This article presents the inspiring journey of Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy Shamshodovna — recipient of the prestigious Faynberg Scholarship. It explores her deeply personal and intellectual encounters with the legacy of Russian poet Aleksandr Faynberg, her collaboration with renowned translator Rustam Musurmon, and her own contributions to making Faynberg’s poetic heritage accessible to English-speaking audiences.

More than a story of achievement, this piece reflects on cultural devotion, literary translation, and the profound impact of scholarship as a bridge between nations.

Article Title:”In the Footsteps of Faynberg: Scholarship, Poetic Legacy, and the Intellectual Journey of Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy Shamshodovna”

More Than a Scholarship: My Journey with Faynberg’s Legacy “To love a land not by birth, but by heart — is the poetry of belonging.”— A. A. Faynberg

When I first heard the name Aleksandr Arkadyevich Faynberg, I didn’t yet know he would soon become an anchor in my intellectual and emotional world. At the time, I was simply a student looking to better understand literary translation — to make meaning move across languages without losing its soul.Little did I know that this quest would lead me deep into the life and poetry of a man who loved my homeland — Uzbekistan — with astonishing sincerity.

Faynberg was a Russian poet. But his soul seemed to have crossed borders before his poems ever did.He revered Uzbekistan not merely as a distant land, but as something akin to a spiritual home.I was moved to learn that on Alisher Navoi’s birthday, Faynberg would go to the Milliy Bog’ (National Park) in Tashkent — sometimes even before local Uzbek admirers — to pay tribute to the great classical poet. “I visit the garden not as a guest, but as a grandson returns to the shade of his grandfather’s tree,” Faynberg once wrote in a letter to his friend.

Through his poems, he made Uzbek literature accessible to Russian readers. That effort — that reverence — touched something deep within me. I thought: If he worked so lovingly to introduce our heritage to others, why shouldn’t I do the same for his legacy?

But I didn’t know where to start. Then came a fateful day — one I now call a turning point. I had the privilege of meeting Rustam Musurmon, a renowned Uzbek poet who had translated Faynberg’s works into Uzbek. Meeting him face-to-face was not just an academic experience — it was a spiritual alignment. He offered insight, encouragement, and, most importantly, he gave me the sense that this work was worth doing.

From that day forward, I began to translate Faynberg’s poetry — not into prose, not into mechanical language, but into English verse that tried to preserve the emotional resonance of the original. Translating poetry is often described as “dancing with a ghost.” You must move with what you cannot see, yet must feel. With each poem I translated, I felt closer not just to Faynberg, but to his vision — of cultures intertwined, of languages as bridges, not walls.

Soon, I found myself writing articles about him, publishing in respected literary journals, organizing and participating in evenings dedicated to his memory, and speaking at events where his name, once unfamiliar to many, began to gain recognition. In a quiet, beautiful way, Faynberg became part of my life — not as a historical figure, but as a silent mentor. And then, came that unforgettable day.

At the Council meeting held in Uzbekistan State World Languages University to honor academic and cultural achievements, I heard the voice of our distinguished Rector, Professor Ilhomjon Madamonovich Tuxtasinov, call out: “The recipient of the Faynberg Scholarship Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy …”

When she said my name, something inside me shifted. It wasn’t just excitement — it was a sense of fulfillment. I felt gratitude, pride, and a strange kind of peace. Not because I had “won” something — but because I had understood something. I had come to see that my purpose was never just to win a scholarship. Even if I had not received it, I would still be grateful for what this journey had taught me: That cultural memory, when translated with sincerity, can become a form of love.

This was never about a certificate. It was about discovering what it means to carry someone’s voice across languages, to protect their memory, and to give them new life in the minds of others. Through Faynberg, I learned that true poetry is not written — it is lived. It is in walking to a monument in the early morning out of respect. It is in crossing the border of language, not to invade, but to embrace. It is in the quiet work of making another’s vision visible again.

As Faynberg once wrote: “One who loves another land may die in silence — but his echo, if translated well, will outlive us all.”I now know what that echo feels like. And I am proud — humbled, truly — to be part of it.

