The Ugly American



He’s at the

Airport in Doha

At the gate

And waiting 

For his flight,

Then an 

American dude

Shows up 

And starts complaining

About a couple people

Taking naps

On the floor,

The American dude

Has no idea

How silly and sad 

He looks,

The ugly American,

Still a thing

After all these years.





Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May. 

Taxi at the Peace Bridge                                                                 

After a four-hour layover in the Buffalo bus terminal, after crossing the Peace Bridge in the middle of the night and disembarking again, an honest and earnest young man, I naively informed the customs officer I would be “earning my keep” in Canada. Big mistake. No one told me what to say. I was pulled aside, ordered to go here and sit there, and watched through the windows as the other more fortunate and savvy passengers climbed aboard the Greyhound and pulled away, privileged to be trekking into the dark expanse of Ontario.

It was during the Reagan administration. I was escaping trickle-down economics by heading toward Kingston, at the eastern end of Lake Ontario, to a little run-down farmhouse and a few out buildings, a place called “Dandelion.” It was a modest commune in the middle of nowhere, at the end of telephone and electric poles. About ten Canadian and American twenty-something men and women lived and worked together there weaving hammocks, tending an impressive garden, smoking a little pot now and then, and generally attempting to live a simple, peaceful, egalitarian life according to the utopia in B. F. Skinner’s Walden II. This, I thought, was my moment, and this might be the place where I might find an authentic sense of self – to pursue my ideals. And just maybe find love. When waiting with my dad for the bus north, the zipper on my bag split open. Dad took off his belt and cinched the whole thing closed. What was I doing? We both choked up, and my feet were heavy on the bus steps. My ideals faltered, but I found a seat.

Turned away at the border, I was dazed, lost, my future uncertain – with no idea what to do next. A taxi must have been called. The cabbie led me to the car, picked up my bag, placed it in the trunk, opened the door and motioned me into the front seat. On the way back to the U.S., he quietly provided me with instructions for another attempt at the border. He seemed to recite these directions from experience: walk nine blocks back to the Buffalo station, find the number 10 city bus to drop me near the Rainbow Bridge at Niagara Falls. Ask the bus driver. He’ll know. Try again. Lie. Keep it simple. Years later, on a nostalgic visit to Dandelion with my wife, we drove over the Peace Bridge corridor in daylight. It was all concrete and asphalt punctuated by orange construction barrels and lines of big rigs. The few grim buildings were blockish and dull, the water flat and gray. This was exactly what I felt and imagined when I travelled this way that night.

After dropping me on the U.S. side, as I watched him pull away, I realized that the soft-spoken cabbie didn’t mention the fare. Still reeling and as that was the first time I rode in a taxi and was unfamiliar with the protocol, it did not occur to me to dig out some cash. He gave me great advice and didn’t charge for the ride. What a good human being, such a contrast to the cold demeanor and the crisp, impeccable uniforms of the customs officers. The U.S. officials asked for identification and questioned my citizenship. I stated too sarcastically that I was just turned away in Canada. Where else would I go? Dawn was breaking as I quickened my step through the Buffalo neighborhoods. I wondered, what if it was raining? According to the cabbie’s prescription, I found my way to the Rainbow Bridge and though I was anxious about where to go next if I wasn’t turned away again, I paused and took in the horseshoe falls halfway across, beneath the American and Canadian flags flapping side-by-side. The vast immensity, the roar of the falls, and the swirling mist were breathtaking though fleeting. I recalled the painter Frederick Church and his portrayal of the sublime landscape. I considered, momentarily and perversely, how fortunate I was to be in this distressing predicament. At the toll booth I paid ten cents and when the pleasant woman asked about my stay in Canada I declared, “Just visiting friends – a week or two tops.” She smiled, knowingly I thought, and waved me on. Somehow, I found a bus terminal, my ticket was good for the next connection in a weird bit of luck, and I took a seat next to a kindly lady who reminded me of an aunt. We talked of Canada and Ohio on the way to Toronto. She spoke of her grandchildren. I wistfully described my grandparents’ farm in the rolling green hills of Knox County. She needed a little reassurance that I was not a runaway teenager. The passengers on this leg of the journey were a stark contrast to the rough, sullen crowd between Cleveland and Buffalo.

