THE INTERPRETATION OF TIME AND PERIOD IN THE WORKS OF GHAFUR GHULAM

Ibrokhimov Saidakbar
Faculty of Criminal Justice
3rd grade student

Abstract: Gafur Ghulam is a famous writer of Uzbekistan. The history of the Uzbek people found its artistic expression in the poetry and prose of Gafur Ghulam. The writer’s creativity is diverse – poems, songs, epics, odes, stories, short stories. Gafur Ghulam’s work
took an incomparable place in the development of Uzbek literature in the post-war period.
Key words: work, era, interpretation, literature, poetry, poet, work, folk, prose, writer, literature, stories, creator, examples of creativity.

“… When we talk about the personality, memory and legacy of Gafur Ghulam, we compare this great man first of all as a broad, literal poet of the people, in front of his immortal name and unfading work our boss”

Islam Karimov.

Gafur Ghulam is a unique talent who left a golden name in Uzbek literature of the 20th century. People’s poet of the Republic of Uzbekistan, an academician of the Academy of Sciences of the Republic of Uzbekistan, this great artist greatly contributed to the
development of national literature, culture and science of the Uzbek people with his unique creativity and activity. That is why his work is constantly studied and researched. While reading the works of the writer, we can understand the philosophy of that time and come to primary thoughts about the era. The works of contemporaries greatly influenced the formation of Gafur Ghulam’s world view and artistic taste. Gafur Ghulam writes in one of his articles: “I know and love Russian classical artists and have translated many of their works into my native language. But I want to say that I am a student of Mayakovsky, who “opened up the most exciting and unlimited possibilities for me in the fields of weight, vocabulary, symbols, and the melodic structure of poetry.”

In addition to anger in Mayakovsky’s satire, critical sarcasm, and the enormous power of feeling in his lyrics, I tried to gather in myself… the bold eloquence of his methods, the courage of metaphors, the expressiveness of exaggerations. I even had to use the methodical, melodious and meaningful construction of the poem in the structure of Uzbek poetry.” These are reflected in many poems of Gafur Ghulam, for example: “On the roads of Turksib”, “Motherland”, “Long live peace!”.

In one of the poetic passages written by Gafur Ghulam in 1962, we can come across such a sentence:
Time and mother
Rhyme is coming

Through this verse, as much as the poet was a son for his mother, he was as much a child of the times as a person. It is impossible to understand the creator, whose entire creative period and life path are closely connected with his time. If the period is studied in a strong
connection, both its successes and its shortcomings will be shown accordingly. Almost every poem of Gafur Ghulam, written in the spirit of belonging to the 20th century, requires special attention. The works that cover all the foundations of society and include
people’s dreams and hopes, thoughts about the past and the future, evoke a feeling in the heart of the fan. There are other works of the poet (for example, the poem “Sharaf Manuscript”, stories such as “Hasan Kaifi” and “Aliqul’s Debt”), through which it is possible to read the author’s hidden pains and deeply artistically expressed ideas of
independence. we can understand.

Gafur Ghulom’s prose skill is clearly visible in the short stories “Netay” (1930), “Resurrected Corpse” (1934), “Yodgor” (1936), “Shum Bola” (1936-1962). In particular, in the story “Netay”, the social era causes the fate of the main character to become tragic. In the short story, the writer covers the issue of relations between man and society. He strongly condemns any kind of unrest and draws attention to the fact that even in the “Troublesome days when fathers do not know their sons and mothers do not know their daughters”, true human qualities are preserved and the dear and delicious feelings of fatherhood do not choose a beautiful nation. Ghafur Ghulam writes about one of the great evils of society. The writer angrily exposes “the tyranny of the evil khan”, the violence of
the thousand chiefs, city judges, and governors, and protects women whose “hearts are crying, their faces are smiling, and their hearts are bleeding from insults”.

Today, Gafur Ghulam’s pedagogical views have become a component of our national pedagogic heritage. In the 20s of the last century, ideas about eliminating harmful habits in children’s behavior were discussed. Looking at the work of the writer, he suffers from the
growing number of harmful habits among children. He looks for the causes of harmful habits in the environment in which children live. In his opinion, “thousands of children are not involved in general education due to the fault of officials sitting at the top of the
educational system.”