Postscript

As I continue translating his works and sharing his legacy with the world, I remember that the truest scholarship is not always found in awards, but in the lives we honor, and the meanings we carry forward. Faynberg may have passed, but his poetry lives — in Russian, in Uzbek, and now, little by little, in English.

Basic Verb Tenses in English and Their Uzbek Equivalents              

Olimboyeva Dilaferuz Azamat qizi                 

Uzbekistan State World Languages University                   

alijonolimbayev99@gmail.com

Abstract

This article presents a comparative linguistic analysis of basic verb tenses in English and their functional equivalents in the Uzbek language. English, as an analytical language, relies heavily on auxiliary verbs and syntactic structure to indicate tense, while Uzbek, an agglutinative language, primarily uses suffixes and postpositions to convey temporal relations. The study focuses on four fundamental tenses in English—Present Simple, Past Simple, Future Simple, and Present Continuous—and examines how these are rendered in Uzbek in terms of morphology, semantics, and syntax.

Drawing from both theoretical and practical sources, the paper provides illustrative examples and pedagogical insights to aid language learners, translators, and linguists in mastering cross-linguistic tense equivalence. The analysis emphasizes the contextual flexibility of Uzbek tense usage, contrasts it with the structural rigidity of English tense systems, and highlights translation challenges that arise in bilingual contexts.

Keywords

Verb tense, present simple, past simple, future simple, present continuous, auxiliary verbs, agglutinative morphology, English-Uzbek translation, comparative grammar, language typology

Tense, as a grammatical category, is a fundamental aspect of verbal systems in most natural languages. It allows speakers to locate events in time and to distinguish between actions occurring in the past, present, or future. English verb tenses are traditionally divided into 12 forms, including simple, continuous, perfect, and perfect continuous tenses. Uzbek, on the other hand, organizes tense through suffixation, and tends to express time relationally rather than structurally.

In the Uzbek language, tense is generally encoded through the verb morphology itself, without the need for auxiliary verbs. The system is simpler in appearance but allows a rich variety of aspectual meanings. This article focuses on four core tenses that are most frequently encountered in beginner and intermediate language instruction: Present Simple, Past Simple, Future Simple, and Present Continuous. Understanding their use and equivalents is crucial for effective communication, translation accuracy, and grammar instruction.

In particular, the paper aims to: Analyze the structure and function of each English tense. Explore the morphological markers in Uzbek that carry similar meanings. Provide comparative examples and highlight cross-linguistic differences. Identify challenges in translation and language learning contexts. In English, the Present Simple Tense is generally used for habitual actions, repeated occurrences, facts, and general truths. Its basic form uses the root verb for most persons and adds an -s or -es ending for the third person singular: I walk to school. She walks to school.

The Uzbek equivalent of this tense is typically formed using the suffix -(a)di, which marks both present habitual and simple future meanings depending on context: Men har kuni maktabga boraman. → I go to school every day. U har kuni ertalab yuguradi. → She runs every morning. One challenge for Uzbek learners of English is the use of the third person singular -s ending in English, which does not have a direct morphological parallel in Uzbek. In Uzbek, the subject-verb agreement is expressed through personal suffixes, not through separate verb conjugations based on person as in English.

Furthermore, English also uses do-support in negative and interrogative forms, which has no direct equivalent in Uzbek: Do you like tea? → Senga choy yoqadimi? He doesn’t understand. → U tushunmaydi. Here, Uzbek expresses negation directly within the verb using -ma/-may suffixes, not through auxiliary verbs like “do/does.”Thus, while the Present Simple tense appears straightforward in English, its accurate mapping into Uzbek requires attention to aspect, personal endings, and the syntactic role of auxiliaries in English.

The Past Simple Tense in English denotes actions completed in the past at a definite time. Its structure involves the use of the past form of the verb, which in regular cases is formed by adding -ed, and in irregular cases varies widely (e.g., go → went, take → took): They watched a movie last night. She went to the market yesterday. In Uzbek, the past is expressed using the suffix -di or its phonological variants -ti, -di, -dilar (for politeness or plural subjects): Ular kecha kino ko‘rdilar. → They watched a movie yesterday. U bozorda meva oldi. → She bought fruits at the market.

