Author: Marjona Jurakulova, Uzbekistan

10 motivi per visitare l’Uzbekistan!

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.

Author: Marjona Jurakulova

Traditional Costumes
Zhang Zhi

Zhang Zhi’s Selected Poems

世界在双筒望远镜中左摇右晃

l

被垃圾、精液、核废料、海洛因

血和爱滋病弄脏的

世界, 想擦也擦不掉了

2

瞧,世界钻进了KTV包房

不知道哪一头美丽的野兽

又将在他的胯下快乐地呻吟

今夜,狗日的世界肯定会大干一场

——如果你把这一幕想象成

第三次世界大战

也无可厚非

3

大河向东流

小姐朝西走

世界像迷途的羔羊

站在十字路口

问南来北往的机器人

“老兄, 我该给谁磕头”

4

世界用双脚为政客们鼓掌

政客们用鲜血为世界洗澡

5

世界看不清我们的脸

也许我们原本没有脸

“没有脸就不要脸”

这是哪一个艺术杂种说的

6

世界挥舞着自己的阳具

爬到联合国大厦顶楼嚎叫

“你们看呀,我好棒”

其实, 昨天晚上

这家伙还在梦中对我耳语

“兄弟, 我那玩意不中用啦”

7

世界从容不迫

世界面无惧色

世界走到历史的车轮下

但没有血流出来

真正的血迹你们何曾见过

8

磨刀霍霍,世界

不分白天黑夜

剜自己的肉。死亡

在一滴血里唱着不朽的歌

“丰乳霜,丰乳不丰腰”

The World Is Swaying in a Binoculars

1.

The world fouled by

trash, semen, nuclear waste, heroin, blood and AIDS

can never be cleaned

2.

Look! The world has entered KTV chartered room

Who knows which beautiful beast

delightfully moaning under his hips again

Tonight, the damned world will surely play rough

— It is also OK

if you image the scene 

to be the Third World War

3.

Rivers run east

Prostitutes go west

The world is like a lost lamb

standing at a crossroads

asking robots going north and south

“To whom I should bow, sir?”

4.

The world is applauding for politicians with its feet

The politicians bathe the world in blood

5.

The world cannot see clear our faces

maybe we have no face

“We can be shameless since we have no face”

a certain damned artist said so.

6.

The world is waving its penis

howling on the top of the UN Edifice

“Behold, it is great”

In fact, last night

this fellow whispered to me in the dream

“Sir, my penis is of no use”

7.

The world is unhurried

The world is not frightened

The world has gone under the wheel of history

but no blood is coming out

Who has ever seen the real blood

8.

Whetting the knife, the world

is gouging out its own flesh

day and night. Dearth

is singing an everlasting song in a drop of blood

“Breast-fattening cream fattens the breast, not the waist”

鸟语

鸟鸣高不过天空

正如人类

永远也无法看清自己

那些在混凝土中

隐匿的瞳仁、骨头和血

不 再 醒 来

就算我说世界像一幅画

就算我挂起招牌收购证词

就算我握住婴儿的手

凝视初生的老虎

就算我们每天朗诵精装的

姓氏、童话和鸟语

谁又能相信,从今夜开始

鹰会向低处飞

星光永不黯淡

或者,点燃雪花可以取暖

大地贴满符咒的日子

月亮与僵尸同行

——呀!

