An Immigrant’s Letter Home: They Say I’m the Problem

Fresh off the boat
Plank splinters sticking in my bottom
Foreign words coating my throat
Accented with spices smuggled in my breath

I am here by mule train and burnt gasoline
Aero plane and broken shoestrings
Paid for everything by commercializing
My entire life into round metal beads
Covered in ghost heads and iconic scenes
I’ve not yet had the chance to see
The way they haunt my pockets

Exchanging, “for an excellent rate,” he says to me
An Uzi armed sentry stamps my history
Of entry in passport holograms
The picture shivers between two sheets of paper
While I wait on a bench to claim a meal voucher waiver
For my wife and two
Because where I come from, that’s just what we do
If there’s enough left over, I might eat too

We spend most of our time here in a whole-way shelter
Rust-stained gate and chain-linked containers
Thankful we’ve earned this destination
Instead of the alternative
Where we can cash out our dream banks for the hopes of better gold
Even though we’re not sure of the accounts we’ve been sold

Everyone here sleeps, eyes clinched into folds
But awake in mind sweat
Soaking in the nightmares of regret
When barreled crabs said, “you all won’t get past”
And, “you’ll never last”
And, “we’ll be seeing you when you come crawling back”

But this was never intended to be a round trip
We have a new home here even though
We’re not aware where exactly here is
Or if it’s built real in stick or brick
But in the hope of the memories
We haven’t started remembering yet

So, I try not to be a burden
At nine o’clock, I walk across the parking lot
To start the job that I’ve created
Washing windshields for tips
And trotting across traffic to get
Another car clean to cover business expenses
Incorporating my skills from an era gone by
Of staying organized
To capitalize my homeland’s handouts
Before they were demoralized

At eleven o’clock, I beat down the tracks
To bus restaurant tables and bust my back
Below minimum wage reimbursement
Where it’s a fact that taxes get held back
In snide murmurs and slant glances
Carving contempt on my appearances
I absorb this as a symbol of respect
As I did before, our towers were wrecked.

At the other eleven o’clock, I slip through the cracks
Of the shelter’s back door slats
And immerse my mind
In language and cultural contexts
Of the people and places I didn’t know existed
In this new condition set

I often wonder why we worried and hesitated
And held our expectations on presidential level aspirations
Instead of holding ourselves as the democratic inspiration
In the nation our ancestors created
We eroded through horror and hatred
Where we poked one another’s eyes
Bled ourselves to death then painted
Our remnants onto dust bound, thin air

At night, I don’t sleep much at all
Remembering what we had before the fall
The collapse of the systems
Freedom and prosperity
Jester dancing in the world’s mockery
Wrapped in tricolor liberty wings

But now, it all seems like a distant dream
I, go sleepless, knowing it isn’t a thing
No more grain waves or sea shines
The Mother of Exiles sank in the shoreline
As another empire lost on its way to find
The cause that made it an envious emblem

Now, they say I’m the problem


Urban Cowboys

this is where we sleep against tonight
paper pallets lining the underpass
tomorrow we follow the sun’s tail
pulling the needle in our compass
towards another city’s concrete stable
wind whisking the stray cat’s mane
from left to right and North to West
without hay filling our bellies
our Coke bottle canteens collect dust
as we close our eyes around headlight fires
resting our feet on empty bed rolls
and wonder, “When will we ever be home?”


With Backs to the Rules

navigating life in a series of legends
meandering across the foreign out there
most people travel by grasping for the rules

some reach to rules to know where to stand
other lean into rules for strength
the greedy want rules to get ahead
the rebels want rules to overthrow

but instead, there are poets
poets travel with their backs to the rules
in an eternal commission
banished outside Plato’s republic

with one foot on the frontier of the knowable
and the other foot hovering over the faith filled infinite
white-knuckling enough courage to speak of sins
wrestle written love ciphers for translating fringes
in fragments onto the next poet

in messages urging us to leave safety and step outside
and in time, return to spread the possibility
of how poets travel,

with backs to the rules

The New Colossus

(*Note: A series of four blackout poems repeated from, The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus as written on the base of the U.S. Statue of Liberty.)

Brendan Dawson is an American-born poet and writer based in Italy. Brendan writes from his experiences while living, working, and traveling abroad.  Currently, he is compiling a collection of poetry and short stories from his time serving in the military and journey as an expat.

