The short story collection Hold Me in Your Arms, by Hafiz Saifullaev, has been nominated for the Sadriddin Ayni Literary Prize.

The book Hold Me in Your Arms (Moscow, 2024), by Tajik writer Hafiz Saifullaev, was nominated by the Sughd branch of the Writers’ Union of Tajikistan for the Sadriddin Ayni Literary Prize. This undoubtedly represents an important milestone in the landscape of contemporary Russian-language Tajik literature.

At first glance, the writer’s short stories may evoke a sense of ambivalence. Some find them highly personal, intimate and linguistically simple, yet complex in terms of perception and the depth of thought they convey. Others see in them a rather cerebral, rational form of writing, driven by the need to express the words of the soul, emotional fractures. In any case, by grasping the subtleties of the subtext, it becomes clear that a prosperous future awaits this Russian-language writer, a true sculptor of words.

Tajik media outlet Asia-Plus has read Hold Me in Your Arms, published in 2024 by Pero publishing house in Moscow, and has drawn the following conclusions.

A lyrical writer

Hafiz Saifullaev is a lyrical writer, in whom East and West intertwine naturally. His prose is imbued with the world around him. Trees, mountain rivers and high peaks all appear in his work in a philosophical and poetic form.

Also read on Novastan : Hymnes de sang, un recueil de nouvelles tadjikes de l’époque de la perestroïka

The most essential feature of his short stories is the absence of any distortion in his ideas about the world, people and their lives. Hafiz Saifullaev expresses his thoughts and feelings with such sincerity that his words seem to emerge in a moment of pure truth, without any artifice:

“I was sitting on a bench in the park. In the orange flames of autumn, wrapped in my black jacket, I looked like a piece of coal that had not yet caught fire. I had opened my laptop and was staring at the screen. I was searching for the Word. A cat distracted me from these useless ramblings, having crept up close without my noticing. It was grey, speckled with white, almost transparent. Floating, perhaps…”

Stories imbued with sincerity

The writer is fully aware that the loss of sincerity and inner truth is fatal to literature. And yet Hafiz Saifullaev’s short stories are not limited to a simple account of what he has seen or experienced: they take the form of philosophical meditations, reflections on life and death, the past and the future, the irreconcilable struggle between good and evil, joy and sorrow, the moment and eternity:

“Seeing my mother lying in bed, strangely stern, I went up to her and took her cold hand in mine. Her chin was held up by a bandage. ‘It’s over,’ I told myself, ‘Mama is dead.’ I looked at her, trying to imprint her features in my memory. But instead, her young face came back to me, her laughter. I stayed like that until I placed the pillow back under her head. Under the pillow was a folded velvet waistcoat, the one I loved. I could not hold back my sobs and leaned towards her, taking her in my arms. It was then that I heard her voice: ‘Do you love me?’ I began breathing again. My mother’s light flowed into my chest. No one saw it. It remains a secret between my mother and me.”

Like a return to childhood

Hafiz Saifullaev’s prose stands out for the richness of its vocabulary and the variety of its rhythm.

The language of his works is rich, metaphorical and simple, “almost materially tangible”, according to critic Sanoat Azizova. His thought is both visual and philosophical. The absence, in his miniature stories, of grandiloquence or declarative tone, often characteristic of more conventional prose writers, reveals the combination of genuine artistic talent and deep intelligence.

Reading Hafiz Saifullaev’s miniatures gives rise to a poignant feeling of nostalgia: the memory of one’s own childhood. In many of his stories, the colours are more vibrant, the snow whiter, the sky more azure and unfathomable. In the short story Hold Me in Your Arms, this is exactly the case: one’s breath is taken away by the brilliance of its wonderful, colourful epithets.

It is a rare thing to read a text of such coherence and density, written in a single breath, to the point that one almost regrets that the memories of childhood come to an end, that they are interrupted…

Music and thought

These are only a few sketches of impressions born from reading, or listening to, these musical stories by a talented writer who has brilliantly established himself in Tajikistan’s Russian-language literature. Reading his miniature stories, the reader perceives both music and thought, wrapped in the garment of his poetic imagination:

“There is the Word. The one whose function is to awaken man. And there it suddenly appears in the context of a sentence, of a story.”

This is exactly what happens in the short stories of the collection Hold Me in Your Arms.

