ZHANG Zhuoyue was born on January 6, 2011 in Chongqing City, China. He loves writing, taekwondo, programming and music. He is now a six grade student in Xincun Experimental Primary School, Jiangbei District, Chongqing City.
Received from Abdulloh Abdumominov, Uzbekistan this article by Marjona Jurakulova
10 motivi per visitare l’Uzbekistan!
L’Uzbekistan è il cuore della Via della Seta, un paese estremamente amichevole e allegro che trasuda un’eleganza abbagliante grazie alla sua natura magnifica e scalda i cuori con sorrisi dorati attraverso la sua gente ospitale. La Via della Seta potrebbe essere il biglietto da visita che attira i visitatori in Uzbekistan, ma una volta che il viaggiatore curioso impara da solo la storia del popolo multietnico uzbeko, è chiaro che non può nascondere la sua ammirazione. L’Uzbekistan è pieno di bellezze naturali mozzafiato. Le foto delle città di questo paese ritraggono il paradiso dell’Asia centrale. Quando riscoprirai questi luoghi con i tuoi occhi, sarai certo che sono identici a due gocce d’acqua. È difficile esprimere a parole le abbaglianti moschee blu del paese, i minareti decorati, gli edifici in stile orientale e le città antiche. Niente batte l’aroma del pane appena sfornato o il gusto degli spiedini di agnello. Se ti piacciono gli oggetti fatti a mano, abbiamo delle buone notizie per te. Mosaici uzbeki, ceramiche floreali e piastrelle geometriche competono con i famosi Azulejos di Lisbona, in Portogallo. Sarai trasportato in un lontano periodo della storia in pochi secondi. • Le antiche città dell’Uzbekistan: Per più di 10.000 anni, i rappresentanti di varie tribù hanno vissuto in Uzbekistan. Le antiche città si sono conservate intatte a causa del clima secco e arido. L’armonia tra esempi di creatività creati nel Medioevo e la metropoli moderna attira l’attenzione. La ricchezza della storia uzbeka ti stupirà mentre cammini per le strade o visiti qualsiasi museo. Puoi ascoltare per ore sui sette moli di Bukhara, la nobile città di Registan a Samarcanda. Piatti nazionali uzbeki: I piatti nazionali uzbeki sono la più dolce di tutte le cucine del mondo. La cucina uzbeka è una delle più diverse dell’Asia centrale. Le tradizioni culinarie dei popoli stanziali e nomadi della regione, accumulate nel corso dei secoli, sono incarnate nel complesso di deliziosi piatti della cucina uzbeka, che oggi è unica e comprensibile per tutti noi. Il piatto nazionale uzbeko è il pilaf (zuppa). Il pilaf è il piatto più famoso della cucina uzbeka, espressione dell’ospitalità e della tolleranza della nostra gente, e la nostra tavola è deliziosa. Tante nazioni quante sono nel mondo, ognuna ha la sua cucina nazionale, che è il fondamento delle loro tradizioni nazionali. Il pilaf è senza dubbio preparato in ogni paese visitato da un uzbeko. I turisti stranieri che visitano il nostro paese esprimono interesse per il pilaf. Persone provenienti da tutto il mondo si divertono a mangiare pilaf. Si dice che Ibn Sina disse al padre di un giovane malato che un pasto composto da sette ingredienti diversi avrebbe curato la malattia di suo figlio. Questo piatto è identico al pilaf, che contiene olio, carne, cipolle, carote, riso, acqua e sale. Successivamente, a seconda della stagione e del gusto, vengono preparati ulteriori prodotti con mele cotogne, albicocche, rape, aglio, cipolla, uova, piselli, zucca, uvetta e altri ingredienti. Il pilaf è un piatto tradizionale uzbeko. Non c’è solo una cultura culinaria, ma c’è anche una cultura comportamentale. Pilaf unisce l’intera nazione. Perché, secondo la tradizione, la zuppa viene colata in un piatto e mangiata per lo più a mano. Speciali piatti pilaf sono persino realizzati da ceramisti. Il suo segreto è che il piatto non brucia le mani e non raffredda rapidamente il cibo. Nei tempi antichi, i vasai scolpivano iscrizioni sulle rocce che insegnavano loro a mangiare. Infine, vi invitiamo a fare un viaggio culinario in Uzbekistan. • Luoghi