Semantic analysis of the use of gerund and infinitive

Suyarova Gulsanam Sherzod qizi
Student of CSPU Department English language and theory
The group of 22/5
suyarovagulsanam6@gmail.com

Annotation
In this article, the features of using the tense forms of the to-infinitive and the gerund, the verbs after which one of them is used, as well as the verbs that can be followed by both the infinitive and the gerund, and their semantic differences are analyzed.
Key words: verbs, infinitive, gerund, features

Annotatsiya
Ushbu maqolada to-infinitive va gerundning zamon shakllarini qo‘llash xususiyatlari, ayrim fe’llardan keyin ulardan qaysi biri ishlatilishi, shuningdek, o’zidan keyin ham infinitive, ham gerund talab qiladigan fe’llar hamda ularning ma’nodagi farqlari tahlil qilinadi.
Kalit so’zlar: fe’llar, infinitiv, gerundiy, xususiyatlar
Аннотация
В данной статье анализируются особенности употребления временных форм инфинитива с частицей to и герундия, глаголы, после которых используется один из них, а также глаголы, после которых могут употребляться как инфинитив, так и герундий, и различия в их значении.
Ключевые слова: особенности, глаголы, инфинитив, герундий.

In the grammatical system of the English language, verb forms hold a particularly significant position. A verb not only conveys an action or a state but also functions as the central grammatical element of the sentence. Categories such as tense, person, number, and continuity of action are expressed through verbs. Therefore, the accurate use of verbs is vital for learners.
In English, verbs have various non-finite forms such as the infinitive, gerund, and participle. These forms enrich speech by adding semantic nuances such as cause, result, condition, or continuity. In Uzbek, non-finite verb forms correspond to verbal nouns and also possess their own tense distinctions.

The Tense Forms of the Gerund
1.Simple Gerund (V+ing): expresses a present or general action. Example: She advised going to the party yesterday.

2. Perfect Gerund (having + past participle): denotes an action completed before another. Example: Can you remember writing a letter to me for the first time?

The Tense Forms of the Infinitive

1. Simple Infinitive (to + verb): action simultaneous with or following the main verb. Example: It seems to rain.
2. Continuous Infinitive (to be + V-ing): expresses an ongoing action at the same time as the main verb. Example: My brother pretended to be listening to music.
3. Perfect Infinitive (to have + past participle): action occurring before the main verb. Example: He refused to have stolen the money.
4. Perfect Continuous Infinitive (to have been + V-ing): continuous action prior to the main verb. Example: She seems to have been learning English for two years. Verb Usage

• Infinitive is used to express purpose, after adjectives (happy, eager), after nouns/pronouns (something, someone), after too/enough, and in structures like it + be + adjective. Example: I always do my homework to achieve good results.
• Gerund functions as a noun, is used after certain verbs (enjoy, avoid, consider), after expressions (be busy, can’t help, have difficulty), and after prepositions. Example: Reading is useful for us.
• 
  Change of Meaning with Gerund and Infinitive
  Some verbs allow both forms but change meaning depending on which is used:
• Remember: remember to do = not forget / remember doing = recall
• Stop: stop to do = pause for another action / stop doing = quit
• Try: try to do = attempt / try doing = experiment
• Regret: regret to do = be sorry / regret doing = feel sorry about
• Mean: mean to do = intend / mean doing = involve
• Forget: forget to do = not remember / forget doing = not recall
• 
  The correct use of gerund and infinitive is essential for learners of English. These forms influence not only grammatical accuracy but also the semantic content of speech. A clear understanding of their forms, functions, and meaning differences allows learners to express themselves more fluently and precisely.
  The main difference between gerunds and to-infinitives in terms of temporal meaning lies in the fact that the gerund generally expresses the action as a process or a factual event, while the to-infinitive conveys purpose, intention, or result. Perfect forms highlight actions that have already occurred, whereas passive forms indicate actions performed upon the subject or actions that are required to be performed.
  Consequently, the correct use of gerund and to-infinitive forms is a crucial means of accurately expressing temporal meanings in English.

References

1. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G., & Svartvik, J. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman, 1985.
2. Murphy, R. English Grammar in Use. Cambridge University Press, 2019.
3. Huddleston, R., & Pullum, G. K. The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language. Cambridge University Press, 2002.
4. Eastwood, J. Oxford Guide to English Grammar. Oxford University Press, 1994.
5. Swan, M. Practical English Usage. Oxford University Press, 2005.