It is known that during the last century, hundreds of thousands of children were left homeless in the former Soviet state due to national conflicts, war, and drought. As a result, child neglect has reached its peak in the country. Thousands of children who were left out
of school and family control learned harmful habits from street schools. The state and the general public are worried about the increase in child delinquency. Therefore, the poet was
worried about the fate of such orphaned children and said in the poem “I offer”:

Look at this young teenager:
“He lived from the beginning
What a shame, what a shame
He is proud like his grandfather,
You eat a lot!” – you say
…Not yet
School, study is up to him…

In a number of works of the writer, human qualities are recognized. That is, education shows a sense of respect. Respecting one’s parents, elders, and everyone else was considered a high recognition for this person. Respect and value are harmonious concepts, and a person who appreciates the country, parents, and all the circumstances in general is the owner of high education. In this way, the so-called human being becomes the possessor of high virtue. As an example, we can show the poem “Hello” by the writer on page 1.58:

Respect for a person is self-recognition.
The land where the holy term lived.
Na qulu na xo‘ja, na minnat, na zulm,
Dear Sanamak, the sweat on his forehead

Now let’s think a little about the story “Shum Bola”, the most famous example of the author’s work. We all know that the period in which this work was written, that is, the 30s of the 20th century, is a difficult period for our country. In this situation, the emergence of
a work with fundamentally opposing concepts to the politics of the time is an unprecedented event. The events of the 10th years are written in the well-known work. If we pay attention, there is no trace of class conflict, struggle, revolutionary spirit in this story. However, the events in the work are reflected in the ordinary life of the people, who are busy with their work in the market, on the streets. When you read the story, it seems that the work consists of adventures, but it creates a special mood for the people of this era, who are in a state of politics. Shum Boy, the main character in the play, is a character
who does not fit into the mold. However, the attention to the life, time, and people who left the children of the nation to fend for themselves in the events of the story is expressed through the character of a simple child. Page 2.8

In conclusion, in Gafur Ghulam’s works, we can see not only creativity, but also the harmony of time and space. Today, if we look at the past, we can see that some of the works written by a number of our writers have fallen from the history. In general, there is
no creator, writer or poet whose works cannot take place on the stage of folk and literature. Because time is sorting out their works. But there are such creators whose works created at the level of their talent still remain in the language of the people, and their name is a
symbol of pride and honor for the people and the era. Therefore, Gafur Ghulam is considered to be such a talented and great creator of the 20th century. A rare talent, an academician of the Academy of Sciences of Uzbekistan, a philosopher-poet, a poet Gafur
Ghulam will remain a scientist, poet and writer who listens to the hearts of our people and all well-intentioned humanity, and can feel the pain of fans from the heart.

Why can’t I be happy, we are finally with perfection,
With knowledge, with love, with beauty,
Our hearts are full of all humanity,
We are sitting on the road in the heart.
Excerpt from the poem “The power of one greeting”.
Gafur Ghulam

References:

1. Naim Karimov, publishing house named after Gafur G’ulam, Tashkent-2003.

2. The spiritual and educational significance of Gafur Ghulam’s work. Scientific conference. Tashkent-2003.
3. www.ziyo.net

Throwing Stones...	

The janitor sweeps the long streets, 
A pile of firecrackers one by one. 
Long live aro broom - endure, 
My heart is full of tears... 

The janitor cleans the long streets, 
Put aside - the scumbags. 
I'm trying not to be sad, 
So many stones thrown at my life?!

Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey and five years in Ukraine. Currently lives in Switzerland. Married, mother of five children. It was not possible to publish poems and translations written by the poet in the next ten years.

A place where spring has turned into dreams

The white look of the morning in my window,
The sun of my heart rises from afar.
There is beauty in this world,
Spring is on such a fire.

The place where tulips bloom on the shores,
This world will be more beautiful.
Wake up early, look at the trees,
Spring is on such a fire,

Spring is quiet in the bosom of dreams,
There are moonlit nights.
When I open my eyes everything is bright
A place where spring has turned into dreams.

