Dimash's Gashyqtyq - Profound Intense Love

 Watching and listening to the Gashyqtyq music video, I see the look on Dimash's face and can feel how intense his emotions are. But when I read the subtitles and see the translation of 'gashyqtyq' to 'infatuation', I cannot believe it. Infatuation is such a 'poor' word because it is something fleeting and disappears too fast. Yes, it is intense but it is too shallow an emotion to merit the level of passion in Dimash's singing.

 I also know that a story is always best understood in its original language and translations can only hope to offer pale shadows of the tale.

So today I decided to find out what 'Gashyqtyq' actually meant and this is what I found on the Internet.

"Gashyqtyq" (pronounced Hash-Shya-Terk) is a Kazakh term for a profound, deep, and often, painful state of being in love, transcending mere infatuation. It represents a spiritual closeness, intense passion, and total emotional attachment where the loved one occupies your entire inner world.

Meaning: Often translated as "true love" "intense passion" or "being in love" it denotes a sublime, pure, and often, fateful connection.

Cultural Context: As taught by poet Abay, gashyqtyq is distinct from "kumarlyq" (carnal desire/lust). It is a noble, elevated emotion.

Key Characteristics: It signifies a "wordless emotion" a, delicate, spiritual, and, pure feeling that connects to the soul.

Ahh, yes.  "Gashyqtyq."

'Gashyqtyq' translation by Yerlan Iskakov

You breathed a glow into autumn’s somber chill,

A spark of grace where all was dark and still.

I am a captive, bound by every ray —

Your face a sun, though deep your sorrows weigh.

While seeking joy, I found your fire instead,

And walked the path where secret heartaches tread.

Oh, Love! What hollow grief you leave behind!

A helpless soul where shadows are entwined,

An endless vault, a dungeon with no shore.

I toss in fever, pacing on the floor;

I ache for you, I mourn what cannot be,

For there is no cure for this thralldom in me.

Love is the weight that my destiny bears,

A phantom peace built on silent despairs.

You blinded my heart, you ignored every sign—

Was it only ice in that spirit of thine?

You are my fortress, unyielding and high,

The epic unwritten beneath a vast sky,

And I am the writer, whose hand has been bled.

In the surge of this ocean where giants once sped,

On the field where the banners of passion are torn,

I am the warrior, defeated and worn.