THE DANCE: NANCY



I said I wouldn’t dance with you:

Your hair’s too blonde, your eyes too blue.

A loaded gun and fully cocked,

dynamite cap set to go off.

I swore I wouldn’t dance with you.



She’s too proud of humility.

Her giant modesty towers from her knees.

She’s so proud of humility, the giant Modesty towers from her knees.

Even us healthy ones she treats like disease.



I said I wouldn’t dance with you.

Your arms, I knew, would hold like glue.

No neon ever hijacked us,

I refused to be target practice.

I knew I’d never dance with you.



Oversharp in her ignorance, she’s

indisputably a genius between the knees.

Oversharp in her ignorance, undeniably she’s a genius between her knees.

The peacock preens, pretending that no one sees.



I said I wouldn’t dance with you:

The night’s too young, too bright’s the view.

But that bandit moon lit the fuse,

and insurgent night made the news,

though I’d sad I’d never dance with you,



dancing in the moon

light with Nancy and kissing her good

Night

comes quickly this time of year

and icily as well: the wind

bites nicely and to the quick--

oh these thoughts! are dancing nicely

through the wind kissing the memory

somehow – I can hear the

memory embers

hisssing in the wind (is sharp

this time of year) like java in the night

comes dark and sharp and bitter.

Spring it was or was it fall? (no matter)

(no matter at all the season) the reason

I recall at all is Nancy her name

whispers in the moon light, or

is it the night

wind that’s light

ir was it the fall --

-- no matter --

it was time and she was mine and we were

hours until the dawn (comes quickly, this time)

and I must go on

I wanted to go on, to bound

fast as the hound Wind

and as free too but I was bound too fast to the ground

and ground too far down and

ground far too fine too but I danced on

with Nancy till I was out of time

and out of mind (but I must go on for now)

I dance with my mind I dance

with the wind and the night and the ice and

but where is the Nancy?

I dance with memory and death and death and memory

and now the dancing’s through, for

every spring one makes, a fall’s not far behind--

and life and mind and bight and wind

go quickly this year of time and mightily as well

and all matter

(but no matter)

though I promised never to dance with you.



NYUN



"When birds

lose their plumes

in the sand,

they can't

glue balloons

to their hands.

They can't fly

so they die."



The years are like so many sweet girls.

They cuddle against the navel in the middle of the night.

They change O they challenge the body

with pain with delight.



But though the waist is gone, its shadow yet remains.

Is this what we needed?

To lie in fields that we seeded

with the sperm of you/and/me?



My skin is a wrinkledup grocery sack,

all the goodies unpacked and eaten long ago.

My erection turned into slush yesterday,

my eyeballs into snow.



But though the face is gone, the halo yet remains.

All the stones unheeded... The skies... The fields....

Back have kneaded into worms, my butterflies.



And the years. And the years: just like the sweet young girls!

Hanging in memory like leather kites,

gaudy garish stabbing neon lights

to mark the passing of fond remembered rites.



But though the voice is gone, its echo yet remains.

Is this what we needed?

To die in fields which receded with the germs of yesterday?



(A toast: Time is a precious necklace bequested upon your birth. As time's beneficiary, you must realize its worth. Though age encircles your throat with its usual yearly pearl, the worth rests in the wearer and not within the jewel.)



The Duane you loved is gone:

There's a Stranger in his skin.

The old duane was younger,

and the new one's bones are thin.

Former laughs reform as coughs.

The change cloud-to-clod begins.



"When birds lose their plumes in the sand,

they can't glue balloons to their hands.

They can't fly so they die."







[nyun is a Korean homonym that means years or floozies]





THE OBSCURITY OF HEAVEN



The bomb is in the temple, the eraser on the page.

Our timid mirrors reflect but they never take a step.

A cancer’s in the nipple, spectators usurp the stage.



We mourn heaven: “It’s obscured, so we cannot know its worth.’

And we moan that circumstance proves to be our best defense.

Clouds are integral as stars in its measurement from Earth.