Your eyes

I always remember your eyes
Green with hope
That hope that slipped through your fingers
That hope that in your youth swept you away…

Those eyes
that life dragged away
with the current
of despair
trying to extinguish them…

Your eyes that light up
at the simplest things
and fight to keep the light of life alive…

That life that wasn’t easy
that was an eruption
of incomprehensible situations…

Your eyes still hold the flame
Of hope
That hope that so often
was lost along life’s path.

Mirta Ramírez- Chaco- Argentina

Mirta Liliana Ramírez has been a poet and writer since she was 12 years old. She has been a Cultural Manager for more than 35 years. Creator and Director of the Groups of Writers and Artists: Together for the Letters, Artescritores, MultiArt, JPL world youth, Together for the letters Uzbekistan 1 and 2. She firmly defends that culture is the key to unite all the countries of the world. She works only with his own, free and integrating projects at a world cultural level. She has created the Cultural Movement with Rastrillaje Cultural and Forming the New Cultural Belts at the local level and also from Argentina to the world.

Nietzsche was that Poet which
Cried blood, sweat and tears
Walking that Germanic harmattan
Which the consensus wicked weep
Wavering, colluding bracks and waters

To launch out a pile
And brushes to rinse mouths
Which scent gelatinous fragrances that
Dance out the heart and purity
And wish breathing into mapped

Malactivity. Modes insist the bridals
Breed out love and care,
And hope and understanding.
Were there those chlorophyll breeds,
Heart hearth would have been

Sublime, earth beards washed clean
And the intestine pushed off
To the brim, nirvana? Scanners
Collude to yet convey hunger,
To match the matchless sticks

And to wish and growl,
And to hold those penniless
Veins those abstract arbitrations
Achieved within timely intonations
Miraculous, missive, ringing mass

The graves gravid and gowned,
Numerous necessities numbering
Knead needle nook shapes
Cushioning cachets, thrown off
Sachets in the life of being.

One is not part and parcel,
One is not a negative
To hope to be without
Waste, without fetching figures
Wiring woe wills walking wean

But to pursue out lack,
Contentment must stably stare
The face of the heart
To garner and to pounce
Minutiae unravel gravel gaunt.

Verily, life itself spells spook
Personalities, tint the bottling
Beards bead connote uphold
To show and to muster
Minutes, seconds, searching.

Socialist Linguistics: Theoretical and Practical Perspectives

Abstract

This article examines the theory of socialist linguistics, its role in society, and the social functions of language. It highlights the importance of language in socialist societies, the relationship between language and social development, language policy, and the communicative functions of language.

Keywords

Linguistics, socialist society, language policy, social communication, socialism

Introduction

Language is the primary means of communication in any society, closely linked with social development, culture, and political systems. Socialist linguistics studies language not only from a linguistic perspective but also in terms of its social functions and within the context of socialist values.The main objective of socialist linguistics is to explore the interrelation between language and society, identify the role and functions of language within socialist ideology, and contribute to its practical implementation in education, media, and culture.

1. Theory of Socialist Linguistics

The theoretical foundations of socialist linguistics include: 1. Language and Social Structure – Language reflects societal norms and values across all social strata. 2. Language Policy and Norms – In socialist societies, language policy aims to develop a unified national language and adapt it to socialist values. 3. Language and Ideology – Language serves as a medium to instill socialist ideology and shape social behavior and culture.

2. Language and Social Development

Language plays a crucial role in the social development of a socialist society:

Education and Culture – Socialist linguistics facilitates systematic language learning and its application in society.

Communication Processes – Language enables effective information exchange among different social groups.

Cultural Integration – Language acts as a tool to unify national and ethnic groups under common socialist values.

3. Practical Directions of Socialist Linguistics

Developing linguistic norms and standards

Analyzing socialist literature and texts

Studying language and communication strategies

Integrating language and ideology

Conclusion

Socialist linguistics provides a deep understanding of the relationship between language and society. It examines the social functions of language, its alignment with socialist values, and its role in language policy and communication. Therefore, socialist linguistics is a vital instrument for social development and cultural integration in socialist societies.

