***
the bird accidentally dropped the heart and broke it on the rocks
¶
heaven turned inside out and swallowed the rain
~
my mother did not return from work and became a seagull in the eyes of the beholder
±
the house turned into the wind and rushed away with turmoil
.
a lot has changed since the beginning of the last war
…

***
Babies in the sun… A lemon-yellow lake with a dusty children’s bed… By burning the colors drawn in the mind in this way – scary, but at the same time kind, merciful, kind, soft – he brings clouds of darkness into the world.

***
On a piece of unexpected despair
Searching for the source of the pain
Tearing out of the body either the heart or the liver
Be an ataria be an ataria

***
Girl watching from the window
The girl is watching from the eye
Girl watching the window
The window is watching the girl
Parallel lines do intersect
In infinity, 
a star rises to the sky ... A round stone vault comes close to her, and the girl understands that before her is not fear, but something else ... She recognizes the night sky, huge, illuminated by stars, the forest, raindrops on the branches and everything that connected to him.

***
girl asks her mother to become a priest
but the priest is a man

girl asks her husband not to go to war
but the war has already come to their house

girl crying
the girl does not ask for anything
the girl has nothing to ask

***
the cat walks along the cemetery of smiles
the mimicry of memory plays the piano of silence
four-legged foyer of the human soul in search of the owner of the hotel of death

what will a cat find in a place where there is nothing
the grave exists for the sake of absence
memory exists in the form of an absence

flowers of dead views grow near the monuments
the trees sway their leaves and drop their leaves down to die
crunch of foliage-bones under the cat's paw

cat childishly playing with a leaf
adult cat plays with someone's soul
the wrong side of the universe in the cemetery

the cat freezes and calms down
the cat falls asleep among the graves
a leaf that has fallen from a tree whispers a request for help to the wind

***
Every morning 
I suck my rifle's dick like 
Тhere was no war

***
i want oratorio gas
i want to catch the color corpse syntax
I want the tree to get hurt from the leaves of a famous herb

GRASS is glass
GRASS is a house where you are expected

at dawn in the forest we collect the guts of the dead soldiers
at dawn in the forest we collect the rustle of dead leaves

***
i hate things because they can be missing
I hate things because they may not live

red
a black swan swims up and waves its wing branch

blue
white air is transparent and pure
black conscience is empty and transparent

оrange
more than anything in the world I love porn actors and when world-famous directors die

***
The knot on the neck of the rope is compressed
The crunch of bones that cannot be filled with any passion
 
Someone in a golden gaze mask stands by a silver fire
Someone pours semen on the mint from which we were born
 
The latex of the night sky puckers at the hips
A casual smile puffs with mystery
 
The heather rises up like a phallus
The clouds part in front of a couple in love with life

***
stone-ruin instead of houses
houses built of stone became ordinary stones

back to the stones that started it all
be patient and silent like stones
be a stone

soldier sucks blowjob with his gun
time to change and grab shovels

***
she was called narnia
the word was hung with thorns of roses
the word was broken on the air spaces
of people

weighty
rises up the bell without hearing

an eye without a miracle a word without a voice
where are we flying?

she was called narnia
every time I go to the zoo I skip three lines in a poem

once
two
three

to make sure that in front of me is the same lion
that this is the same world in which you want to escape from reality


***
The grains of the hourglass tomb are strained
Glory to you death - a non-existent evil wizard screamed wildly
All wizards are actually kind
But what is it? —
The thorns of the flower on the body left spots
They called on purpose tears
And there is no one to devote tears
Oh if tears were words
Chronicle of wet fingers cancels this course of events
Draw your swords
Evil wizards exist - we will look for them in the forests
In villages and farms
In texts and prayers
In yourself and others
And when we meet birds on the way
Then the birds will shout that it is empty inside and out -
Inside and out, for all these years of wandering and wandering
                                                                                                                the wizard died

Mykyta Ryzhykh

Winner of the international competition «Art Against Drugs», bronze medalist of the festival Chestnut House, laureate of the literary competition named after Tyutyunnik. Nominated for Pushcart Prize.
Published in the journals “Dzvin”, “Ring A”, “Polutona”, “Rechport”, “Topos”, “Articulation”, “Formaslov”, “Colon”, “Literature Factory”, “Literary Chernihiv”, Tipton Poetry Journal , Stone Poetry Journal, Divot journal , dyst journal, Superpresent Magazine, Allegro Poetry Magazine,  Alternate Route , Better Than Starbucks Poetry & Fiction Journal, Littoral Press , Book of Matches , on the portals “Literary Center” and “Soloneba”, in the “Ukrainian literary newspaper”, Ice Floe Press.

