suitor out of mind,
A maple tree I’d climb to see
Her shadow on the blind:
She lived up on the second floor…
And still that young girl I adore.

And there’s another young girl, who
Was travelling by train
To Moscow, and this young girl, too,
I’d love to see again.
I’m grateful, booking clerk, to you,
Who set her at my side
So that we viewed the landscape through
One carriage-window wide.
And all my life beside this girl
I’d gladly travel through the world.

One angry girl I still adore
Who would not be gainsaid,
Who, wild with indignation, tore
My manuscript to shreds.

Источник

Yuri Starostin

Poem by Yuri Starostin

My Dagestan
When travelled the set of the countries,
Tired, after the farewell at home I was turned back,
Inclined over me Dagestan has asked:
‘Whether the far edge to you done like? ‘

On the mountain I have ascended and from that height,
By the all breast having sighed, to Dagestan has answered:
‘Many edges gone seen by me, but you
Still the most beloved on the light.

I, may be, to love you seldom I swear,
Is not new to love, but also to swear it is not new,
Silently I love, because I am afraid:
A hundred times the repeated word will shade.

And if to you any son of these places,
Shouting, as the herald, to love will swear,
Then it will bother to your stone rocks
And to listen, and by the echo to respond afar.

When you was drowned in the tears and blood,
Your sons, speaking a few,
Went to the death, and by the oath in the filial love
The cruel song of the dagger has sounded.

And after, when the fights have quiet down,
To you, my Dagestan, in the really love
Your tacit children have oath
By the knocking cirke and the ringing mow.

By the centuries you done study and all and me
To work and live do not noisy, but do dare,
You done that the word is more darling than a horse,
And the mountaineers do not saddle their without a matter.

And still go, having returned to you from the strangers,
And the talkative and false far capitals,
Difficult to me to be the tacit hearing your voice
Of the singing streams and pride mountains ‘.

Rasul Gamzatov.
While the Earth spins.
Makhachkala, ‘Daguchpedgiz’ 1976.
Мой Дагестан
Когда я, объездивший множество стран,
Усталый, с дороги домой воротился,
Склонясь надо мною, спросил Дагестан:
‘Не край ли далекий тебе полюбился? ‘

На гору взошел я и с той высоты,
Всей грудью вздохнув, Дагестану ответил:
‘Немало краев повидал я, но ты
По-прежнему самый любимый на свете.

Я, может, в любви тебе редко клянусь,
Не ново любить, но и клясться не ново,
Я молча люблю, потому что боюсь:
Поблекнет стократ повторенное слово.

И если тебе всякий сын этих мест,
Крича, как глашатай, в любви будет клясться,
То каменным скалам твоим надоест
И слушать, и эхом в дали отзываться.

И после, когда затихали бои,
Тебе, Дагестан мой, в любви настоящей
Клялись молчаливые дети твои
Стучащей киркой и косою звенящей.

Веками учил ты и всех и меня
Трудиться и жить не шумливо, но смело,
Учил ты, что слово дороже коня,
А горцы коней не седлают без дела.

И все же, вернувшись к тебе из чужих,
Далеких столиц, и болтливых и лживых,
Мне трудно молчать, слыша голос твоих
Поющих потоков и гор горделивых’.

Расул Гамзатов.
Покуда вертится Земля.
Махачкала, ‘Дагучпедгиз’ 1976.
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Источник

RuSlovo

Russian Language, Life and Culture

вторник, 10 мая 2011 г.

Zhuravli Song

1968
Журавли
слова Расула Гамзатова, музыка Яна Френкеля
перевод с аварского Наума Гребнева

Полный текст песни:

Мне кажется порою, что солдаты,
С кровавых не пришедшие полей,
Не в землю нашу полегли когда-то,
А превратились в белых журавлей.

Они до сей поры с времен тех дальних
Летят и подают нам голоса.
Не потому ль так часто и печально
Мы замолкаем, глядя в небеса?

Летит, летит по небу клин усталый,
Летит в тумане на исходе дня,
И в том строю есть промежуток малый,
Быть может, это место для меня.

Настанет день, и с журавлиной стаей
Я поплыву в такой же сизой мгле,
Из-под небес по-птичьи окликая
Всех вас, кого оставил на земле.

Мне кажется порою, что солдаты,
С кровавых не пришедшие полей,
Не в землю нашу полегли когда-то,
А превратились в белых журавлей.

