The last several days I have put up some poems from my favorite American poets. I am convinced that there is very good poetry from Kazakh poets (Abai being the most famous to quote). Unfortunately, poems lose something in translation, so I’ll be satisfied with using poetry I’m familiar with along with pictures I have taken of the desolate landscape around me. I’m looking forward to returning to teaching and reading more material from my eager Kazakh students. Vacation breaks are lovely but there is much to do and I have promises to keep. (thanks to Robert Frost) I think what my Kazakh students write is profound, because it is a view into the soul of Kazakhstan. For now, here is what Emily Dickinson wrote:
(1) The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
(2) Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
(3) A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
(4) Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.