XXI century: is it possible to raise responsible children?

As a result of the speeding up of time and the development of science and technology, today there is probably not a single house in the world where gadgets have not penetrated. Earlier, there was only one television set in one house, but today there is a separate television set for each room of the house, Wi-Fi, and smartphones and additional gadgets are widely used for each member of the house. Humanity, as we know it, seems to have somehow migrated to technology. When your loved one is sick, instead of visiting them, you start asking about the situation over the phone, citing various reasons. There is no limit to the use of a mobile device in your child's daily schedule, which means that he can use the phone when he wants, as he wants. 

Try to remember the children of not so long ago, 10 years ago. We were the last group of children who thought like children, played with toys, and never got tired of chasing after the ball. Now, as soon as the baby cries, they give him a phone, as if the pain of the parents is reduced when he stops crying. This naturally turns the phone into a calming tool for the child. If the phone does not hang up, it becomes a habit to keep crying. If parents read books to their children, plant them together, organize trips, often visit their relatives' houses, wait for guests, give the child easy tasks and attract him to a specific direction, then surely such a child will not become a slave to the phone in the future. At a time when the virtual world is attracting all of us, it will definitely bring good results in the future to use it purposefully, to spend the most necessary part of our time not with gadgets, but with effective tools. It doesn't matter what era you live in, the most important thing is that humanity should not become dependent on what it has created, but rather, a person should not stop learning, developing, and creating.


Author: Ravshanbekova Asalkhon
              Uzbekistan

Aziza Mamayusupovna Kosimova
Student of Termiz State Pedagogical Institute 


"Life."

Picking up the sustenance in this perishable world,
I shall increase my God-given share.
One day I will arrive and go on my eternal journey,
I should live in the poems I write...

Let no one hear my words,
Let my little tears wash over my face,
If I wash my eye one day,
I must live in the poems I write...

I have never lived a day when I have seen injustice,
I didn't live the day when I was walking
I did not live the day when my heart raced,
I have to live in the poems I write...

If I can make you awake,
If my poem makes me think,
To revel in my poems,
Maybe I'll have my life to live in Your heart...!

************

I have not said a word for several months, the paperwork is empty.
In my heart are the rivers of sadness.
A feather in my hand and my hearts are always silent.
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

Opponent always had a blue board,
The breast of the shield was red with blood,
And Abdullah grew in you a fighter.
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

Who has come and made presence,
In the steps of the prophets Sultan Saodatlar,
You have been sung by Master Shafoatar,
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

Baysun - Spring, you are a pure air,
You are the Voice of the worlds
The South! You are the gateway to paradise
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

You are my prideful mountain, my vibrant stream,
The air is clean, the land is gold, my place is rich in gold.
One piece is worth a whole world, I art golden,
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

Is Sariosia the origin of Asia?!
Do not the swallows belong to Barchina?!
Do your springs have no tears?!
Join my verse, Surkhandarya.

There is no grand longing for the homeland,
From the minor of Jharkurgan there is no elevation,
Not Even Sayrob, who started a school,
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

Are enough of my words sufficient for you?
If I can make your descriptions a world epos,
The heart inspired by you is a garden,
Join my poem, Surkhandarya.

A heart of a poet is a wonderful place for feelings,
With my own word I shall defeat confusion.
God, don't take away the magic of words in my heart
As I live, I will praise my country!

Respect for book begins from library                
                                                    
It was a summer month when the sun rose, the air was hot. Today Sarvinoz woke up early, did exercises, washed her face and drank tea and daydreamed and played on her phone. She couldn't find any more interesting thing to do, so again she daydreamed.

She remembered that her teacher's words. Teacher said "The best and most useful thing to do when a person is bored is to read a book." Sarvinoz immediately wanted to read a book and  looked for a book at home but there was not any book in her house. Her librarian teacher to her said, "Whenever you want to read a book, come to the library, you will find all the books that you are looking for." 

After that Sarvinoz dressed and she went to the library. On the way, she met a lot of friends and they went to the library together. When they arrived, the librarian Maryam was gathering all the books. Maryam  was very tired. 