Our judgment misjudges us and aborts our renaissance.

We can reject starvation without accepting poison.

The body discharges pus while mitigating relapse.



Hunkering down in our forts is desperate strategy.

To drive the enemy back we must go upon attack.

Garret verse, a poet’s corpse that has no utility.



EVANGELIST



The arch science of religion

taught me to carry lips of mercury.

Now I have a hoard.

I wore a heartfelt tongue of stone

while a student of the science of love

and I learned to starve.



THIS INDIFFERENT ETERNITY



There is not enough dark

though the night is unmooned.

The stars are toomanyed,

skyfull prickly pennies

instead of ebonstones.



And thus my mood is mocked.

Cosmos ignores despair

and unechoes my cries.



Depression is the stone

that I must bear alone,

its whole weight in my thighs.



Reflections are unmirrored.

Inside Information

Theresa stood frowning thoughtfully at the framed photo of her and Mike at their wedding reception. The pair of them, cutting the huge cake, resembled the miniatures atop the cake itself. Mike, tall and buff in his black tux and Theresa in her lacy dress, all very traditional. Just the way that Mike’s mom insisted it be. Dawn, Theresa’s sister, had laughed at the virginity and innocence that the ivory gown implied. Theresa and Mike had, after all, lived together for a year prior to their nuptials. Theresa’s mind drifted back to those earlier times, as it often did. She could almost feel the expensive champagne tickling her nose.

A sudden pounding at the front door jarred Theresa from her reverie; it had to be her sister. She was the only one who demanded entrance with such vigor. Probably a holdover from their childhood; Dawn, at 33, was two years older than her sister. Theresa pulled open the door.

“Hi Sis,” gushed Dawn, the way that she did, charging into the living room.

“What’s got you so excited?” asked Theresa. She immediately regretted the question when she saw the expression of insane determination on her sister’s face. This could mean only one thing, Theresa knew.

“I’ve got the perfect guy for you, Te,” Dawn said without preamble. “He’s an actuary, Works at the same firm I do. Makes good money, has one little girl, four-years-old, I think…”

But Theresa was already shaking her head no. “I told you, I’m not ready to date yet,” she said.

“Baby, you and Mike split up more than two years ago,” said Dawn insistently. “You’ve got to get out there and meet people. Date, go out, fool around. He’s a grad of CU, like me, but he was three years ahead of me.”

“Easy for you to say,” replied Theresa, though she knew her sister had a point. Although Mike was out of her life for good, forever, the emotional turmoil lingered, like a bad cold.

“His name’s Doug,” Dawn continued. “He’s free Saturday.” But Theresa was again shaking her head no. “C’mon, Sis, he’s cute,” added Dawn.

“But, that’s the afternoon of your party,” said Theresa.

“So, Doug will pick you up at, say, one, and bring you by. And if there’s zero chemistry between the two of you, then you can kick him to the curb and sleep over and Robert will take you home on Sunday,” she said, referencing her own husband. “Come over, unwind, get loaded.”

“What does he know about me…and Mike?” inquired Theresa cautiously.

Detecting a breach in the dam, Dawn pounced. “Only that you were once married, it ended in divorce, and you’re on the scent.”

“Dawn!”

“Kidding.” Dawn smiled her pixieish smile.

“Does….Doug….even know what I look like?” asked the younger sister. This was a fatuous question, as Theresa had always been the prettiest girl in her class.

“Yes, I showed him a photo and Doug knows you’re profoundly homely,” replied Dawn with a straight face. “He’s interested anyway.” Dawn smiled her gamine smile again. “Should I tell Doug okay and give him your number?”

Finally relenting, Theresa smiled and said, “Okay.”

                                                 .  .  .  .  .

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” said Theresa, fawning over a photo of Jewel, Doug’s daughter.

“Thanks,” he said, with a smile as big as the Rockies, which were just outside the window, in the distance. “She started school just two weeks ago,” he added.

“You mean pre-school?” asked Theresa. “Dawn said she was only four.”

