Pen fee

There was a commotion in the village,

A message spread.

Our neighbor Mashrab brother

It’s a great piece of writing.

Taralibdi dovrugu,

Across seven neighborhoods.

Even this in the city

Everyone who walked said.

Then go to the publisher

Print your work.

To the money from it

Take a dry bag.

Umida Haydaraliyeva  Bahromjon qizi.

 Student of “B” grade of 8th creative school named after Erkin Vahidov, Margilan city in Uzbekistan.

The philosophy of life through mathematics

Some people say that mathematics is a difficult subject, while others find it boring. However, in reality, mathematics gives us hope that there are solutions to problems in life, just like the examples in mathematics. I also have to say that mathematics is the greatest motivator for people because the numbers in mathematics start from  0 and go to infinity.

To those who say mathematics is difficult, I would recommend that they try to engage with this subject a little more sincerely. Some young children may struggle to learn mathematics because of textbooks. For example, in elementary school, it is taught that a smaller number cannot be subtracted from a large one. However, in higher grades, it is taught that a smaller number can be subtracted from a large one, but the result will be negative.

Moreover, we can say that some current textbooks are also becoming complex. I  find that some mathematical topics and examples reflect human interpretations. Parallel lines never intersect, and in this, I see people who, no matter how many hours, months, or years pass, will never be together. Tangent curves, on the other hand, intersect only once and then part ways for life paths as if nothing had happened. In solving trigonometric equations and inequations, we are given an interval, within that range and discard the unnecessary ones. I compare this to making decisions in life.

However, our faces, fingers, hands, feet, and body structure -all of these are based on the “golden ratio”. The golden ratio is not typically covered in textbooks, but I will explain it briefly and simply. If you pay attention, you`ll notice that people tend to sit not in the exact center or the very edge of a bench, but somewhere between the center and the edge. This is the first example of the golden ratio. Another example is your face: if you observe closely, the distance between your nose and eyes your eyebrows and eyes, and the length between your two eyes, and the length between your two eyes are all proportional to the golden ratio. In general, I can say that life is mathematics, and even the simple things in our lives are mathematics.

***

man is a fire

every time I burn with shame when I see a bird pecking at bread crumbs at a bus stop

children’s bread and milk are poured from heaven onto the rain earth

minced meat at the meat market screams

***

in the morning I watched fish bones on the shore

autumn crying to the crunch of ears and bones

the heart turns inside out in the hope that aluminum birds

also fly home from warm countries after wintering

***

platinum night in the back of the head

who breathes rose petals into the crown of the cemetery?

perhaps this is another hanged or unborn brother

maybe it’s a local jesus

maybe it’s mom who smiles with raindrops

it would be nice if it was someone good

but black and white don’t exist

there is only a synthesis of colors

it would be nice if such an abstract love corresponded to a non-abstract world

and at night a cemetery emerges from under the pillow

and flowers dream of growing not for the sake of mourning ribbons

the night goes on a journey

morning will never come

***

I press a laptop key unknown to me and hope to summon the spirit of the deceased grandfather in this way

what you do not understand: the life of the elderly is death

I would like to live forever but I’m too poor for that

I would rather not love but I need to fill the void inside my chest

I would like to be an inanimate object but I move like a worm

I’d rather live like a worm with no limbs so I wouldn’t be forced to take death in my hands

my grandfather promised to play with me after work and didn’t come back

the cast-iron milk of the night covered his eyes

after lunch it is very dark outside

***

my feet are stones

I step on the leaves by force

I feel a crunch under my feet

whose bones turned out to be leaves?

why is the tree silent?

why does the bush not wave its branches with its hands?

whom I trample under my sole on the way to death?

I Remember

I remember the Winter of 2011 when a group of local poets visited Bernadette Mayer at her home in Nassau.

I remember how cold it was.

I remember the only heating source in the converted open school house living room was a pot belly stove.

I remember thinking no one had cooler anecdotes of New York City poets from the sixties and seventies than Bernadette did.

I remember she spoke of her friend Joe Brainerd’s book I Remember.

I remember the deserted St Croix, Virgin Island beach my mother and I used to visit when we lived on the island.

I remember how I felt when I heard The Rockefellers were going to build a resort hotel on the site.

I remember thinking that Ferlinghetti was going to live forever.

I remember thinking I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

I remember watching the Brooklyn Dodgers play the New York Giants on the first TV we ever owned.

I remember having the mumps and my cousin coming over from next door to make sure I got chicken pox also.

I remember seeing every prewar western every made.

I remember seeing hundreds of noir classics.