sacri: L’Uzbekistan è conosciuto come la “Terra dei mille santuari” perché ci sono numerosi monumenti e santuari sacri in tutto il paese, che vanno dal monastero buddista greco-battriano di Fayoz Tepa agli altari zoroastriani scavati a Khorezm. Un gran numero di pellegrini visita l’Uzbekistan specificamente per visitare i luoghi di pellegrinaggio islamico. I musulmani sunniti si impegnano a visitare il sacro santuario dell’Imam Bukhari, l’autore della raccolta di hadith “Sahih al-Bukhari”, vicino a Samarcanda, e i seguaci sufi della setta Naqshbandi visitano il santuario di Bahauddin Naqshband a Bukhara. Non posso descrivere la tranquillità della sorgente di Nurota nella regione di Navoi oi meravigliosi santuari sulle spalle degli aceri a Urgut; tutto quello che posso dire è che dovresti andare a vederli di persona. A seguito del potente terremoto, le città dell’Uzbekistan hanno sviluppato le proprie caratteristiche stilistiche. Di conseguenza, l’architettura è un mix di edifici sovietici a blocchi del 12° secolo e edifici con piastrelle blu integrati dall’architettura classica europea.
Zhang Zhi, born in Phoenix Town of Baxian County, Sichuan province in 1965, is an important poet, critic and translator in contemporary China. His pen name is Diablo, English name is Arthur Zhang. He is a doctor of literature. He is editor-in-chief of Rendition of International Poetry Quarterly (multilingual) and the English edition of World Poetry Yearbook. He began to publish his literary and translation works since 1986. Some of his literary works have been translated into more than thirty foreign languages. He has published six poetry collections and two translation of poetry.
[China]Xu Chunfang What Meets the Eye (and other three poems) Words are dreaming in the wide awakeness of night The earth vomits the fruit pit of the universe Loneliness of the world Is weaving the colorful sunrise and sunset — Refusing to evade separation and sorrow Noises of all the living. Noise of all the living The great earth is wordless. Great beauty is wordless My flesh is the secret written by heaven and earth In the sky as a container To give off moist moonlight like white snow My heart is like the red berry in bushes Irrigated by vicissitudes Twinkling with joyous red What meets the eye of everybody Is what he wants to see
Ren-Yin Spring Notice The sky has separated the stars and remoteness Water encircles mountains, like a chain Hills and rills reveal a sorrowful visage The hidden storm, is ready To blow away a whole garden On the twigs of February, spring is young and tender Drooping Chinese small apple blossoms are secretly screwing up Hinting at the tolls of changing seasons Wild cherry blossoms are in flurries of white clouds Butterflies are billowing in spring Spreading the invisible wings Reluctant to be wing-broken by the hunting rifle in reality Travelers of spring outing, sitting on the lawn Bathed in the sunshine, more comfortable than hot spring “No tugging at the hair of spring-girl!” Under willow trees A girl in flowery skirts Says to a boy tugging at willow twigs on tiptoes While talking, a greater accumulation of fallen flowers Spring is advanced, the returned manuscript in which nobody shows any interest — Life reveals crumbs dug out from a pile of ashes In the distance, a flower is like a coffin which departs gently while lifting spring
Notice of the Advent of Spring Alive, spring is billowing Each day is golden time Clusters of flowers are heavy, wind warm and soft Loneliness and spring flowers are rich and abundant Wild grass and sunshine are in attire Cherry blossoms are in the depth of my body To gather a gentle sigh Partridges in the screen of the Southern Shore Are singing without music accompaniment of C The world hides itself in the rabbit The invisible sharpness — Pierces the likely and unlikely loneliness Water of the Yangtze River is majestic, And myriads of miles of green are magnificent. Spring is a miracle The earth and the sky collide with each other deeply The sunshine is the yarn in Mother’s hands For cold in the depth of the soul to collapse expansively