“She just turned five,” said Doug proudly. “Smartest one in her class, too,” he boasted.

“I’ll bet.” Theresa grinned at his enthusiasm. “Where’s her mother?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. Asking questions only invited queries from the other party, and she was not ready to confide in strangers.

“Paula passed away three summers ago,” replied Doug, growing instantly somber.

“I’m sorry for asking, Doug,” Theresa said contritely.

Doug instantly relaxed. “That’s alright, it’s a situation that Jewel and I confront every day. It’s only natural you’d ask.”

Theresa smiled her thanks at his understanding. “Do you want another beer?” she asked.

“No, thanks. I don’t usually drink more than one when I drive.”

Theresa thought this a judicious philosophy, quite at variance from the policy of her ex-. “Do you want to head on over to Dawn and Robert’s, then? she asked.

Dawn’s Labor Day bash was in full swing. As the first informal get together of the fall, it was the last of  the seasonal BBQs in which the neighborhood regularly indulged. Theresa and Mike had been reliable frequenters of the parties, but this was just the second such gathering that Theresa had attended since the divorce. And she wouldn’t be here tonight, unless Dawn had insisted. But, she felt comfortable with Doug — so far.

                                                   .  .  .  .  .

“Hey Mike,” called out Joey, one of his myriad jock friends, all musclebound steroid freaks, to Theresa’s mind. “Go out for a long one.” Having stripped to the waist to reveal his striking, almost sculpted physique, Mike ran thirty yards across the yard and snatched the football effortlessly from the air. Returning the ball to the passer, Mike paused to take up a Big Boy can of beer and drain it in one draught.

Theresa frowned thoughtfully. She knew that Mike would insist on driving them home and, although they were only a mile distant from their residence, he had been consuming an untoward quantity of alcohol. She also knew better than to bring the subject up. ‘Roid rage wasn’t pretty, as the welts on her torso revealed. Mike was always careful to strike her where it didn’t show, she thought dully. And he always apologized profusely afterwards and guaranteed it would never happen again. Time would come, Theresa thought, when his mood swings and proclivity for violence would kill her — or somebody else.

“Men,” scoffed Cindy, Joey’s wife, sitting at a redwood picnic table next to Theresa. “Just a bunch of kids. We’ve been out of high school for nearly ten years and they still carry on so.” She tipped her bottle of beer and sipped. By her slurred words, Theresa could tell  that Cindy was drunk.

“I suppose there’s no harm in it,” said Theresa a little defensively. Mike had been a standout athlete in school and was set for a full-ride scholarship to university when his knee blew out. He had never quite gotten over the disappointment at missing his big chance. Following high school, he had taken a job with his father, operating a backhoe. Profitable work, she thought, but he never seemed to be satisfied with his life. A couple of years ago, Mike had taken up weight-training with Cindy’s husband and several other men, all former athletes.

“No harm in it?” cried Cindy. “That gym candy iis tearing Joey to pieces. The other day, he was pumping iron when our youngest walked into our gym and Joey lost it. He hurled the barbell — 200 pounds — at Sheila.  Didn’t come anywhere near hitting her, of course, and he was just trying to scare her, to show his displeasure,” she said slowly, lingering thoughtfully on the final word. “But shit, Te. What if he hadn’t been in control? He could kill someone! Does Mike ever behave like that?” she wanted to know.

“No,” replied Theresa, shaking her head. “Never.”

                                                       .  .  .  .  .    

Theresa and Doug drifted through the large backyard which was Dawn’s venue of choice for giving parties in the warm months.

“Want a drink?” asked Doug.

“I thought you didn’t drink when you drove,” Theresa reminded him.

“That doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy yourself, cut loose a little. Besides, you know these people, I only know Robert and Dawn — and you, now,” he said with a warm smile. “Beer?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I’m good.”

The air was redolent with the savory aromas of sizzling burgers and brats and roasting BBQ. Theresa licked her lips. She was starved. She would just have to wait, as Robert always made a big production of announcing the readiness of the food. Theresa had to hand it to her brother-in-law: he could be a bit of a wiener at times, but he was one hell of a cook.