I remember seeing King Kong eleven times in one week on The Million Dollar movie.

I remember my cousin saw it thirteen times.

I remember watching the Joe McCarthy House of Unamerican Activities hearing live on TV and, while I didn’t know what they were all about, not really, I thought McCarthy was a bully and a dick.

I remember my mother hiding a copy of Tropic of Cancer in her secret desk drawer and sneaking looks at it when she was at work.

I remember not getting what he was writing about but that it was dirty.

I remember she had a copy of This Is My Beloved also but she didn’t hide that book away.

I remember reading that all the way through when I was like ten and thinking the fireworks he described were pretty cool.

I remember how cool the black and white the fireworks display at the beginning of Manhattan

was the first time I saw it.

I remember that one of my cocktail waitress saying she saw the movie and it sucked.

I remember she said “…and it wasn’t even in color.”

I remember knowing how to read when I entered first grade at the Catholic school in Christiansted.

I remember I was the only one who could read in first grade and how much the nuns loved me.

I remember how it felt  to be the only non-Catholic in Catholic school.

I remember the first time I read, I Remember.

I remember the baseball game in 1965 I took my girlfriend to see.

I remember there was a centerfield to home to second base triple play in that gam and how she said, “That was a nice play.”

I remember that was the first time it had ever happened in a major league baseball game and it has only happened one more time since.

I remember I still loved her anyway no matter how unimpressed she was.

I remember the first major league game I took our kids too and missing three innings when Jose Cruz hit me on the cheekbone with a high foul ball while I was yelling, “I got it, I got it.”

I remember I would have been blind in my right eye if I had been wearing my glasses.

I remember they wanted me to go to Flushing General.

I remember a nurse telling me once if you have a choice between going to Flushing General or Bronx General and dying, die.

I remember burning my hand when I accidently hit my hand on the pot belly stove that Bernadette asking me to stoke.

I remember it hurt for weeks after.

I remember reading the memoir of Pasternak, I Remember.”

I remember seeing selections from Roman Vishniac’s, A Vanished World, at the State Museum of New York at Albany and crying.

I remember reading poetry at the reading Against the End of the World just down the block from the State Museum.

I remember seeing an exhibition on the Atomic Bomb age at the museum and seeing my first Laurie Anderson work for art, “The Singing Brick.”

I remember writing a poem against the end of the world called the Singing Brick.

I remember it was in a musically themed, against the end of the world book of poems called, Stop Making Sense.

I remember the first poem I ever published in sixth grade, in the mimeo class reader, The Fledgling.

I remember the poem was a pastiche of the song Old Dan Tucker.

I remember duck and cover drills in Centre Avenue Elementary School.

I remember how stupid they were given how close we were to New York City and how many huge glass windows there were in all the classrooms.

I remember the poem I published in the group photo/poem book commemorating our trip to Bernadette’s house.

I remember the title of my poem was, “Emergency Drills, Centre Avenue Elementary School, East Rockaway, N.Y, 1958.”

I remember the first time I saw Throne of Blood in grad school.

I remember the first time I saw Hiroshima Mon Amour in grad school.

I remember the first time I saw the Japanese movie, After Life.

I remember seeing four Brooklyn Dodgers home runs in a row.

I remember we didn’t get the foul ball that Jose Cruz hit me with.

I remember torrential rain on a tin roof on St Croix.

I remember playing spin the bottle and never being kissed.

I remember the high school psychologist telling me I should practice Rorschach inkblots so I could take her test.

I remember refusing to take the test because I thought it was stupid and I didn’t see anything suggestive in those blots.

I remember her telling me I second guessed myself all the time.

I remember her telling me I should trust my instincts because my first thoguht was almost always the right.

I remember how useful an observation that turned out to be.

I remember every two weeks for three years in the nightclub trying to guess which of the new band members was the drummer.

I remember I was only wrong once.

I remember thee guessing game as a process of elimination until you found the crazy one; he would be the drummer.

I remember seeing my first Bergman movie.

I remember seeing Last Year at Marienbad three time in four days in grad school.

I remember not paying attention in my first psychology class lesson in college on the Stanford Binet test.

I remember the teacher trying to make an example of me by giving me the block test graduating in difficulty as the numbers increased starting at six of ten.

I remember I did six, seven, eight and nine as fast as she could put them in front of me.

I remember how stunned she was.

I remember not mentioning having taken that test less the three years ago along with every other test they had on offer.

I remember the summer I first heard Leonard Cohen’s song, Suzanne.

