“The Clinging Bird” Novel in the Eyes of Uzbek Readers
Abstract: The Clinging Bird is a priceless work that has gained wide popularity not only among the Turkish people but also across the world. The development of its plot, the lives of its characters, and the depiction of social relationships are presented in an impressively emotional way, making it a unique novel that can captivate readers of all ages. This article reflects on the events and characters in the story, as well as the interpretation of its moral conclusions.
Keywords: The Clinging Bird, Kamran, Feride, author, unique, novel, work

One of the leading figures in Turkish literature and a spiritual successor of progressive Turkish thinkers, Reşat Nuri Güntekin, is the author of The Clinging Bird (Çalıkuşu) — a novel that equally captivates readers of all generations. The novel vividly portrays how a person can stay strong and resilient through both good and bad times, the importance of love for the homeland, parents, partners, and family, as well as deep human values. The main essence of The Clinging Bird is as follows:

Main Character – Feride:
Feride, the central figure of the novel, loses her parents at an early age and faces many difficulties. She grows up in the care of her grandmother and aunts and attends a French boarding school. At the threshold of adulthood, a sudden betrayal from someone close causes her to leave home. She begins working as a teacher, meeting many people, influencing their lives, and ultimately transforming her own.

Theme of Love:
The novel focuses heavily on the love between Feride and Kamran. Their relationship explores emotions such as love, separation, sorrow, and hope.

Social Life Scenes:
The novel reflects the lifestyle, traditions, struggles, and transformations of early 20th-century Turkish society. Events during World War I are also depicted.

Hardships and Struggles:
Feride faces many life challenges — loneliness, social pressure, and romantic struggles — but she perseveres and continues with her life.

Additionally, the novel reveals the place of women in Turkish society at the time, the dynamics between men and women, and the clash between traditional values and modernity. A distinctive feature of the novel is its strong female protagonist, vivid portrayal of various Turkish regions, emphasis on education, loyalty, forgiveness, and the tension between old and new values. It deeply explores honesty, patience, and humanity.

The novel appeals to readers of all ages, serving as an example and inspiration. Its events are depicted in such a way that they encompass education, culture, human interactions, social challenges, forgiveness, and emotional resilience — all in one narrative.

The Clinging Bird has been translated into many languages. In Uzbek, it was translated by Mirzakalon Ismoiliy, and the novel has been published multiple times in Uzbek. Written in 1922, the book has won the hearts of readers across the world and has been adapted into several films and TV series. The 2013 television adaptation of The Clinging Bird gained significant popularity. However, the novel remains especially beloved by its devoted readers in its original literary form.

The Clinging Bird, a masterpiece of Turkish literature, can be considered an inspiring and spiritually rich treasure trove that continues to influence writers. It is a deeply meaningful, culturally valuable work that meets the highest artistic standards.

Conclusion:
In conclusion, this beautiful and vivid novel, full of literary richness, problems and resolutions, emotional sincerity, and colorful imagery, is a valuable guide for life. Especially in today’s era of rapid technological advancement, it provides youth with practical lessons and experiences that can be applied in real life.
The Clinging Bird is a deep and touching novel that encompasses various aspects of human life — love, family, social issues, and the fight against adversity.

Yuldasheva Xadichaxon Bahodir qizi was born on January 8, 1993, in Tashkent. Several of her scientific articles and poems have been published in international journals. She is a winner of various competitions held at the national and district levels and a participant in international anthologies. A passionate admirer of literature, science, and art, she was the winner of the “Woman of the Year – 2024” district stage in the nomination “Best Creative Woman of the Year.” She is also a participant in the forum “Best Scientific Researchers of the Year.” Currently, she is a 3rd-year student at the Tashkent University of Humanities.

Costa Rica’s Biosphere 

In Costa Rica’s heart

where mountains rise,

A tapestry of green

before our eyes.

Biosphere’s embrace, 

a sanctuary deep;

Where nature’s 

secrets gently sleep.

Through verdant canopies,

The sunlight streams;

On orchids bright,

And life’s vibrant gleams.

The howler monkeys call,

A primal sound;

As jaguar’s stalk,

On silent paws around.

