Sports that keep us upright, Takes to the heights, Set a record in every field Athletes win always!
Gyms are waiting for us, It only requires worked, A chance for a boy or girls The doors are opened!
A person who excels in sports, In training full of energy, Get up early every day Runs, eats healthy!
Sports-health guarantee, Make the words a slogan, To do sports Consider it a glory for the nation!
Farkhodova Nodira Ulugbek’s daughter was born on November 14, in 2008 Shafirkon district of Bukhara region. She is the student of 8 th grade of 38th Specialized State General Education School of the Shafirkon district public education department. She is a young amateur who is interested in writing poetry. There are more than 30 poems in total. “A person who excels in sports”, “My Motherland”, “My mother language is my pride and joy” and many other poems were published in newspapers and magazines.In addition, he took pride of place in several contests.
I read poetry until morning Meeting, love, sweet sadness. In front of my eyes are bad legs, Diseased helpful grasses. I read poetry of songbirds About free flight. Afghan birds in front of my eyes, It passes away in a withered tree. I read poetry my grandfather Alpomish! I swear, we are the sons of the Alps! There is no Kuntugmish in front of my eyes, Neither Rustam nor Gorogli. I read poetry higher emotions: Faith, honesty, kindness. Brothers and sisters in front of my eyes, They do not show mercy to each other. I read poetry the world is bright. I’m here, the sky is clear. It is clear before my eyes, A world of steppe wolf I read poetry again and again. Loud claps are played. I have eternal applause in front of my eyes, Curse the father of clappers. I read poetry, deceiving the nation, Close your eyes to everything. I do not tremble on any page,
The woman turned around. “I didn’t drop anything,” she said angrily, in an accent I couldn’t place.
“Right there,” I said, pointing down at the sidewalk.
“Oh, my coin purse! Thank you.” She picked it up. She took a quarter out to give me a tip.
“Oh, please, no, it was my pleasure.”
“What, my money’s not good enough for you?”
“Of course it’s good enough for me, but I don’t need it.”
“What makes you so special that you don’t need a quarter?”
“Nothing. Nothing makes me special. So give me the quarter.”
She gave me the quarter. I looked at it. It wasn’t a quarter. It was foreign currency from I didn’t know where.
“This isn’t a quarter,” I said, “it’s a foreign coin.”
“Well, aren’t you hoity-toity!”
“I was just letting you know, in case you needed it.”
“How dare you insult me! Do I look like I need a measly schmonski?”
“Did you say schmonski?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ve been looking for a schmonski for years, for my collection! I thought they were discontinued.”
“This is a novy schmonski. The government started issuing them last year because the people were nostalgic for the schmonski.”
“What’s a schmonski worth these days?” I asked.
“About a quarter,” she replied.
Clowns
Two clowns were sitting at the booth across from my table at the diner. I didn’t think there was a circus in town, so I figured maybe they were booked for a kid’s birthday party or something. I know clowns have a reputation for being gruff and nasty when they’re off-duty, but I figured I’d try to chat them up. I walked over to their booth.
“Excuse me, fellas,” I said, “I couldn’t help noticing your costumes, and I was wondering where you were performing.”
They seemed confused. One of them said, “Performing?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Is there a circus in town, or are you doing a private party.”
They still looked confused.
“We’re having lunch,” the other clown said.
“Yeah, I can see that. Are you coming from the gig or preparing?”
“What gig?” the second clown asked.
“The clown gig.”
They were silent.
“I was just curious,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch. I’ll just leave you alone.” I was about to walk away when the first clown spoke again.
“You seem to think we’re performers,” he said. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“The clown costumes!”
“Costumes?” the other said, “These are our clothes.”
“But aren’t you clowns?”
“Of course we’re clowns,” the second one said. “But we’re not performers.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re not performers, what do you do?”
“I’m a dentist,” the first one said, “and he’s an accountant.”
“Then why are you dressed like clowns?”
They both looked at me like I was from another planet.
Vassily Aksyonov, Say Cheese!(epigraph & opening line; trans, Antonina W. Bouis)
After the movies, photography of all the arts is the most important for us! —V. Lenin or J. Stalin
When and by which of the two possible authors this quotation was spoken is not known with accuracy.
Ah Lenin’o, ah Sta’ lēēn
Axe ion is off (& running a’gen then)
Well it’s hardly the newsentence is it …
Take my photo, Koba
tyranny of the signified
It’s like trying to see
the air itself
Your agitprop chop
nixed
— say cheese
Martin Amis, Lionel Asbo: State of England
In his outward appearance Lionel was brutally generic—the slablike body, the full lump of the face, the tight-shaved crown with its tawny stubble.
