GO HOME!

     “GO HOME!”  I heard shouted by a biker as he sped past.  I was bewildered.  I was north of Chicago, visiting the continental Bahá’í House of Worship for North America in Wilmette, Illinois. Located on a ridge of land beside Lake Michigan, it can be seen from some distance. With its ribbed dome rising over the tree tops, it is a distinctive feature of the North Shore. It is a unique structure which attracts visitors from all over the world. All are welcome.

     It is my spiritual home and has been for over half a century. I was not raised Bahá’í, no one is automatically Bahá’í.  That is a choice each person must make for themselves.  It was my choice as a young man out of high school on my own. I had been raised in a conventional Christian church in an unconventional family. My father’s mother was devout, so much so that, living on the farm next to ours, she began to come to our place every Sunday morning as soon as I was old enough to go, and would take me to Sunday School, then the church service afterwards. I was too young to put on my own pants, Dad had to hold them for me to step into, so I may have been just two or three. The sermons were long and boring, so Granma entertained me with quiet games. I eventually learned to sit still. As more children came into the family, they were added in the car too. Sunday mornings were the only times our parents had alone.

     Granma taught Sunday School while we attended our classes. She had been a founding member of the church. Actually, I should say, her husband, son and brothers had been founding members, women were not allowed to vote or serve on the church board. Granma was one of the most active members of that church, yet she regretted that never once in her ninety-seven years of life had she been elected to head any of the many organizations or committees she belonged to there.  She belonged to lots of community neighborhood organizations and had been elected president of them all at one time or another, more often than once, but not at her church.

     Even though I was recruited for the ministry, I had my own reasons for finding another spiritual home. I never accepted the idea that everyone other than members of that church were going to Hell. I always thought God was bigger than that. Bahá’í scriptures teach that the Creator of the Universe (God) has provided Messengers/Saviors to all peoples, so none is left out.  No one is condemned due to geography or time of birth.  When I found the  Bahá’í Faith, I embraced it immediately.

     The  Bahá’í Faith is as different from the belief system of that church, as the church building is from a  Bahá’í House of Worship. For one thing, in a  Bahá’í House of Worship, no preaching or weddings or funerals are undertaken. There is nothing in the edifice to separate people: no images, items or symbols – there are none at all. In this one, but not all, there are some brief quotations from Bahá’í scriptures around the top of the walls, in English because that is the dominant language in North America. No rituals or ceremonies are performed in this house of worship, because Bahá’ís have none to perform. With none of that, there is no altar to perform in front of. Likewise, there is no pulpit for preaching, because preaching is forbidden, as is collection of money. With no rituals, ceremonies or preaching, there is no clergy, no priest to perform these actions. There are brief worship services consisting of readings from the world’s religious scriptures, not just Bahá’í. There is no commentary on the scripture. The purpose of the building is for meditation and prayer. Though it is five hundred miles from my home, I try to go once a year just to keep in touch. There are few of them around the world because more effort, and money, has gone into providing schools in places where governments can’t. There are close to a thousand of them.

     Not only is the building open to the public, but Bahá’ís consider each House of Worship they build as a gift to mankind. These structures are places where people can take a break from the world around them and pray and meditate. Anyone may enter as long as they are quietly respectful of others. It is a peaceful, quiet place for meditation and prayer for each soul.       

Bahá’ís have erected Houses of Worship on each continent and more are being built. All are similar with no distractions for the worshiper, yet each is very different regarding the style of its construction. Some, in tropical climates, are open to the air. All reflect in some way the culture in which they are built. The one in New Delhi, India is in the form of a lotus blossom, often referred to as the Lotus Temple, and has been used by others to represent the entire country.

     Gardens surround the nine-sided buildings (they all have nine sides, in a circular shape, that is the major architectural requirement). The gardens serve as a transition space before entering for worship. In Wilmette, a circling bench is a feature of each of the nine gardens. One does not have to go inside to pray. Each garden has a fountain in a pool to help mask surrounding noises, but they cannot obscure them all. Some of these gardens are next to a major street that nearly encircles the structure. I was in one of those gardens when a motorcycle passed by and words were shouted into the air.

     “BAHÁ’ÍS GO HOME!”

     The biker had rapidly passed before I could process the words. They were not words I had expected to hear. I had actually never heard them before in my presence. Then I reflected.

