AIBARSHA KAZHYAKPAR: What is happening today in modern Kazakh poetry—both in Kazakhstan itself and beyond its borders: in China, Turkey, Mongolia, Uzbekistan, Europe and the United States—really, in any country where something really important and relevant is being produced in the Kazakh language?

TILEK YRYSBEK: In modern Kazakh poetry, some of the younger Kazakh-speaking poets are trying to abandon the traditional poetic styles and move in a new direction. The reason for that, I think, lies in the new translations into Kazakh of the works of modernist poets. However, many sentimentalist and more traditionally inclined or “classically-minded” writers (those who believe that poetry is a sacred gift inherited by a child from a mystical god or father) consider this new generation of poets to be delusional or too experimental. This is the general situation of Kazakh-language poetry in modern Kazakhstan and China, and even in Turkey. When it comes to modern trends, everyone is against each other; the situation is pure aggression.

AK: Your poetics have ventured far ahead, or, one might say, deviated away from the main trends in Kazakh poetry (the trends familiar to us from textbooks, books, and magazine publications), and so the poetry you write is quite radically different from the usual forms of traditional steppe poetry. How did you come to this? What influenced you when choosing your poetic and creative strategy? Why do your poems speak in such an unusual language, and why did your voice become so different from the voices of other poets?

TY: Most likely, I came to poetry because of my insecurities. I was born in an ethnic Kazakh family in Xinjiang and was raised by my grandmother. As a child, I loved listening to the fairy tale "Ertostik", and later became interested in famous Chinese mythical works such as "Journey to the West" and "By the Water". When I was a pioner (in middle-school), Kazakh translation of Marvel films such as “Batman” and “Superman” started to appear. I loved so much to dream, imagine. When my family and I returned to Kazakhstan, some sense of insecurity appeared in me because I could not bear the fact that the new world did not turn out the way I imagined. I used to be alone most of the time because of these insecurities, and maybe I wrote my first song about self-love. Sometimes it seems that all of my poems were really written during my childhood. And now, I'm interested in many different things including the relationship between Soviet architecture and Le Corbusier, triangular tents, Tarkovsky and Antonioni, Chinese noodles and basket chairs, employees of “Khabar” and Morty, the Chinese ambassador in Kazakhstan, and Hokusai. If I had to interpret my poems in the language of music, I would recommend listening to jazz and blues, Miles Davis and BB King, Chuck Berry and Jacques Brel.

AK: Poetry of which countries and which eras do you look to for inspiration? Who in world poetry impresses you the most? In general, how well are foreign classics, modernism and important contemporary authors represented in the Kazakh language? Do translations appear regularly? Who, as a rule, creates these translations: professional translators, writers themselves, or are they mostly done by people who one might call amateurs, connoisseurs of real poetry, who care about the development of their native literary landscape? What place do you think translations of foreign poetry occupy in the minds of Kazakh authors?

TY: I love new ideas in poetry. In my opinion, the language of poetry does not behave like the language of cinema, but rather it is like music without a single note, like jazz or blues. I am interested in Chinese modernist poetry, the"Misty Poets" as well as Russian conceptual poetry, in particular in the works of Hai-tzu, Gu Chen, Bei Tao, Prigov, Kibirov, Rubinstein. I like the works of Western poets Georg Trakl and Eliot, Brodsky, Bob Perelman. I found Georg Trakl thanks to Heidegger’s works, whereas Bob Perelman's poems were in Beket Nurzhanov's book and they fascinated me, and Eliot and Brodsky were always interesting to me. As for translation, there are many books in Kazakh, but unfortunately you cannot find them in bookstores. There is still an enormous number of untranslated modernist authors. A literary club called “Lefties” volunteered to translate into Kazakh a number of authors, including Franz Kafka, James Joyce, Borges, and Eliot, but due to lack of support and copyright problems, they were unable to carry out large-scale projects. Translation is hard work that requires dedication and effort, so I think today's young writers need to practice translation to get better.

