(Central Asian teen girl with long dark hair, dark eyes, earrings, and black and white striped vest and pants over a white collared shirt, standing in a school hallway with posters on the wall)

Analysis of the Greek capital words in the letter “P”.

Abduvahidova  Farangiz 

3rd stage student of Samarkand State University named after Sharof Rashidov

Annotation: the article contains comments about the borrowed words that entered the Uzbek language from the Greek language. In addition, a list of Greek words, their spelling and explanation is provided. The history of the creation of the Greek language is also covered.

Key words: Greek, layer, language, analysis, annotation, sample.

The Uzbek language is one of the languages ​​with an ancient history. The Uzbek language went through many stages and periods before reaching this level. During this period, the number of lexemes increased, some words came from foreign languages. As a result of the addition of Uzbek suffixes to the words that came from this foreign language, the layer of Uzbek words became richer.

In connection with the serious changes in the structure of the Uzbek language dictionary, there was a need to create an explanatory dictionary that meets the requirements of the time, and under the leadership of our Academician A. Hojiyev, the Institute of Uzbek Language, Literature and Folklore of the Academy of Sciences of the Republic of Uzbekistan ( 5-volume “Annotated Dictionary of the Uzbek Language” was created and published by a group of lexicographers of the former Alisher Navoi Institute of Language and Literature. This source contains about 80,000 words and phrases that are widely used in the Uzbek literary language, terms related to the fields of science, art, culture and technology, historical terms and words used in the dialect. . 

In 2020, this annotated dictionary was revised under the editorship of Abduvahob Madvaliyev, Ph.D. reprinted and made available to the general public.

The Greek language is at the initial stage in the history of the Greek language – mill. Av. It was used from the 14th-12th centuries to the 1st-4th centuries AD (now a dead language); the ancient language of the Greeks. Together with the ancient Macedonian language, it forms a separate Greek group in the family of Indo-European languages.

There are a total of 1047 words starting with the letter P in the explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. These words are formed with a layer of self and assimilation. Borrowed words came from Persian, Greek, Latin, German, French and Russian languages. 115 of these words came from the Greek language. Here is a list of some of them.

1) Pielet – inflammation of the kidney cup 

2) Easter is a holiday dedicated to the resurrection of Jesus, the founder of this religion, in the Orthodox sect of Christianity. 

3) Patriarchy – the era of patriarchy, the period when men dominated family, economic and social relations after the matriarchy of the primitive system.

4) Pathos – high spirit, enthusiasm, joy.

5) A pen is a writing and drawing tool that is used to write with ink, ink, etc.  

6) Perigee – the closest point of the moon’s orbit or the orbit of the earth’s satellite to the earth. 

7) Perimeter – the length of a closed curve (for example, the perimeter of a polygon is equal to the sum of all its sides)

8) Pegology is the teaching of children

9) Peritonitis – peritoneum

10) Pantheism – God

11) Papax- telpak

12) Paragraph is the name of the title of a text, such as a book or an article, which has independence in terms of meaning

13) Parabola – I) open, flat curve; formed by the intersection of a right cone with a plane parallel to one of its constituents. II) an ironic image with a symbol in fiction; a literary genre between a symbol and a symbolic story

14) Paradigm – I) a system of language units, grammatical forms united by their general meaning, different according to their specific meaning II) a system of forms of a word’s variation or inflection.

15) Paradox – a traditional thought accepted by the majority, an unexpected thought, reasoning that sharply contradicts experience with its content and form.

16) Parasite – gratuitous, sycophantic

17) Paco – ancient

18) Paleography is a science that studies ancient manuscripts and writings, the history of the creation of written signs and their appearance (writing method, letter shape, type of writing material, etc.).

19) Paleolithic – the oldest stone age, era.

20) Pandemic – spread of an epidemic disease throughout one country, several countries or continents

21) Panzooteia is a very rapid and widespread spread of an infectious disease among animals throughout the country, several countries, and continents.