“Who’s the dude?” asked Joey —  Mike’s old friend from before the divorce — in a hoarse voice.

“I’m Doug Carpenter; who’re you?” came back Doug aggressively, sticking his hand out for the other man to shake.

Taken back by Doug’s sharp tone, Joey gripped Doug’s hand and shook. “I’m Joey. Pleased to meet you,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he drifted away, looking back several times at the man that Mike’s woman had taken up with.

There were several other of Theresa and Mike’s old friends at the BBQ, and  they all gave Doug the proprietary once over. Theresa sighed and took it in her stride.

                                                     .  .  .  .  .

The phone call from Mike had frightened Theresa. She used her key to gain entrance to Mike’s flat. He had insisted that she have it, in case she ever needed anything. In the ten months since the divorce, she had never used it — till now. As she let herself in, she heard a loud thumping against the walls of the adjacent room — Mike’s bedroom. She hurried forward.

There she found her ex-husband, pounding with his huge fists against the walls of the bedroom. Plaster and lath rained down onto the carpeted floor. So preoccupied was he with destroying his home, that Mike took no notice of Theresa. Lifting her arms helplessly, she rushed forward and placed her hands on his massive shoulders.

“Mike, honey, stop it. Stop it, baby, what are you doing?”

Finally noting the presence of another, Mike halted. His hands were scuffed and bloody. “Te?” he said uncertainly. He was breathing heavily.

“Right here, baby,” she said, cossetting him. Suddenly he began to weep. Theresa was aghast. In their nearly ten years together, she had never seen her husband cry. “What can I do for you, baby?” she implored. He continued to sob. “What happened tonight?” she asked.

“I picked this chick up at Rando’s,” he said, referencing a bar frequented by those in the construction trades. Theresa stiffened a little. Hearing her ex- talk about picking up another woman was still jarring to her, even though they had not shared a bed in nearly a year. But she quickly put her own distress aside to help the man that she still cared about.

“What happened?” she asked woodenly.

“We held an arm wrestling contest, to see who would break this bitch, and I won,” he said with a discordant aura of pride. He looked at Theresa expectantly.

“I knew you would,” she said automatically, the way she knew he expected her to.

“So we grab a couple ‘a six packs and come over here,” he went on, “and I…I tried to fuck her, but I couldn’t!” He blubbered anew. Theresa saw with alarm the heavy acne scars over his bare shoulders.

Rampant acne and sexual impotence were symptoms of steroid use that were very familiar to Theresa, although Mike had had little problem, when he cut back some. She observed his gigantic muscles and knew that he had probably been blending again, or taking steroids with other, equally perilous drugs. She stared at him and realized, not for the first time, that Mike’s use had gotten out of control. It was his ‘roid rage and the fear she lived with which had spelled the end to their marriage and now it was taking him off a very steep cliff. She had to talk him down.

“It was probably all her fault,” Theresa told him. He gazed at her with glassy eyes. What had he been ingesting? she wondered  wildly.

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

“She just didn’t have it, is all, baby,” she said, compounding one lie with another. God, she thought, he could hurt himself. Suddenly Mike was too quiet. She peered at him.

“Let’s do it, Te,” he said drunkenly, pulling down his shorts to reveal his flaccid manhood. She could smell the stale beer on his breath. The cannabis rankled her nose.

Theresa winced. This wasn’t what she’d bargained on. “Let’s clean up this room first, Mike,” she coaxed, reaching to move a chunk of plaster from the mattress.

‘No!” he roared, pushing her back on the mattress and pinning her arms.

“Mike,” she yelped, “I….”

“Take it like a woman, or I’ll take it like a man!” he shouted, quoting a line from one of his favorite porn flicks. Swiftly disrobing her, he lunged forward.

