Səməd Vurğun.

“Azərbaycan” şeiri

İngilis dilinə 3 tərcümə variantı


Samad Vurghun



1. Herbert Marshall’s Translation from Russian



I ascended the  mountains, looked into the eyes

Of our sparkling  springs as they bubble  and  rise,

And from  far away  heard the bullrushes’  sighs

And  the  slow  Arax1 waters nocturnally move.

Here  true  friendship  I knew, and  bright honour, and love.


Steal the soul from its breast? Never let it  be said!

You’re my very own breath my water and bread!

See  before  me  your  cities  and  countryside spread.

And  for  ever your  son-take this  poet and man,

Azerbaijan! Azerbaijan!


On  the  mountains your  curls are as white as fresh milk,

Clouds envelop your  head in a  yashmak of silk.

And  the  countries  endless have passed –and  pass still,

And your head has grown grey from adversities’ strain.

But  despite  all  you’ve  suffered-more  alive  you  remain.


Ignoramuses libeled that sweet  name  of your,

And  madmen  foretold that  deep  sorrow of yours,

Hopes deferred have  long tortured that great  heart of yours,

But at last  downs the  day when  your  true  glory comes,

A great  generation of daughters and sons.


If a guest Baku unexpectedly lights,

A million suns will astonish  his  mights,

If the  northern winds drone through the  oil derricks’  heights,

The  soft  sands  all around  will re-echo the peaks,

And  the  half-sleepy mountain-range wakes  up and speaks.


Steal a mother from child? Never let it be said!

You’re my very own breath, my water and bread!

See  before  me your  cities  and  countryside  spread.

And  for  ever your son-take this  poet and man,

Azerbaijan, Azerbaijan!



2. Peter Tempest’s translation


I often cross your hills where rise

Clear springs that gaze with crane-

blue eyes.

And miles away I recognize

The Araks' unrelenting roar.

True friends I value more and more. ..


Full well our people understand:

You are my nest, my haven and

My mother, dearest native land.

As dear as soul to any man!

Azerbaijan, Azerbaijan!


With snow your mountain-tops are capped,

In cloud-soft shawls their heads are wrapped.

How great and glorious your past!

Your age no living man can tell

Nor list the sorrows that befell.


Upon you evil tongues bore down

And months and years of hardship


The glory which is all your own

Through many generations runs.

Blest are your daughters and your sons. . .


Now turn your eyes toward Baku

Where myriad lights the shoreline strew.

Your busy derricks old and new

Bring life to steppe land grey and pale

And summer shines in hill and vale.


Full well our people nderstand:

You are my nest, my haven and

My mother, dearest native land.

As dear as soul to any man!

Azerbaijan, Azerbaijan!



3. Gladys Evans’  translation


I've walked these mountains again and again,

Passed by the springs bright-eyed as cranes,

And caught the distant plashing strain

Where quiet Araks' waters moved:

Here love and friends I've truly proved.


Men know that you are mine by birth:

My nest, my refuge, and my hearth,

My mother, native land, dear earth!

Sever soul and body?? Death but can.

O Azerbaijan, my Azerbaijan!


As mother to me, as child to you –

Such is the bond we ever knew:

I'd come back wherever I flew,

For you are my people, you—my nest,

My native birthplace ever blest.


When I'm away, your face unseen,

When times and forces intervene,

My hair is touched with silver sheen –

For months and years press age on me:

My land, don't blame your absentee.


Your mountain crests are topped with snow,

And cloud—a shawl of fleecy flow,

Your past is greater than we know.

Your age from everyone obscured,

And none may guess what you've endured.

Evil tongues spread defamation—

You lived through years of dark privation.

Still, generation to generation

Your fame lives on: a benison

To happy daughter, happy son.


Across your valleys long I stare,

On clear days full of lucent air;

My spirit broods on faces fair,

Thirsting for poetic tongue

Creating verses makes me young.


Khazar the sea you border on

Where floats the legendary swan...

My day-dreams sweep me swiftly on

To.Mugan Lowland, on to Mi ell:

A long life road—half-done, I feel.


The mountain ranges, valley sweep,

Gladden the heart till it could weep. . .

Glimpse of startled fawn and chamois leap-

How much beauty on which to gazel –

Pastures cool and steppes ablaze.


Cross the mountains, over steppe-land,

Or through Astar, Lenkoran

From African and Indian strand

Birds fly to visit, with us pause,

Freed from oppressive grasping claws.


It's here the yellow lemons grow,

The heavy branches weighting low.

Up in the mountains, white the snow

And deep from winter's opulence:

Since Creation—a true defense.


Lenkoran is a dazzle of flowers,

Refreshed by the springtime showers,

Clustering on beds and bowers,

My motherland's delightful daughter,

Bordered on by Khazar's water.


The golden wheat we grow- our bread,

Our cotton—wealth of snowy heads;

Squeeze the juice from grapes wine-red

Before you breakfast, drain a cup

And feel your spirit surging up.


In Khazakh[1] mount, and give free rein,

Lean well over the horse's mane,

A sweating gallop then maintain:

On reaching mountain pastures high,

Look down on Gyok-Gyoll—mirrored sky.


A day that's free, a man that's free,

A spring like this invites a spree!

Seek out the shade of a plane tree

To spread a rug that's rainbow-spun—

And hail the country of the Sun!


Through Karabakh my spirit fares,

Wings over mountain here, now there;

From far away down the twilit air

Drifts the song of Khan of Shusha1

Famed through all Caucasus and Russia.


Beautiful birthland! Your meaning deep,

Cradle of Beauty that never sleeps,

Where songs of bard, inspired, sweep.

The sun's embrace—your counterpart,

O land of poetry and art.


Spirit immortal, works immortal;

Nizami, Fisuli—are immortal!

On pen and paper, open the portals

Of your soul, record the flow:

The word once writ—through time will go.


Look at the sea near our Baku:

Its shore a bright-lit avenue,

The derricks roaring right in view;

They thunder where the steppe-land swales—

To light the mountains and the vales.


The cool wind is a merry tease,

We bare our chests to the off-shore breeze.

Our heart, Baku on Caspian seas.

Its light—our very strength adorning:

Our Morning Star—clear eye of morning.


Beautiful birthland! I was born

Together with freedom's dawn

Which crimson banners did adorn—

Life seemed one endless, joyous feast;

Gay songs and laughter never ceased.


Dear country—gate of the Ancient East.


1 Well-known folksinger.





1 The Arax is the most important river of Azerbaijan




[1] Small mountain town.