A novel a’miss
sweet FU UK
Thuggish louts
(en route, NYC)
ASBO signified yob
bruter than signifier boy
Tyranny becomes fetish
one lump or two?
Say please
Ivo Andrić, Bosnian Chronicle(opening line; trans, Joseph Hitrec)
At the beginning of the year 1807 strange things began to happen at Travnik, things that had never happened before.
Strange b’place, Kin v. Art
one brow low one high
Stranger than wingnut
num(b)·er·ology
One ate one nought fewer
non bond·ouble “0” sevens
1807’s a master “Sixteen”
Positive integer, karmic
numb’er
“Vibrational properties,” they say
One lump v. two
Flight re·route Sarajevo Blue
Donald Antrim, Elect Mr. Robinson for a Better World
“Duck!”… From the skies it came, a gargantuan blue tome, one of those Compact Editions of the Oxford English Dictionary, end over end hurtling in projectile descent, pages fluttering and tearing in the wind, a screaming index of printed and bound lexical data, half a language heavy with gravity and gathering velocity. I dove for turf and covered my head as the OED cruised thumping to the earth.
Hurtling screaming index
d’ lexical data
Each ’tum point
a s p a c e ate
inside da’ words
Torque you round
shift yr ground
Ring tha’ blank space
Be you’m 27th letter
Google say two plus seven
we’s buzzing on
Cloud Nine
Say “Duck!” Sniper shots
cross street, Sara day-glo
heavy gravity for sure
Re: “Tyranny [or fetish] of the signified…” Two source critical texts underlie many of these poems: Stephen Fredman, Poet’s Prose: The Crisis in American Verse and Ron Silliman, The New Sentence
ASBO: (Anti-Social Behaviour Order): UK’s Blair gov’t restraining order for thuggish louts— this novel being Amis’ parting shot at Britain when he moved permanently to NYC. A different type of tyranny/fetish has been causal for avant poetry’s “demolition of the conventional relationship between the active (dictatorial) writer and the passive (victimized) reader…” (George Hartley, Textual Politics and the Language Poets)
Tra’v’nik, Bosnia: Andric’s birthplace—Obrnuto (Bosnian for “in reverse”: kin v art). The Sarajevo ref is to another Bosnian poet & short story writer Semezdin Memedinović’s biting/numbing war collection Sarajevo Blues (trans, incidentally, by Charles Olson scholar Ammiel Alcalay) with SM’s debt to fellow Bosnian writers Ivo Andrić & Danilo Kiš
“The new sentence is a decidedly contextual object. Its effects occur as much between, as within, sentences. Thus it reveals that the blank space, between words or sentences, is much more than the 27th letter of the alphabet. It is beginning to explore and articulate just what those hidden capacities might be.” (Silliman, The New Sentence, p. 92)
See previous poem’s footnote re: Sarajevo Blues—ducking sniper shots while crossing streets during the Bosnian war
Stephen Bett is a widely and internationally published Canadian poet with 25 books in print (from BlazeVOX, Chax, Spuyten Duyvil, & others). His personal papers are archived in the “Contemporary Literature Collection” at Simon Fraser University. His website is StephenBett.com
Winter Love
Winter comes though late comer
I feel you so much, dear winter
After a long hot weather
We welcome you with so many new elements of enjoyment
Including items of foods, cloths and soft touch of loving hand
Sleeping with quilt facing with you
Feeling warm love in secret my heart blazes
In the morning the world is covered with the mist and fog
While nothing is more suitable than my date's cold juice
And the verities of pithas and pa-es
I love you winter so much
Love you because the new flowers in the trees will bloom soon
I love you too much you brought me too close to my loving heart.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh,
11 December, 2023The Spring Year-2024
To the beginning of the year -2024
What I say? What I say I do not know.
But like to say much though I can't express
Within this circumstances of the enclosed room
My heart smiles on over the new tune of love
And fraternity in a harmonious world
That makes us happy with all our aims and activity
We can walk freely day and night
Without any dubitation of fire fighting or anxiety
All the flowers in the garden may bloom from here to the last space of the earth
The Spring Year -2024
I love you, welcome you
Hope for the replacement of sorrows and suffering
Into the glittering light of humanity.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh,
30 December, 2023
Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad.
His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos, for seven years.
Karakalpak State University, Faculty of Philology and Journalism, 4th year student
Abstract: This article is about the pilgrimage complex of Grandfather Uwais and its history.
Key words: Sultan Uwais, pilgrimage, complex, history, architecture, monument.
Grandfather Sultan Uwais Pilgrimage Complex.