A dedicate balance,

Life’s intricate art;

A precious treasure,

Held within the heart.

Thief

“Theft is not good for the body”, Proverb

The morning light illuminated the edge of the yard, and Ravshan aka, as always, headed for the barn. Carrying a bundle of hay in his hand, he entered the roof. But… he couldn’t believe his eyes: the yellow cow was gone!

“Maybe it got loose and wandered around the yard,” he consoled himself. But no matter how much he searched, he couldn’t find it. It was as if there was no trace, it had disappeared.

“Jamila!” he called out anxiously. “Who tied the cattle yesterday?”

Jamila answered in a low voice:

“Lutfulla dad, I tied them. But… there’s no cow?”

At that moment, Rustam Baba appeared at the door of the yard. His face was worried, and his eyes were filled with sadness.

“Did you hear that?!” A thief has appeared in the village!

— Oh no! — said Lutfulla. — They stole Akmal’s five chickens!

— Astagfirullah! — said Ravshan aka with a heavy sigh. Could it be that our cow has also fallen into the hands of thieves! They say that thieves are masters of their craft…

Lutfulla looked at the ground and whispered:

— Dad, not even a fly can enter our yard! How can a thief get in? After all, an ox’s jawbone is hung above the tandoor. If a person enters, he will immediately be thrown into the eye…

— Now is not the time for this! — said Ravshan aka, getting angry. The cow that trusted me with my secrets will not come back!

— More stings, hot peppers, eye thorns… — Jamila glared sharply at Lutfulla again. — These protect the yard from misfortunes. Our grandmothers have repeatedly warned us. Oh, don’t interfere in something you don’t understand.

— Ravshan aka, who locked the gate yesterday? — Jamila asked again.

Then Robiya slowly approached:

— Excuse me… I forgot. When I woke up in the morning, the gate was open. I couldn’t say that my brothers had gone out for a run with their friends…

Rustam Baba, he started talking again.

— Someone stole your cow. But don’t rush: someone has been watching your house for a long time, someone did it… They say, “It’s easy to catch a thief from the field, but it’s hard to catch a thief from home.”

Then she turned to Jamila:

— Jamila, hurry up and go to the police station. Only someone who knows would have done this.The morning had not yet dawned, the night was still hanging over the earth, and it was drifting over the village like heavy thoughts. Jamila Yanga, with the anxiety that was tearing at her heart, set off for Sister Zulfiya’s yard. The gentle breeze on the street caressed her face, intensifying the wind of anger in her heart. Sister Zulfiya’s yard was already full of people, everyone was filling their patience cup with their own problems. Jamila Yanga waited. Her legs were shaking, her heart was pounding. Finally, the door opened with a “clack”…

— Ola stole your cattle… your own relative, — said the policeman, breaking the silence that reigned in the yard. — He has been watching you for a month. The day your gate was left open, he accomplished his intention. Now he will sell the cattle to someone who came from Karachay at the Wednesday market. If you don’t believe me, go with your husband and see for yourself. Now, leave your vows and leave.

Jamila Yanga’s heart sank, and the blood drained from her face. She went out into the street and whispered in a daze:

— Really? My own liver, the one I support… How many people have we troubled for this cow… What if her father hears this?

— No, no… — she said to herself. — It’s not for nothing that they say, “A person who steals a needle or loses a cow from someone is suspected”…

The next morning, Ravshan aka and his son Lutfulla set off for the cattle market. They both scattered in two directions and began to look for the cattle.

— Dad, what if what the polvin said turns out to be true?

 — Never mind, my son. If it’s true, this will be the day when the earth will crack and we will be buried. We can’t walk with our heads held high.

In a far corner of the market, Ravshan aka saw a young man holding a cow tightly next to someone who had come from Karacha. He approached cautiously. His instincts were right — it was Jamila Yanga’s nephew.

— This cow is mine. I’m sorry, it’s not for sale. Get out of here quickly! — Ravshan aka said, swallowing his anger.

Lutfulla ran over when he saw his father leading the cattle.

— Dad! Did you find the thief?