I remember seeing the photo exhibit Requiem by the photographers killed in Vietnam at the Eastman House not long before 9-11.

I remember that exhibits was as quiet as a funeral and all the people who were crying at it.

I remember it was how I felt when I finally got to see The Wall in DC.

INTERVIEW WITH JOHN P. PORTELLI, February 2025

John P. Portelli is a Maltese-Canadian poet and fiction author, and professor emeritus at the University of Toronto. Besides 11 academic books he has published 10 poetry collections, 2 collections of short stories, and a novel. His literary work has been translated into English, Italian, French, Arabic, Farsi, Turkish, Romanian, and Spanish. His collection Here Was was short-listed for the 2024 Canadian Book Club Award. He lives between Malta and Toronto.

1. Please share your thoughts about the future of literature.

For me literature is an essential part of being human. Its future? I am not a fortune teller! But I am afraid that the ultra capitalist and individualist mentality of our present way of living, to me, does not augur well for a healthy future for literature. For example, it is getting even harder to sell poetry books, and publishers are feeling in the pinch. But there will always continue to be literary authors. Whether they will be appreciated is another story.

2. When did you start writing?

I started writing poetry when I was 16 years old. My initial interest was in poetry and essays.

3 .  The Good and the Bad. Who is winning nowadays?

It depends in which area of life?  In general, however, I think we are on the verge of a new fascist period in the West. When I read authors like John Dewey and Bertrand Russell who wrote about the conditions in the West in the 1930s, unfortunately I see lots and lots of similarities to what is happening today. Unless you are part of the dominant conservative “culture” people are marginalised. Colonialism is still alive and strong! God help us.

4. How many books have you written and where can we find your books?

I have written 11 academic books, 10 collections of poetry (some published in translations), 2 collections of short-stories, and a novel. Some of my work is available from Amazon, others from Horizons Publishers in Malta and Word and Deed Publishers in Burlington, Ontario, Canada.

 4. The book. E books or hardcopies of books. What will be the future?

I think some people will still prefer hard copies of books. Given my weak eyesight, I prefer hard copies.  But more and more people are used to reading on line. For me, as long as people read, that is fine.

5. A wish for 2025?

True and lasting peace in the Middle East. The Palestinians do not deserve what they have been going through since 1948! And this wish does not mean I support Hamas.

6. A phrase from your book or a book you like?

“The opposite of a civilised society is a creative one”. Albert Camus from his essay “Summer in Algiers”.

7. Recent and future publications?

In 2024 I have edited a collection of poetry in Maltese on Gaza. And also I published a collection of poems with Ahmed Miqdad, a poet from Gaza. The profits from the sale of these two books have been donated to Gaza. I am now also editing a collection of poems in English by international poems on Gaza and Palestine. Again, the money from the sales of this collection will be donated to Gaza. The book will be published later this year by Horizons in Malta and Daraja Press in Quebec.

Thank you so much.. …. EVA Petropoulou Lianou Author Poet Greece

Synchronized Chaos Magazine expresses our sorrow for the lives and property lost in the Los Angeles wildfires. We invite people to visit here to learn about how to send cards of encouragement to fire crews and to donate books to replace school library collections that have burned.

Contributor Patricia Doyne shares news that the Ina Coolbrith Society welcomes entries for its annual spring poetry contest.

Finally, contributor Chimezie Ihekuna seeks a publisher for his children’s story collection Family Time. Family Time! Is a series that is aimed at educating, entertaining and inspiring children between the ages of two and seven years of age. It is intended to engage parents, teachers and children with stories that bring a healthy learning relationship among them.

In March we will have a presence at the Association of Writing Programs conference in L.A. which will include an offsite reading at Chevalier’s Books on Friday, March 28th at 6 pm. All are welcome to attend!

So far the lineup for our reading includes Asha Dore, Douglas Cole, Linda Michel-Cassidy, Aimee Suzara, Reverie Fey, Sumiko Saulson, Ava Homa, Michelle Gonzalez, Terry Tierney, Anisa Rahim, Katrina Byrd, Cindy Rinne, Norma Smith, and Kellianne Parker.

Author Justin Hamm is hosting a FREE online literary event the weekend of AWP, known as StayWP. This will include author talks, informative panels, book launches and networking!

To register, please click here: https://docs.google.com/…/1FAIpQLSe0jqgxfQn…/viewform…

Now, for the second February issue, Character Arcs.

This issue focuses on the journeys each of us, as individuals and cultural groups, take throughout life. We follow characters as seasons change and time passes, through different aspects of our shared humanity.