     ‘Yes, in a few days I’ll be going home, back to Kansas, but I’m sure that’s not what he meant.  I could conceivably ‘go home’ to the home of my ancestors. Several came from Germany, some came from Ireland, but one of those was really Scottish, yet there are others. But part of me IS home! My Native American ancestry IS home!’

     That led to a new train of thought.

     ‘You sir, are more likely the invader. My Native people have been here since some last ice age.  Your people may well have come since then; why don’t YOU go ‘home?’

     Of course, I couldn’t say any of it, and what would have been the point if I had?

     Is this a slight bit of the rejection my German ancestors felt when they settled in the part of Kansas where I grew up and now live, when they tried to build a new life here in the 1860s? They were resented because they tried to make a living by the way they knew from home – making apple cider. They made two kinds: hard and soft. It was the hard cider that was objectionable, associated with drunkeness and unseemly behavior. I don’t know what all else.

     After a century here, my family is well respected here (someone must have liked the cider), so this rejection was a bit startling and slightly amusing. He drove on past with no more than venting whatever he needed to express.

     I thought what an impossibility it is to send people “home” when our only true “home” is planet Earth – and we are ALL home, wherever on Earth we happen to live. And, some people have little choice where that may be.

     The shouter undoubtedly assumed that members of the Bahá’í Faith had come to this country from somewhere else, when that’s only partially true. The first Bahá’ís in America were born here before they knew of the religion. In fact, most Bahá’ís at this time in every country are people who were born there and learned about the religion, then adopted it as adults. The shouter was unaware that one is not born a Bahá’í. A person can be born into a Bahá’í family, with Bahá’í parents, but to be a member of the Bahá’í community must be a conscious choice sometime later in life, usually after age fifteen. One can’t make that decision for anyone else. Parents can’t make that decision for their children.

     The Bahá’í Faith is based on the teachings of Bahá’u’lláh, a member of nineteenth century Persian aristocracy who spent the last forty years of His life as an exile and prisoner due to His teaching such things as there being a Messenger of God after Muhammad, the equality of women and men, and that the human race is one race. He gained nothing for His efforts. He lost all of his possessions and all worldly status. His entire family were prisoners and two sons died under those conditions. He gained nothing and lost everything, but He did not give up.  

     Today, millions of people around the planet read and study His words and use them to improve their lives, their families and their communities. They are demonstrating His teachings that: “The earth is one country, and mankind its citizens.”  The human race is at “home” on planet Earth. We are ALL home; we ALL belong HERE, on Earth!

#  #

NO WAR

Another day cries out its terror,

the earth is red under the rubble.

The silence

of those who do not want to hear

falls upon the earth.

Indifference is gunpowder.

Elisabetta Bonaparte is an Italian poet, writer, lawyer and teacher. Her passion for poetry has materialized in a significant literary production, characterized by a profound sensitivity to existential and natural themes and by a refined, intimate and meditative language, rich in symbolism and metaphors. Elisabetta Bonaparte has participated in national and international literary competitions, obtaining First Prizes, Medals, Plaques, Special Prizes, as well as numerous other literary awards. Her compositions, translated into several languages have been selected and included in literary anthologies and published in national and international specialized journals, both in print and online, in many countries.

ALISHER NAVOIY NOMIDAGI TOSHKENT DAVLAT O’ZBEK TILI VA ADABIYOTI UNIVERSITETINING ONA TILI VA ADABIYOT FAKULTETIO’ZBEK TILI VA ADABIYOT YO’NALISHI 13-GURUH TALABASIRAHMONQULOVA GULSEVAR SAMID QIZI

Father-Son Relationship in the “Alpomish” Epic 

Abstract  This article analyzes the father-son relationship in the “Alpomish” epic, a unique example of Uzbek folk oral creativity. It demonstrates that the relationships between Alpomish and his son Yadgar in the epic’s plot express family loyalty, heroic heritage, and generational continuity. The article illuminates the ideological-artistic features of the epic, its plot motifs, and differences in various variants based on the research of literary scholars such as Hamid Olimjon, V.M. Zhirmunsky, Hodi Zarif, Bahodir Sarimsoqov, and To‘ra Mirzayev.

The father-son relationship is linked to ancient folklore roots, comparative analysis with world epics, and national values, emphasizing the epic’s significance in folk education.   Keywords. “Alpomish” epic, father-son relationship, family ties, heroic epic, generational continuity, Uzbek folk oral creativity, folklore studies, Hamid Olimjon, V.M. Zhirmunsky, Hodi Zarif, Bahodir Sarimsoqov, To‘ra Mirzayev, plot motifs, national values, variant comparisons.  