Adashaliyeva Durdona Akramjon qizi was born on June 30, 2002, in Uychi District, Namangan Region. She graduated from Secondary School No. 33 in Uychi District, and later completed her studies in Uzbek Language at Namangan State University. She is currently working as a teacher at Namangan City Polytechnic No. 1.

Ode to Eve

I still recall the last time I spoke to an alien, or perhaps merely imagined it to be so. It happened immediately after the first drops of blood—later known as menstruation—appeared. I curled up in a corner, watching the wall where it walked in transparent attire, playing cards next to a widow spider. I don’t know if it was truly a widow, but perhaps my mood at the time made me assume it.

From that moment, I imagined Eve dreaming of the respectable apple. Imagined her exhausted, suffering the cycle. Imagined her startled by the fact of her femaleness. I saw her in my mind attempting to flee the obsessive-compulsive disorder, the doubt, and the petty anxieties. Imagining herself pregnant, her belly immense, and her legs swollen from fluid retention. I pictured her with one eye open and one eye closed, like a resting wolf.
Then the alien suddenly stung me; I opened my eyes and found it wearing Adam’s mask, recounting the familiar story from the perspective of the victim who fell into the trap of temptation.

No Bigger Than a Chickpea

Do you remember?

When I knelt before you, crying?

When you smiled at me and explained

Why did a piece of my body have to be cut off?

Do you remember?

You said,

“You won’t feel a thing.

It’s no bigger than a chickpea.”

My mother was boiling mint leaves.

I swear I felt the pot weeping.

Every leaf of mint seemed to ache,

As if preparing for a funeral.

You wore a loose, colorful galabiya.

You were laughing,

Genuinely happy, waiting for the line of girls—

So you could circumcise them.

It was the first time I heard the word.

I thought it was something

Like trimming your nails.

And I thought

You were like the school nurse.

We were laughing so hard,

Chasing one another,

Waiting for our turn.

The mother of each girl

Whispered to her:

“Once they cut that piece from you,

You’ll be a good girl.”

Do you remember?

Do you remember how all the girls begged you

When you pulled out the blade?

We thought it was a joke.

We thought it was a game.

But we never knew

We were part of it.

What the Palm Reader Told Me

A palm reader tells me I’ll end up working as a clown.

She says it with a wide smile shaped like a swordfish.

“You’ll live until sixty,” she says.

“And on the day you retire, you’ll take off your shoes in the street and run in the opposite direction of the traffic light.

That’s when you’ll start speaking Chinese—

The language you always dreamed of learning one day.

You’ll say xiè xiè—thank you so very much—

To everyone you meet.

It won’t bother you that the street vendor replies,

‘You’re welcome, Grandma.’

You know he has no manners.

And even though you used to get upset every time he said it,

This time you’ll run—run fast—all the way to the end of the road,

Like a child, like a nightingale eager to sing,

Happy with her voice and showing off a little.

The city’s chaos won’t annoy you then.

Nor the pollution,

Nor the skyscrapers,

Nor the smell of antidepressants.

You won’t think about how many times your father kissed you on his deathbed,

When he closed your eyes with a smile

And you thought he was playing.

You’ll just keep running and running

Until you bump into the throne of the Divine.

And you’ll reach out your hand,

Take a violet rose from it,

Plant it in the hollow of your chest,

And begin again.

A Thumb-Sized Sinbad under My Armpit

Beneath my armpit lives a Sinbad the size of a thumb.

His imagination feeds through an umbilical cord tied to my womb.

Now and then, people hear him speaking through a giant microphone—

Singing,

Cracking jokes,

Laughing like mad,

And impersonating a lonely banana suddenly abandoned by its peel.

The men of our town have no idea I carry a Sinbad inside me.

They say, “A woman—formed from a crooked rib.”

They say, “A woman—waiting for Prince Charming.”

But Sinbad stirs within me like a fetus,

Restless, chasing after adventure.

My aunt pinches my knee

For slipping into daydreams.

The good girls say yes.

But what about no?

What about what Sinbad tells me every night?

No one knows.

No one cares.

.

Thus Spoke the Orange Tree

Yesterday I met an orange tree and asked it, “Tell me, how we fold Time?”

To be born now, a thousand years old. To know how to understand man, beast, bird, insect, flower, and machine. How to walk naked on my tiptoes in a wintry open space, without fearing the cold. To sing at the top of my lungs because (am still breathing)

Without fearing the sirens or the police.