— Yes, I did.

— Then show me?

— It’s better that you don’t know you, my son…

— Dad, how many people have we bothered…

— What can I say now? Should I say that my wife’s nephew was stolen? Let the closed pot remain closed.

— Dad, he will be caught one day anyway. Even if you hide it, he will steal again. There is no use in hiding it!

Ravshan aka looked at his son with love. Suffering and the heavy burdens accumulated over the years were visible in his eyes.

— You are still young, my son. One day, you will understand what I have done, — he said, frowning.

When they returned home, Shukr Baba had already arrived, sipping tea. He seemed to have noticed everything.

— But your goods were found in the market. Who stole them? You had half the village investigated. You took up people’s time. You shamelessly suspected even young men who were strangers and came from abroad… Tell me, who was the thief?

Ravshan aka averted his eyes and answered with difficulty:

— I am very tired, Shukr Baba…

— Understandable, so my suspicions were correct. That’s it, be healthy. From now on, don’t forget the gate lock. After all, they say, “The copper of a copper pot will come out, and the smell of the one who closes it will come out.” Everything will be exposed one day anyway.

And Lutfulla, with a broken heart, apologized to all his fellow villagers…

…Six months passed.

While someone was untying the rope of a black ox in the dark courtyard of Zarif aka, who lived in the village of Kiyokli, the owner’s son Azamat caught him and handed him over to the police. This was the same man – Jamila Yanga’s nephew. He swallowed hard and confessed to all the thefts he had committed.

— This is probably what it means when a thief steals and sets off on a journey, and in the end he gets caught…

That day, Shukr Baba said this at a neighborhood meeting:— Ravshanjon kept the secret for six months, but the truth was still revealed. Ravshan deceived so many people. However, the thief was his brother-in-law’s son. Because always be careful of the person who enters and exits your house… It’s not for nothing that they say, “Hold on to yourself, don’t hold your neighbor a thief” _ Shukr Baba…

Abdisattorova Khurshida Suvon qizi was born on November 9, 1997, in the village of Olmazor, Chirakchi district, Kashkadarya region. She is currently a third-year student of Sports Journalism at the University of Journalism and Mass Communications.

Her articles have been published in the newspapers Hurriyat and Vaziyat, as well as on the websites Olamsport and Ishonch. She is also a participant of the international scientific-practical conference titled “Future Scientist – 2025.”

The Room

The room hums softly 

with the sound of kids playing in the snow

a wooden table embedded with marks from countless dinners

the sound of silverware echoes in the silence

My brother, with his elbows propped up

grins wide, 

immersed in the YouTube video playing on his phone

He barely pays attention to his plate

despite the piles of rice in his bowl

He sloppily stuffs his face with a single spoon

Dad sits across from him, 

calm but stern

His eyes scan the room, watching over the dinner table

He slowly sips the barley tea

as he briefly touches my brother’s arm

when he laughs too loud

He slowly raises his set of chopsticks and spoon

carefully placing the banchan on top of his rice

As Things Pass

A leaf skates across the sidewalk,

Caught in a swirl of wind

It lands with a sigh 

On the edge of a curb, unnoticed

A constant flow of people move beneath skyscrapers

A woman in a red coat pauses at the end of the street,

Her scarf fluttering in the wind

She clutches a small paper bag

(maybe lunch or a gift) tightly in one hand

She jaywalks against the crowd of cars

Like a true new yorker

Nearby, a man sits on the curb

Shoes untied, a cigarette dangles from his lips

As he exhales

The smoke slowly makes its way into the air

Across the street, a bike messenger cuts through the crowd

His tires spraying water from the recent rain

A pigeon pecks at an old napkin

Its head bobbing in sync with the others

The air smells thick 

Of hairspray, shampoo, or something chemical

A row of mirrors stretches down the wall, 

Each face with different emotions

A woman grinning, thrilled with her new haircut

While a young man forced a smile, his eyes cast down

Feels Different These Days

The North Pole feels colder these days

The stars seem dimmer, and the snow less pure.

