Avtordan: Men Soltýstik Qazaqstan oblynda, Qyzyljarda túramyn. Mamandyghym aghylshyn tili múghalimi. Otyz jyldan asa jurnalisika salasynda qyzmet etip zeynetke shyqtym. Qazir audarmamen ainalysyp jýrmin. Sizderge ataqty aghylshyn aqyny Radyard Kiplingting «If… /Eger...» degen ólenining audarmasyn jiberip otyrmyn. Kiplingting óz úlyna arnaghan búl úlaghaty qazaqy úrpaq tәrbiyesimen ýndes kórindi, maghan. 

Eger

Shydamyndy saqtasang júrt ainalanda
Kinә taghyp japqanda saghan jala,
Bәri saghan senbegende ózine sensen,
Senbegen dostaryndy keshire bilsen,
Sharshamay kýte bilseng týspey ensen.
Ósekshige ermeseng sóilep jalghan,
Ózindi jek kórgendermen jaulaspasan,
Jaqsy bolyp kórinem dep júrttan asqan,
Sóz úqpaytyn tobyrmen daulaspasan,
Arman qusang bos qiyalgha boy aldyrmay ,
Oyshyl bolsan, aldyna qoyyp maqsat,
Ústamdy bolsan, tym quanbay, tym qayghyrmay,
Jeniste de, jeniliste de sabyr saqtap.
Aqylmen jensen  pasyqtardy túzaq qúrghan,
Sózderindi aram oimen búrmalaghan.
Kýiregende bar josparyng ómirdegi
Bәrin qayta bastasang týrip jendi,
Syn saghatta jýreksinbey tәuekelden,
Bәske tikseng bar baylyqty jighan-tergen,
Jyghylsang da qayta kirip qan maydangha
Namysyndy bermeseng tiri jangha,
Qúlaugha shaq qalghanda talyp denen
Jigerine baghynsang “Shyda!” degen.
Patshamen qatar jýrip, tómendemey
Syily bolsang halyqtan qolyndy ýzbey,
Syr ashpasang kózing jetpey dos, dúshpangha,
Maqtasa el, mas bolmasang qúr maqtangha.
Syrghyp jatqan uaqytqa ketpese esen
Ár kýnindi ótkizseng mәndi ispen,
Sonda, úlym, bas iyedi saghan Ghalam
Eng bastysy, bolghanyng naghyz Adam!

*** 

If…

Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Aghylshyn tilinen audarghan Marat Ermúqanov

Abai.kz