GAZELKHAN

"Naturally,Yesenin did not understand a word, but the voice of the singer and the melody grabbed him and awakened in his soul a sense of vague alarm and emotion, and a Persian miniature emerged before his eyes: the peri [a beautiful supernatural being] with her almond-shaped eyes, with the gentle curving eyebrows which had grown together across the bridge her nose, bending down lithely over the rose bush on which the nightingale was perched. With the might of his imagination he made himself believe that he was somewhere in Shiraz [Persia, Iran], in the homeland of Hafez [Persian poet]. In the song there was indeed mention of a certain Vahid from time to time, and Yesenin noticed that every time that name was mentioned all the visitors looked towards the secluded little corner of the dining room, where a short,frail man was sitting whose complexion was so dark that his face could not be distinguished from his light brown Caucasian astrakhan fur cap; he was wearing a shiny old suit, but all the same he would exclaim without fail: "Thank you, Vahid!"

- "Who's that? "Yesenin asked. Manuylov shrugged his shoulders.

Yesenin called the waiter over and asked "That?" The waiter asked again, surprised. "That's Aliaga! Aliaga Vahid. He's a famous poet. They are singing his gazelle [ghazal, monorhythmic lyrical verses]."

This is an excerpt from the book by the culture expert Huseyn Nacafov "May in Balaxani", in which he describes Yesenin's journey to Baku and its environs.

The poet of music

It is known that his famous Russian counterpart became really good with the poet Aliaga Vahid during his journey. This happened in spite of the fact that Vahid's Russian was poor. These two people had something in common, which helped them to overcome the language barrier. They were both really expansive people and truly people's poets. The main and most amazing thing was that both Yesenin's and Vahid's verses lent themselves splendidly to be put to music. Something like this is not often the case with poetry, for the verses have their very own rhythm that even a person unfamiliar with poetry can feel. Thus, it is impossible to put [Russian poet Joseph] Brodsky's poetry to guitar music; you can only read it aloud, while the verses of the bards, who sing songs based on our ashug motifs or the Russian ballads composed by the singers themselves, lose much of their beauty if they are not accompanied by the tara or the guitar.

But at the same time plenty of romances exist that have been written specially to accompany Yesenin's poetry, and songs in which the words of Aliaga Vahid can be heard. Just as Yesenin could be heard in the taverns of Moscow, so was Vahid revered in similar establishments in Baku. It is therefore not surprising that, when the two poets got to know each other in 1924, they soon became friends. In those years, Vakhid was poor, deep in debt and was making ends meet by working for several newspapers. Finding in Yesenin a like-minded person, Vahid wanted to offer him the appropriate hospitality. 

After their first meeting, they went out, and Aliaga asked his friend to wait a moment while he went to see to an urgent matter at the editorial office of the "Communist" newspaper. The "urgent matter" was a plan to borrow some money from his friend, the well-known playwright Cafar Cabbarli. He was a generous person and liked to be a good friend and would never refuse Aliaga anything.

Vakhid worked as a proof-reader at the editorial office, occasionally selling his poems to the newspaper and only just managed to earn enough to get by, but there could be no question of affording to entertain a counterpart with Caucasian hospitality. It is noteworthy that their mutual friend, SaidOrdubadi, the author of the famous novel "The Sword and Quill", worked for that same newspaper. He was older than Vahid and did not approve of his free and easy lifestyle and his long "history of borrowing". It was precisely on that December evening that he persuaded Vahid to run a regular column for the newspaper. Vahid agreed and told him proudly that an "important Russian shair [poet] was waiting for him outside on the street". He borrowed 10 roubles each from Cabbarli and even from the everlastingly serious Ordubadi and left. Vahid and Yesenin strolled merrily around the town and along the embankment, talking about poetry. Then Vakhid took Yesenin to his home in the hilly part of the city, where he lived in a raised basement flat on the "Huseynbala Acigligi" area, to introduce him to his wife and friends. It was not until dawn that Yesenin returned to his hotel full of impressions. 

In the language of loving hearts

Vakhid and Yesenin were exactly the same ageand in those warm December days they had not yet reached 30 years old and that was just a year before the Russian poet died prematurely. The translator and journalist Pyotr Chagin, who was editor-in-chief of the "Bakinskiy Rabochiy" ["Baku Worker"] newspaperspent a great deal of time with Yesenin in those years; from him we have learned most of the details about the poet's life in Baku. The next day, Yesenin told his friend Chagin about making the acquaintance of Vahid and his Russian wife Nina, who had entertained the poet in the raised basement flat with its earthen floor. "Just imagine," the poet said, "he can hardly speak any Russian to her, and she doesn't know a word of Turkic [Azeri], but they live at one with one another." "That's how you used to explain yourself to Isadora, using gestures," Chagin reminded him.

In actual fact, the poets had something in common here. Yesenin's wife, the famous American dancer Isadora Duncan, could not speak Russian. "Nature has its own language that needs no words," the poet said that day. "That is the language of the trees, the birds, the animals and of loving hearts. Just one look, one gesture is sufficient and can say more than words." Then he added, "But that's not what I mean, Pyotr. Do you know the meaning of the pseudonym "Vahid"? "Vahid" means the one and only. I don't know whether that's right, but I have seen how they revere him. It makes one feel envious, really envious. If only it were like that for us in Russia. And he lives like a mole in a burrow. I'll introduce you to him. Please help him to get some normal accommodation."

The poet undoubtedly felt a sense of communion with his Azerbaijani counterpart.

They met again a day later to take a look at the coastal part of the city, the settlements of Sagan and Mardakan. Today you can get to Mardakan from the city by bus on the eight-lane motorway in half an hour, but in those years it was easiest of all to travel there on the so-called "Kukushka" ["Cuckoo"], an extremely uncomfortable suburban train, used by the workers. It was comprised of small coaches pulled by a very old steam engine. Swathed in clouds of steam, it gave short, sharp hoots, from which it got the name "Cuckoo". The train took several hours. On hot days you could see how the residents of Baku went to the beach, standing on the steps of the overcrowded train and hanging on like bunches of grapes. When the overcrowdedtrain started to climb the hill, the driver would unhook the back coaches, go to the next station and only then return for the remaining coaches. The poet was lucky that it was winter. 

The poets bought tickets to Mardakan for a rouble each at the station in Baku's White City. 

It was Thursday, 23 October, just a year and five days before the death of Vahid's new friend. But they did not know that. The cheerful young men travelled on the half-empty "Cuckoo". The "Nakhalstroy" workers and the gloomy buildings of the plants were racing past their window, followed by the sunny steppe in a haze of sand and occasional hamlets separated by an empty expanse.

P.S. As a follower of the literary tendencies of Fizuli, Aliaga Vahid was a brilliant representative of the gazellegenre in the Soviet period. He was also busy doing translations into Azerbaijani of the gazelles of Nizami, Fizuli, Khaqani and other classics of Azerbaijani poetry. He composed many poems in the "Meyxana" folk verse genre. Aliaga Vahid passed away in Baku on the night of 30 September to 1st October 1965.