Even the elves, once bustling in cheer 

sit in silence, unsure of their purpose

Once, the children believed…

their letters fulfilled wishes and dreams,

that Father Christmas would soar across the night sky

with Rudolph’s red nose, and his other reindeer friends

that their snowmen would start talking

But now, the world is different.

Children no longer sit by the windows,

staying up all night for a glimpse of his sleigh

Now, they sit in silence,

heads bent low, eyes fixed on screens.

Katie Hong is a high school student based in Seoul, South Korea, whose love for poetry is surpassed only by her passion for baking and spending time with her puppy, Loki. With a gift for words and a keen eye for detail, Katie weaves intricate tapestries of emotion and imagery in her poetry, inviting readers to embark on self-discovery and introspection. When she’s not immersed in the world of poetry, Katie can be found in the kitchen, experimenting with flavors and textures to create delicious treats that delight the senses. With a zest for life and a boundless imagination, Katie is committed to sharing her voice with the world and making a meaningful impact through her writing.

Deep in My Drawer

We changed.

I outgrew my blunt bob.

You live in the future.

But like steam fading from a mirror.

Good! I miss you!

More desperately than the beast with his glassed rose,

I thought if I stayed still enough—

Friendship is not a photograph

You didn’t hug me when I cried alone in my dorm, homesick

But we laughed half-asleep on the bed under a looming sun

My fullest, realest moments

You didn’t flinch.

A vintage Chanel worth more than anything still sealed in its box.

Because what’s worn is also what’s survived.

I type about writing

I have good handwriting

But it depends on the situation

When I have to write fast

When I’m too lazy

When I don’t have any energy to spend

I scribble

When I feel like being pretty

When it has to be presentable

When I show it to others

When it has to be aesthetically pleasing

I write every stroke with great care and love

My handwriting can be bad or good

But it’s never terrific

It can be

Only if I spend a lot a lot of time and effort

Until my neck

Shoulder

Back

Fingers hurt and ache

Is it worth?

Sometimes I do it

But should I always do it?

Until the terrific handwriting becomes my norm and usual

But can it be?

I enjoy writing pretty

Not just because of others reaction

Though I don’t remember the last time I was being terrific

Alexis Lee is a high school student and emerging poet who finds inspiration in fleeting moments, music, and the quiet details of daily life. Her work explores themes of memory, transformation, and human connection. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading contemporary poetry, listening to indie music, and exploring local bookstores.