22) Panorama – I) a surrounding view of a place visible to the far horizon. II) type of fine art; a very large picture, which is painted horizontally on the wall of a circular hall, looks like a real scene to the viewer.

23) Psyche – the first archival part of compound words of international assimilation: it means connection to psyche, psyche  

24) prophylaxis – I) a set of measures aimed at maintaining people’s health, preventing the occurrence and spread of diseases, improving the physical development of the population and ensuring a long life. II) in general, measures to be taken to prevent an incident, mechanisms, machines from premature failure, damage 

25) protocol is a document drawn up by a responsible person and confirming an event or situation 

26) proton – a stable elementary particle, a component of the atomic nucleus with a positive electric charge; the nucleus of light hydrogen

27) prosthesis – a device made in the shape of an organ of the body or placed in place of a damaged or removed organ (for example, an artificial hand, an artificial tooth) 

28) problem – problem

29) prologue – introduction

Greek accusatives also have features of morphemes and polysemy. Words such as paxa, parasite, protocol, prologue have many meanings; Similarity of form is evident in words such as parabola, prophylaxis, paranoma, and paradigm. In addition, many terms related to mathematics, history and mother tongue are borrowed from Greek. We can see these in the example of words like parabola, paradigm, pathos, patriarchy, perimeter, psyche and paragraph.  

List of used literature:

1) An explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. – Moscow: “Russian language” publishing house, 1981.

2) An explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. – Tashkent: “Uzbekistan National Encyclopedia” State Scientific Publishing House, 2006-2008.

3) An explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. – Tashkent: Gafur Ghulam publishing house, 2022.

4) uz.m.wikipedia.org.

5) www.ziyouz. com.

6) comment.uz

Right Between the Eyes

When I was very little, my family used to visit my dad’s mother twice a year: once during summer vacation when school was out and again in December, for the Christmas holidays. The main thing on our minds during Those trips was, would the old jalopy my dad drove make It all the way to Franklin County, located about 100 miles South of our home, which was just across the Mississippi From St. Louis.

Bessie lived in a one-time mining Community called Buckner, named after an incompetent Confederate general who served during the Civil War. We were joined at these get-togethers at my grandma’s House by my Aunt Blanche, my dad’s sister, and her husband Art and their two children, David and Christine.

Now, the Millers were everything that we weren’t: my dad worked in a glass factory as “unskilled labor,” while Uncle Art was a Foreman at General Motors in Flint, Michigan. Which meant that Art made about three times as much money as my dad. And never let us forget it.

Where my mom had dropped out of high school at 16 and my Dad never went beyond the 7th grade–he enrolled in FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression, probably helping to grade the park where you grill your hotdogs on the Fourth Of July or making the redwood benches at the forest lodge you use come Autumn–the Millers were “educated,” which in those days meant they had finished high school. Aunt Blanche had even had a year or so of secretarial school, making her the family intellectual; she was very much looked up to!

She had worked for Public Assistance, which in those days was called “Relief.” Being mean to poor people gave her an additional sense of superiority. Dad’s sister’s family always seemed to arrive at Grandma’s at the same time that we did. Perhaps it was a coincidence; maybe Uncle Art Just wanted to show off the new Cadillac he bought every year. In any event, the Millers always commandeered the one spare bedroom, leaving my parents to rough it with the kids, scattered across the living room floor. I guess it had something to do with Dad being the older brother who had always helped take care of his sister, the “baby” of the family. He had helped pay for the secretarial school she had attended, a fact no one ever mentioned.

And so it was one Christmas when I was four years old; my brother Gary was eleven; David was six, and Christine two. During these adventures, my brother always seemed to escape, to pal around with his “hoodlum” friends; wherever he went, he must have sought them out, because he sure found them. More on that at another time. As we pushed through Grandma’s door, we beheld there on the hardwood floor a miracle: the tallest, fullest, most beautiful Christmas Tree that– Even to this day–I ever saw. There were crystal, sharp, brilliant lights– Not like the old ones I was used to, where the red paint on the bulbs was scraping off–in all kinds of magical shapes: doves, reindeer, ginger bread men, Santas and many others.