Sultan Uvais Bobo complex is an architectural monument in Beruni district (17th-19th centuries). Sultan Uwais (real name Suhail ibn Amir ibn Ruman ibn Nahiya ibn Murad) was born in the Muradi tribe of the Qaran village of Yemen (in 625 BC). He was martyred at the age of 32 in the Battle of Siffin (657 AD) between the soldiers of Hazrat Ali and Muawiya. He was buried in the village of Safa in Syria. Sultan Uwais was engaged in collecting hadiths (7a. 1st half). In the 17th century, his followers built a symbolic tomb (in present-day Beruni) and a shrine. Olloqulikhan built a large mosque and 10 separate chillkhanas for the sheikh (19th century). The complex is rectangular in shape (21.5×53 m), oriented from north to south. Sultan Baba mausoleum, mausoleums built later (mostly with domes), etc. It is located in the northern part of the courtyard surrounded by a brick wall. In the south there is a mosque, a porch, a room and hotels. The complex is entered from the west. The complex of Sultan Uwais Baba was built on the basis of medieval Khorezm architectural traditions (made of brick). On the initiative of Khorezm region hokimity, the shrine, the entrance part was renovated (2002). The mausoleum of Grandfather Sultan Uwais is not only a favorite place of the people of the lower Amudarya, but also a tourist center.
The complex of Sultan Uvais-bobo (XVII-XIX centuries) is one of the most sacred places in the lower reaches of Amudarya. He is associated with the name of Uwais al-Qarani. It is narrated that he was the Prophet s.a.w. was considered one of the followers and lived in the village of Qarayn in Yemen. The reason why he is called Sultan is that he was the Sultan of saints. Sultan Uwais Qarani in 37 Hijri (657 AD) Hazrat Ali r.a. will be buried in this place according to his recommendations.
Sultan Uwais Qarani our Prophet s.a.v. even though they did not see him personally, their love for him was boundless. He is Rasulullah s.a.w. was one of the pious people who strictly adhered to the Sunnah of Our grandfather Sultan Uwais Rasulullah s.a.v. when he heard that his teeth were broken, he broke his own teeth. It was from the strength of love and respect. According to the order of Sultan Muhammad Khorezmshah, a large mausoleum was built at the place where Sultan Uwais was buried. However, due to Genghis Khan’s invasion of Khorezm in 1221, this mausoleum was destroyed.
The mausoleum built by Khorezmshah remained in a half-ruined state even after the reign of Genghis Khan. In 1800, the engineer Velichko, who was in the shrine of Grandfather Sultan Uwais and mapped it, remembers the existence of the mausoleum mosque.
After nearly 600 years, Khiva khan Eltuzar Khan restored this mausoleum in 1805-1806. However, due to severe earthquakes and floods in Khorezm, the mausoleum collapsed. 30 years after this event, the son of Muhammad Rahim Khan I, Olloquli Khan, restored the mausoleum in 1836-1838. The mausoleum of Grandfather Sultan Uwais was built on a high place. During the time of the former absolutist system, a gold chandelier and a grate with golden water were taken away. In 1932, the golden dome placed on top of the dome was also taken away by unknown people of the government of that time.
The biggest shrine in the city is Sultan Uwais Baba shrine. According to historical data, in 659 Hijri, Sultan Uwais was buried on the mountain where the deceased spent his entire life (today Sultan Uwais Mountain) according to the fatwa of the ulama. Almost six centuries later, in 1805-1807, the mausoleum was restored by Khiva Khan Eltuzar Khan. Later it was also damaged by a strong earthquake. In 1836-37, Khan of Khiva Olloquli Khan restored the mausoleum.
At the initiative of our honorable President Sh.M. Mirziyoyev, a huge construction and beautification work was carried out at the shrine of Grandfather Sultan Uvais, and a mosque building was built and handed over to Muslims.
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My tongue that entered my ear as lullaby,
My valiant tongue in the bosom of the ages,
I will write you every moment,
My blood, my language, oh, my motherland.
Come strolling, meaning my language,
Always sing like a nightingale my tongue,
He has the spirit of Navoi, he has Babur,
Let every dialect be beautiful, my language.
Every word has a hundred meanings in my mother tongue,
Every flame is a fire in every heart,
Everything ripples in this language,
Endless treasure, legend in my tongue.
This is my language, which the whole world respects.
This is my language, inherited from my ancestors.
Abdunazarova Khushroy was born on December 21, 2008. She is 15 years old. Currently, she is a pupil of 8th grade of the 15th DIUM of Mingbulak district, Namangan region. She is interested in English and Mathematics. She wants to become an interpreter in the future. And also she is a member of the international organization "All India Council for Technical skill development".