Moreover, questions in the past are formed using -mi particles, unlike English which uses the auxiliary did: Did he see the letter? → U xatni ko‘rdimi? Uzbek verbs also tend to imply aspects of the action more fluidly. The context often determines whether the action is viewed as completed, ongoing, or habitual, without needing a separate grammatical category for each. This makes the Uzbek past tense morphologically simpler but semantically richer, requiring learners to rely more on context than form.

The Future Simple Tense in English refers to actions that will occur after the present moment and is typically formed with the auxiliary “will” followed by the base verb: I will help you tomorrow. They will arrive soon. In Uzbek, the equivalent tense is often expressed with the same suffix -(a)di, or with more explicit constructions such as -moqchi bo‘lmoq to denote intention or planned future: Men ertaga yordam beraman. → I will help tomorrow. Ular yaqin orada yetib kelishadi. → They will arrive soon. Men sizga telefon qilmoqchiman. → I intend to call you.

One interesting difference is that the same Uzbek suffix -(a)di is used for both habitual present and near-future actions, and only context determines the meaning. This polyfunctionality requires learners to pay close attention to time adverbials like ertaga (tomorrow), tez orada (soon), etc. In more formal or intentional future constructions, Uzbek uses the -moqchi bo‘lmoq structure:U imtihon topshirmoqchi. → He intends to take the exam. Unlike English, which uniformly uses “will” or sometimes “shall,” Uzbek has a range of optional markers, making its future tense more nuanced in intent and modality.

The Present Continuous Tense in English expresses actions that are currently in progress. Its structure includes the verb “to be” in present tense and the main verb in -ing form: She is reading a book. We are watching a movie. The Uzbek equivalent is formed with the suffix -yapti, attached directly to the verb root:U kitob o‘qiyapti. → She is reading a book. Biz film ko‘ryapmiz. → We are watching a movie.In both languages, this tense conveys immediacy and duration. However, unlike English, which needs an auxiliary and a participle, Uzbek uses a single analytic suffix.

Negative forms in English:I am not eating. Uzbek: Men ovqat yemayapman. Another notable feature in Uzbek is the use of present continuous for polite or soft assertions: Siz nimani kutyapsiz? → What are you waiting for?

For Uzbek learners of English, mastering the auxiliary verb “to be” (am/is/are) and using the –ing form correctly presents one of the most common grammatical hurdles. The comparative study of English and Uzbek verb tenses reveals fundamental structural, morphological, and semantic differences between the two languages. English relies on auxiliary verbs, inflectional patterns, and strict syntactic rules, while Uzbek uses agglutinative suffixation, contextual flexibility, and syntactic economy.

While certain tenses such as Present Continuous align well between the two systems, others like Future Simple or Present Simple demonstrate functional overlap but grammatical divergence. For translation studies and second language acquisition, these findings stress the importance of contextual interpretation, especially for Uzbek speakers learning English. Understanding these cross-linguistic patterns can aid educators in constructing more effective grammar curricula, and support translators in producing more accurate target texts.

References

1. Crystal, D. (2003). The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language. Cambridge University Press.

2. Eastwood, J. (1994). Oxford Guide to English Grammar. Oxford University Press.

3. Bozorov, O. (2005). Ingliz tili grammatikasi. Toshkent: O‘qituvchi nashriyoti.

4. Karimov, A. (2010). Hozirgi o‘zbek adabiy tili. Toshkent: O‘zR FA nashriyoti.

5. Hudoyberganova, D. (2017). Qiyosiy tipologiya: Ingliz va o‘zbek tillarining qiyosiy tahlili. Toshkent: TDPU.

6. Comrie, B. (1985). Tense. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

7. Richards, J. C., & Schmidt, R. (2010). Longman Dictionary of Language Teaching and Applied Linguistics. Longman.

The Lament of Palestine
Bukhara region, Karakul district, School No.1, 8th grade student

Mother, don’t look to the sky — look from the heavens,
Every dawn now spills blood, no longer light.
Children weep, but the ears remain deaf,
The world is silent — as if it sees no sight.