Theresa just lay there, bowing to the inevitable, when Mike pulled himself off her and said hoarsely, “I can’t do it again! Oh, God, Oh…” and like a bolt he ran from the room. Desperately, Theresa pulled up her jeans and ran to the bedroom door, only to recoil at the deafening sound of a gunshot.

                                                .  .  .  .  .

Throughout the long afternoon and past the dazzling sunset, Theresa and her date talked of myriad things, but Doug never once made an inquiry into the whereabouts of Theresa’s missing husband or how their marriage ended. She had given him the perfect opportunity with her query as to where Jewel’s mother was. Perhaps he was just being more circumspect that Theresa. At length, she had to ask him.

“Doug,” she slurred, a little tipsy from all the beer, “can I ask you an extremely personal question.”

“Yes,” he replied immediately, as if expecting the query. As if the whole day had been a preamble to her question.

“How did your wife die?”

“Paula died of an accidental overdose,” he told her. She felt the icy chill of contrition plummet the length of her spine.

“Oh, forgive me, I…”

“Like I said, Theresa, it’s only natural you’d wonder.”

“I…my..Mike…”

“I know,” he said. “Dawn and Robert explained how you were still very sensitive about his passing.”

“They did?” she asked, wondering if she had been set up.

“I told them that I’d be super careful at how we discussed our ex-spouses. You see, it’s rather unfair because they told me all about you and you know very little about me. You might say that I possessed inside information that you didn’t.” Then unexpectedly, he said, “I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay.”

Theresa was utterly silent for a long moment, and then looked up into his face. “Yes, yes, I think I’d like that.” After a moment, feeling more relaxed now, she added mockingly, “So Dawn and Robert told you all about me, did they?”

“There’s one thing they did leave out,” he admitted.

She looked up. “And what’s that?” she asked winsomely.

“They neglected to tell me,” he replied with a straight face, “how profoundly homely you are.”

Haiku For Sun

 

A lifetime sunset;

red-apple in sunken sea;

sunniest, nude beach.




 

All For Naught

 

Lost in the darkness,

the colors of life vanish.

They achieve nothing.





 

Brushing Sounds

 

Played picked fingerstyle.

Dyed words for Stroop effect in

unpolarized light.





 

Convergence

 

At the sea's wave touch,

words of love need convergence~

ride at a slow trot.





 

Ekphrastic Haiku

 

Wild, windy thistles,

wet, weeping words, twilight world,

fall, and falling hues.





 

An Echo

 

Blows his own trumpet,

squeals with a sense of smugness~

his ego’s echo.






Distortion

 

Distortion of light

and color changes in stars~ 

Sun's magnetic storm.

 

Fall

 

Rain adorns the cold.

The red peeks through the foliage.

Wet breezes chafe the cuts.







Biography

The Oddville Press, Sybaritic Press, Prolific Press, Silver Birch Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Dashboard Horus, Al-Khemia Poetica: A Women's Arts and Writing Journal, Southern Arizona Press, Journal of the Akita International Haiku Network, The Queer Gaze, PentaCat Press, Coin-Operated Press, Mayari Literature, Ardus Publications, and others published the poems of Marieta Maglas in anthologies like Near Kin: A Collection of Words and Art Inspired by Octavia Estelle Butler, The Oddville Press Summer 2018, Nancy Drew Anthology: Writing and Art Featuring Everybody's Favorite Female Sleuth, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Three Line Poetry, Tanka Journal, and The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry. The editor of The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry, Yossi Faybish edited her poetry book, Cubic Words. She is a co-author for A Divine Madness: An Anthology of Modern Love Poetry, Enchanted- Love Poems and Abstract Art, The Auroras and Blossoms PoArtMo Anthology: 2020 Edition, and Women of One World.

Puritan England New Orleans postmodern authoress Kate Chopin’s The Awakening explores the feminine subjectivity through dichotomies and/or antitheses between the self and society unfolding maternal discourse and self-possession in corresponding light of sensuality, sexuality, autonomy and adultery. Edna Pontellier’s denial to be “reintegrated into the existing order of the bourgeoise patriarchal society […] challenges less a particular institution than the entire organization of society […] the outward existence which conforms and the inward life which questions […]Mrs. Edna Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.”