The “Alpomish” epic, one of the largest and most perfect examples of Uzbek folk oral creativity, not only expresses the spirit of heroism and patriotism but also deeply depicts family relationships, particularly the father-son bond. In the epic’s plot, themes such as family, intergenerational connections, loyalty, and protection occupy a central place. These relationships reflect the nation’s national customs, moral standards, and way of life, as the epic has been passed down orally from generation to generation over centuries, shaped by historical conditions.

In this article, we analyze this theme based on the research of literary scholars, particularly drawing from the opinions of experts such as Hamid Olimjon, V.M. Zhirmunsky, Hodi Zarif, Bahodir Sarimsoqov, and To‘ra Mirzayev, to broadly illuminate the father-son relationships in various variants of the epic. The studies of these scholars have made significant contributions to exploring the ideological-artistic features of the epic, its plot structure, and system of characters.  

Literary scholars have studied the father-son relationship in the “Alpomish” epic within the framework of the epic’s overall ideological-artistic structure. Their opinions help illuminate the ancient roots of the epic, its plot motifs, and national characteristics.  Hamid Olimjon, in the foreword he wrote for the 1939 edition of the epic, evaluates “Alpomish” not only as a favorite work of the Uzbek people but also of Turkic nations. He focuses on the epic’s artistry, similes, and exaggerations, emphasizing the system of characters.

According to Hamid Olimjon, the relationship between Alpomish and his son Yadgar stands at the center of the epic, which served as the cradle of the hero’s poetry. He writes, “Alpomish is considered his most beloved epic. ‘Alpomish’ was the cradle of his poetry,” through which he interprets the father-son bond as generational continuity and heroic heritage. Hamid Olimjon emphasizes the influence of folklore, comparing the epic to the works of Pushkin and Navoiy, where family motifs derive from folk creativity.  

V.M. Zhirmunsky, in his book “Uzbek Folk Heroic Epic” (1947) co-authored with Hodi Zarif and in his article “The Epic Tale of Alpomish and Homer’s Odyssey” (1957), compares the epic to world epics. He likens the hero’s return in the second part of “Alpomish” to Odysseus’s return: just as Odysseus meets his son Telemachus, Alpomish meets his son Yadgar and protects the family. Zhirmunsky meticulously analyzes the plot line, delving into the genesis of the characters Alpomish and Yadgar. In his view, this relationship stems from ancient folklore motifs (the hero appearing at his own wife’s wedding) and has similarities in European folklores. Zhirmunsky connects the basis of the epic to heroic tales, though this assumption was later deemed controversial.  

Hodi Zarif, the founder of folklore studies, analyzes the epic’s emergence period and motifs in his article “The Main Motifs of the ‘Alpomish’ Epic” (published in 1957-1959). He links the epic not to the 17th-18th centuries but to the pre-Mongol invasion period and emphasizes the presence of pre-Islamic beliefs. According to Hodi Zarif, the father-son relationship is one of the central motifs of the epic, representing tribal and national unity. He refutes the accusations of A. Abdunabiyev and A. Stepanov, defending the epic as a popular national epic.

Hodi Zarif studies the etymology of the word Alpomish and the place of the epic’s creation (Boysun – ancient Khorezm), linking family bonds to ancient conceptions.  Bahodir Sarimsoqov, in his article “Three Etudes on the Alpomish Epic,” refutes Zhirmunsky’s assumption, linking the basis of the epic not to heroic tales but to real historical events. In his opinion, the heroic epic directly reflects tribal and clan events, so the father-son relationship derives from the people’s specific historical experience. Sarimsoqov emphasizes that the epic is not based on heroic tales; rather, the tales are based on the epic, which helps interpret the father-son bond as a symbol of national unity and independence.  

To‘ra Mirzayev, in his article “The ‘Alpomish’ Epic, Its Versions and Variants,” illuminates a brief history of the epic, comparing various versions (Kazakh, Karakalpak, Tatar, and others) and Uzbek variants. He reminds that the epic became known in scholarly circles in the 1890s and analyzes variants recorded by various bards (Fozil Yo‘ldosh o‘g‘li and others). According to Mirzayev, the father-son relationship varies in the epic’s versions, but the common motif – generational continuity and family protection – remains preserved. He evaluates the epic as an example of oral creativity that has been sung among the people for centuries.  