tell the truth

drink enough whiskey

and those bleary eyes

will tell the truth

you always wanted

to grow up and be

coltrane but were

never man enough

for the needle

get lost in the rhythm

of the long lost suicidal

dance of cursed lovers

the mirror tells you

all you need to know

alone is your destiny

you know it, just don’t

want to believe it

tough shit boy

genes at the bottom

of the pool don’t get

to be great

you get to clean toilets

pick the vegetables

or bury the dead

don’t worry, you’ll

never have the money

for anything you will

want

————————————————–

mischief

i lurk in the shadows

peek out the front

window to see what

mischief is happening

across the street

youth really is wasted

on the young

another bottle of vodka

for the floor

these are the nights

where you dream

about a bathtub

full of blood

depravity never hit

like this in your 20’s

start taking care of

the dying and watch

all your friends fall

out of love and get

divorced and you’ll

quickly understand

the underside of

a coin

if someone dares

to marry me

they will stumble

upon these poems

and realize anyone

can make a fucking

mistake

———————————————————

dana

you are the first one

in years to make me

feel like there is a

reason to wade

through all this

shit for yet another

day

i count the days

until we can finally

meet

fall in love again

do everything we

wanted for the first

time

set the world on fire

and go live our truth

of course,

being the old man

i don’t have as long

to live as you surely

hope

the beauty of the

urgency of now

—————————————————–

linger

sometimes the pages

will bleed

pain so visceral

that the stains

linger until they

envelop your

soul

religion left you

naked and alone

yet you still had

to pull yourself

up with no

bootstraps

te amo

we were destined

for failure

but never shied

away from giving

a middle finger

to the world

burn the bridges

never look back

nostalgia is only

there to hold you

in place

dare to be

uncomfortable

and embrace

the pain

——————————————————–

the digital void

faceless lovers in

the digital void

my love rests

in these arms

for the final

time

must reboot to

see all the good

stuff

who wants ice

cream

who wants to

see a dead body

let’s go dancing

with a train

i once slept in

a graveyard

hoping to hear

the dead

i believe they

have an app

for that now

insulated and

safe from pain

i guess life has

fucking passed

me by

it was bound

to happen 

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He has been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Misfit Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy and Yellow Mama. His new book, to live your dreams, might be unleashed upon the world soon. You can find him most days betting on soccer and baseball. He still has a blog, but rarely has the time to write anything in it. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Genghis Khan and Amir Temur, who shook China: two paths of history

There are many people in the pages of history who shook the world with their power. But among them there are two names – Genghis Khan and Amir Temur. Both of their lives were spent in campaigns, conquests and the creation of great empires. However, one left a legacy of destruction, the other of creation.

Genghis Khan, the skillful commander of the Mongol state, was actually Temujin. He was born in the Delun Boldak region on the banks of the Onon River between 1155 and 1167. According to legend, he was born with a blood clot in his palm, and the soothsayers predicted: “This child will shed a lot of blood in the future.” He was only 12 years old when his father, Yasugai Bakhodir, died.  After his father’s death, the tribes that had submitted to him dispersed, and young Temujin was forced to spend his days fishing on the Onon River with his mother.

In his youth, Temujin, who was briefly captured by one of the Chinese khans, managed to escape and swore revenge on the Chinese. He subdued China’s fiercest enemies and recruited them into his army. After that, the Chinese people trembled with fear when they heard the name Genghis Khan, and even made sacrifices, saying, “Buddha is punishing us with Genghis Khan.”

By 1205, Temujin had become the most powerful ruler in Mongolia. In 1206, a congress was held in the upper Onon River, where he was given the title “Genghis Khan.” The city of Karakorum was chosen as the capital of the state.  In the following years, the northern part of Mongolia in 1207, the Yenisei River basin in 1207–1208, and China in 1211–1215 fell into the hands of Genghis Khan.

He was a tall, thin-bearded man who would tuck his beard behind his ears when he was angry. He ate whatever his soldiers ate and fought alongside them. For this reason, he earned great respect and admiration in his army. But he was also extremely cruel: he destroyed mosques, forced monks to become horse herders, burned books, and put those who resisted to the sword. He took beautiful girls as his concubines or wives, and his first wife, Burda Khotun, was his loyal advisor. His soldiers buried many innocent people alive and slaughtered those who rebelled.
 He spent most of his life in wars, conquering vast territories, but did not build a single minaret or mosque, and burned and destroyed cities. According to the Russian writer M. Ivanin, at the beginning of his reign, Genghis Khan had about 13 thousand huts and families, but by the end of his life he had subdued 720 peoples speaking different languages and practicing different religions.

In 1224, Genghis Khan divided his state among his four sons – Joji, Chigatai, Oktoi and Tuli. In 1227, during a campaign against the Tangut state of Xi Xia in Northern China, he fell seriously ill and died. He was buried at the foot of Mount Burkhan Khaldun, but his grave still remains a mystery.

 A few centuries later, the great Amir Temur appeared on the stage of history. He also conquered vast territories, like Genghis Khan. But the goal of his campaigns was different: to rebuild the destroyed lands, develop science and art, and restore trade routes. While Genghis Khan’s campaigns left behind dusty ruins, Amir Temur’s campaigns left behind blue-domed madrasas, mosques, caravanserais, and gardens. Therefore, in the memory of the people, Temur remained a creator, and Genghis Khan remained a destroyer. History shows that power and empire are temporary, but the legacy left behind them is eternal: one is remembered with fear and violence, the other with creativity and enlightenment.  

Abdisattorova Khurshida was born on November 9, 1997 in a village of Alarok district, Kashkadarya region. She’s a 3rd year student in the University of Journalism and Communications. Currently, her articles are published in the newspapers ANSISLISSISSIZ, HONOR IF “SISTRICTS AND, HIGHSSIZI’, and History _ 2025.