At the Toronto layover I browsed through the World’s Largest Bookstore and picked up a corned beef on rye at a very loud, bustling, and confusing delicatessen – my first deli experience. I was ordered by the patron to go here and stand there. From there I made it, thankfully and uneventfully, to Kingston and Dandelion. But I didn’t find love. It was all worthwhile I suppose; however, after four months of hammock weaving, jerry-rigged construction projects, wincing at residents’ attempts at self-taught guitar, and listening to pointless petty squabbles between couples, I determined that people were about the same everywhere and that my ideals could be actualized most anywhere – even Ohio. I discovered that authenticity prevailed more in the kindness and generosity of that Buffalo cabbie than in the subsequent months playing the enlightened hippie.

David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.

Why I am not writing

I am re-reading James Ellroy's
The Black Dahlia, am re-reading
Thomas Kuhn's The Structure
of Scientific Revolutions, am
reading the sub-titles to the
opening titles of the animated
manga Neon Genesis Evangelion
when Mayakovsky rings to say
he will not be coming around
today. I scan the TV guide
& plot an alternative itinerary.

I think about opening Word
& end up opening Solitaire
instead. I listen to the humming
of the PC but it tells me nothing.
It sounds like the refrigerator but
that only hums at intervals &
does not give me card games
as a built-in option — it is
too dedicated in its purpose.

I think about work, where I have
been listening to the presentations
of consultants to decide who
will be the anointed ones to whom
we will pay hundreds of thousands
of dollars to rewrite our planning &
information systems. I have yet
to hear anything new, decide I'm
in the wrong business. But the
arrival of the consultants is
serendipitous in that it loosely
coincides with one of the subjects
I have to do at university next
semester. I plan to use the
aggregated data in my major
assignment — at least I will get
some value from what I consider
to be an obscene outlay of money.

& I am reading & re-reading my
textbooks as the exams draw nearer.
Though they & the other books are
shelved in some sort of order, the CDs
are jumbled. I am working my way
through them from the top of the
stack on down, sorting them out
by listening to each one in turn
then putting it back in the place
where it was. I have just listened
to Sonny Rollins' Saxophone
Colossus; now I am listening
to Revolver & decide again that
this album & not Sergeant Pepper
marked the paradigm shift for The
Beatles even though for me
when I first heard them the order
was reversed. & in passing
I want to thank Thomas Kuhn
for developing the concept of
paradigm shifts & for redefining
the term paradigm. When words
change meaning they are re-
energized, & if I were writing

I would hope to be using energetic
words. But instead I am singing
along with Eleanor Rigby & the
refrigerator is humming along
in harmony & the Red Queen is
shouting from the PC "Lay me
on the Black King! Lay me!" She
is off her head. But I already knew
that, was told by Jefferson Airplane
many years ago & reminded of it
by the inclusion of White Rabbit
on the Greatest Hits of the Sixties
compilation I listened to three CDs
ago. Then Mayakovsky rings
to say he has changed his mind.
I start to tidy up the house.


October, 2002

Not Crying Baby

Under the rubble, the collapse of the wall,
Sits a three-year not crying kid,
In the screaming hell,
Like a wild beast from the sky,
Among the layers of exploding roofs.
With the stroke of eyelashes
Blood drops in the eye,
Sliding on the check.
Small hand silently rubbing the eyelid,
Palm red spots for the first time.
Stepmother- war mixes with the dust
Mop of chestnut hair tenderness.
Splinters dug into the snow white feet.
My angel, what are your faults?
Well, at least cry, baby,
I’m no longer able
To look into your innocent eyes.
You are my clean world,
You are more than all!
So you lived

I have died a hundred times!



Nigar Nurulla Khalilova is a poet, novelist, translator from Azerbaijan, Baku city, currently living in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She is a member of the Azerbaijan Writers Union. Nigar N. Khalilova graduated from Azerbaijan Medical university, and holds a Ph.D degree. She has been published in books, literary magazines, anthologies and newspapers in Azerbaijan, Russia, Saudi Arabia, and the USA over the years. 

Nigar N. Khalilova participated in poetry festivals and was published in international poetry festivals anthologies and in the Austin International Poetry Festival (AIPF), 2016-2017.

GRAMMATICAL DIFFERENCES BETWEEN ADVERBS AND MODAL WORDS

Abstract: This article discusses the introduction of modal words in the modern Uzbek literary language and the difference between similar and different words, documents. In addition to works of art, examples of them are given.

Key words: word groups, modal word, introductory word, feedback, relationship, morphology, syntax, phrase, sentence, analysis, punctuation, communication.

Note: This article discusses the modal words and introductory words in the current Uzbek literary language, their similarities and differences. Examples of them are given in the use of works of art.

Key words: word groups, modal word, introduction, reasoning, relationship, morphology, syntax, vocabulary, sentence, analysis, punctuation, communication.

