Silly poems and thoughts on Kyrgyzstan

Tradition

Tradition is a funny thing. On one hand it ties you to your past, on the other it ties you to your past. Sometimes the past is seen as obsolete with no place or even as shameful to carry forward. Sometimes preserving the past is exactly what you need, to root you in a character. Along the shores of lake Is-kul in Kyrgyzstan is a tourist initiative to preserve tradition. Yes, ironically  the very people who need porcelain toilets over the squat kind, comfortable beds at night, smooth fast roads and demand internet in the remotest locations are also the reason young artist, musicians and craftsmen can see a financial future in there traditions and craft.

Along our 10 day journey in Krygstan with Kyrgyz Tours. We were blessed with multiple first hand encounters with eagle hunters, yurt makers, felt makers, Manas story tellers, musicians and Shepards. What stood out too me was that in each location they were multi generational. People of all ages were gathered together sharing in the skills. Through our wonderful guide Ulan and few creative hand signals we  had the opportunity to interact with every generation and gender. Check out or blog for some go these stories.

Yurt

Ancestral shapes wrapped in wool,

Bearing images of rams horns and outstretched eagles.

No crooks or crannies

Every circular shape a story,

A reason, for being that way.

Bow low to the sun,

Bow low to your host,

For both control your destiny.

A Quandry

Mountains and markets

Horse milk and dried cheese.

Lives sustained with out  refrigeration,

Forced to resettle by the desire to tax a nomad.

How do you tax a nomad,

chase down every herd of sheep ,

count every fleece and pelt traded as currency?

You resettle them, offer them houses, healthcare and schools. You turn them into awkward versions of you.

Russian, Kazakh, Quassac.

Cyrlic….. Latin

Are you the west or the east,

where does the sun rise for you.   

Kyrgyzstan

In the land where eagles fly

and apples rise wild from the ground.

Horse hooves run free to roam and

sheep’s wool makes all the homes.

Mountains swagger donned in snow turning to water rushing down below. Alpine valleys with grass so short provide life to this cohort.

Trade sunshine for milk and meat livestock providing all you have to eat. Cut dung from the sheep’s pens, your precious  fuel to cook and heat.

Listen to the winds blow strength across the lands,

breath out dry milk, soil and sand.