Also read on Novastan : « Un thème éternel » : entretien avec l’autrice kazakhe Roza Mouqanova

Hafiz Saifullaev is moving through literature seriously and confidently. He must continue to remain always close to people, to live events fully alongside his characters. For this is what matters most for a writer, a poet, a creator. And there is no greater happiness than to be understood by those for whom one creates.

A sculptor of words

As the Kabardino-Balkar poet Tanzilia Zumakulova writes:

“And to dry someone’s tears,
To soften pain, O poet, you must be
Not an actor playing a role,
But shed bitter tears yourself,
And not suppress true suffering.”

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To conclude these reflections on Hafiz Saifullaev’s book Hold Me in Your Arms, a work that can rightly be described as poetic prose, it is possible to say that its author, a true sculptor of words, undoubtedly deserves to be awarded the prestigious Sadriddin Ayni Literary Prize.

His prose, as poet Nizom Kosim states, “brings together all that is best: the pull of plot and imagery, the brilliance of imagination and fantasy, the subtlety of themes and characters, a rich and vivid language. How could one not appreciate such prose?”

Azim Aminov and Kamila Mulloyeva
Journalists for Asia-Plus

Translated from Russian by Lisa D’Addazio and from French by Mathieu Lemoine

The post “Hafiz Saifullaev’s prose marks a fruitful turning point in Russian-language Tajik literature” appeared first on Novastan English.

This monument, located in the native city of Jizzakh, Uzbekistan, honors the renowned poets Hamid Olimjon and Zulfiya.

Depicted side by side, these iconic figures of Uzbek literature symbolize the union of poetry, culture, and the love of knowledge.

In the background, traditional architecture enhances the scene, blending history with literary heritage.

Credit: Hubert-Félix Delattre(France)

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The post The Poets in Unison appeared first on Novastan English.

In August 2022, the French historian and writer Stéphane Dudoignon published “Hymnes de sang” (or “Hymns of Blood”) – a collection of short stories by Tajik writers from the Perestroika era translated into French. He is using this opportunity to tell of a time of optimism and intellectual upheaval in Dushanbe before the civil war.This article was originally published on Novastan’s French website on 21 September 2022.

It is a collection of short stories about a Tajikistan which is no longer recognisable. “Hymnes de sang,” which appeared this summer from publisher Les Indes Savantes, contains short stories by various Tajik authors.  Each of them questions the governance of the USSR in Central Asia in its own way. Through their works Janibek Akabir, Muhammad-Zaman Saleh, Bahmanyar, Qadir Rustam and Rahim Saidar ask what the future of an independent Tajikistan could look like. The eight short stories in the collection were selected and translated by Stéphane Dudoignon about 20 years ago, when he met with Tajik authors in a writers’ collective in Dushanbe. Those authors eventually became his friends.  “I loved it, landing there, playing billiards, drinking vodka, and discussing literature with people who had lived there continually,” he says. Read more on Novastan: Who is Manizha, the Tajik-born singer representing Russia at the Eurovision? Dudoignon travelled regularly throughout Central Asia during the late Soviet era to further his research into reformed Islam.  He also worked as a film importer for French businesses and therefore came into contact with the “creative intelligentsia,” that is, members of the intellectual circles in the USSR.

Reckoning with Dominance

The historian decided to honour his friends with the publication of these short stories, but they also possess a “thematic unity around the culture of political domination.”  In lyrical, symbolic, or even grotesque registers, the writers probe their inheritance from Russian and Soviet rulers.  What unites them is a certain “reckoning with these rulers, who were particularly bloody in Central Asia in the 1920s and 1930s,” as Dudoignon states. In the short story “Hymns of Blood,” which gave the collection its name, the writer Muhammad-Zaman Saleh tells of the rule and forced Arabisation of Baghdad over the remote Khorasan Province by the Abbasid Caliphate between the 8^th and 9^th centuries. This, according to the historian, is a clear metaphor for Moscow’s rule over Central Asian societies.  On the other hand, the short story “Genghis Khan” by Qadir Rustam tells of villagers contemplating to overthrow a tyrant, denouncing the burden of Soviet “little bosses” who dominated Tajikistan in the 20^th century. Such topics are approached with surprising optimism as the authors attempt to portray paths to emancipation, especially through culture. Persian-Central Asian identity, which is being resurrected by many, is seen as a tool which can help to rebuild a modern and independent Tajik nation.