The lake, autumn water in your eyes Still silvery fishes swimming and leaping Reedy Ridge, kitchen smoke before your eyes Rippling with gentle hills and rills In each cloudy blossom there is rain In each drop of rain there is a wafting cloud The bright breeze crumples the skirt corner of the sky The letters of sunshine, joyful to signature for the world Dante in perplexity, guided by Beatrice A person walks to the path of being deified Charming words, are born from a wisp of black hair After your departure, in May when flowers fall and fade To shake the bell on the feet of wild roses Life has given half the share stock of sorrow (Translated by Zhang Zhizhong)
About the author: Xu Chunfang, a famous contemporary Chinese poet, was born in the countryside of Wangjiang County, Anhui Province in 1976. He has published many poetry anthologies, such as Ode, Elegy, Jiangnan, Selected Poems of Xu Chunfang (Chinese and English edition), and prose anthologies Wind from Hometown. Some of his works have been translated into English, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Romanian, Nepalese, Japanese, Serbian, Polish and other languages.
In the early morning, my mother builds fire in tandoor,
And she bakes kindness in tandoor.
She fills the embrace of baskets,
Every morning appreciates it.
She sprays water over the drowsy courtyard,
And she wakens lazy soil.
As if it kisses on its forehead,
The dawn begins wakening the village.
The golden braided Sun comes
On the fiery maned and swift-flying wing.
A sweet breath spreads out,
The odor of happiness comes from life.
My childhood remained in childhood,
The wave of life took it to the strange coasts.
In Margilan a weeping willow waited for me as my grandma,
And its shoulders sank.
The smell of flower tulip remained on my nose,
The song of butterfly remained in my ear.
I handed to the sun snowdrops,
The top of my fingers was burned.
I want to throw my sorrow into the large canals,
I want to taste my mother’s halvah.
I want to sip water from the spring water of pureness
And return those moments.
My father says: “My pure daughter,”
His eyes fill with tears.
Do I remind my grandma?
Do I look like her myself, or my eyebrows?
I was a child and I didn’t realize,
Why my father looked with longing
Why he liked me for my long dress, tassel,
And my simple-mindedness.
Years, roads, longing, and separation,
Are your eyes wet for happiness?
Dad, tell me the truth,
Do I remind my grandma?
Discussion of books
“I am a new one, my cover is new,
My wing–page rustles.
Your cover’s color is pale,
And ink dripped on your page.”
“Don’t laugh on me, no; you desire to be like me,
I was read more than you.
If how many times I was read,
So many questions would be solved.”
As I listen to the discussion of books,
My amazement increases.
Whether they are new or old,
My respect for books increases.
Where did you go burning my heart?
What for you became upset, love?
Did emotions end?
The talking finished?
Tongueless yellow loaves stayed,
In our trace, traces.
As a crane that lost its way over the night sky
The tear is in our eyes.
Separation, why are you so bitter pain?
There is no way to my past?
If I wanted to tell the stars a secret,
Their eyebrows would be also wet.
Where did you go, dear torture…
The sheet of silence became soaking wet,
The moon made a plopping sound and swam in the stream.
The pearls of the night in the sky
Added beauty to that gracefulness.
I remembered you on that peaceful night,
A bitter pain sliced my heart.
My feelings dripped from my eyes like the stars,
Where are you, darling? Reply, reply…
The full moon was tearing the darkness into pieces,
My loverlike heart was breaking into pieces.
Didn’t you know that I was in the world?
Did my wild wish reach you?