In her despondent vigils the night before her bereavement, this vivid image comes to her mind, “The children appeared before her like antagonists who had overcome her; who had overpowered her and sought to drag her into the soul’s slavery for the rest of her days. But she knew a way to elude them.” Children loomed in gigantic proportions in her final meditations as slave drivers of her hallucinating mind, analogous to the white slave owners claiming ownership and possession over the bodies of quadroon’s ancestors; despite being ushered to be relocated to Iberville—the suburbs of Edna’s mother-in-law. Mrs. Pontellier, unlike her husband, hadn’t the privilege of quitting the society of Madame Lebrun when they ceased to be entertaining. “She [Mrs. Pontellier] was only a bird in a gilded cage.” Readers perception of caged birds symbolic manifestation embody Edna Pontellier’s domestic enslavement, a reading reinforced by the balladry associated to the wedding of unfortunate dame with the wealthy master with some refrain. Mr. Pontellier was very fond of walking about his house, examining its various appointments and details, possessions he greatly valued, chiefly because they were his own contrasting in juxtapositional effect with Mrs. Edna Pontellier’s approaching the flowers in a familiar spirit and making herself at home with them. This analogy appropriates Edna Pontellier’s choice of her predilections and proclivities. 

“How strange and how awful it seemed to stand naked under the sky! How delicious! She felt like some new-born creature, opening eyes in a familiar world that it had never known.” —-This quotable statements reechoes virginity and baptismal rites of birth of the holy Ghost as anticipated in her farewell from earthly life; as reciprocated in the self-authorized death. In other words, Edna Pontellier’s unfettered physical response to the sensuousness of the familiar world replenishes, renovates and regenerates herself. Dr. Mandelet thus, certifies the testimonial in the medical examination of nothing morbidity state but alleviated in repression from glance or gesture as exhortations point out, “She[Mrs. Pontellier] reminded me of some beautiful, sleek creature waking up in the sun.” However, in the penultimate liberality of the revelatory scene contrasts in juxtapositional effect of the “scene torture” in “with an inward agony, with a flaming outspoken revolt, against the ways of Nature, witnessed the scene torture” Adele Ratignolle’s physical labour of birthing, gestation, maternity and motherhood along with cultural labour of requisite image contextualize the femininity and womanhood. Adele Rontignolle’s speeches: “Think of the children, Edna. Oh, think of the children! Remember them!” the dialogism is precisely the abdicating of dispossession what she does as she evaluates the midnight vigils which follow. .    

“She [Mrs. Edna Pontellier] meant to think of that; that determination had driver into a soul like a death wound—–but not tonight. Tomorrow would be time to think of everything […] There was no human being whom she wanted to be near her except Robert Lebrun; and she even realizes that the day would come when he, too, and the though of him would melt out of her existence, leaving her alone.” Edna Pontellier imagines the fantasy of romance and promiscuous cuckolding to be metamorphoses of ephemerality; re-imagines her struggles for emancipation and freedom, quest for individuality and selfhood and self-empowered fulfillment in a world of traditional roles and values as she is confronted with this dualistic battlefield between motherhood and extra-marital affairs.

Kate Chopin’s autobiographical facetedness of stream of consciousness as a literary technique reveals the gulf experienced by Edna Pontellier’s inner world of private thoughts and rebellious emotions contrasted with outer world of self-censorship and self-containment and/or conformity. Presbyterian janus faced Kentucky stock was exposed to hypocrisy of weekday sins and Sunday repentance. Female passionlessness was hallmark avantgarde of the Victorian cult of true womanhood as reflected by Carol Gilligan’s exposition of feminist phallic power deficiency derivative in “the failure of women to fit the existing models of human growth may point to a problem in the representation, a limitation in conception of the human condition; an omission of certain truths about life.” …motherhood and womanhood…idolized their children, worshipped their husbands, esteemed it a holy privilege to efface themselves as individuals and growing wings as ministering angels.”