The “Alpomish” epic consists of two main parts: the first describes the hero Alpomish’s birth, marriage, and adventures in the Kalmyk lands, while the second narrates his return and protection of his family. The father-son relationship becomes particularly evident in the second part. While Alpomish is in Kalmyk captivity for seven years, his wife Barchinoy (or Barchin) gives birth to a son – Yadgar (in some variants, Yodgor). During this time, in the Qo‘ng‘irot tribe, Alpomish’s brother Ultantaz (or similar characters in other versions) seizes power and persecutes the family: he insults Alpomish’s father, oppresses his son Yadgar, and tries to force Barchin to marry him.  When Alpomish returns, he disguises himself and saves his family.

Here, the father-son relationship takes a dramatic turn: Alpomish recognizes his son but initially fights or tests him. Yadgar is depicted as a young hero who has inherited his father’s bravery – he tries to protect the family but faces difficulties due to his youth and inexperience. With Alpomish’s return, the father-son bond strengthens: the father saves his son and teaches him heroic virtues, while the son continues his father’s legacy. The continuation of the epic (in some variants) is dedicated to Yadgar’s own adventures, emphasizing generational continuity.  

The father-son relationship in the “Alpomish” epic forms the ideological center of the national epic, expressing family loyalty, heroic heritage, and intergenerational unity. Hamid Olimjon’s artistic analysis, Zhirmunsky’s comparative study, Hodi Zarif’s motif research, Bahodir Sarimsoqov’s views on historical foundations, and To‘ra Mirzayev’s variant comparisons help to understand this relationship more deeply. This bond not only enriches the epic’s plot but also reflects the Uzbek people’s national values – family, homeland, and loyalty. The epic’s relevance today lies in its ability to educate the younger generation in the spirit of devotion and justice. These studies indicate the necessity of continuing to explore the epic within the framework of world folklore.

Student of Group 13, Uzbek Language and Literature Major, Faculty of Mother Tongue and Literature, Alisher Navoi Tashkent State University of Uzbek Language and Literature, Rahmonqulova Gulsevar Samid qizi

Echo of My Words —–

Don’t be angry…

I don’t surrender to anger

And your ideal worlds

Don’t concern me

I am a man with a permit

To cross the thorns of pain

To speak

I do as I please,

I tear the cheeks of lilies,

I strike the face of dew,

I cast my weight upon the moments

I cross the seasons,

I throw love with the butts of my cigarettes

And with all my pride, I depart!!

And I return,

I return to paint hope,

I flirt with the letters anew

I am a knight in the art of words

All the letters

In my chamber, captives

Until the impetuosity leaves me!!

I am a man, you

From the remnants of bygone eras

I carry the books of civilization in my palm,

I brush away the dust of ignorance if it touches my shoulder

Standing tall like a mountain

Untouched by wounds Nor by follies…

I write my mornings

And cast shadows upon dreams!

From the depths of history

I live, I and my voice

I am all images

And all voices

Who are you?

Who are you?!

What are you?

Nothing but an echo of my words!

Poet/ Aisha Al-Maharabi Aden City Republic of Yemen Bachelor of Philosophy, University of Aden Married and a mother Worked in the field of teaching Participated in several Arab festivals in Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria, and Jordan Hobbies: Reading and writing in the field of poetry and literature My works have been published in several Arab and foreign newspapers, and I have had several press and radio interviews. – My poetry collection, “Master of the Evening,” was published in 2013 by the University Publishing House, Yemen. – “And the Daisy Breathed” was published in 2014 by Khalid Ibn Al-Walid Publishing House. – “How to Tame Longing” was published in 2014 by Al-Jeel Al-Jadeed Publishing House. – “Stuck Behind the Eyelids of the Homeland” was published in 2017 by Fikra Publishing House. – “Peace Be Upon You, Dawn” was published by Abrar Publishing House in 2019. – “And Madness Has Its Meaning” was published by the Poets on the Window of the World Foundation for Culture and Creativity in 2023.

PEACE

Peace is necessary for all, do not let it be a dream,

   of unnecessary violence.

  the light is for all, man is man’s wolf,

  only love will give us the things that last,

take a trip into your soul.

Peace is required by children,

  chaste pearls of the universe,

  let us not fail them as humanity.

I want to shout to the seas pity for the innocent.

 No mortal being can judge the sin of another,

have no right to take their lives for their ambition,

less revenge for past matters,

nor compel to believe what you do not want.

