"LOOK, THAT'S ZALIMXAN"

Zalimxan Yaqub was the author of splendid works and numerous publications, having devoted his entire life to literature and to serving the word. Even at an early stage in his life he chose what was for him the only career path. This path merged with the sacred pathways of literature and made his memory everlasting. He was everybody's favourite poet. People were always reciting his verses. But his path in life was not always so smooth,

Perhaps it was the pain of the difficulties he had experienced, the struggle with the ignoramuses and people's indifference later on which struck him, as well as the different diagnoses that doctors gave him. Once strong and steadfast, sometimes not giving in to his illness, the poet "befriended" his incurable ailments.

He became the first serious loss of the New Year. The poet passed away on 9 January. In people's memories and hearts he remained that same proud, magnificent, tactful person with his poetic sensibility, for he was Zalimxan Yaqub.

One hundred books about him are not enough 

An interview which was started with a line from one of his poems "What has life had to put up with over the years lived?" was a memorable one. The poet replied, "The life of a poet born in the village of Kapanakci, hailing from Borchali province [region of southern Georgia, largely populated by ethnic Azeris], the capital of which is Baku, whose homeland is Azerbaijan and whose universe is the Turkic-speaking world, this is the life of the saz [Turkish stringed instrument] of the artistic word, of folklore, of paths traversed, journeys completed, If I were to write 100 books about my life now, I would not be able to put it all down, all the same."

It was as if he had been waiting for the question. He began with to talk about the native places that were dear to him, where he had spent his childhood. He spoke about them in such a lively and interesting manner that it was the like the frames of a film passing before your eyes….

He was born on 21 January 1950 in Borchali province. Zalimxan Yaqub considered this the greatest happiness that the Almighty had bestowed upon him. For in those places, nature itself, the mountains, were truly marvellous. His native village and the surrounding environment played a huge part in forming him as a poet. It was there that he heard our folk tales, epics, legends and tunes learned from people for the first time. There, embraced by the fascination of the word and the saz, he composed his first poem. It was there that he became an inexhaustible mine of words.

Besides this, as he himself puts it, he grew up in a family that was wealthy, not in a material sense, but in a moral sense. His father, Yusif muallim, was a teacher of mathematics and an extremely well-read man. His mother, Gulu xanim was a housewife. She expressed her sorrow and melancholy by singing tunes all the time. In 1937, when she was only 10 years old, her father, Sardaroglu Qurban, was arrested and sent into exile. He was a well-educated, talented, respected young man, a splendid saz player, He was young but already enjoyed the prestige of an elder. It was precisely this that led to his downfall. From then on his daughter spent her life waiting for him to return…

The sorrow and longing in his mother's eyes became the first unforgettable memory in his life. Following in the footsteps of this yearning, he set out for Central Asia many years later. There he met his forefathers, people who wept when the word "Azerbaijan" was mentioned. He wrote the poem "Exile". It was precisely from tears, from his mother's tunes filled with sorrow and melancholy and from his father's intelligence and wealth of erudition that Zalimxan Yaqub began his career. In the early stages, he tried to be near the elders, the eminent Ashugs, the teachers. They felt that he was a unique person from his looks, behaviour and features and the way he acted…

"Top of the class, but not really"

He wrote his first poem when he was in year two. Although that was still not a completely polished work, his mother was able to spot her son's talent. She told her uncle on her mother's side, the merited teacher Rasid Acalov, about it, so he asked his pupil to read the poem to him. When he heard the poem, he told his niece, "Gulu, you can see that he will become a great poet in the future".

Rumours went round the village that "Yusif muallim's son had become a poet". Some said that it was a gift from God, some thought that it was an inherited talent while others believed he must have seen a girl in his dreams…

"I was somewhere between a child and a youth," Zalimxan Yaqub said. "I didn't have any toys. Even when I was a child, people used to point at me and say "Look, there's Zalimxan". My world was a rich one, in which I communed closely with nature. I would spend hours looking at a flower, leaves and moss. I would step aside and become pensive, asking myself questions such as why was the sky so high and where does it end?"

Deep down I felt that in the future I would become a person who was well-known to everyone. I observed that in my relations with my fellow villagers and relatives. It was as if they were all well aware what had been sprouting inside me right from childhood. They had the same attitude to him that they had to an adult and placed responsibility upon him. And even his father told him that… From the memoirs of Zalimxan muallim: "I smashed the window with a stone. My mother threatened me that she would tell my father to spank me. When my father came home, she told him, 'Listen, you should punish this child for breaking the window'. My father replied, "What are you talking about, woman. He is cleverer than me. What am I supposed to say to him?' I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. My father had said that I was cleverer than him. This means that enormous responsibility was placed upon me, in the sense that I was a clever person and should behave appropriately." 

Even though he was among the pupils who obtained excellent marks at school, the poet himself says: "I was never among the pupils with top marks. I was very weak at maths, but the teachers gave me top marks. They would say, off you go and study literature. I was a pupil with excellent marks, but not really".

In 1971, the poet Huseyn Arif placed his verses in the newspaper Azarbaycan Ganclari, wishing him success.

A divine love for women

He finished secondary school in 1967, came to Baku and entered the librarianship department at the Azer-baijan State University (now the Baku State University). In this city he had the good fortune to make friends with eminent poets whom he regarded as ideals, to read his verses to them and listen to their poetry. In Borchali everyone was reciting the poetry of Osman Sarivalli and Samad Vurgun. Eminent asiqs [folk poets and singers] like Amrah, Kaman-dar, Huseyn Saracli and Xandi Mammad were reciting his poetry for hours on end. Zalimxan Yaqub would say with pride, "I could never have dreamed of becoming the student of Osman Sarivalli and Huseyn Arif and that our relationship would be like that of father and son."