Maybe you will forget my fiery feelings,
Maybe this pain is strange for you.
Tell me, do you see these stars?
Do you feel the sound of the night?
Do you know what for the sheet of silence is wet?
You never know, people who knew it are closer to God.
For that reason a flash that called love
Brightens the nights of my life.
Spring came to see you,
The moon is going to stay on your dimple.
Kindness and love in your heart,
Will give the world beauty.
Woman, looking from your trace,
Drunkenly autumn sifted loaves.
When you walk with loyalty,
The pains of winter become better.
Woman, your kindness is a gift for summer,
The world that got cold will heat up.
Woman, in your four sides,
A blessed word spins.
A mill of ancient life,
Touches your heart and wheeled.
If someone can take care of you,
Then he will be a human,
Then he will turn into a real man.
I understood that what is in the heat,
I am the lightning as much as the sky.
I walked on purpose,
Looking back from the time.
My soul descended to my eyes,
It is getting older in my heart.
My mind that was taken by the wind
Is turning into my power.
There is a rebellion from my heart
To pupils of my eyes.
I flew without containing myself
In the dark falls.
What I lost or what I found
From the seas of life.
I couldn’t fit in the coast
In the highlands of my soul.
Sometimes I need peacefulness,
Sometimes I need silence.
So I walked on purpose
Looking back from the time.
Makhliyokhon Umirzakova was born on November 22, 1990 in the city of Margilan in Fergana region. She is a student of the faculty of art history of the Institute of National Art and Design in the name of Kamoliddin Behzod. She was a participant in the Republic seminar “The school of talent”. She became the winner of the State Scholarship in the name of Navoi in the 2020 – 2021 academic years. Her first poetry book “Tuyg ‘ular alangasi” (The Flame of Feelings) was published by Writers Union in 2021 year.
The lazy sun of March began to set on the horizon. Bashorat, who was watching the sun from the hospital window, sighed deeply. “It was dawn lately, now it’s getting dark. It rises again in the morning and sets again. It will happen again and again, but without the warmth, without the hope” she thought. For the last few months, nights have become fearful for Bashorat. And in the nights spent alone she would have only one thought in mind – death. She never felt sorry about her life. Perhaps, this character was inherited from her mother. She was just worrying about her foetus which was growing day by day under her heart, waiting to come to earth safely. She had waited to have a baby for years. “This one should live, at least this one, otherwise I can’t tolerate anymore” she thought. Concerning about her sister’s health, Yorkinoy ran to the hospital empty-handed. She had been helping her sister with food, clothing, and other personal needs but she couldn’t do anything to stop her pain and inner fear which disturbing her sister most. The “outside world” brought the girls together, who had grown up quarreling and compromising each day. Like many sisters, they became more sincere after getting married.
“It’s time to injections,” said the nurse. Bashorat looked back from the window with her tired eyes.
– Again? She asked frowning as she remembers the pain of that bitter medicine.
“What do you mean? Your medical treatment has just started. You should take it three times a day till the birth of your baby.
“Hmmm,” she said, lying on side hardly. – Well, I can handle anything for hold my baby at last.
“Don’t worry, sister, everything will be OK,” said the nurse calmly.
“God bless, she said in a weak voice. Bashorat has heard many of such words of soothing. Hope comes when you are weak, but it becomes very strong and sturdy like camel thorn. Bashorat hoped again that all would be well.
“I haven’t seen your sister today,” said the nurse, spraying the medicine into the air from the syringe needle.
“She’ll come, you know, she has a family and kids too.”
The medicine was flown slowly, and Bashorat covered her head with a pillow and remained silent. “It’s noting, Bashorat, you’ll have much worse treatment than that too” she thought as she recalled the birth process.
The night had set, and Yorkinoy hurried in, asked about her as usual, and tried to cheer her up. She told the news she had found out here and there. For her sister’s sake, Bashorat pretended to listening to her sister attentively, giving her some questions and smiling at respond.