Birds’ Language

Birds’ cry cannot be higher than the sky

Just like human beings

Never able to see themselves clearly

Those pupilla, bones and blood

Hidden in the concrete

No longer wake

Even if I say the world is like a picture

Even if I put up a sign to purchase testimony

Even if I hold babies’ hands

And gaze at the newborn tiger

Even if every day we read aloud

De luxe name, fairy tales and birds’ language

Who can believe from tonight on

Eagles should fly downward

Star light never dims

Or, snowflakes are lit for warmth

In the days when the land is covered with incantations

The moon walks together with the corpse

Alas

杀鸡记

昨天下午

我出门买鸡

农贸市场

到处都是湿漉漉的

空气中

弥漫着烂菜叶的腐臭气息……

鸡贩子把鸡

关在一个大铁丝笼子里

旁边还竖立着一台脱毛机

脱毛机的四周一地鸡毛

当我靠近鸡笼时

鸡们惊恐地挤成一团

我指着看中的一只鸡

让鸡贩子过秤

当鸡贩子将他

那只粘着几片鸡毛的手

伸进铁丝笼子时

那只面临灭顶之灾的鸡

竟然一动不动

当真印证了

那个耳熟能详的成语

——呆若木鸡

称完了重量

鸡贩子举起

一把寒光闪闪的刀

对准鸡的脖子

用力一抹

一股殷红的鲜血

霎时喷涌而出……

随即

那只鸡

被扔进了脱毛机

然后

鸡贩子舀了一瓢

滚烫的开水淋了下去——

那只鸡惨叫连连

引得笼子里的那些鸡们

也一阵阵骚动……

哀鸣声

终于微弱下去

直至消失在寒风中——

鸡贩子

早已开动

脱毛机开始搅拌……

只一会儿功夫

一只光溜溜的鸡

就在我的眼皮底下

被一刀一刀斩成鸡块……

这时

铁丝笼子里的鸡们

也已平静下来

它们

又开始啄食主人

喂养的饲料

有的开始梳理自己的羽毛

有的打鸣

还有的互相打斗抢食

好一片和平热闹的景致

同伴的命运

似乎和它们没有一点关系

刚才发生的一切

也似乎只是一场恶梦

如今

一切又复归平静……

In Memory of a Butchered Chicken

Yesterday afternoon

I went out to buy a chicken

In the farmer’s market

It is moist all around the ground

In the air

The smell of rotten vegetables filled …

The chickens were put into

A big wire cage by a chicken trafficker

Beside it was a hair removal machine

Their feather on the ground around it

When I approached to the cage

They crowded around in horror

I pointed one of them I wanted to buy

Ask him to weigh it

When he reached

His hands stuck with a few pieces of feather

Into the wire cage

Faced with the extinction the chicken

Was actually motionless

It confirms

A familiar Chinese idiom

—Dumb as a wooden chicken

After weighed

He held

A gleaming knife

Aligning it’s neck

To force a touch

A surge of blood

Was instantly gushing…

Immediately

The chicken

Was thrown into the machine

And then

He fetched a scoop of

Scalding water pouring down—

It screamed again and again

That also sparked those chickens in the cage

A scene of screaming …

Whine

Weakened finally

Until it disappeared in the chilly wind—

He had

Already opened

His machine to stir…

After a moment

A naked chicken

Right under my nose

Was chopped into pieces

At the same time

The chickens in the cage

Had also calmed down

They

Began pecking at the feed

Feeding by their master

Some began to smooth their feather

Some crowed

Some were fighting for food

What a peaceful and happy scene it was

As if their fellows’ fate

Did not link together with them at all

Just now what had happened

Also seemed to be a nightmare

Now

All was calm again…

作者简介:

    张智,笔名野鬼,英文名Arthur Zhang,1965年出生于四川巴县。中国当代重要诗人、批评家、翻译家。文学博士。先后从事过多种职业,现任混语版《国际诗歌翻译》季刊执行总编、英文版《世界诗歌年鉴》主编。1986年开始发表文学和翻译作品。部分作品被译成三十余种外国文字。出版诗集六种,译诗集二种。

About the author:

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.

E-mail: iptrc@163.com

Xu Chunfang

Xu Chunfang: selected poems

[中国]徐春芳
所见(外三首)
词语在夜的清醒里做梦
地球吐出宇宙的果核
这个世界的孤独
编织着五颜六色的日出日落
——拒绝了逃避别离和悲伤
众生喧哗。众声喧哗
天地无言。大美无言
我的肉体是天地写出的秘密
在天空的容器里
发出潮湿如白雪的月光
我的心像灌木丛里的红浆果
在沧桑浇灌下
闪耀着欢喜的红
每个人看到的
都是自己想看到的

[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

壬寅春光帖
天空隔离了星辰和高远
水围住群山,如一条锁链
山河露出悲苦的脸
隐藏的风暴,随时
刮走一座花园
二月的枝头,春光小而嫩
垂丝海棠悄悄拧紧
提示节气变换的钟声
野樱花扬起白云

蝴蝶在春光里翻腾
梦张开隐形的翅膀
不想折翼于现实的猎枪
踏青的人,坐在草地上
浸泡在阳光里,比洗温泉还舒服
“别拽春姑娘的头发!”柳树下
一个穿花裙的女孩子
对一个踮起脚拉扯柳条的男孩说
说话时,落花越积越多
春已经深了,无人问津的退稿
——生活露出灰堆里挖掘出的碎屑
远方,一朵花如一口棺材
抬着春天轻轻离开

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

春来帖
活着,春风荡漾
每天都是好时光
花繁且密,而软
寂寞和春花一样丰饶
野草和阳光一起盛装
樱花在我身体深处
采集到一声轻微叹息
鹧鸪在江南的屏风里
展开C位的清唱

这个世界躲在兔角上
无形的尖锐——
刺破若有若无的寂静
长江水浩浩汤汤。
万里的青绿浩浩汤汤。
春天是一个奇迹
泥土和天空在深度碰撞
阳光是母亲手中的毛线
让灵魂深层的寒冷大面积坍塌

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

从泊湖开始
泊湖,你眼里的秋水
依旧有银鱼跳跃
芦岭,你眉间的烟火
荡漾着江山的婉约
每一朵云里都住着雨
每一滴雨里都飘着云
清风吹皱天空的裙角
阳光的字体,欢喜为世界签名
迷惘的但丁,被贝雅特丽齐指引
一个人走上成神的路径
妩媚的词语,从一束青丝里出生
你走后,繁华落尽的五月
摇晃蔷薇脚上的铃声
生活给了悲伤一半的股份

Beginning from the Lake

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)

作者简介:
徐春芳,中国当代著名诗人。1976年出生于安徽望江县农村。已出版诗集《颂歌》《雅歌》《江南》《
徐春芳诗选》(中英对照),散文集《风从故乡来》。部分作品被翻译成英语、意大利语、希腊语、阿拉伯
语、罗马尼亚语、尼泊尔语、日语、塞尔维亚语、波兰语等多种文字。

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.