I call the world to a song of love to Palestine sacred land of god and love

I want to bring about peace with joy,

carry as a flag the respect to the earth,

loving beyond existence.

Silence

Before the veil, the body that was not, just a flash, the Essence without reason. A sea of calm, where the Being rests, immense peace, before being the thing.

The soul travels in light, weightless and without haste, knowing the Whole, without voice or currency. Home without walls, without time to measure, the eternal source of Life.

It is that moment, the subtle memory, where bliss becomes a path of complete being, of not needing. Peace is always, before beginning.

MY GENIUS SISTER

She draws the sky on paper
with hands of light,
with a soul of honey,
her ideas fly like a sparrow,
she weaves dreams with her heart,
the wind whispers, the sea sings,
her voice guides us, makes us think.


My genius sister,
shooting star,
brings peace where there is storm,
her love teaches, her laughter gives,
a new world where she will grow.

She plants books in every corner,
and waters words, harvests reason,
Her mind is fire, her soul a volcano,
she awakens life in every place,
she is a bridge and a lighthouse, calm and sun,
her strength shines, her faith is her driving force.

I love you Jeanette, forever and ever.


FLOWER OF THE WORLD

A flower that perfumed my life with her kindness.
Great teacher. Creator of peace,
brilliant fairy who taught us to think of others,
that was Jeannette’s legacy, her inheritance.

Thank you for existing eternally in our souls,
because with a smile, you continue to give us calm,
you loved Mexico and the world madly,
and you made love a strong architecture.

As orphans, we feel like your siblings,
only God knows how much we miss you,
thank you for all the good you gave,
for showing us that you overcame every obstacle.

Fernando José Martínez Alderete is a writer, poet, and theater actor. Born in Leon Guanajuato Mexico on April 21, 1977, Fernando studied the degree in communication within the Latin American University of Leon. He has written poetry from 14 years of age and published several of his writings in the most important newspapers in his hometown, cultural magazines California, Leon, Guanajuato capital and Zacatecas, USA. He is currently involved as administrator of various literary groups, publishing his poems in social networks, participating in various anthologies published in Black Island, Chile and stories in Madrid, Spain with poets of America and Europe, He has also recited their texts in radio programs in Montevideo, Chicago, Barcelona and Buenos Aires. He is the president of many cultural organizations.

Peace & Stillness

midnight hush 

even the wind is silent 

a chorus so deep

crescent moon hovers —  

civet cat thuds on the roof  

figs fall in the dark

rainy moon softly 

mourns autumn departure 

tears slip through the clouds

moonless autumn night —  

only the whispers of stars 

warm family chats 

the last moon quarter 

sinks into the morning dew 

the night exhales chill

  Books

I’m jealous of my books

Sitting over there

So smugly on their shelves

Complete, closed

Finished years ago.

Almost all their authors

Have moved on

Untouchable now

And all I have left

Are these reminders

Lined up side by side

Shoulder to shoulder

Settled in

Knowing their place

In my small world

And that bigger

Outside world where

People know them

Glad to see them

Hold them, read them

Sometimes I dust them

Tend to them as their keeper

Their clumsy, quiet keeper

Who has discovered

His place and is now

Jealous of theirs.

         Cold War

These days it’s easy to miss

and even reminisce fondly

about the Cold War –

the coldness of it,

the threats of it,

the simple sides –

one world power

vs. the only other.

Back then it seemed

like there were only two,

and the rest,

the non-world power countries

sat back waiting, watching,

anticipating outcomes.

We imagined spies

and checkpoints,

missiles pointing

this way and that.

We listened to speeches,

the good guys and the bad,

understood the easy equation

of mutual destruction,

measured the future

in terms of numbers

and then sizes of weapons.

Those were simpler times,

checkers instead of chess,

a simple plot scheme,

cowboys and Indians,

just children at play

as opposed to today.

           Haiku

It’s hard to get a haiku

to happen.

First of all, we must

adjust our thinking,

get big ideas in small spaces

a small upstairs room

instead of crowded

street scenes,

more Dickinson

than Whitman.

Then we get to count

three lines

and words viewed

in their pieces –

syllable count

oh, syllable count.

We get to see them

in a different light

broken down

into the parts we rarely

remember.

And the haiku needs

an image to play on

and a speaker we trust

to lead us through

the lines, the words

and the brief moment

we give over

to its take of the small

world we share.