 

No need

I don't listen to gossip.
It's a shame now.
No unnecessary words,
For my happy living.

Dear friend and brother,
Kindness is the best friend.
share your love
Always you always always.

When I look in the mirror, I see my reflection,
He tells me only the truth.
I will not give in to the test of life,
I don't know. I will never rest again.

Zarnigor Ubaidullayeva Azizkulov, daughter of Ilhomjon, on January 29, 2005 Born in G’allaorol district, Jizzakh region. Currently a student of the 11th grade of school 54.

ROAD

The girl was waiting for a taxi at the station – in a hurry and impatiently. At that moment, a small, slightly old car stopped. The girl ignored it and asked:

– Will you move to the bright future, the city of love?

– Yes, I will pass only through the path of knowledge, sister.

– No, thank you, this road is rough, I will a have trouble.

The car left. Another small old car came after him. Disgusted, the girl turned her face away and asked:

– Will you move to the bright future, the city of love?

– Yes, I will pass, my sister, I will take you through the vocational path.

– No, no, no! Thank you, there are many difficulties in the career path, because the road is bumpy.

He waited for a long time. At that moment, a car was seen in the distance. It was a large, beautifully decorated, tall, luxurious car. The car stopped in front of the girl. Girl:

– Will you move to the bright future, the city of love? – she said, shaking her hair beautifully. Then the young man laughed and said:

“Sit down, we’ll go right there on the way of peace and happiness.” The girl shyly looked at the ground, then got into the car.

They would go down the hilly road and have a sweet conversation. the girl was very happy: “Now I will walk on a straight path and easily find my happiness.” Suddenly, the straight road in front of them turned into a crooked, bumpy, potholed, uneven road, there were more and more large stones, and the car could not move. No matter how hard they tried, they could not advance any further. Then the guy took the girl out of the car and said:

– Now we can’t go this way easily. It is late. There is only one destination waiting for us – this is the destination of travel. Now let’s go for a walk. If we endure hardships, we will surely reach the destination of happiness. otherwise, there is no going back… and moving forward is difficult.. Let us go …

: Nurmamatova Oygul

Student of the 8th “B” grade of the creative school named after Ogahi

I was born Nurmamatova Aigul in Khanka district of Khorezm region. At first, I studied at general secondary school No. 38 in this district. my desire to write poems appeared in the 5th grade, at that time my poems were published in the newspaper “Khonka Yelyti” and in the magazine “Maktab Gunchali” and in 2022

My poetry collection “Armughan” was published. After completing the 6th grade, I was accepted to the creative school named after Ogahi in Khiva district with good marks. I started participating in the “Nasr” club there. at that time, my stories and drabbles were published in many magazines, including “Gulgunchalar” magazine and “Ezgulik” newspaper. 2023 My short story collection “Book of Life” was published. Thank God, I am taking both directions together! I am currently the winner of several competitions and a student of the 8th “B” grade of the creative school named after Ogahi. I create under the pseudonym Oygul Sanat

+


The man who tries
  fights his own expectations 

LOVE has this 

   The bird who flutters 
 first born of its nesting days 
has wings in anticipation 

Our Love sings
from parents warmth 
Tune these expectations 

  LOVE has this 

Fallen, born to fly 
 Own the comfort 
  A dawn has no limits 
  LOVE
 A fallen catches life's birth 
                A time to sing
LOVE has this 
    ♡

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


by  John Edward Culp 
     Friday morning 
    February 16, 2024

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the right to die
 

there's this woman

complaining about

pain and all these

broken bones

 

she thinks she

needs therapy

of some kind

 

the therapist is

telling her what

they could do

for her

 

part of me wishes

the therapist would

offer her the right

to die
------------------------------------------------------------
it was better to be realistic
 

i remember

when i was

younger

 

i dreamed

of marrying

a beautiful

black woman

 

and making

our dysfunction

a superpower

that was going

to destroy the

world

 

i'll never forgive

my parents for

telling me it

was better to

be realistic

 

no wonder my

imagination

carries a strong

sword of revenge
--------------------------------------------------------
that likes to play with knives
 