They glowed bright and clear as Stars. There were the “perpetual motion” ornaments, with little seesaws or propellers which were powered by the heat of the nearby Christmas lights, and the millions of shimmering icicles. Someone had spent long, arduous hours hanging them individually, no one touching the other and each strand reflecting the vivid colors of the ornaments and lights. They were like metal–probably lead-based in those days–stalactites hanging in a Christmas grotto. There were miniature Nativity scenes–done in wood, not the plastic that you see today–with each individual wise man and angel clearly delineated in pewter. There was even a very tiny silvery Christ Child in the creche. Elaborate sun-colored garlands were draped majestically over the boughs, like strands of Golden Fleece. These were intermingled With others, thicker and fluffier and red as the planet Krypton. And the scent of that balsam fir was–heavenly.

And there were presents! Literally scores of beautiful, individually wrapped Christmas presents, all swathed in the finest, prettiest wrapping paper I had ever seen. I wondered, how could any present do justice to such wonderful wrappings? I just stood rapt and absorbed the scene, admiring. My dad said, “Lotta presents this year.” “Yeah, and most of them are probably for Christine and David,” my mother muttered darkly. It didn’t quite register at the time, just what she meant, but I understood later.

I knew that my folks had bought David some more of his seemingly unending supply of comic books and they had gotten for Christine a special friction toy, a kind of large top. When you pressed down on the handle, it spun madly around, rather like a gyroscope, with a fairy princess display encased within the glass bubble, which would unfold and sparkle as music played. I was convinced it had been created by magic elves.. It was a marvel. When mom grumbled about the price, I sagely pointed out that if Santa were going to get Christine a gift anyway, then why did she need to? To my memory, that question went unanswered.

I had badly wanted to play with It before it was wrapped–even if it was a girl’s toy–but my mother admonished me not to break it. “Christine will do that soon enough,” she conjectured wryly. We had dinner: turkey, of course, like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell Illustration; all the trimmings. But that was just a requisite prelude to the real order of the day: the presents, the lucre, the loot! “What if, when I open a present, I don’t like it!” David asked obtusely. Duh! It was a present, you goof! You can’t but like it. What was the matter with this character?

“Just say you like it,” whispered Blanche, glancing furtively at my mom and dad.. “We discussed this, David.” Apparently, his expectations weren’t too high in the present department. My jaw jutted out in resentment at the callous jab at my parents. Finally, we all sat around on the floor to open the presents. David had a big bag of Christmas candy that he wouldn’t share. I may have growled at him. Well, truer words my mom never spoke: virtually every present there was for Christine and David. David got an electric train; David got a new red wagon; David got a first baseman’s mitt; and on and on. Christine didn’t do badly either. These were the days before Barbie dolls and G.I. Joes or else my cousins would have had dozens of each.

Christine was relishing no less than six baby dolls–Tiny Tears was big then–and a crib to put them in, clothes to dress them in, and on and on again. Forgotten was the neat new friction top that my dad had worked two and a half hours to earn the money to buy. That was left idle, still in its box, the wrapping paper scarcely disturbed.

All It had gotten out of my cousin was a petulant, “I don’t like it!” I could have swatted her like a fly. Grandma got a lot of fussy “old lady stuff” from her children and their spouses. Blanche got a fur coat of some sort that she paraded around in for what seemed like hours, and Art got yet another pipe, like the ones you saw on the back cover of Esquire magazine, with the bright yellow bowls. I don’t believe my parents received anything more than a package of new handkerchiefs apiece, from grandma.. But they were mollified; Christmas was for kids, after all.

