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Perhat Tursun Perhat Tursun (1969-) is one of the foremost living Uyghur language poets, if he is still alive. Born and raised in Atush, a city in China's Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, Tursun began writing poetry in middle school, then branched into prose in college. Tursun has been described as a "self-professed Kafka character" and that comes through splendidly in poems of his like "Elegy." Unfortunately, Tursun was "disappeared" into a Chinese "reeducation" concentration camp where extreme psychological torture is the norm. According to a disturbing report he was later "hospitalized." Apparently no one knows his present whereabouts or condition, if he has one. According to John Bolton, when Donald Trump learned of these "reeducation" concentration camps, he told Chinese President Xi Jinping it was "exactly the right thing to do." Trump’s excuse? "Well, we were in the middle of a major trade deal." Elegy by Perhat Tursun loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch "Your soul is the entire world." ?Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha Asylum seekers, will you recognize me among the mountain passes' frozen corpses? Can you identify me here among our Exodus's exiled brothers? We begged for shelter but they lashed us bare; consider our naked corpses. When they compel us to accept their massacres, do you know that I am with you? Three centuries later they resurrect, not recognizing each other, Their former greatness forgotten. I happily ingested poison, like a fine wine. When they search the streets and cannot locate our corpses, do you know that I am with you? In that tower constructed of skulls you will find my dome as well: They removed my head to more accurately test their swords' temper. When before their swords our relationship flees like a flighty lover, Do you know that I am with you? When men in fur hats are used for target practice in the marketplace Where a dying man's face expresses his agony as a bullet cleaves his brain While the executioner's eyes fail to comprehend why his victim vanishes, ... Seeing my form reflected in that bullet-pierced brain's erratic thoughts, Do you know that I am with you? In those days when drinking wine was considered worse than drinking blood, did you taste the flour ground out in that blood-turned churning mill? Now, when you sip the wine Ali-Shir Nava'i imagined to be my blood In that mystical tavern's dark abyssal chambers, Do you know that I am with you? TRANSLATOR NOTES: This is my interpretation (not necessarily correct) of the poem's frozen corpses left 300 years in the past. For the Uyghur people the Mongol period ended around 1760 when the Qing dynasty invaded their homeland, then called Dzungaria. Around a million people were slaughtered during the Qing takeover, and the Dzungaria territory was renamed Xinjiang. I imagine many Uyghurs fleeing the slaughters would have attempted to navigate treacherous mountain passes. Many of them may have died from starvation and/or exposure, while others may have been caught and murdered by their pursuers. Keywords/Tags: Perhat Tursun, Uyghur, translation, Uighur, Xinjiang, elegy, eulogy, Kafka, China, Chinese, reeducation, prison, concentration camp, conscious, seeking, brother, brothers, brotherhood, shelter, wine, poison, sword, violence, spiritual, magic The Fog and the Shadows adapted from a novel by Perhat Tursun loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch “I began to realize the fog was similar to the shadows.” I began to realize that, just as the exact shape of darkness is a shadow, even so the exact shape of fog is disappearance and the exact shape of a human being is also disappearance. At this moment it seemed my body was vanishing into the human form’s final state. After I arrived here, it was as if the danger of getting lost and the desire to lose myself were merging strangely inside me. While everything in that distant, gargantuan city where I spent my five college years felt strange to me; and even though the skyscrapers, highways, ditches and canals were built according to a single standard and shape, so that it wasn’t easy to differentiate them, still I never had the feeling of being lost. Everyone there felt like one person and they were all folded into each other. It was as if their faces, voices and figures had been gathered together like a shaman’s jumbled-up hair. Even the men and women seemed identical. You could only tell them apart by stripping off their clothes and examining them. The men’s faces were beardless like women’s and their skin was very delicate and unadorned. I was always surprised that they could tell each other apart. Later I realized it wasn’t just me: many others were also confused. For instance, when we went to watch the campus’s only TV in a corridor of a building where the seniors stayed when they came to improve their knowledge. Those elderly Uyghurs always argued about whether someone who had done something unusual in an earlier episode was the same person they were seeing now. They would argue from the beginning of the show to the end. Other people, who couldn’t stand such endless nonsense, would leave the TV to us and stalk off. Then, when the classes began, we couldn’t tell the teachers apart. Gradually we became able to tell the men from the women and eventually we able to recognize individuals. But other people remained identical for us. The most surprising thing for me was that the natives couldn’t differentiate us either. For instance, two police came looking for someone who had broken windows during a fight at a restaurant and had then run away. They ordered us line up, then asked the restaurant owner to identify the culprit. He couldn’t tell us apart even though he inspected us very carefully. He said we all looked so much alike that it was impossible to tell us apart. Sighing heavily, he left.

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