Jamilia Quotes

“And all of a sudden I began to understand his strangeness that made people shrug and mock; his dreaminess, his love of solitude, his silent manner. Now I understood why he sat on the look-out hill of an evening and why he spent a night by himself on the riverbank, why he constantly hearkened to sounds others could not hear and why his eyes would suddenly gleam and his drawn eyebrows twitch. He was a man deeply in love. I felt it was not simply a love for another person, it was somehow an uncommon, expansive love for life and earth. He had kept this love within himself, in his music, in his very being. A person with no feeling, no matter how good his voice, could never have sung like that.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“لا يمكن للمرء أن يُعبّر دائمًا عن كل شيء بالكلمات.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“His singing made me want to fall to the ground and kiss it, as a son to a mother, grateful that someone could love it so keenly. For the first time in my life something new awoke within me, something irresistible: I still cannot explain it. It was a need to express myself, yes, to express myself, not only to see and sense the world, but to bring to others my vision, my thoughts and sensations, to describe the beauty of the earth as inspiringly as Daniyar could sing. I caught my breath for fear and joy of the unknown. At that time, however, I had not yet realized the need to take up brush and paints.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“الحرب متخثّرة كالدم في أعماق قلب الإنسان، والحديث عنها ليس بالأمر السهل.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“I was astounded at the passion and fire of the melody itself. I could not describe it then, nor can I now. Was it just his voice or something more tangible emerging from his very soul that could arouse such emotion in another person, and bring one's innermost thoughts to life?”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“Where are you now? What roads are you treading? We have so many new roads now, right across the steppe all the way to the Altai and Siberia. Many brave souls are toiling there. Perhaps you're among them? You left, my Jamilia, across the wide steppe without a backward glance. Perhaps you are weary, perhaps you have lost faith in your self? Just lean on Daniyar's shoulder. Have him sing to you his song of love, of life, of the earth. May the steppe come alive and blossom in all its glory. May you recall that August night. Keep on, Jamilia, have no regrets; you've found your hard-sought happiness.
When I gaze at them long enough I can hear Daniyar's voice. He is calling to me, too, to take the highroad, which means it is time for me to get ready. I shall cross the steppe back to my village and find fresh colours there.
May Daniyar's song resound and may Jamilia's heart beat with every stroke of my brush.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“الأطفال يغارون دائمًا على أقاربهم من الغرباء.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“كان في غنائه حنين لطيف ينفذ الى القلب وشعور بالوحده يجعل المرء يبكي داخله من التعاطف والشفقة تجاهه.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“I was stunned. The steppe seemed to burst into bloom, heaving a sigh and drawing aside the veil of darkness, and I saw two lovers in its vast expanse. They did not seem to notice me, it was as if I was not there. I was walking along and watching as they, oblivious to the world, swayed together in tune with the song. And I did not recognize them. It was the same old Daniyar in his shabby army shirt unbuttoned at the throat, but his eyes seemed to gleam in the gloom. it was my Jamilia clinging to him, yet so quiet and timid, with teardrops sparkling upon her eyelashes. They were newly born, uniquely happy people. Was this not true happiness? Was not Daniyar giving this inspired music utterly to her, was he not singing for her, singing about her?”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“Данияр уехал, а мы до самого аила не проронили ни слова.
Да и надо ли было говорить, ведь словами не всегда и не все выскажешь...”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“Là dove il popolo partiva per la guerra, restavano sentieri amari… E tutto quell’universo di terrestre bellezza e di angosce, Danijar l’apriva davanti a me nel suo canto. Dove aveva imparato, da chi aveva avuto tutto ciò? Capivo che così può amare la sua terra solo chi per lunghi anni ha languito per essa, chi ha patito di questo amore. Quando la cantava, vedevo proprio lui, un povero ragazzetto, vagabondare per le strade della steppa.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“Danijar riprese il canto. L’inizio era sempre così timido, malsicuro, ma a poco a poco la voce prese forza, riempì la valle, andò a risvegliare l’eco nelle rocce lontane.

Ciò che mi sorprendeva di più era la passione, l’ardore che permeava la melodia stessa. Non sapevo come chiamare tutto questo, e non lo so tuttora, o più esattamente non posso dire se quella fosse soltanto la voce o qualche cosa di ben più importante che usciva dal cuore stesso dell’uomo, qualche cosa capace di suscitare negli altri una simile emozione, capace di animare i più segreti pensieri.

Se mi fosse possibile, in qualche modo, riprodurre la canzone di Danijar!

In essa non c’erano quasi parole, essa apriva senza parole l’anima profonda dell’uomo. Né prima, né dopo, mai ho udito una canzone simile: non somigliava né alle canzoni kazake, né alle canzoni kirghise, ma c’era in essa qualcosa delle due e delle altre. La musica di Danijar portava in sé tutte le più belle melodie dei due popoli fratelli e le fondeva in una sola canzone impossibile a ripetersi. Era una canzone dei monti e delle steppe, che ora s’alzava sonora come i monti kirghisi e ora si stendeva senza barriere come la steppa kazaka.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“«Danike, racconti un po’ della guerra prima che si vada a dormire?» chiesi.

Danijar dapprima continuò a tacere ed ebbe anche l’aria di prendersela a male. Guardò a lungo il fuoco, poi alzò il capo e ci lanciò un’occhiata.

«La guerra, dici?» domandò; e, come rispondendo a un suo pensiero, aggiunse sordamente: «No! Meglio per voi non saper niente della guerra!»

Poi si voltò da un’altra parte, prese una bracciata d’erbacce secche e, gettandola nel braciere, si mise a soffiare sul fuoco senza guardare nessuno di noi.
Danijar non aggiunse altro. Ma bastò quella breve frase perché fosse chiaro che non si poteva, così, semplicemente, parlare della guerra, e che non ne avremmo ricavato una fiaba per addormentarsi. La guerra s’era coagulata come sangue nel profondo del cuore di quell’uomo e trarne racconti non era facile. Provai vergogna di fronte a me stesso. E mai più feci domande sulla guerra a Danijar.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“عندما لا يتميز المرء بأي شيء
فإن الناس ينسونه شيئا فشيئا”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“لقد ذهبت يا جميلتي، في السهب الشتسع دون ان تلتفت الى الوراء.لعلك تعبت، وربما فقدت ثقتك بنفسك؟ إتكئي على دانيار، دعيه يغني لكِ أغنية عن الحب، عن الأرض، عن الحياة، فليتمايل السهب وليتألق بكل الألوان، إذهبي يا جميلة بلا ندم، فقد وجدتِ سعادتك العصية”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“اذهبي يا جميلة بلا ندم، فقد وجدتِ سعادتكِ العصيّة.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia

“ويا لتبدل جميلة المفاجئ! كانما لم بقى شي من تلك الفتاة الضاحكة الممتلئة الحياة، فقد غمر حزن الربيع الصافي عينيها المطفأتين، وتطوف على شفتيها ابتسامة غامضة حالمة، فقد كانت سعيدة بشي لا يعرفه سواها.”
― Chingiz Aitmatov, Jamilia