My older brother got a cool Timex watch with an expandable metal band, which was all the rage at the time. My parents had spent $10–like $150 Now–to buy that watch because they didn’t want their oldest son to be embarrassed by his Christmas gift in front of the snooty Millers; I was proud of him, too. Of course, David had to upstage him up brandishing His new “chronometer,” like the “kind the frogmen use.” Sea Hunt was also very big back in the day. Lloyd Bridges was a star! What did I get? A tiny cap pistol with a translucent orange plastic handle. I stared down at it, not sure what to say.

While David and Christine were reveling in their loot, I stood there. forlorn, because I didn’t see anything else for me. Whenever I made to select a present, David would jump up and shout, “Mine! Mine!” and snatch it out of my hands. What did I know? I was four years old; I couldn’t read the gift tags. I thought to myself, why did Santa double-cross me? He seemed to like the Millers so much more. Everything in the world seemed to belong to my cousins. My mom touched my shoulder gently and murmured, “There’s no more in there for You, honey.” I caught Dad’s eye and he gave me one of his grins that crinkled his eyes. I knew then that things would be alright.

The pistol hung down limply from my hand. I blinked, but no tears came. Next, my cousin walked up. David glanced down at my pistol, looked over at his Official Roy Rogers Six-Guns–with the real leather holster–then looked back at my tiny cap pistol, and he laughed. He laughed! Ever since that night I’ve felt like I owed my cousin David a punch in the stomach. Sure, I was disappointed that I hadn’t gotten more gifts, but I really felt bad for my parents, whom I loved very much and I knew wanted so much to make me happy.

For my dad, who worked four times harder than Uncle Art but who gleaned so much less from his paycheck; and my Mom, who scrubbed other women’s floors, on her hands and knees, for a buck an hour! So I aimed that wonderful cap pistol with the translucent orange handle–which I have to this day–squarely between David’s eyes and defiantly I pulled the trigger. And ended him!

A Miss At Twilight

They were called marbles.

They were called reasons.

I am never where I am

when I need to be.

When “I’m sorry” is necessary

or “I’m leaving” is the only response.

I fear life is destructible

and consolation

is a round-trip ticket

to go round and round.

It’s in your eyes.

Your eyes looking into mine.

Counterfeit glances

through a snow globe,

leaving tiny droplets

behind on the surface,

soon to gather and stain.

Gather and stain.

Suffering

is a repeatable offense,

a language

the soul whispers to the heart

on a dark, lonely night

with darker contemplation

to come.

To gather and stain.

Broken and repellant

in a bookstore

that sells small bags of marbles

I see

Cat’s eyes and beauties.

Tragedy radiates from them,

they have no function,

except to be.

Except to be.

Reason teaches us

that

to be completely forgotten

is to climb into ourselves

and be put

in another’s pocket.

I am a miss at twilight.

At dawn

I separate myself from the chasm.

Somewhere in between

you have a thought of me

and I tremble

involuntarily

like

a visitor

at a cemetery.

The Woman I Need

I am as seaweed on a stone

either clinging from the last pass of water

or anticipating riding

on the next wave.

I am a silhouette of myself at times.

Burdened

with modern unforgiveness,

holding my hand over

a candle burning

through

one day from another.

If one is to dream

love is an extravagance,

yearned

from the bedroom

while

experiencing

the cold nights of winter.

I can hear the seams

losing strength.

An allusion

bearing the solemnity

of difficult questions

I ask myself.

And music

provokes reminiscences,

devoid

of a predicate.

What remains

are desire’s

bittersweet

scars.

Experiences,

are dangerous grounds,

abandoning oneself,

abandoning

what is necessary

to understand

tragedy’s consequences

or

contradiction’s demands?

I

yearn to foresee,

to weave a net

across

the enigmas

and dissipate

the contrived

influences.

There is a pier

where beneath,

the waves splash in rhymes.

Every Sunday at dusk

a woman

with long brown hair

stands at the furthest end

and smiles

every time a cat

strolls along the

guardrail.

I lose interest in myself,

while

watching that woman,

that woman.

That woman

is the woman

I need.