Makhliyokhon Umirzakova

Makhliyokhon Umirzakova (Uzbekistan) : Selected Poems

The Odor of Happiness

.

Light leaks from the embrace of mountains,

Sensitive trees wake up.

Empty baskets

Roll down the arbor.

.

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

.

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.

___

Years, roads

.

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.


Love

.

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…

Night

.

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.

Woman

.

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.

Makhliyokhon Umirzakova
Mokhira Eshpulatova

“The curse of the dragonflies” by Mokhira Eshpulatova, Uzbekistan

The curse of the dragonflies

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.

– Brother!

“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?

“Bashar”

“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.

Story translated into English by Hilola Mirzayeva

Mokhira Eshpulatova
田宇 James Tian, Immagine & Poesia, Lidia Chiarelli

“Someone will sink in the wind” poem by James Tian 田宇, China. Italian Translation and Art by Lidia Chiarelli.

“Sinking in the wind” @ Lidia Chiarelli Art

Someone Will Sink In The Wind

In a noisy world,

Longing for the silent warmth,

Just so,

Simple but realistic!

.

In a crowded street,

The air is full of selfish whispers,

Gonna avoid it,

This is the normal need!

.

I searched for the peace,

Through the Peace,

Things behind the masks are all different.

When everything is inevitably disappointed,

The only comfort is swaying in the wind.

.

Someone will sink in the wind,

There is nothing to pray for,

When all can only be dominated by lies.

How we can save,

This planet and ourselves?

The answer is obvious,

The most real is what you felt in your eyes!

By James Tian

________________________________

Qualcuno affonderà nel vento

In un mondo rumoroso,

Desiderare il calore silenzioso,

Proprio così,

Semplice ma realistico!

.

In una strada affollata,

L’aria è piena di sussurri egoistici,

 È da evitare,

Questo è il normale bisogno!

.

Ho cercato la pace,

Attraverso la pace,

Le cose dietro le maschere sono tutte diverse.

Quando ogni cosa è inevitabilmente solo delusione,

L’unico conforto è ondeggiare nel vento.

.

Qualcuno affonderà nel vento,

Non c’è niente per cui pregare,

Quando tutto può essere dominato solo dalle bugie.

Come possiamo salvare,

Questo pianeta e noi stessi?

La risposta è ovvia,

La più reale è quella che hai sentito nei tuoi occhi!

Di James Tian

Tradotto da Lidia Chiarelli

田宇 James Tian

“Meaning” poem by 田宇 (James Tian) – China – Artwork and Italian translation by Lidia Chiarelli

Peace, a flower in the storm by Lidia Chiarelli

Meaning

What do we think is the meaning of peace,

In our yellowing memories?

Is it so selfish,

That we don’t care about each other, It’s the final stability?

Or just a word calling with our mouth,

Without love as a basis?

What do we think is the meaning of peace,

In our ideal dreams?

Without a war,

Is that the true harmony?

Or a temporary emotion just because of special pity?

It’s the crack in our hearts now,

There is something wrong with our consciousness!

Stopping greedy desire can make the wandering love return,

The light of the world isn’t only at daybreak.

The excuses for attack is always prosperous,

But follow the love should be our special faith.

Even if the future is a jacket with bloody existence,

Everything is possible,

The fire symbolizing freedom isn’t extinguished.

By James Tian – China

______________________

Significato

Quale pensiamo sia il significato della pace,

Nei nostri ricordi ingialliti?

Siamo  così egoisti

Se  non ci importa l’uno dell’altro.

 È questa dunque la stabilità finale?

O è solo una parola detta con la bocca,

Senza l’amore come base?

Cosa pensiamo sia il significato della pace,

Nei nostri sogni ideali?

Nessuna guerra,

È questa la vera armonia?

O un’emozione temporanea solo per un momento di compassione ?

È la crepa nei nostri cuori ora,

C’è qualcosa di sbagliato nella nostra coscienza!

Fermare il desiderio avido può far tornare l’amore errante,

La luce del mondo non è solo all’alba.

Le scuse per l’attacco sono sempre numerose,

Ma seguire l’amore dovrebbe essere la nostra fede speciale.

Anche se il futuro appare adesso  come un abito insanguinato

Tutto è possibile,

Il fuoco che simboleggia la libertà non si spegne.

James Tian, China

 James Tian,Tianyu. His works have been published in more than 50 newspapers and magazines in China and abroad and have been translated into many languages.

The International Culture Publishing Company published the monograph “The light in the sky” Tianyu modern poetry anthology, Sichuan Nationalities Publishing House published “Tianyu lyrics anthology”, China Ground Publishing House published “Tianyu lyrics anthology 2” and other books.

Since 2018 he has been awarded with prestigious prizes of excellence. He is the main organizer of Zheng Xin International Poetry Award.

田宇 James Tian is one of the Representatives of Immagine & Poesia in China.