another night thinking about death

 

following the wrinkles on your face

and trying to remember which ones

are scars

 

your left big toe always hurts

in the rain

 

last time you ever went drinking

with a marine that likes to

play with knives

 

and all the memories of the pool

halls

 

all the free drinks

as no one could touch you

when you got going on any

of the tables

 

driving home like a dumbass

 

feeling great but always sleepy

 

nothing quite like waking up

right before that exit sign gets

too fucking close

 

some think you are lucky

 

others tend to think you are due

 

we're all going to die sometime

 

might as well have a few fucking

stories along the way
-----------------------------------------------------
trying to be civilized
 

a couple inches

of snow on the

ground

 

a few days ago

i was in the store

in shorts and a t-shirt

 

wait ten minutes and...

 

it's a town of rednecks

trying to be civilized

 

hard for them to imagine

anything but white people

around here

 

i always laugh when i see

the few asians or the couple

of blacks that do live here

 

hoping it becomes more

and more

 

having grown up in a very

diverse situation in this state

 

i understand how diversity

can expand your brain and

teach tolerance and

understanding

 

of course, why would these

white fucks ever want that

 

they have what they believe

is utopia

 

of course, you have to explain

to them why the schools need

money

 

and why the roads don't get

paved just because
------------------------------------------------------
drive a mercedes
 

wake up in the middle of a nightmare

and realize you have never felt better

 

death is as natural as a sunset

 

as a flower drying up in a desert

 

but your controlled existence in

the suburbs taught you were special

and special people never die with

jesus on their side

 

hang out with the lost souls long

enough and you'll come to

understand

 

that jesus died on the cross so

your pastor can drive a mercedes

 

it isn't so much about heaven and

hell as much as it is about getting

every last cent into the collection

plate

 

trust me

 

they will warn you

that you always need to be

on the path

 

greatness never followed someone

else's footprints



J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor and Misfit Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. 

Stalingrad

During moments I yearned for forests grown for me alone,
Caressing them in a dream,
I could sense the throbbing of the heart
Hidden beneath my ribs to bless my journey.
Summoning me with a pulse that he recognizes in me.
I heard the noise of abandoned smoke from a moment of care
Join with me,
Forcefully traversing desires to the hidden-most one.
My spirit swung toward him,
Creating a tingling
On lips that devour breaths alive.
I felt ashamed,
But the eye,
In moments—I scarcely know what to call them—that took me on another route
Toward the television, saw warplanes . . . spray death on them.
At that moment,
The fire of machine guns raked all the bodies,
And another fire raked my body when I trained my eye on him
Hesitantly inclining his head
Toward a shoulder unaccustomed to the secret of the stars of war
Or to insomnia.
Oh . . . . I leaned on it!

	                 1

And when he caressed a dumbfounded person
I felt his fingers like coiling embers inside me.
Bashfulness seized the excuse this caress gave . . . and vanished,
Eliminating distance till the two of us were one.
And the eye—he moaned: May love not forgive her the eye—repeated another evasion
Toward a drizzle of men flung about in the air by just the rustling of a pilot penetrating a
building
To fall on screens as the debris of breaking news.
But his breaths . . . shattering the still down of the cheek,
And turning their picture into mist as
Eddies of the screen’s corpses . . . varieties of death that they brought them.
The spirit that became a body,
The body that was sold for the sake of a touch,
The eye that was concealed in his image
And that approached the firebrand of conflagrations.
Everyone drawing close to everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone.
But the thunder of their machine guns splintered them:
Corpses piled on corpses,
I mean on me,
The eyes of those in it were extinguished.

	                                 2

They slept in a trench of silence.
My eyes’ lids parted in a wakefulness obsessed with them.
I rose … and embraced the chill
That the screens brought me in commemoration of Stalingrad.
………………………………

Translated by William Hutchins

She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq. She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese,
ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is the Pulitzer Prize Nomination 2018, PushCart Prize Nomination 2019.

Member of International Writers and Artists Association. Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020,
Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021) One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023 Winner of women the arts award 2023
Member of Who's Who in America 2023 SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com