The period of national renaissance is modernism in our country

movement

Nozima Raximova G`ayrat qizi

 Kimyo International University  in Tashkent

Student of the 2nd stage of “Primary Education”

Jadidism first arose in the 80s of the XIX century in the Crimea under the leadership of Ismail Gaspirali among the Crimean Tatars. The representatives of the Jadid movement often called themselves progressives, later Jadids. The advanced progressive forces of that time, first of all, the intellectuals, felt that the local population was lagging behind the global development and realized the need to reform the society.

The term “Renaissance” refers to ancient literature and refers to the revival of science in the Middle Ages. Its scope varies in different countries, covering the period from the 9th to the 15th century. “National revival” is based on the realization of the nation’s identity. When we say the literature of the “National Renaissance” period, we mean the literature of the second half of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. It is a unique era.

It is known that the word “jadid” means “new”, “innovation”. There has never been a place and time in the history of mankind, when the innovation that entered the life of the society was not met with great resistance. The harmony of society and human life will sooner or later lead to decline. That is why the leading intellectuals of their time were considered to need new ideas to fight against or prevent the decline that started yesterday in society and human life.

The period of national renaissance is an important period in the historical development of every nation, in which the nation strives to understand its identity, culture and history, and to form new views based on the requirements of the times. The Jadidism movement that arose in our country in the second half of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century is a vivid example of such a period of national renaissance.

The modernist movement was mainly formed in response to the colonial policy of the Russian Empire, the main goal of which was to preserve the national identity and arm the people with modern knowledge. Jadids, that is, supporters of renewal, sought to develop modern education and culture without abandoning old traditions.

Abdulla Qadiri is one of the prominent representatives of the Jadidchilik movement, who widely promoted the ideas of realizing national identity and preserving national values ​​through his novel “Otkan Kunlar”. Also, modernists such as Fitrat, Munavvarqori Abdurashidkhanov, Hamza Hakimzada Niyazi contributed greatly to the development of this movement with their works and activities.

The Jadidism movement played a major role in the cultural and scientific development of our country during the period of national renaissance. Thanks to this movement, important steps were taken to realize the national identity, increase the level of education of the people and reform the society. People’s literacy increased, national culture and literature developed through the schools established by Jadids, newspapers and magazines published.

The period of national renaissance and modernism occupy an important place in the history of our country. Through this movement, our nation realized its identity, took important steps towards acquiring modern knowledge and renewing society. The ideas and activities of Jadids have not lost their importance even today, and they are an example for the younger generation. Therefore, it is the duty of each of us to study the history of the Jadidist movement and its achievements, to preserve the legacy of our great ancestors.

LIFE IS A JOURNEY

Life is a journey, winding and long
Full of moments both weak and strong
It's a tapestry woven with joy and pain
A symphony of loss and gain

Each day a new chapter to unfold
With stories of love, and tales untold
A dance of laughter, a song of tears
A canvas painted with hopes and fears

Life is a gift, a precious treasure
A tapestry of moments to be measured
So cherish each breath, embrace the unknown
For in this life, our true selves are shown



Jumanazarov Zohidjon Eldor o‘g‘li
2nd course student of Uzbekistan State Institute of Arts and Culture 
Winner of the National Award "Stars of New Uzbekistan",  Project Manager of the International Teachers Association
Member of the International Association of Outsourcing Professionals Author of “Sociology of Management”, “Art Management” and  “Ethical Leadership”

Human value.

They say that money solves everything in the world. They say that human welfare does not allow this. You cannot do anything without money. No matter how much knowledge you have, you cannot live without money.

Even those who acquire this knowledge sell it for money, and the owner of clear knowledge is left behind.

                             Central Asian teen girl with long straight dark hair, brown eyes, and a black jacket with a zipper.

The family is our small homeland. The family various, large or small. The environment in the family is all it is considered important for dialogues. There is also such a proverb in our people.

“The bird does what it sees in the nest.” This proverb is not said for nothing. Because the little boy has a kind of eloquence, the order and decency he sees in his house and on the street, in various crowded places he will also speak in the same way. Don’t forget, whatever order and communication you see in your home, even in public places you don’t always have to adjust this. If you’ve learned beautiful and human manners and your family’s order is exemplary you leave yourself a lot with your upbringing first and set an example for your peers. This is your main achievement and will bring thanks to your family environment and help you show yourself and rise.