Annotation: V dannoy state rassmatrivayutsya modalnye slova, sushchestvuyushchie v sovremennom uzbekskom literaturnom zyyke, a similar vvodnye slova, big skhodstva va razlichiya. Examples privedeny v slachae ispolzovaniya hurozhestvennyx proizvedeniy.

Key words: category word, modal word, vvodnoe word, obratnaya svyaz, relationship, morphology, syntax, vocabulary, predlozhenie, analysis, punctuation, communication.

Introductory words are words that add confidence, suspicion, and problematic meanings to the speaker’s opinion.

The introduction is always separated from other parts of the sentence by a comma (,).

In the analysis, the input words are represented by a wavy line below the straight line.

Introductory words can be used in different places of the sentence. In writing, if it comes at the beginning of the sentence, after the introductory words, if it comes in the middle, then both occurrences of the introductory word, if it comes after the sentence, then a comma is placed before the introductory word.

Modal words are words that express the attitude of the speaker to the expressed idea (such as trust, suspicion, pity). Modal words are separated from other words in the sentence by commas. Meaning types of modal words. Modal words mean confidence, doubt, joy, regret, order of thought, control.

Meanings of modal words

Modal words

Examples

Trust

Of course, no doubt 

4) originally grew out of a lexeme with the composition “noun lexeme + attributive form builder” and was not divided into meaningful parts: шуба + сиз = without a doubt, шкла + ли = like (it is difficult to pronounce the kll sounds in the next example because the sound i is included in the range of kl sounds) like ;

5) originally formed from a lexeme and a form-forming morpheme, growing as a unit of the modal category, the form-forming morphemes lost their grammatical essence and became inseparable. Such modals are originally:

a) has the composition of “lexeme + unit number + III person relative + main agreement indicator”: chama+I+si+Ø II=chamasi,

like content+ØI+i+ØII=content.

b) having the composition of “lexeme+unit number+place or output agreement affix”: truth+ØI+da=in truth, truth+ØI+dan=truly like (The next modal is often used with a predicate in the form of truth );

d) “lexeme+ singular number+third person accusative+locative or derivational affix has the composition”: asl+ØI+i+da=actually, aft+ØI+i+dan=apparently.

2. Derived from lexemes of a category other than nouns:

1) The adjective grew out of the lexeme form: like natural;

2).

3) Tajik has grown from the verb form: in this case, hoh -‘ista’, no -‘-ma’, from the verb form -‘ista – istama’ in Uzbek at the end of both parts h sound changed to y sound, the first o sound in the second part changed to a sound: hoh-nohoh → hoynakhoy; there was also a serious change in meaning: ‘willingness’ → ‘tusmol’;

Pure and functional modal words. Modal words are also divided into pure modal words and functional modal words. Only modal words are considered pure modal words: indeed, indeed, unfortunately, attang, of course, apparently, first of all, so, if only, for example.

Such modal words are used in the modal sense, apparently, apparently, in general, perhaps, clearly, undoubtedly.

Modals mainly grew out of the unity of categories based on the development of meaning:

1. The noun grew out of the lexeme form: these are the types of modals. In this modal:

1) is considered equal to the root lexeme form: as possible;

2) it is equal to the derivational form of the original Arabic lexeme and is considered a root from the point of view of the Uzbek language: like (haqiqat+an);

3) originally consists of a preposition and a lexeme, and is considered basic from the point of view of the Uzbek language: darhaqiqat (consists of the preposition dar in Tajik and the lexeme of truth borrowed from the Arabic language, and is defined as lexeme form of analytic grammatical form in Tajik as dar truth . is written), by the way (This modal is also such a help: preposition dar+Arabic case’ – ‘in fact’) as well. The archaic form of filhaqiqat is from the Arabic preposition fi, the article of definiteness al and the lexeme of truth: fi al haqiqat → filhaqiqat;

4) Grown from the conjunction: perhaps.

3. The compound noun is formed as a result of ellipsis (dropping) of the participle: self – as from itself.

4. The combination is formed by the transformation of the form into a modal: in any case, as in any case.

If a modal unit grows on the basis of a category unit, in such cases, homonymy usually occurs

Introduction words are considered as one part of the introduction, and introductions are divided into three types:

1. Introduction

2. Introductory compound

3. Introduction.

Introductory words can never be part of a sentence and do not enter into any relationship with other parts.

Entries have great stylistic, expressive-emotional possibilities. Introductions are rarely used in a formal manner, as they are mostly subjective assessments. Such words increase expressiveness and effectiveness of speech.