The earth trembles, yet it is no quake,
This is a lightning that makes hearts shake.
Not cannonballs, but bullets hit the young,
And in a mother’s embrace, the world shut its eyes.

Peace never came to rest upon your roof,
Between the calls to prayer, screams echo loud.
Instead of flowers, heavy stones are placed,
On the grave — dewdrops of blood drip down.

At night, no angels visit in dreams,
But fear enters, dressed in black.
The dream to live has long been buried,
There’s no support left — not even in prayers.

Poem about the Sunflower

In the field where sky and earth meet,

stands the sunflower — alone, yet not lonely.

It seeks nothing but light,

constantly turning its face toward the horizon.

Its stem is strong and steady,

as if holding the silence of ages within.

Its leaves whisper secrets to the wind,

while roots intertwine deep into the soil.

It does not crave fame, nor attention,

only wishes to absorb every ray,

to be part of something greater —

that invisible conversation of light and life.

When the sun sets, it still stands,

with its head lifted toward the sky,

waiting for a new day, a new chance

to feel the warmth and to grow.

The sunflower is not just a flower,

but a symbol of existence —

an existence that follows the light,

regardless of the shadows that fall.

A Hero of Our Time

To my mentor Shohida, who has empowered over 50,000 girls through Shine Academy…

What is joy? I ask myself anew—
Is it a victory, or just something true?
If someone asked me to describe delight,
Your face would rise before my sight.

A gentle smile, serene and kind,
Your words, in hearts, are deeply lined.
So pure, so honest—like a child,
You are joy, though so selfless and mild.

To every girl, your love runs deep,
A river of care, in silence it speaks.
To some, you are strength; to others, a dream,
A world of grace with a radiant gleam.

If I may speak the honest truth—
Shohida-sister, with boundless ruth,
Though life may have given you pain to bear,
You give girls joy beyond compare.

One day the world will know your name,
A Shohida who lit hope like flame.
A living example, brave and sincere,
A quiet hero we hold so dear

Rashidova Shaxrizoda Zarshidovna is a young writer from Qorako‘l district, Bukhara, Uzbekistan. She was born on October 31, 2010, and studies at School No. 20. Shaxrizoda is the author of several books, including The Magic of the Pen and Nafas. Her poems and stories have appeared in Ezgulik and Raven Cage magazines. She has won multiple district-level literary contests. Shaxrizoda leads the “Young Writers” Club and coordinates local youth initiatives. She also represents “Wekelet Community” in Uzbekistan. As a mentor, she has helped nearly 100 girls grow creatively. She is a member of the Writers’ Union of Argentina. Her work reflects a strong voice of her generation. 

My Mother, My Mother…

My mother, my mother — my paradise,
My dearest one, my precious prize.
You are my greatest strength and grace,
My flower, my blossom — my warm embrace.

You are the one, my only guide,
With endless love you’re by my side.
Your face — a glimpse of heaven’s light,
Your words — they make my world so bright.

My mother, my mother, may smiles stay,
May joy surround you every day.
Your prayers — my shield, my dawn,
My mother, my mother — my forever sun!

Rashidova Muallima was born on March 28, 2013, in Qorako‘l district, Bukhara region. She is a student of class 5-A at School No. 20. She’s participated in numerous competitions and is the author of more than 20 poems. Her creative works have been featured in anthologies such as “The Youth of New Uzbekistan” and “The Destination of Purpose.   

CLOTHESLINE IN THE SUN

Out in the garden, I tied the rope with firm knots,

saying this is where the sun falls best.

That pale blue line looked toward your window,

its blinds raised like watchful eyelids.

I brought out my cleanest poems in a woven basket,

and hung them—not laundry—into the warm, fragrant air.

Something stirred in my belly, thick as egg yolk;

I was hanging myself out there,

clipped beneath red clothespins…

Your windows closed their eyes.

Clouds gathered and groaned above my garden.

The poems were already soaked—

and I ran barefoot, unpinning verse by verse,

trying to save at least a line,

or that one word

the whole of life hangs on.