The girls looked at Maryam.                                                              —"Assalamu alaykum teacher, we have come to get a book," they said. Librarian Maryam said, "Vaalaykum assalom, you are welcome, please wait for me to tidy up this  place and then I will definitely find the books you want."

Sarvinoz remembered her mother tongue teacher's words.                                    

"Respect for the book--it starts in the library," said her teacher.  

Sarvinoz suddenly said, "Can we help you?"                                                                         
Librarian Maryam smiled and said, "Will you be tired?"                                                                   
The girls replied, "No."                                                                   
"Then it's fine but you only bring the books I will put them away myself, if not, you will be tired."
"It is Ok," said the girls.
They gathered all the books in an instant. Librarian Maryam thanked Sarvinoz and her friends and found the books, Sarvinoz went back home and read with pleasure. 

Beknazarova Ayganim was born in the village of Keregetau, Tomdi District, Navoi Region, Republic of Uzbekistan. Currently, she is a student of the 7th grade of the 9th school.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Thinking of me, are awake at every step,
When i see you, i feel myself over the moon.
Donʼt refuse, let me lay my head on you lap,
You are always my remedy to my pain.

You sang a lullaby to me over the night,
You calm me down by saying "my daughter".
Let me kiss your beady eyes only a once
Let me lay my on your lap, dear mother.

Such a pity, i donʼt always have time help you
But you always keep me in your heart and mind.
Many years passed since i missed you so much,
Let me lay my on your lap, dear mother.

Your sunshine with an immense kindness
Even the ice melts from your love.
Stroke my head, again kiss my forehead
Let me lay my on your lap, dear mother.

Such a cruel and evil fate cannot test me,
Your prays are a shield and protector.
I forget the whole world, when you tell a story
Let me lay my on your lap, dear mother.

Makhkamova Charos Davron’s daughter. Was born on December 23, 2005 in Orta Chirchik district, Tashkent region. Currently, she is an 11th grade student at the 44th General Secondary School. Articles anda  poems were published in newspapers of India, Thailand, the USA, Great Britain, Canada, Australia, and in anthologies sold in 26 countries. The winner of the district stage of the 2022 “Smart Reader” competition.

The essence and development of translation between the 19th and the 20th centuries.

    Communication is the basis for human societies. Contact between communities is the basis for translation. Whether by conflict or cooperation, translation has been involved in the evolution of societies and it has evolved with them. Translation has an effect on the relationships between peoples, between people and power and between power and people. Translation has been instrumental in the formation of writing and literary culture in every European language (‘European’ here refers to more than the geographical area of Europe, as defined today). Indeed, the history of international contact and cultural development, within and beyond Europe, can be traced by noting the routes of translation. 

Translation is still of the utmost importance in the affairs of a world that has gone through the rapid technological development called modernization, which furthermore has enhanced international relations to the point where people feel they can legitimately talk of ‘globalization’. While this development is far from having reached all parts of the world in equal measure, it is true that science, media, entertainment, commerce, and the many forms of international relations embrace the globe so extensively now, that translation becomes an almost overwhelming issue, indeed a ‘problem’ (the notion of the ‘problem of translation’ has a long and colourful history). Many see a possible solution in the adoption of a single global language, and it seems that English is well on its way to taking on this international role, as Latin did in the very different circumstances of the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance.

The history of translation theory can in fact be imagined as a set of changing relationships between the relative autonomy of the translated text, or the translator’s actions, and two other concepts: equivalence and function. Equivalence has been understood as “accuracy,” “adequacy,” “correctness,” “correspondence,” “fidelity,” or “identity”; it is a variable notion how the translation is connected to the foreign text. Function has been understood as the potentiality of the translated text to release diverse effects, beginning with the communication of information and the production of a response comparable to the one produced by the foreign text in its own culture. Yet the effects of translation are also social, and they have been harnessed to cultural, economic, and political agendas: evangelical programs, commercial ventures, and colonial projects, as well as the development of languages, national literatures, and avant-garde literary movements. Function is a variable notion of how the translated text is connected to the receiving language and culture. In some periods, such as the 1960s and 1970s, the autonomy of translation is limited by the dominance of thinking about equivalence, and functionalism becomes a solution to a theoretical impasse; in other periods, such as the 1980s and 1990s, autonomy is limited by the dominance of functionalisms, and equivalence is rethought to embrace what were previously treated as shifts or deviations from the foreign text.