“I feel bad, my sister, I’m seeing my parents and my brother in my dreams.”
“What’s the matter, why bother?” Yorkinoy asked a silly question, even though everything was as clear as crystal.
“How’s my brother?” He seemed worried. I don’t know, he said that he would come to see me. Maybe that’s why I’m dreaming of him a lot.
– Yes, he wanted to come. You know, there’s a lot to do. But he will come.
“He’ll come. If I don’t leave before he comes,” said Bashorat in a weak voice.
“Don’t talk like that, understand? – Said Yorkinoy in fear. – Everything will be fine, absolutely. God please, you will recover, and you will be able to hug your child safely. Please don’t scare me like that.
“God please” said Bashorat, looking out of the window at the sky. You mean, like, God wanted three kids to die without seeing the world, right? After all, isn’t He kind? The worst pain in the world is losing your kid, why am I being given this misfortune again and again? – Bashorat was speaking continuously and she did not even know where this power came from. She felt like a bowl full of aches and pains. Every word of useless consolation was “shaking her bowl of patience”.
“Bashar, my dear sister, I know you’re very tired. But don’t blame God, just be a little more patient, be strong,” said Yorkinoy. She took Bashorat’s hand, and cried too. Bashorat saw and felt it, but did not respond with a single movement. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, and the sky was black.
“Yorkinoy,” she said in a pleading voice, “Tell my brother to come. I really want to see him. I didn’t him want to see me in a situation like this,” she said, caressing her belly cautiously, “but, I’m afraid that…” she could not continue her speech. She decided not to speak about it because of sister’s earlier request.
“All right,” said Yorkinoy, swallowing. “I’ll tell him.”
That night, Bashorat’s condition worsened. But it was too early to give birth. There was a pain inside her like a cat’s scratching with its sharp claws, and her bones were like splitting from each-other. Bashorat was feeling the pain in her body, and her sister also felt pain, it was a pain deep in her heart. Yorkinoy was not screaming like her sister. She was crying silently. According to superstition, in order to make the process easier, a woman should see her husband before giving a birth to the child. But that was not possible in their situation, because Bashorat’s husband was abroad. So, Yorkinoy called her brother again. She was a little relieved to hear that his brother was on his way to the hospital. Bashorat’s pain stopped. She was given medicine to calm down, and with the help of that medicine she could talk to told Yorkinoy.
– My brother …
“He’s on way”
“You’re cheating on me like a child.”
“No, no, that’s right! I talked to him a while ago, and they’ll be here by the morning.
“I’m afraid I won’t make it until morning.”
After those words Yorkinoy started to cry.
“Bashar doesn’t talk like that. Don’t scare me. I have nobody to rely on but you. Be strong, my dear sister.”
“Let me talk to my brother!”
Yorkinoy dialed the phone numbers with her trembling hands. When she heard his brother’s voice from the other side, held it to the ears of Bashorat.
– Alo, aloo.
“Bashar, sister, how are you? I’m on my way.”
“Brother,” she lost her words as her feelings were mingling with each other.
“What do you say, mommy?”
Bashorat, who missed her brother, kept her eyes closed, not knowing what to say at first, but after a word she sobbed and cried.
“Nothing- I really wanted to hear you say that.” Bashorat was barely audible, and her frequent, short breaths could be clearly heard through the phone. Sanjar used to call Bashorat a “mommy”.
“Mommy you’re my sister, be strong. We’ll remember these days with a smile, you’ll see” said her brother.
“Brother, I want to be your little sister again. How you cared for us…how you worried about us…
“You’re still my little sister. I can still protect you from any trouble.”
“Remember, you hit me once?” I loved catching dragonflies of different colors flying along the stream. And you…
“Bashoraaat,” said Sanjar, worried that her thoughts were distracted.