Yesterday I met a pregnant orange tree and whispered in her acrobatic ear, “How do you become an orange tree, then give birth to a moon? How do the jokes melt in your mouth like water with honey? Did you fall for an angel? Or did you read a poem of light? Do you wear crystal balls like cosmic spectacles?”

Yesterday I shed my skin, bone, and flesh like a temporary coat I no longer needed. Yesterday I broke free of it. Broke free of me. And raced at full speed to catch a star that accidentally fell from a baby’s eye. I called out to myself with a thousand foreign tongues, and I prayed. And I sighed. And melted, once more, into the drink of Love.

First Class Donkey

Yesterday I sat next to a donkey
in first class.
His eyes were pearls,
his heart a green stone.
When I slipped my hand out
from under the seat belt
to hold him,
a piece of the full moon
fell into my lap.
I froze. The old stammer
from fifth grade came back.
My father’s voice in my ear:
You’re still shy? It’s a donkey.
But I wanted to hold him
even more.
His heart buzzed
like a bee—
maybe he could fly,
maybe speak,
like the ones in Orwell’s farm.
His eyes: a fountain of hope.
Could a gaze swallow me whole?
Could he pull me
toward him, inch by inch,
until my body vanishes—
no one finding me,
no one seeing me
except him?
And the flight attendant?
Would she report me missing?
Or swear I was never there?
The donkey holds a newspaper
with a hole in it.
I wonder:
old-fashioned donkey?
I lean closer, resisting the urge
to hug him.
His gentle eyes tempt me.
Closer—
I’m already there,
inside the hole,
second from the right
on the obituary page.
I’m there, dreaming.

The Play “A SHERLOCK CAROL” Brings a Barrage of Ghostly Mysterious Fun Lyrics Stage

Two prodigious masterworks that pair well as a theater couple. Additional surges of hilarity and plotting make this cup of yuletide merriment a seamless holiday indulgence for all.

A SHERLOCK CAROL

Dec. 14-December 21

Running Time: Two hours plus one 15-minute intermission.

Buy Tickets

View Program

Spotify Playlist: A Sherlock Carol

Moriarity is as dead as dead can be. Sherlock Holmes is despondent. Deprived of his number one opponent, what’s the use of it all? Arrive a fully-fledged Tiny Tim and the cagy bereavement of everyone’s beloved humbug and it’s a jolly literary mash-up with wonders around every corner. This renewed and delightful reimagining of two of the most cherished literary characters is a “Dickens” of a yuletide gumshoe story that’s as “good as gold.” Six actors transfigure before your eyes in a spirited, clever, and jubilant holiday humor that is “elementary” for a celebratory outing sure to pleasure audiences of all ages.

With clever and spooktacular staging that has garnered rave reviews and has been described as impressive by a plethora of theater critics, A Sherlock Carol utilizes the medium of genre blending uniting Doyle and Dickens to scare up light hearted mysterious Christmas fun with rapid fire British accents to boot! The costume changes were swift, smart and operative and the sharp tongued, at times, caustic dialogue which was further animated with a pronounced British accent made for a lively busy never a dull moment type performance. There were so many nuances happening on stage, I felt a pressing need to pay attention to everything because I didn’t want to miss a thing! There was romantic interest drama which brought an understated simmering sensuality that made good adult erotic stimulation and interest. With awe aspiring visual effects along with some characterizational surprises, there was never a dull moment.

During the intermission, some of the men were buzzing in the men’s room about how the play really “came alive” during the second act which incited a fiery debate in between the sounds of flushing urinals. Even if you’re not familiar with the mysteries of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or the campy ubiquitous classic A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, there is enough context to facilitate your enjoyment of the play as a standalone presentation. The play manages to get philosophical as some thematic elements were clearly rendered with lines like, “You’re not afraid of dying, you’re afraid of living!” Which to me was an eye-opening moment, as was also expressed by my guest sitting next to me; and if anything was a meaningful take away from this disparate play. The great chemistry between the actors made for a seamless light hearted and essentially comical experience that left audiences leaving with childlike smiles on their faces. Sherlock Carol effectively delivered a new campier version of two literary icons; I highly recommend you see this one. Five out of five stars for what it was!

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian-American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student through Harvard University. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” and other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, amazon etc… He has been published in prestigious publications such as Spirit of Change Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World and Cooch Behar anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him at: http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.