One of the main differences between a modal word and an introductory word is that a modal word is studied in morphology, while an introductory word is studied in syntax. For example, in the exercises or assignments, if it is said to “identify the word groups in the following sentence, it is considered a modal word. For example, let’s take the sentence, first of all, a person must be a believer. We will analyze this sentence morphologically, that is, Let’s break it down into categories:

The introduction is not a word, a noun, an adjective, a verb

MODAL WORD, NOUN, ADJECTIVE, VERB.

   First of all, if it is said to analyze the sentence “A person must be a believer”, i.e. identify and analyze the parts of the sentence, it is analyzed in the form of INTRODUCTORY WORD (not modal word), NOUN, ADJECTIVE, VERB. Distinguishing them mainly helps the applicants in solving the tests.

Modal words are found in all works of art and are used very widely. Below, for each meaning of modal words, modals taken from various works of art are described one by one:

1. Confidence: These are my dreams, of course.

2. Suspicion: Maybe, like me, he wants to walk long and hard to never be separated.

3. Confirmation: In the evening, Murad Ali’s condition worsened, he called his sister at night and said: “Let me tell you what I have to say about my medicine.”

4. Conclusion: He has never slept under a blanket, so he does not know what a thin white petticoat is.

5. Order of thought: First of all, if it was his father’s wish, then he apologized for his rudeness.

6. Proof of opinion: “For example, I don’t eat,” he said coldly.

  “Look, I didn’t know you were full.”

   This modal word is often widely used in dialogues.

7. Pity: Well, attang, I wish I could say that it works there too.

8. Joy: Good luck, Father hasn’t left for the trip yet. He is currently in Fergana.

9. Unfortunately, you did not do well in the exam.

References:

1. Abdullah Qahhor. Love (short story). Tashkent Publishing House of Literature and Art named after Gafur Ghulom – 1998.

2. Rasul Hamzatov. My Dagestan. The first book. Publishing House of the National Library of Uzbekistan named after Alisher Navoi. Tashkent-2008.

3. Otkir Hashimov. Four pillars of life. Short stories and stories. Merius, Tashkent-2018.

4. Shavkat Rahmatullayev. Modern Uzbek literary language (textbook). Tashkent. “University” – 2006.

5. Fame. Gold is stainless. Chief editorial office of “Sharq” publishing-printing concern. Tashkent – 1995.

6. Chingiz Aitmatov. Sarvkomat Dilbarim (short story). Chief editorial office of “Sharq” publishing-printing joint-stock company, Tashkent – 2009.

7. 5th grade mother tongue textbook. Completed fourth edition. Tashkent “Spirituality” 2015.

8. 7th grade mother tongue textbook. Completed and revised 4th edition. Tashkent “Spirituality” 2017.

9. 8th grade mother tongue textbook. Fourth edition. Cholpon publishing house – creative house of printing, Tashkent – 2019.

10. https://www.ziyouz.com/ library

Norsafarova, daughter of Nilufar Boybori, was born on April 24, 2004 in Dehkanabad district of Kashkadarya region. At the moment, she is a student of the Uzbek language and literature department of the Shahrisabz State Pedagogical Institute, Faculty of Languages. Norsafarova Nilufar has been actively participating in many international and republican competitions. In 2023, she became the owner of the “Innovative Promoter” badge.

In addition, she is currently actively involved in volunteer work at the institute. She is the author of such articles as “History of the formation of proverbs”, “Palindromes or words of the heart”, “Specific features of an epic work”, “The role and importance of connected clauses, separated clauses, impulses and introductions in a sentence”. These articles were published by foreign publishers and in the prestigious publishing houses of our republic.

Shahrisabz State Pedagogical Institute

Department of Uzbek language and literature

       2nd grade student Norsafarova Nilufar

E-mail: nilufarnorsafarova@gmail.com

                                                    Phone: +99 894 858 24 12

THE LEGACY OF GREAT AUTHORS: 
THE FAULT-LINES OF MODERN CIVILIZATION  

							Dr. Jernail S. Anand

The world still basks in the glory of great scholars like Aristotle and Plato although the books that celebrate Socrates for being the greatest man, who loved truth over his own life, have failed to inspire the modern man. Life was not easy in those times, nor people so learned, there were not so many universities, so many books, and so many institutions which imparted knowledge, still those people loved ‘learning’ and the idea of being human. As the civilization has progressed, and man has known more and more,  it appears the law of diminishing returns has gone into operation. Writers look upon civilization itself as a great challenge to manhood. We need not go far to see that the man that we meet today has dwindled in his humanity, he is smart, but lacks grace, he lives on his wits, not on truth. Did we really bargain for such a situation? Did the great authors dream of a man who loses his manhood, his humanity to gain physical affluence? 