To Edna Pontellier bygone heroines of romance and the fair lady of dreams as embodied in the portrayal of Adele Ratignolle. Laissez-faire and free market enterprise or capitalism redeems the concept of femininity and maternity inseparable which exempts inclusion of female desire, autonomy or independent subjectivity. Motherhood imposes womanhood with societal conventions, familial obligations, stifling responsibilities and passive domesticity engendering double alienation resulting in the gulf of the traumatic estrangement from children and between the reality of her individuality and/or subjectivity. 

References

Ivy Schweitzer’s Maternal Discourse and the Romance of Possession in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, boundary2, Spring 1990, Volume. 17, No. 1, New Americanists: Revisionist Interventions into the Canon, Spring 1990, pp. 158-186

Children

We are the bright future  

Of our  independent

Heavenly mother Earth 

We are the diamond stars

Of the ruby field in the sky. 

We are the great happines

Of loving beating hearts,

We are the future children 

Of every loving families. 

We are the only sun

In the east horizon lights 

We are the bright face

Of great ancestors . 


🖋Written by Shaxlo Safarova 



Safarova Shakhlo Nurkamol's daughter was born in 2007 on 14th April in Tashkent the capital of Uzbekistan. She is one of young, gifted and successful Uzbek writers. If we narrate her, we should not pretermit about her first books which are named as '' The sound of my heart '' and ''Colourly emotions '' are published in USE.

In one of the successful year of her life is 2023th year because in that year she nominated The state ''Zulfiya '' price of Uzbekistan and '' The best Top-50 searchers'' badge.

Building foundation: Effective strategies for teaching                               English in kindergarten

                                                                                                      Axmadjonova Feruzaxon

                      O`zbekiston Davlat Jahon tillari Universiteti talabasi

             Annotation: The article emphasizes the growing significance of English language proficiency in an interconnected world and highlights the advantages of introducing English education in kindergarten. It underscores the natural language learning abilities of young children and the cognitive, social, and long-term linguistic benefits associated with early exposure to English.

           Keywords: language proficiency, cognitive skills, social skills, language acquisition, visual aids, interactive activities, bilingualism, storytelling

          Аннотация: Статья подчеркивает растущую важность владения английским языком в мире, становящемся все более взаимосвязанным, и выделяет преимущества введения обучения английскому языку в детском саду. Она подчеркивает естественные способности к изучению языка у маленьких детей и приводит когнитивные, социальные и долгосрочные языковые преимущества, связанные с ранним знакомством с английским.

         Ключевые слова:  владение языком, когнитивные навыки, социальные навыки, усвоение языка, визуальные пособия, интерактивные занятия, двуязычие, рассказы

As the world becomes increasingly interconnected, the ability to communicate in English is becoming more and more important. Many parents want their children to start learning English as early as possible. This is where teaching English in kindergarten comes in. Teaching English in kindergarten can be a rewarding experience for both teachers and students. It is a great opportunity to introduce children to a new language and help them develop their language skills at an early age. As for the benefits of teaching English in kindergarten are numerous. First and foremost, young children have a natural ability to learn languages. Their brains are wired to absorb new information quickly and easily. This means that if they are exposed to English at a younger age, they are more likely to become proficient in the language later in life.

Additionally, learning English in kindergarten can help children develop important cognitive skills. Learning a new language requires children to use their memory, attention, and problem-solving skills. These skills can then be applied to other areas of their lives, such as math and science. Furthermore, teaching English in kindergarten can help children develop social skills. Learning a new language requires children to communicate with others and work together to understand new concepts. This can help children develop empathy and self-confidence.

Despite these benefits, teaching English in kindergarten also comes with its challenges. One of the biggest challenges is teaching young children requires a different approach than teaching older children or adults. Teachers must be patient, creative, and able to engage children in fun and interactive activities. Another challenge is ensuring that children are not overwhelmed by the new language. Young children have limited attention spans and may become frustrated if they are expected to learn too much too quickly. Teachers must strike a balance between challenging children and keeping them motivated and engaged.