Philip received his MS in Psychology from Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada. He has published Five books of poetry: Mirror Images and Shards of Glass, Dark Images at Sea, I Never Finished Loving You,  Falls from Grace, Favor and High Places, and Forever Was Never On My Mind. Three novels, Caught Between (Which is also a 24 episodes Radio Drama Podcast https://wprnpublicradio.com/caught-between-teaser/),  Art and Mystery: The Missing Poe Manuscript, and Far From Here. Two plays, The Apparition and The Poet’s Masque. Philip has a column in the quarterly magazine Per Niente. He enjoys all things artistic.

Crazy Eye                                                                                    

They looked at each other, blank-eyed, after the delivery van drove off, outside.

What’s the matter. Why the look?

I told you already. I don’t like this.

Don’t like this? Don’t like what? The TV’s here, right? Look at it. There it is. What more do you need?

It still bothers me I never heard of the company you said you ordered it from.

What? Why? You said you were nervous it’d never get delivered ‘cause you never heard of the company. I could even see that, maybe. But—here it is. What’s the big deal now?

They gazed at the TV on the floor between them.

I don’t know, I—hey listen, I think anybody hit in the face with a name like the “Regulation TV set factory out West Bruce Toothpull” would think that’s fake.

Uh. Okay. So the name’s odd. But—here it is.

Yes, I know. But—oh, never mind.

No no no, wait. Here it is. It’s plugged in. It’s powered up. What were you going to say still bothers you? Come on.

Okay, okay. I almost think we shouldn’t have it, that it shouldn’t be here.

Why?

I guess because I—think its dirty—like something I can’t touch ‘cause I don’t know where its been!

Instant’s stunned silence, then, Jesus Christ, that’s crazy! How can that be?

Don’t pick at me now. You forced me to say that! I wasn’t going to say it, but you forced me—so don’t look at me that way!

Okay, okay—I didn’t  mean—

Oh yes you did. I always know what you mean! You got me started now, so—shut up and listen! First, the name of the company. You see it anyplace on any paperwork we got?

I don’t know, maybe—I—

Never mind maybe. The answer is no! Next—did you see the van it came in?

Okay, sure. A big white van. So?

That’s the kind of van you always called a kidnapper van. Remember?

Huh?  What—I never heard that term—kidnapper van. What is it?

Oh, again, a nice pat convenient answer. I swear, you’re so stubborn.

Stubborn? Really? When I’m simply honestly saying I don’t remember things the way you do? I just—just don’t know what a—kidnapper van, or whatever you said—I just say I don’t know what that is, and—how is that being stubborn?

Okay. Maybe not stubborn, but—what you’re admitting to can’t be true, because I can see and hear you as clear as a bell, telling me all about “kidnapper vans” way back when. Why have you decided to get your back up and lie about it to me, today? 

Wait—hold it, this is going too damned far!

Really? No! I’llgrant you that liar may be just a hair too strong, maybe you’re just forcing yourself to believe you don’t remember to keep yourself clear of being an actual liar, but—

What? That’s crazy!

No, no! Never mind—pay attention! When you used that term back then, I asked you what a kidnapper van was, and you told me clear as day. You said—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

Hold it, don’t cut me off—yes you did, because you explained that a kidnapper van is a van of one blank color : mostly white or black—other colors are rare : with no windows in the sides or in  the back door and no—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

DAMN it don’t talk over me! Uh—okay, a van with no lettering of any kind and even sometimes with blanked-out license plates, this all being so, so that—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

—the victim can be snatched, and thrown in the back there, and then with the doors locked the kidnappers can drive away to the secret site of their choice to do what they wish to the victim in secret, and—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

—and if even someone saw them grab the victim and take off, there’d be nothing unique about the vehicle to tell the police to look for—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

—and you capped all that off with some kidnappers even take the van to a scrap dealer for crushing, once they’ve used it in the kidnapping grab and—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

—then they can proceed with the rest of their plan for the use of the victim for this that or the other—and then you said—

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

—you said that was all that there was to be known ‘bout a kidnapping van.