Self-obsession, self-love, selfishness – these are human traits which foreground  movements like individualism, and liberalism,  and we had no idea the modern times, in spite of the fact that Google and X connect people across continents,  will hasten the process of alienation and finally, man would shed all that is imaginative in him, and remain only a disc of desires. 

FAULT-LINES   

The niceties of life which should have been a part of our living, down the ages as we have been studying great masters like Aristotle, Plato and Shakespeare, are absent from human behaviour and thought. We have developed a coarse life style in which the physical has got the better of the inner life of man. Civilizing processes have moved into a danger zone, and man, instead of getting sensitized about his spiritual relationship with the cosmic reality, has acquired a blatant lifestyle glorifying only his self.  Our civilization has moved into a domain, where we have lost not only our language, not only our feelings, and our sensitivity, and most pathetic, our legacy too. 

POVERTY: THE CRADLE OF GREATNESS

All is not lost though. Adversity has saved mankind from itself. If you want to see the best specimens of mankind, go to poor homes where men and women have to work hard to survive. Here, you will find parents who have time for their kids, and siblings who love and die for each other. Only here you will find dreams which are human in intent and divine in content. If the daughter of an autorickshaw driver dreams of becoming an IAS officer, here you will find the mother and her brothers and father all engaged in a super human fight to support the girl. But move out of the poor locality. You will find the rich of this city, their bloody boys, waiting in their cars, to abduct young girls, violate their bodies and destroy their dreams. The jungle that we see rising among the rich and the wealthy sections of society is an alarming development of the present civilization. Not only young boys, even their fathers and mothers have lost their sense of balance. And the most dangerous thing is: this jungle is growing fast. 

AUTHORS AND THEIR LEGACY

The world of today, which has absolutely lost the legacy of great authors, - you will not find anywhere the message of Leo Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Gorky. Don [the great river of Russia]  shakes its head in despair, and cries at the falling stock of mankind. The world that came up reading Shakespeare, William Wordsworth and Donne, will turn so insensate, who could imagine? King Oedipus, who faced in most inhuman situations, has left nothing behind. No lesson. No legacy. The civilization that took shape around the Vedic effulgence of the Ganges is now drying up in utter neglect by its inheritors. Dr. Faustus, however, is still in great demand. We don’t find any takers for Aristotle and Plato. And if we have absolutely disowned any author, it is Socrates.



RAVANIZATION OF MANKIND

Human mind has acquired super powers so that it can masquerade like the elemental forces. ‘Some’ men have overgrown in their size, and, in their hunger, turned  Ravanic. The Ravan of Ramayana was an demon with a huge physical embodiment. But the Ravana of modern times ‘looks’ most human, you will find him visiting the shrines donning  a particular dress code which makes him look quite normal.  Physically he looks like just another man. But just descend into his mind. You will see a Lanka, a city of Lust, a city of Passion, a city of Ambition, a city of Illusions. These are the men, the Ravanas, who rule this world, they are few, but too powerful for the poor masses even to understand the reach of their powers and their discrete designs. 

AUTOMATONIC HUMAN BEINGS 

These ‘demonic’ people have created a breed of auto-matonic human beings who do not think, who do not feel, who have no sense of good and bad, except achieving the ‘target’. The young men of today, who have no time for breakfast, no time for lunch, no time when they will return ‘home’, [have they any?], who have no family, young office girls who don’t marry for the sake of career, and couples who don’t want babies for they have no time – and they have no time for their mother and father, they have no understanding with their MIL and DIL [mothers in law or even daughters in law] – we are not living in an advanced society, we are living on the ruins of a great civilization, which has been, and is now in the throes of extinction. 


[The author is winner of Charter of Morava, the great Serbian Award in Creativity, and his name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia]. 

+


 I drive my piercing Blade
   Beneath the rocky soils
         of a Blessed Sky
              driven by
                winds.
And Fear itself
 Scatters the Rocks
         to leave the Silt,
For Rains will draw
      a carried path
              to fruition.
   A Tall
  Shield differentiates
Love's lights to mend
Our
 Hearts         
     with
       Grace 
           ♡

                                                ............



Composition May 21, 2024
 on a Tuesday Morning 
by  John Edward Culp