A lost freedom

The time from 1987 to 1992 “was a very special time in Tajikistan, especially with literary magazines such as ‘The Way of the East’ in Dushanbe, in which writers regularly published for a large readership.” While censorship in the collapsing USSR steadily decreased, the then-numerous bookshops and kiosks in Tajikistan overflowed with new ideas and trends, and were the scene of literary experimentation. “This is difficult to imagine today in Tajikistan,” laments Stéphane Dudoignon, as the country suffers under the dictatorship of President Emomali Rahmon, who blocks any deviating artistic expression. Many of the authors featured in “Hymnes de sang” left Tajikistan or Dushanbe during the civil war.  Some died in exile, such as Rahim Saidar, who passed away in Moscow.  As a result of their departure, the intellectual and cultural activity in Dushanbe vanished.  

Written by Emma Collet 

Translated from French to German by Florian Coppenrath 

Translated from German to English by Mari Paine 

Edited by Maya Ivanova

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The post “Hymns of Blood” – Tajik short stories from Perestroika appeared first on Novastan English.

“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others” is one of the most famous mottos in world literature. The novel it comes from, George Orwell’s Animal Farm, is now available in Kyrgyz. Novastan met with the pair behind this new translation.

For readers in Kyrgyzstan, George Orwell’s Animal Farm has historically only been available in Russian. Anthropology student Ilyas Kanybek and his grandfather, the political scientist Aalybek Akunov, decided to change that by translating the novel into Kyrgyz.

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Kanybek and Akunov were motivated by their belief that philosophical texts have a fundamental role to play in society. They promote critical thinking, transmit cultural heritage and address fundamental questions. Nevertheless, many Western philosophers or main figures of world philosophy have not been translated into Kyrgyz. It is also the case with George Orwell. They thus see their translation as allowing Kyrgyz readers to access this popular and fundamental philosophical novels.

A way to “understand totalitarian mechanisms”

 “The main motivation for translating Orwell was the simplicity of the allegory, as well as the simple and accessible writing style of Animal Farm, which are able to describe what people experienced during Soviet times,” Aalybek Akunov explains. “Nowadays, I can hear people saying with idealized nostalgia that ‘it was better before’. My answer is categorical: ‘no, it is not!’

“Look at the statue of Iskhak Razzakov [first secretary of Communist Party of Kirghizia] in front of our Politech University, which replaced the statue of Lenin, the latter moved and hidden behind a tree hedge,” he adds. “What does it change? Razzakov is Kyrgyz, of course, but he was a communist! And communism is international. It doesn’t matter whether you are of a particular nationality. I hope that this translation will enable people to understand the totalitarian mechanisms that we experienced during 70 years of Sovietism, which inertia have been working on until today.”

Ilyas Kanybek, two generations younger, approaches translation in a different way: “As for me, this book shows how individuals, faced with such an event, choose their path. I consider this book as Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave”. People need to read and start asking questions and wondering about the society they live in,” he explains.

“But my motivations and my grandfather’s are the same: everything was not crystal clear in Soviet times and I think Animal Farm can really help us to open our eyes, and investigate a period which is still murky and subject to various interpretations or misunderstandings. I find it regrettable that people praise such Soviet old times, but I assume we need to put that behind us and deal with more concrete issues, to be focused on the present and the future.”

Connections to Kyrgyz culture

Translation is also an adaptation process which bridges different cultures through language. For example, the translators made the choice to change some character names.“Some characters’ names have been changed so that the Kyrgyz reader can make connections with his own culture,” Akunov clarifies. “For instance, the main character, Napoleon in the original, imposes himself as the supreme leader through his tyranny and his authoritarian control. This character clearly designates Stalin. Thus, in Kyrgyz, he was given the name Bolotkan. It’s merely a transposition of Stalin (‘Man of steel’) into Kyrgyz, ‘bolot’ denoting ‘steel’ and ‘kan’ the one who has the power.”