Sayani Mukherjee conveys the feel of the shifting landscape as night gives way to daytime.

Shukurillayeva Lazzatoy Shamsodovna translates a poem by Alexander Feinberg, which offers advice for new beginnings: start in silence and quietly observe the world before speaking. Sometimes we need to consider and learn before we can act.

As in life, we begin with childhood. Daniel De Culla writes of a kind and gracious angelic intervention on a pair of children’s first communion day. Isabel Gomez de Diego’s photos celebrate the whimsy and raw joy of a child’s dinosaur themed birthday party.

Muxarram Murrodulayeva urges readers to become worthy of their parents’ trust. Maftuna Rustamova reminds us to live out the best of our parents’ teachings.

Mahmudova Sohibakhon presents methods of teaching and learning spoken and written English. Abigail George speaks to her friendship and mentoring relationship with aspiring South African playwright Dillon Israel. Sharipova Gulhayo Nasimovna outlines and details her educational dreams.

Lazizbek Raximov’s essay highlights the purposes and power of literature. Mehran Hashemi shares some of his poetry and outlines how his writing journey has changed his life. Federico Wardal interviews filmmaker Michael Poryes in a wide-ranging conversation about both of their artistic visions and goals and about the perils of fame and the necessity of real friendship for artists.

Anna Keiko expresses how small beginnings can grow into larger scenes of beauty. Safarova Charos’ watercolors capture and highlight simple domestic comforts: tea, flowers, bluebirds.

Mickey Corrigan shares the stories of authors’ and creatives’ homes, which took on a historical cachet after the creatives left their legacies. Nozima Raximova discusses the Jadidist national cultural revival movement in 19th century Crimea, highlighting its importance in modernizing the area.

Sean Meggeson experiments with words, sounds, and arrangements of text on the screen. Mark Young splashes swathes of color and delicate text and lines across the page.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou reflects on the beauty of our diverse world full of many people with different creative gifts. For something different, Duane Vorhees contributes Mother Goose-esque pieces that address grace, mortality and human equality and diversity with gentle humor.

Nate Mancuso’s short story presents a couple who meet for a date and finally find themselves able to connect when they let go of their expectations and categories.

Grace Olatinwo recollects her mother’s steady love and draws strength from it as she navigates adult relationships. A rich poem by Kareem Abdullah, translated by John Henry Smith, celebrates sensuality and surrendering to love. Tajalla Qureshi speaks to the fragrant and silken ecstasy of sensual and spiritual love.

Mesfakus Salahin encourages readers to understand and wait for true and non-materialistic love as Maftuna Rustamova reminds us of the importance of money to have a stable life.

Sobirjonova Rayhona takes joy in her sister’s beautiful wedding. Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna reflects on the wonder and responsibility of motherhood. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa shares how she’s doing what she can to show compassion to the world, even as a person of limited means. Michael Robinson speaks to the spiritual love and sense of belonging he has found in his later years through knowing Jesus Christ.

Kelly Sauvage Moyer and Heidi McIver’s collaborative haiku speaks to the intensity of the human heart and its hidden passions.

John Grey’s work explores agency: moments when we feel like active protagonists and when we get subsumed by life. Pamela Zero offers her admiration for bold women with confidence who walk by as she quietly weeds her garden. Jumanazarov Zohidjon reflects on the winding road of life and its ups and downs.

Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photography explores the dislocation of travel: window views, sculpted renditions of international flights, objects balanced at strange angles.

Eleanor Vincent’s memoir Disconnected, reviewed by Cristina Deptula, charts the journey of a romance between two people with different neurotypes, ending in a different kind of dislocation.

Jacques Fleury’s story relates the tale of a man finding a glimmer of love again after the death of a spouse. Graciela Noemi Villaverde memorializes her deceased husband and the many ways he complemented her and illuminated her life. Taylor Dibbert reflects on how one takes one’s departed loved ones with us in our minds long after their passing. Tursunov Abdulla Bakhrom O’g’li poetically mourns a lost love. Kristy Raines’ evocative poetry illustrates how people can communicate the depth of love and grief with or without words.

J.J. Campbell’s poetry evokes longing, loss, and ennui. Kassandra Aguilera conveys the anguish of unrequited love. John Dorsey’s poetry captures moments of isolation and waiting, characters who feel out of place.

Khomidjonova Odina shares a scary story of a boy and his pet deer being threatened by robbers. Mahbub Alam evokes the vast power of the Los Angeles wildfires as Don Bormon speaks to both the destruction and the city’s power to rebuild. Naila Abdunosirova’s poignant piece describes a homeless, landless rabbit devoured by a fox. Ahmed Miqdad grasps the enormity of all he and many other civilians have lost due to the war in Gaza.

