I recognize this wind battering the limp grass

that submits to it as they did to the Tartar mass.

I recognize this leaf splayed in the roadside mud

like a prince empurpled in his own blood.

Fanning wet arrows that blow aslant

the cheek of a wooden hut in another land,

autumn tells, like geese by their flying call,

a tear by its face. And as I roll

my eyes to the ceiling, I chant herein

not the lay of that eager man’s campaign

but utter your Kazakh name which till now was stored

in my throat as a password into the Horde.

Translated by J.Brodsky

Ардақ Нұрғазы. Сен маған жат емессің...

https://massaget.kz/debiet/ardak-nurgazyi-sen-magan-jat-emessn-50131/

Әуезхан Қодар: Постмодернизмді тануға талпыныс

https://www.thebilge.kz/e/action/ShowInfo.php?classid=3&id=3617