No! Can’t possibly have happened! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

But, the description I’ve just recounted, I got from you way back then!

No! No! I’ve never heard of such a thing! What are you—you are calling me a liar?

Uh—isn’t it possible you may just have forgotten what it is? That wouldn’t mean you are a liar. Perhaps a bit forgetful, but—

What?

—but no way could you be considered a liar. That is, if you claim to have simply forgot.

{wink}

What? NO! I did not forget, and am not a liar, both. Both things, and both, and—

Hold it HOLD it just one more thing—and that is why I fear this damned TV—I fear what may have been done to it—and what it may do to us in revenge if we let down our guard!

{crazy eye}

Step back—

{crazy eye}

Dear God!

Look down, up, away, and into straight into pierce probe prod and stab-b-b-b w’, the n say softly as humanly possible—Let’s talk about something else now, okay?

Okay sure. If you’ll admit you believe me.

—NO but I never no b-b-b-ut I it’s always but I this, and but I that—Let’s talk about something else I tell you say one damned more syllable—

Ah. Okay. Sure. I believe you.

Good. Deep silence in-tween in-tween, deep silence—both then turned and left the tense airless room after one pulled the plug on the no-name TV and pushed it into a corner. Over there in the corner it sits to this day under stuff come on top more and more and so under that stuff on top of it there, under it all, there it sits alone; the dark room

SIDE EFFECTS

Back in the slanting, tilted days

we tore great chunks off each other

and then crept slowly apart, not looking back,

like sidling crabs over cooling sands

and wrote with bloody fingers on the walls

words that still drip down to acid puddles.

I wish I could cry in my sleep

and wait for the dreams to come,

but I’m none of those thousand phantoms:

not a prisoner in love with his jailer

nor a blind man married to an angel;

just a broken rung on the ladder,

a handful of scattered shells and driftwood

when the teasing tide recedes,

as if stuck by a hotel pool

two steps from the bar and just a drink from Hell.

SINCERITY

I wrote love poems

on the back of my hand,

always meaning

to put them on paper,

but the ink wore out

or was washed away

just like the emotion.

CONSTANCY

Some things a woman says are bridges

raising grief over happiness.

Once, I could only be satisfied

if she was always there, then just a touch

was enough, then the sound of her voice

and finally just the thought of her.

A face can grip your mind like unrelenting tongs

and wipe out everything else,

like a barrage of hail strafing

your gently swaying fields;

you wouldn’t find fire down a well

or dew on a lightning bolt,

so don’t hope for something more.

THE COCOON

I found a cocoon made of twigs

somehow stuck together in a lattice.

I don’t know why, but it never opened

and many years later I went away

leaving the cocoon behind on a shelf,

while whatever creature lay inside

never learnt what it truly was.

 S.C. Flynn was born in a small town in Australia of Irish origin and now lives in Dublin. His poetry has been published in more than a hundred magazines around the world. His collection “The Colour of Extinction” (Renard Press, October 2024) was The Observer Poetry Book of the Month. “An Ocean Called Hope” (Downingfield Press, May 2025) is forthcoming.

Freedom’s Embrace

In the quiet dawn, where dreams reside,

Freedom dances on the wings of the tide.

Her touch is light, yet strong and true,

A gift for all, for me, for you.

She whispers peace in every land,

Binding nations hand in hand.

No chains to break, no walls to build,

With love and hope, the heart is filled.

Respect blooms in Freedom’s light,

Uniting souls, both day and night.

In every word, in every choice,

She lifts the world, gives all a voice.

For Freedom thrives where love is found,

Where hearts are free, unbound, unbound.

In unity, the world can see,

That peace and love are truly free.

So let us cherish, let us guard,

This gift so precious, yet so hard.

For in her arms, the world will find,

A future bright, for all mankind.

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci’s statement “Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard” is circulating through the blood. That’s why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. “Trees of Desire” is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems “Moon Circle”. She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists “Mountain Views” in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club “Area Felix” in Serbia.