Pesach Rotem draws on Dr. Strangelove to try to make sense of the current bewildering state of the U.S. federal government. Pat Doyne laments the national American chaos caused in part by people who believed they were voting for lower consumer prices.

Z.I. Mahmud discusses the mixture of pathos and moral critique of war profiteering and opportunism in Bertolt Brecht’s play Mother Courage, ultimately concluding that Brecht “hated the sin while loving the sinner” and approached all his characters with empathy.

Each poignant in its own way, Bill Tope’s poems cover anti-LGBT violence, a tender moment between mother and son, and a reflection on what matters at different points in life.

Joseph Ogbonna revels in Texas’ adventurous and wild countryside and culture. Brian Barbeito reflects on the various ways different people cope with the harsh, primal energies of winter. Harry Lowery’s poetry explores love and loss through metaphors of travel and the nature of light.

David Sapp addresses the human spiritual quest, how searching for transcendence and meaning is natural for us, sometimes to the point where we fight each other over faith. Mykyta Ryzhykh’s poetry conveys longing and acceptance in the face of life’s challenges.

Yucheng Tao’s poetry explores freedom, rebellion and individuality, death, wildness, and loss. Su Yun writes of the interplay of light and shadow, beauty and decay, and humans’ relationship to the vibrant and resilient natural world.

Finally, Stephen Jarrell Williams waxes poetic in his truck at night, overcome with joy and nostalgia.

MOTHER

      Mother is the greatest creature in the world.  Our mothers carry us in their wombs for nine months and nine days.  Then they wash us white, comb us white, and give us white milk.  Mother cannot be described in words, because Mother and Motherland stand side by side.  The definition of mother is that, “Heaven is under the feet of mothers.”

      If heaven is in the sky,

                Underneath is my mother.

If heaven is on earth

                On top of my mother.

If there is only one heaven

                Dear mother.

If there is heaven in this world,

                My heavenly mother.

     Mother cannot be described in one word.  Mother is only three letters, but one life is missing to describe her.

      When I look at your eyes, it’s wet.

      He clenched his teeth and asked for my heart.

      Your white milk is white, mother,

      One life is not enough.

      We talk about our mothers, we can’t get enough of them, but there are very few of us who actually do it.  No mother will ever do bad things to her children, instead they encourage good and show the right path.  Some people envy their companions to their mothers, “I wish my mother was like that”, and feed them with envy. But “Kaltafahm” people consider Chuchvara raw

      But I lived for six years and did not envy anyone’s parents.  Because my parents are heavenly people.  If a mother does what she does before the birth of her unborn child, the child will be like her mother.   If a mother misbehaves during pregnancy and harms people, she can expect the same from her child.   On the other hand, if a mother reads religious books and prays during pregnancy, her unborn child will grow up to be a Muslim like our Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) and a Muslim like our mother Aisha. 

      O my nightingale, sing it many times

      A smile from his lips.

      Laugh and see my happiness

      My prayers are with you, my mother.

        Mother and Motherland cannot be chosen in the world.  What I write is not a fairy tale.  The truth of my life.  Before I was born, my mother prayed, thank God, I bow down like my mother.

      May our mothers survive.  As long as they exist, life goes on.  After all, respected parents rock the cradle with one hand and the world with the other.

      Kashkadarya region.  Qoldoshova Dilbar Nuraliyevna, a student of the 10th grade of the 10th grade of the 43rd school of Karshi district.

Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna was born on March 5, 2007 in the Karshi district of the Kashkadarya region.

She is currently the 10th “B” student of the 43rd school. 

Dilbarhan is the queen of poetry, the owner of creativity, a singer with a beautiful voice, and a ghazal girl.

She came first in the “Leader of the Year” competition.

1st prize in the regional stage of the “Hundred Gazelles and Hundred Gems” competition.

She took part in the “Children’s Forum” category and won first place in many competitions.

She is currently the coordinator of the training department of Tallikuron MFY in Karshi district.

Kamalak captain of the opposite district.

Head captain of the “Girls There” club at school 43. 

The articles titled “Memory is immortal and precious”, “Our School” and “Mother” were published three times in Kenya Times International magazine in 2024.

In 2023, the first poems were published in the poetry collection “Yulduzlar Yogdusi” of the creative youth of the Kashkadarya region.

In 2024, ghazals of the creative youth of the Republic were published in the poetry collection “Youth of Uzbekistan”.