AK: With regard to translations of your works into other languages: how do you perceive them? Do they faithfully convey your style, imagery, atmosphere of poetry, or do doubts always remain? What does such an event mean to you—your poems in a language that is not native to you and, perhaps, does not quite accurately convey the idea of each individual text? Do you accept translations and end up resigning to the inevitable discrepancies or try to work with translators to find a more relevant form? In other words, what are translations for you after all: simply a translation of your poems or new works written by other authors in other languages based on your poems?

TY: I do not consider my poems to be impressionist poetry. If possible, I think it is enough to talk with the translator about the poem.

AK: How do you see the future of your native language? Does it inspire optimism or, on the contrary, does it raise concerns—do you think your language is developing, or gradually dying out due to the fact that, as a result of well-known historical events, some ethnic Kazakhs cease to see their native language as something essential for self-identification?

TY: Language is not only a communication tool, but also a part of culture. According to Sapir-Whorf, language influences the way we think. If a language disappears, the culture itself will disappear with it. Therefore, refusing to speak a language in everyday life is a rejection of the culture and history of a particular culture and nation. The future of their language depends only on the speakers of that language. I believe in the bright future of my language as much as I believe in myself. And for those who are skeptical, I recommend reading books on sociology or the works of the famous linguist Tore Janson.

AK: What do you think of the present state and the future of Kazakh poetry? After all, it is inextricably linked with the existence of the Kazakh language and strongly depends on its well-being. Where do you see possibilities for yourself and for Kazakh poetry in general? Whose creative path do you find especially interesting?

TY: National languages such as English, Spanish, and Italian developed primarily thanks to the great contributions of poets and writers of the time. For example, the author of “The Divine Comedy”, a famous poet Dante Alighieri, was not only a poet, but also an ideologist and politician. Some may not know that Dante wrote a treatise on language. At the time, Latin was still the dominant language in Europe. Nevertheless, Dante developed a new linguistic norm and literary discourse and began to use it in his works. According to the linguist Tore Janson, Dante could not find a name for his new language. After Dante died, it became necessary to name the new linguistic norm that he created, and the language he used became known as Italian or lingua italiana. As we can see, Dante’s influence is not limited to poetry, and this is an excellent example of the fact that not only politicians, but also poets and writers should be directly involved in the process of creating and codifying a language. We can look to Spain for another example - the development of literature was particularly explosive there in the 16th-17th centuries, when Cervantes wrote “Don Quixote”… Shakespeare, also, was not only a leading figure in English literature, but also determined what the national language would be like. It should be noted that at the time of Dante, Cervantes, and Shakespeare, there was a struggle for which language would come out as dominant, nationally. Poets and writers from France, Spain, and Great Britain have made tremendous contributions to the ultimately victorious versions of English, for instance. This struggle led to the creation of unique moments in history. Now we can say that Shakespeare wrote in English and Cervantes in Spanish.

AK: Can you honestly say that, in spite of the conflict you mentioned, a dialogue is being conducted in Kazakhstan between traditional Kazakh poetry and so-called avant-garde poetry? Or do they exist in isolation from each other? And what about the dialogue with Russian poetry in Kazakhstan (which, as you know, is represented by various ethnic groups, including ethnic Kazakhs)? What can you say about the dialogue of modern Kazakh poetry with world literature?

TY: Traditionalists think they are always right. And yet most government officials write in a traditional style. As for Russo-phone poetry in Kazakhstan, I am very familiar with those poets. I read with pleasure the works of Yerbol Zhumagulov, Yuri Serebryansky, Kanat Omar, Pavel Bannikov, Anuar Duisenbinov, Aiman Kodar, Yelizaveta Tsoi, Aurelia Akhmullaeva, Ramil Niyazov, and many other authors. I think that Kazakhtani poetry is in greater dialogue with the world right now than poetry written in Kazakh.

AK: How have you personally been influenced by such an unprecedented human experience as the COVID-19 pandemic? Have you realized something for yourself, discovered something new in the nature of man and society? During this time, did you write new texts or did the downtime put a stop to production?

TY: I believe that the COVID-19 pandemic is a very difficult period for humanity. If we do not take measures to prevent environmental disasters and future superviruses, we should not be surprised that in the future, poems will be written by mice.

AK: Is there any question that was not asked but you would like to answer?

TY: Freedom – and again I say, freedom.