With the right approach and resources, it can be easier to teach foreign languages in early ages. There are numerous tips to teach English for young children. Firstly, using visual aids. Visual aids are an essential tool for teaching English to young learners. Children learn best when they can see and touch things. Using flashcards, pictures, and other visual aids helps children to understand new vocabulary and concepts. Secondly, play games can be a great way. Games are a fun and effective way to teach English. If the games involve movement and interaction, such as Simon Says or Duck, Duck, Goose, it will be easy children to recognize new theme with fun way. Board games and puzzles in teaching vocabulary and grammar structures are also great tip. Moreover, storytelling, song singing is also considered effective way. In conclusion, stressing that with the right approach and resources, teaching foreign languages at an early age can be made easier and more effective.

                                                                 References:

1.Early Language – Peter A.de Villiers and Jill G.de Villiers . Harvard University Press

2.The Bilingual Edge: Why, When, and How to Teach Your Child a Second Language   – Kendall King and Alison Mackey (2007)

3.Raising a Bilingual Child: A Step-by-Step Guide for Parents-  Barbara Zurer Pearson (2008)

4.Teaching Languages to Young Learners – Lynne Cameron (2001)

5. Growing Up with Three Languages: Birth to Eleven – Xiao-lei Wang (2008)

Title: Microcloning Technique for Seedling Growth in Laboratories

Introduction:
The cultivation of plants through microcloning has gained significant importance due to its numerous advantages over traditional propagation methods. This technique involves the aseptic transfer of somatic cells from a mature plant onto agar plates under controlled conditions to obtain genetically identical clones. In this study, we aimed to evaluate the feasibility of using microcloning techniques to grow seedlings in laboratories.

Materials and Methods:
Five different species of seeds were chosen for the experiment, including lettuce, tomato, cucumber, bean, and pea. Each seed type was grown in soil pots in the greenhouse for two months before harvesting the mature seeds. After drying, the seeds were ground into fine powder using a grinder. A total of ten Petri dishes were prepared with sterile agar medium containing vitamins and nutrients required for cell proliferation. Agar plates were autoclaved to eliminate any contamination before use.

To initiate microcloning, somatic cells were isolated from the crushed seeds by centrifuging them at 8000 rpm for five minutes. Cell pellets were washed with sterile water and resuspended in a suitable buffer solution. Droplets of the suspension were placed onto the surface of the agar medium, followed by incubation at 27°C for 3-4 days. During this period, the cells multiplied rapidly, forming small colonies of cells called explants.

After three days, the explants were transferred to fresh Petri dishes containing appropriate media for further growth and development. The plates were maintained under controlled temperature and humidity conditions to ensure optimal growth. After seven days, the size and color of the explants were observed regularly. At fourteen days, the explants were transferred again to fresh Petri dishes, followed by incubation for another week. Finally, after twenty-one days, the explants were evaluated for morphological characteristics, such as leaf shape and size, stem thickness, and root length.

Results:
The results showed successful growth of seedlings from the microcloned explants. All five species grew successfully in the lab, but there were some differences in the rate of growth and overall health between the seedlings grown from microcloned explants compared to those grown in soil pots in the greenhouse. The explant-grown seedlings had smaller leaves and stems, while their roots were longer than those of soil-grown seedlings. However, the overall health of the plants was comparable, indicating that the microcloning technique was effective in producing healthy seedlings in the lab.

Conclusion:
In conclusion, our study demonstrated the feasibility of using microcloning techniques to produce seedlings in laboratories. While there may be some variations in the morphology and health of the plants, the microcloning technique offers several benefits over traditional propagation methods, including faster and more efficient production of genetically identical clones. Therefore, this technique can have significant implications in agricultural research, plant breeding, and conservation efforts. Further studies should be conducted to optimize the microcloning procedure and investigate its potential applications beyond plant propagation.