      The increasingly interdisciplinary nature of translation studies has multiplied theories of translation. A shared interest in a topic, however, is no guarantee that what is acceptable as a theory in one field or approach will satisfy the conceptual requirements of a theory in others. In the West, from antiquity to the late nineteenth century, theoretical statements about translation fell into traditionally defined areas of thinking about language and culture: literary theory and criticism, rhetoric, grammar, philosophy. And the most frequently cited theorists comprised a fairly limited group. One such catalogue might include: Cicero, Horace, Quintilian, Augustine, Jerome, Dryden, Goethe, Schleiermacher, Arnold, Nietzsche. Twentieth-century translation theory reveals a much expanded range of fields and approaches reflecting the differentiation of modern culture: not only varieties of linguistics, literary criticism, philosophical speculation, and cultural theory, but experimental studies and anthropological fieldwork, as well as translator training and translation practice. 

Any account of theoretical concepts and trends must acknowledge the disciplinary sites in which they emerged in order to understand and evaluate them. At the same time, it is possible to locate recurrent themes and celebrated topoi, if not broad areas of agreement. The Latin poet Horace asserted in his Ars Poetica (c. 10 BC) that the poet who resorts to translation should avoid a certain operation—namely, word-for-word rendering—in order to write distinctive poetry. Here the function of translating is to construct poetic authorship. In a lecture entitled “On the Different Methods of Translating” (1813). Moreover, Louis Kelly has argued that a “complete” theory of translation “has three components: specification of function and goal; description and analysis of operations; and critical comment on relationships between goal and operations” (Kelly 1979:1). Kelly is careful to observe that throughout history theorists have tended to emphasize one of these components at the expense of others. The component that receives the greatest emphasis, I would add, often devolves into a recommendation or prescription for good translating.

    It would be interesting to note that translation theory during this period are rooted in German literary and philosophical traditions, in Romanticism, hermeneutics, and existential phenomenology. They assume that language is not so much communicative as constitutive in its representation of thought and reality, and so translation is seen as an interpretation which necessarily reconstitutes and transforms the foreign text. Nineteenth-century theorists and practitioners like Friedrich Schleiermacher and Wilhelm von Humboldt treated translation as a creative force in which specific translation strategies might serve a variety of cultural and social functions, building languages, literatures, and nations. At the start of the twentieth century, these ideas are rethought from the vantage point of modernist movements which prize experiments with literary form as a way of revitalizing culture. Translation is a focus of theoretical speculation and formal innovation.

In conclusion of this scientific research, the main essence of translation process helped to develop that sphere faster and more efficiently during XIX and XXʼs centuries, which nowadays with the contribution of that works, the field of translation is much more improved.

Author: Yodgorova Billurabonu Shuhrat qizi 
Student of BukhSU Foreign languages Faculty.

Erkin Vohidov

Homeland missing

Do not travel to any higher place
No matter how far away the shore,
"Hello" he smiled
One of my Uzbek cousins will surely oppose it.

The morning when in Colombo we landed,
For the first time, he became a propeller.
Then this city is stinky and humid,
It was Fergana that caught my eye.

In Madoras, the translator is Uzbek
They spoke the same words in eight languages.
He is dressed in a white robe,
He used to put ointment on the Afghan child.

After rebuilding the castle of light, He crossed the Euphrates
Arab room liked the sun.
He grew cotton by taking water from the Nile,
In the heart, Africa is strong.

He appeared like Joseph in Egypt,
In Yemen, it seemed to me Hotam.
This is a clear feeling - no matter what
One's own person is thrown into the eye like fire.

Today, when I returned from a long trip
In my first line I made you inevitable -
Hey, you, my friends, are far from the country
A belt tied to the service of the country!

I know what a burden of suffering hijran is,
What painful months and years to wait.
I know that you miss Uzbekistan,
Always awake in the depths of your eyes.

It is a world within a world,
One sight is a lifelong obsession.
Earth's gravity is easy to overcome
The love of Mother Earth cannot be separated.

Stay healthy my friends,
Return home safely from a distant place.
I wish, never, never fate
Do not separate us from Uzbekistan...

Translator: Nilufar Rukhillayeva(1st year student of the Faculty of Foreign Philology of the National University of Uzbekistan named after Mirzo Ulugbek)