This technique was not applied to all characters. The translators also decided to rely on the Kyrgyz poet Chyngyz Aitmatov’s works in borrowing character’s names. “Indeed,” continues Akunov, “the main opponent of Napoleon is Snowball who, in our translation, was named Dyuyshen (Duishon). For the Kyrgyz reader, Dyuyshen is the main hero of Aitmatov’s novel, The First Teacher. I chose this name because Dyuyshen is an enlightened communist, who really wants to improve the society, and to introduce changes. Another example is Old Major, the one who envisions and foresees the Revolution, has been adapted into Kartan Lenbay, that is to say, ‘the Lenin-like Old Timer’.”

Read more: Kyrgyzstan: threat of censorship looms after controversial comedy show

They chose Aitmatov because of his status in Kyrgyz literature. “Aitmatov is a well-known writer, not only famous in Kyrgyzstan but also abroad,” Akunov points out. “His characters are known to all, they carry an inherent symbolism which is common for every Kyrgyz. As such, Aitmatov’s œuvre represents a well from which we can draw several references. Our choices are, of course, guided by the temperament and the behaviors of every characters. Thus, Benjamin, the donkey, was nicknamed Orozkul, a direct reference to this personage from The White Ship.

“Even if Benjamin is not that violent, both characters share and bear this pessimistic vision of life, and use to adopt the new values (Animalism for the latter, Sovietism for the former) without reject. I used also the name Bazarbay to portray Mr. Whymper. Bazarbay is a character from Plakha and means ‘the one who is negociating’.”

The same idea was applied to rename Boxer, Animal Farm’s hard-working horse character, into “Tanabay”, a name from Aimatov’s most famous novel, Farewell Gulsary. “Boxer is a kind of Stakhanovist, doing what he was asked and even more. This is exactly the main features of Tanabay,” Akunov explains. When asked why they didn’t choose “Gulsary”, the name of a horse in the same novel, Akunov says: “It would have been more logical to call him Gulsary as we are dealing with a horse, but Gulsary is, in Kyrgyzstan, a character associated with positive values, which is not the case of Tanabay, his master.”

An accessible language

For the pair, translation is also a way to reject the idea that there is no need to publish a text in Kyrgyz if it is already available in Russian, something Kanybek says comes from the “tenacious cliché” that people in Kyrgyzstan speak Russian more than Kyrgyz. “By translating Orwell into Kyrgyz, we can give it to read to a larger population, to a population who has not a good command of Russian, an essentially Kyrgyz-speaking population,” he explains. “In Kyrgyzstan there are a number of dialects but which are unified in Kyrgyz literature into a single standard language, accessible to all.“

In addition, Kanybek says, this literary language has all the necessary vocabulary to translate Orwell: “We had no issues finding an equivalent in Kyrgyz for some specific idioms and terms. The Kyrgyz language was integrated into the modernization process during the Soviet era, and – this is a positive consequence – broadly developed its vocabulary to fit modernization.”

But Akunov is not very positive about Kyrgyzstan’s literary production. “We can identify two kinds of Kyrgyz literature,” he comments. “One is Kyrgyz literature, by local writers, which I do not esteem as it does not address global issues, and stays naïve. On the other hand, we can witness an increasing production of the literature translated into Kyrgyz, recently with Herman Hesse for example.”

Translating Animal Farm took Kanybek and Akunov several months, from December 2019 to February 2020. They looked not only at the English original but also at existing translations into Russian and other languages. Kanybek singles out Polish, the first language Animal Farm was translated into. “We wanted to observe and analyze how the different translations succeeded in contextualizing the novel, and to understand the possible mistakes made compared to the original,” he explains.

The pair are publishing and distributing their work themselves. “We have not signed yet any agreement with local bookshops,” Akynov says. “We gave several conferences and presentations to speak about our work, and to sell it. For the moment, we are selling thanks to an effective word of mouth.”

“We also decided to fix the price up to 200 soms [around £1.7],” Kanybek continues, “which is a normal and affordable price for a new book here. We published it at our expenses and depending on the success of the first print run (2000 copies), we’ll do another one.”

Both translators insist it is a collective work:“We would like to note that the translation was a big part of the job, but the book would have been uncompleted without the generous help of our illustrator, Cholpon Alamanova, who drew original pictures for it.”

But they don’t want to stop here and already have new translation projects in mind: next, Akynov says, he would like to translate Bulgakov’s Heart of a Dog into Kyrgyz.

Julien Bruley

All illustrations courtesy of Cholpon Alamanova

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The post “Ayban Ferma”: translating George Orwell into Kyrgyz appeared first on Novastan English.