White Cranes lyrics (English translation)
Translated by Boris Anisimov

Sometimes it seems to me each fallen soldier
That never came back home from fields of gore
In fact did never perish, as they told you,
But turned into a crane as white as snow

And ever since those days in their due season
We’ve seen them soaring high across the sky
With distant voices giving us a reason
To stand in tears and watch them flying by

A wedge of cranes is fading in the distance
So far away I can no longer see
When I run out of days of my existence
I hope those cranes will find a gap for me

That I may soar above my pain and anguish
And join their ranks as many years ago
Recalling all their names in my new language
And names of those whom I have left below

Sometimes it seems to me each fallen soldier
That never came back home from fields of gore
In fact did never perish, as they told you,
But turned into a crane as white as snow

Zhuravli song covers

Источник

Makhachkala is the capital of the Republic of Dagestan. Makhachkala is located on the western shore of the Caspian Sea. – Махачкала – столица Республики Дагестан. Махачкала находится на западном берегу Каспийского моря.

Makhachkala was founded in 1844 as the Russian Empire’s fortress. – Махачкала была основана в 1844 году как крепость Российской империи.

Its population is about 572 000. Total area of the city is 468 square kilometers. – Население составляет около 572 000 человек. Общая площадь города 468 квадратных километров.

Makhachkala consists of three districts: Kirovsky, Sovetsky and Leninsky. – Город разделён на три района: Кировский, Советский и Ленинский.

The Makhachkala Grand Mosque is a special place. – Центральная Джума-мечеть – это особое место.

It is one of the largest in Russia. The mosque can accommodate up to 17,000 worshipers. – Она одна из крупнейших мечетей в России. Мечеть может вместить до 17 000 верующих.

Grand Mosque is a magnificent architectural comlex. – Центральная Джума-мечеть – величественный архитектурный комплекс.

There are a lot of theatres, cinemas, museums in the city. – В городе много театров, кинотеатров, музеев.

The best place to learn about culture is Dagestan Museum of Fine Art. – Лучшим местом для изучения культуры является Дагестанский музей изобразительного искусства.

The monument to Rasul Gamzatov is one of the most popular tourist attractions, as Gamzatov’s poems are loved by every Russian. – Памятник Расулу Гамзатову – одна из самых популярных достопримечательностей, так как стихи Гамзатова любит каждый россиянин.

If you’re in town, be sure to visit Ak-Gyol park. It is a nice place to walk. Here you can see a Monument to Russian Teacher, visit Museum of Makhachkala City History, buy souvenirs. – Если будете в городе, обязательно посетите парк Ак-Гёль. Это хорошее место для прогулок. Здесь вы можете увидеть памятник русской учительнице, посетить музей истории города Махачкала, купить сувениры.

The city is served by Uytash Airport. – Город обслуживается аэропортом Уйташ.

FRIENDSHIP  

Long have you lived and, still content  

To shelter from life’s storms,  

You cannot name a single friend  

To whom your lone heart warms.  

When years have passed and you are old,  

People will turn and say:  

«He lived a century, poor soul,  

Who never lived a day.»  

Или Журавли. Я бы его и выбрала, если честно  

THE CRANES  

(Translation of Rasul Gamzatov’s 1976 poem)  

It seems to me sometimes that soldiers fallen,  

Whom bloody battlefields have rendered dead,  

Were buried not in soil to be forgotten,  

But turned into white cranes in flight instead.  

From that time, since their fate became a coffin  

They’ve soared, and issued us a strident cry.  

Is that not why we sadly, and so often,  

Lift up our silent gaze when cranes go by?  

Today, as evening yields to nightfall’s border,  

I see the cranes in flight, their wings unfurled,  

As over fields they fly in perfect order  

Just as they marched, when people in the world  

They fly—their line extending to forever—  

And call out names of someone to the cold.  

Is that not why the song of cranes has never  

Been far from Avar speech since times of old?  

The weary wedge of birds on expedition—  

It flies and flies through fog, towards the dawn,  

And in the ranks I notice a position—  

An empty space for me, for when I’m gone!  

Some day in that formation I’ll be flying;  

I’ll sail into the skies on my rebirth,  

And from the heav’ns with crane trump I’ll be crying  

To those of you I left upon the earth