“And you,” she continued with a sigh, as if she could not hear his brother, “would not.” You asked not to torture them. And I didn’t do what you said. Instead, I grabbed a lot of them and put a thin stick in their back so that they could fly freely, but not so far away from me. I loved watching them fly. They fluttered their wings, made a croaking noise and dropped dead. Little did I know that I was hurting the dragonflies by watching them dance. They also had a mother, didn’t they?
“Brother, I was cursed by those dragonflies.”
He did not understand what Bashorat was saying. She was talking obeying her emotions, not her mind.
“Mommy, mommy, don’t talk like that” said her brother, realizing this.
“Tell me brother call me “mommy” as before. I see our parents in my dreams. They have a new doll in their arms, just like the one I took for my little girl, and they’re gesturing and saying: “Come on, it’s for you…”
“Mommy, sister, don’t frighten your brother. I’ll go ahead. I’ll give my niece some of the best toys, just be strong!”
The Bashorat was strong. Although she was in pain, she did not cry behind her brother. She was operated on when her condition worsened. Just after midnight, they called her brother, who was traveling at high speed on the highway.
– My sister.
“Brother,” a crying voice came through the phone. Her voice echoed in the hallway or in an empty room. Sanjar’s heart pounded. He slammed on the car’s brakes. The car left a trail on the asphalt road about 10 meters away and stopped loudly. He was afraid to ask questions. He tried his best to move his tongue to ask what had happened, but his heart sank at the possible answer. Noticing this, Yorkinoy burst into tears.
“Brother, we have a niece, she is healthy, thank God… but my sister is not well. They took her to the intensive care unit, brother… Tell me what to do, brother?” cried Yorkinoy.
“What to do?” This question was running through his mind. He always found a solution to everything. He has always found a way for his sisters, not only as a brother, but also as a parent, so why is he watching the loss of his sister like a flower? Sanjar got out of the car. His sister was unconscious and cannot hear or speak. Now it can be a dream for him to see the eyes that are waiting for him. He was staring at the sky, burning with painful thoughts. The weather was cold and the sky was cloudy. Lightning flashed from everywhere in the sky, piercing the heart of the cloud, and in a moment when the lightning flashed, it disappeared again, showing for a second how dark the sky was. The only thing Sanjar could do when he was helpless was to put his trust in Allah. It was a source of strength, a way, a comfort. He wrote on the side of the road, on the crevice of the thorn, which he had always carried with him, in order to offer his prayers, which he had lost on the way. He performed tayammum with soil. Then he began to pray in his usual but slightly trembling voice. When he opened his hands in prayer, his voice turned to a trembling cry.
“Oh Allah, You are the owner of all property – Malik al Mulk! You are the Hakim, the Salam, and of course the Musavvir. You make our bodies, souls and destinies beautiful! If you want something and you say, “Become,” it becomes. There is a believer walking near you. It is up to you whether she stays or leaves! You’re Razzakh (Razaq), who doesn’t let anyone to leave this world before they are cut of their rizkhi (Rizq)! I ask you for the good end. After all, no one but you can give us goodness as much as you want. ”
… The doctors ran in all directions to save Bashorat. Yorkinoy sat at the door of the intensive care unit, squeezing her tear-stained handkerchief until dawn. She would whisper something sitting in her seat, and what she said was no different from his brother’s.
It was a beautiful morning. Finally, they saw each other, and while the father was enjoying the news about a baby and sharing it with his colleagues from the distance, Bashorat sniffed the little baby in her arms. She stared out of the window. Spring had finally entered her heart. The dragonflies also will appear soon. They’ll start dancing beautifully in the river near their house… Bashorat will be still enjoying watching them with her daughter. But this time she will not touch them, she will not hurt their wings.
Mokhira Eshpulatova is an Uzbek writer. She was born in Khatirchi district of Navoiy region, Republic of Uzbekistan on October 25, 1995. She graduated from Navoiy Pedagogical University. By profession she is a teacher of Uzbek language and literature.