"The love that he was endowed with in Borchali blossomed even more here. Prospects opened up before me, what I said was valued, nobody put impediments in my path. On the contrary, they have cherished me and protected me. If I learn to list them all, I can name 50 names. I am only left with pleasant recollections of them all. I socialised with those who were the favourites of the entire Azerbaijani people, who enjoyed great prestige in the state and those who were influential figures in art. And all that thanks to my memory. When I saw that a poet had made a mistake when reading verses, I would come to his aid, which people found extremely surprising. Among those I knew were Tofiq Bayram, Sohrab Tahir and Mammad Araz, Huseyn Arif and Osman Sarivalli, If the libraries in which their works were kept were to burn down, they could come to me and I could restore everything from memory. A divine love of poets, an insane love of them was always inherent in me." 

He said that the writer and publicist Qulu Xalilov had only levelled criticism at him once. He turned it into a joke: "It was not scathing criticism. Khalil said that there is no party affiliation in your poems, no social themes, no cotton and grapes."

From the interview: "If a poet is a real poet, then a woman is the greatest source of inspiration to him. This may be a mother, a sister, a wife and a lover. They form the very life blood of my works. All the beautiful verses in the world are connected with women. If they weren't beautiful, who would be able to create them? There are only songs in the world. Can you imagine a song that does not relate to a woman, a girl, to love? All my poems that are dedicated to beauty, beauties and have become very popular, have come to me during conversations with beauties with whom I have been socialising and who have actually penetrated my heart and whom I have immortalized in my verses."

You have dedicated many verses to women. Is it true that not a single one of them is dedicated to you wife? He tried to avoid answering this question with the mastery inherent in him. "We are the bearers of the upbringing we received back in Borchali. My father never called my mother by name in front of her father Shamil kishi. He simply hailed her, made a sign. We were brought up according to a pattern that "I will not mention your name, it is not appropriate in front of people, may the daughter of someone else dance."

We considered it shameful to mention the name of our companion in life in books and poetry. Today this mentality persists in me as well. True, no-one is capable of becoming either the Prophet Muhammad or his wife Khadija. But we should always strive for what is perfect. If one wishes to bring up a splendid child, the family must remain a closed vessel, something untouchable and sacred. That is what I have inherited. This means that I have dedicated several verses to her without naming her." 

I have brought up and educated four children. "Your child will treat you the same way that you treat him," the poet said. "I have already had a family for more than 30 years now. My children's attitude towards me is the same as mine was towards my father. A family should be healthy. You need to be quite clear about who is shaking their fist, who dares to say what they think, this is connected with a loyal wife and with a healthy family. A person who has a failing family will never be bold enough to do this."

The literary hierarchy

He backed the observance of a hierarchy like this in literature: "We have received a similar upbringing. We have experienced enormous respect for the older generation. Now we are caring for the young. But it is a great pity that the generation called the "sixties' generation" let themselves be influenced by certain gossip in the 1980s and 1990s, which has slowly spread to the young people as well. Nowadays 80 per cent of young people are not occupied with creative things, self-education and reading, but with squabbles and insulting one another in the pages of the newspapers.

This is a very painful moment. The word "adabiyyat" (literature - Z.F.) comes from the word "adab" (tact, courteousness - Z.F.), the appropriate honour and respect. There is no literature without them. In those places where they do not exist, there is no literature. From whence can the energy to create be taken, if you cannot hear a kind word and you do not encounter a kind attitude towards you?"

You could listen to him for hours without growing tired. From the account of Zalimxan Yaqub: "You need to have a respectful attitude to customs and traditions, to sources, history and the past. This should also find its continuation in literature. If this is not observed, then a precipice appears and there is something missing. The gifted person reveals his talent in any field. The main thing here is not genre, not form, but content and essence. You need to live with good intentions too. If this is the case, the outcome will be splendid. Hatred ends in enmity, while love results in friendship."

He loved merry, light-hearted conversations and knew that alongside anecdotes about other poets and writers, there also existed anecdotes about himself.

"Do anecdotes about you exist too?" He replied that they did. "And is there any truth to them?" He broke into laughter: "Most of them are true. The people create them. I will tell you one. Huseyn Arif is having a conversation with a girl under a tree in paradise. He sees Zalimxan approaching. He is frowning, unintentionally suspicious. As soon as they part, he heads for the commandant of paradise to make a complaint: 'You resettled me from down there.' The commandant asks, 'Where should I move you to, poet? This is paradise after all.' Huseyn Arif replies: 'Zelim Yaqub has turned up. What kind of paradise is that?' That's a nice one. If a poet cannot become the subject of folklore, it means he is not a poet."

In life his single ideal was to ennoble people. He used to say, "No matter whom I spoke about, I ennobled him. This means that, if he was a person, he was worthy of being ennobled. How long does a human life last? Why should we slight one another? We are all like visitors who will have to leave at some point. Visitors need to be respected. Live like beauties, with beauty, with friends, with your fellow countrymen, socialise with splendid people and let people enjoy themselves. Who are we? Allah is up in the heavens, he will see to it that everything falls into place."

Zalimxan Yaqub was buried in the Martyrs' Lane on 11 January 2016. In making that last journey, borne on people's shoulders, the poet returned to the heart of each of them…