Bukhara region 

Jondor District

30-school 

8-“a” class student .

synapse home

Exley sheep coma dream

birds hand-hold squirrels  

someone named Hilda

someone called Whoopsie Daisy

someone

taste of uneating

reminds of hating

compensatory Goldberg   

if

if only

one thing to must learn

count to the number oops  

cease crying nowsie cogito  

retaaardo 

olivetti womb

squeak ribb on

crab thread rod

age 18 book ray pipe

[lunar co click

lunar pi cup

lunar lee pappy]

Fripp make   down bolt

  bag econ   mall court risk   19[manohman]88

pocket wellek

ex plod flow flower                                plunk

damn blake pod hard   slip

things done night night nought

history concludes                                    why not

drunk history friend                                why not

drunk history bomb                                why not

collusion unto cha-ching

degree dunk slow bing

upset so high baby king

struggle era detect click click

live lonely little mysticism                      phut

no books

english likely unworded finn ly

drama boy slugfest ly

patch of grass mostly

formality spirit restrict

bitter joke darko

lamb to orgy class attention

class modification agnostic corporate

working under paternity blade

morning spirit tone   redeems

redemption body movements drill press home heart maternal ring

indentured standing drub

indentured standing stab

standing cockamamie

cuisine laughter better

one glass stomach

every turn attack turn solicitor

current cold kill whiskey blub

face derma play pick pace trad

symbols upon walk upon Frye book   home

copy anno anon non espresso grit   future fossil flip hurts now change

want change want   if means

Departures

losing CO2 in the Jet2 queue,
staining Carhartt with heartache, 
barcodes beep & promises pall

between staff & sightseers 
& parents cheering up children 
& new lovers arriving
chinos & eyes empty
into a grey tray, passing 
Saint Peter with an automatic 
& cutting through pictureless clouds
to arrivals, you were waiting,
& you opened your arms, like wings





Villa Diodati

like a leaf, you were ambered,
acquiescent, ambling the grounds – 
gravel crunched with Converse 
& a tableaux daydream: 
Byron sailing, or the Shelleys 
in love – & then, the villa doors 
unveiled untouched antiques
& portraits eyeing every word 
like the porcelain it was spoken over – 
& sobering outside, ringtones 
revealed Omicron will part you,
for months or more, before
the sun left for another city,
& the stars began to emerge
with the shyness of spiders




Geneviève


there you were: star-crossed
                      & stark, nipping the neck
               of Calvinus, flicking Winstons from windowsill, 
                              scribbled MA sonnets 
                        & scrunched love letters smothered
                                                    under feet & frown, 
                                          Twelve Carat Toothache
                                     cutting the silence,
            your rib cage crushing, lungs 
                                   heaving in the June heatwave
               with undiagnosed pneumonia
                                  & pleural effusion, 
                                 coughing blood
                            & wheezing cheater




Light Years

another spin around the sun, & since, I’ve learnt that every mirror needs light: if light is c = 1/(e0m0)1/2 = 2.998 X 108m/s (James Clerk Maxwell, circa. 1864), it’s the magnetism keeping us close – if light is electromagnetic radiation (Wikipedia), it’s the life of moths – if light is a wave, it's scattering most from our hearts of silvered sand & limestone – if light is The Dark Side of the Moon (1973), then it’s you refracting all my colours – & if light is a distance, it’s always between us, because I have realised there is not a greater love poem than a blank piece of paper, or the cursor, blinking for us to begin, reflecting me in the screen where you have been waiting for light years 

there are sounds everywhere
that you will never hear again

***
We’ll die of love
We’ll die of AIDS
Life bets at their highest
Prices for graves are rising
I kiss your imaginary portrait
Rain washes away memory with transparent watercolor
I love you like at the very beginning
I’m dying without you before and after you
Birds meet the winged dawn
Meanwhile the cast-iron night in my heart is growing to burst

***

the bird said it would be quiet and the air was filled with no one’s breath

and in the evening on the corner near the lake birds flocked and were silent

I watched the birds and was also silent, unable to move

meanwhile, somewhere far away, very close, people plucked up the courage 

to yell when a stranger with the face of death roars artillery at them through the window

***
God looks like you and also like a section of forest burned under the snow
The rusty bones of the snowflakes show me the grinding path
I step quietly so as not to wake up the little Jesuses – not yet resurrected flowers
Nobody knows what will happen at the end of the road
Probably at the end of the journey we will all return home
After all the earth is cruelly looped by an ellipsoid
But now in front of me is a fork of cast-iron milk of the night
Where should I go: forward or into the future?
Each step seems like a step into the grave abyss
The cemetery stuck like a sticker to a shoe can’t be peeled off
A snowstorm begins and the voice of the wind begins Celans aria
The ivory of the sky dissolves in the eyes
I lose strength and reluctantly fall asleep on chest of the wind
I dream about you and it seems to me that now you are even more like God
My body is covered with a blanket of snow and I’m burning for the last time

***
white tea of the day
sugar time cubes

the powder of my views dissolves in your thick boiling water of silence

red triangles of the walls of the long night
You don’t /everything is obvious to everyone/