Mukhtar Sherim (biography and poetry)
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Mukhtar Sherim Jumashuly (Kazakhstan)was born in the village of Mikhailovka, Baydibek district.
Education: He completed his secondary education in 1974 at Abai Secondary School in Tulkibas district. In 1975, he entered the Faculty of Journalism at KazNU and began his career in the literature department of the Almaty Puppet Theater.
Career: He led the satire and criticism section “Qaqpan” in the regional newspaper Ońtústik Qazaqstan. In 1988, he launched the satirical newspaper Zhudyryq, and later headed the newspaper Barys, which he founded and managed for 14 years. In 1986, together with the regional Department of Culture, he co-organized the humor and satire theater festival Kúlki Zhármeńkesi in the region. Here is the English translation of the creative biography:
Creative Work:
Mukhtar Sherim is the author of numerous satirical collections, including “Qudaǵi Qushaqtai Beredi”, “Farewell to the Bureaucrat”, and a four-volume series: “Ymbappa”*, “Taltaíyp Turgym Keledi”, “Excuse Me, Aren’t You a Donkey?”, and “I’ll Tear You to Pieces!”. Later, books such as “The Runaways and the Chasers” and “We Are Not Ashamed” reached readers. His satirical novel “The Super Shameless”, the first of its kind published after Kazakhstan’s independence, drew the attention of literary critics. His second satirical novel is titled “Wise Fools”.
In Kazakhstan's comedy theaters, interludes such as “Ubán”* and *“Euromola” remain popular with audiences.
Awards and Titles:
- Laureate of the International “Alash” Award
- Honored Writer of Kazakhstan
- Laureate of Kazakh Literature newspaper
- Winner of the “ARA” Award named after Köpen Ämirbek
- Grand Prize Winner of the Shona Smaqanuly Satirical Contest
- Certificate from Tajikistan’s “Friendship of Peoples” magazine as a humanist satirist
Writing Career: Writing satire since 1969
Address:
67A Baitursynov St., Apt. 58, Shymkent, Kazakhstan
Postal Address:24 Qazybek Bi St., Shymkent, Kazakhstan, ZIP: 160011
Mukhtar Sherim — Satirical Poet.
I’M STUCK!
Orders don’t help —
Oh, what a disgrace!
My backside’s glued tight,
Right to the base!
I try to rise,
But can’t take flight…
Want to kick myself,
But can't aim right.
Even my neck —
It won’t twist,
Turns out my rear
Just won’t resist!
Opened the door —
Once, twice, maybe more…
But eight whole years
I was stuck to the floor.
Deputy life,
Through sleep and play,
In my office
Night and day…
Sat so long,
In that chair so deep,
My seat melted in —
No will to leap.
Now I’m fused,
With no release,
The chair and I —
A single piece!
Don’t blame me
When I stepped away,
Left my pants behind
That tragic day…
Had to carve
My rear from the throne,
Though I did nothing —
Just groaned and moaned.
Waded through
A sea of power,
Burned a friend’s brain
In the final hour…
Dubbed “The Sleeper,”
I made my flight —
Ran from that madhouse
Into the night!
I WRITE A COMPLAINT!
Sometimes you want oil and butter,
Red hot tea in a golden platter,
The moon from up above the sky,
A horse for your brother to ride by.
If you won’t wed — then you desire
A millionaire, rich with fire!
Yes, you want a warm embrace,
Even a jet to leave no trace.
This and that you wish to gain,
To be unique, to rise from plain!
But someone else just needs a life,
A child in Gaza, far from strife,
Wishes only for some bread —
While warlords want more blood instead!
Peaceful lands just dream of dawn,
Others crave dust, war goes on.
A woman longs for simple meals,
While gas is all a leader feels.
Peaceful people — don’t despair,
They want your oil — beware!
They ask for tea with gentle smile,
But drill your land all the while.
Listen, world!
My soul is torn and full of flame.
If you dare to spark the war again —
I’ll write to God — and name your shame!
I HATE YOU!
I hate you so!
Even if I die in your arms — you know!
Will this poem reach your brain?
Too late or early — all the same!
I need nothing anymore,
The rest? I’ll see what's in store.
I want to stop you —
At the UN floor!
Mark my words —
I want to take you to court!
Even kill you off —
Then make you sorely missed, of course!
Yes, that’s how I feel,
I just want peace — it’s ideal!
But if I say I love you still,
Who would believe me? Who’d sit still?
"Hey hey!" — she said,
The private wife in her bed,
Lost in pleasure, a dreamy head...
"Whom do you hate? Tell me right!
Or you’ll die here in my sight!
Whom does your fate entwine?
Don’t tell me — Svetlana from next line?"
— "Oh no, it’s not what you think,
I just stare at her over the sink...
But truly,
What I hate is this world’s war stink!"
