“The Clinging Bird” Novel in the Eyes of Uzbek Readers
Abstract: The Clinging Bird is a priceless work that has gained wide popularity not only among the Turkish people but also across the world. The development of its plot, the lives of its characters, and the depiction of social relationships are presented in an impressively emotional way, making it a unique novel that can captivate readers of all ages. This article reflects on the events and characters in the story, as well as the interpretation of its moral conclusions.
Keywords: The Clinging Bird, Kamran, Feride, author, unique, novel, work

One of the leading figures in Turkish literature and a spiritual successor of progressive Turkish thinkers, Reşat Nuri Güntekin, is the author of The Clinging Bird (Çalıkuşu) — a novel that equally captivates readers of all generations. The novel vividly portrays how a person can stay strong and resilient through both good and bad times, the importance of love for the homeland, parents, partners, and family, as well as deep human values. The main essence of The Clinging Bird is as follows:

Main Character – Feride:
Feride, the central figure of the novel, loses her parents at an early age and faces many difficulties. She grows up in the care of her grandmother and aunts and attends a French boarding school. At the threshold of adulthood, a sudden betrayal from someone close causes her to leave home. She begins working as a teacher, meeting many people, influencing their lives, and ultimately transforming her own.

Theme of Love:
The novel focuses heavily on the love between Feride and Kamran. Their relationship explores emotions such as love, separation, sorrow, and hope.

Social Life Scenes:
The novel reflects the lifestyle, traditions, struggles, and transformations of early 20th-century Turkish society. Events during World War I are also depicted.

Hardships and Struggles:
Feride faces many life challenges — loneliness, social pressure, and romantic struggles — but she perseveres and continues with her life.

Additionally, the novel reveals the place of women in Turkish society at the time, the dynamics between men and women, and the clash between traditional values and modernity. A distinctive feature of the novel is its strong female protagonist, vivid portrayal of various Turkish regions, emphasis on education, loyalty, forgiveness, and the tension between old and new values. It deeply explores honesty, patience, and humanity.

The novel appeals to readers of all ages, serving as an example and inspiration. Its events are depicted in such a way that they encompass education, culture, human interactions, social challenges, forgiveness, and emotional resilience — all in one narrative.

The Clinging Bird has been translated into many languages. In Uzbek, it was translated by Mirzakalon Ismoiliy, and the novel has been published multiple times in Uzbek. Written in 1922, the book has won the hearts of readers across the world and has been adapted into several films and TV series. The 2013 television adaptation of The Clinging Bird gained significant popularity. However, the novel remains especially beloved by its devoted readers in its original literary form.

The Clinging Bird, a masterpiece of Turkish literature, can be considered an inspiring and spiritually rich treasure trove that continues to influence writers. It is a deeply meaningful, culturally valuable work that meets the highest artistic standards.

Conclusion:
In conclusion, this beautiful and vivid novel, full of literary richness, problems and resolutions, emotional sincerity, and colorful imagery, is a valuable guide for life. Especially in today’s era of rapid technological advancement, it provides youth with practical lessons and experiences that can be applied in real life.
The Clinging Bird is a deep and touching novel that encompasses various aspects of human life — love, family, social issues, and the fight against adversity.

Yuldasheva Xadichaxon Bahodir qizi was born on January 8, 1993, in Tashkent. Several of her scientific articles and poems have been published in international journals. She is a winner of various competitions held at the national and district levels and a participant in international anthologies. A passionate admirer of literature, science, and art, she was the winner of the “Woman of the Year – 2024” district stage in the nomination “Best Creative Woman of the Year.” She is also a participant in the forum “Best Scientific Researchers of the Year.” Currently, she is a 3rd-year student at the Tashkent University of Humanities.

Don’t Cry
When the fires of longing start to burn,
And pain inside your heart begins to churn,
Don’t let it wound you, don’t let it stay,
They’re not as brave or bold as you each day.
Forget their words — let go, don’t let them in,
They speak and speak, then fall silent again.
Why heed their stings, their spiteful, bitter cries,
When pushing forward makes them cease their lies?

---

Life…
We stand in life’s trials, fierce and wide,
In tunes that shift like the changing tide.
At times we falter, bent by fear and pain,
Our backs bowed low beneath the strain.
But from Allah comes this soul we bear,
And all we do, He makes it fair.
Don’t ever think that I’m too plain —
I’m sharp of mind, from Fergana I came!

Akramov G’ulomnazar Kamoliddin o’gli  was born on April 10, 2008, in Qo‘shtepa district. He studied at School No. 30 in Qo‘shtepa district, later attended the former 1st Specialized Boarding School (IDUMI), and is currently a student in the 11th grade “Blue” class at the Specialized School of Margilan city.

Ghulomnazar Akramov has achieved numerous accomplishments. He is the recipient of over 150 international certificates and has actively participated in national competitions, earning more than 500 certificates, diplomas, and letters of appreciation. He is also the founder of several projects and has been an active participant in regional geography olympiads.

He achieved an 83% proficiency level in the Uzbek language and literature according to the BMBA (Bureau for Measuring Basic Achievement) assessment. His articles have been published in Kenya Times and Classico Opine newspapers in Kenya. His literary works have also appeared in the Reven Gage Zine book published in Germany, as well as on literary websites in Italy.

His book titled “The Generation of the Future” was published by Just-Fiction Edition and Amazon Online Store in the United Kingdom. He is a member of Smile, a national magazine; serves as the district coordinator of the “Dillmir” Youth Voluntary Organization (EVH); deputy regional coordinator of the “Intilish” Youth Organization in Fergana region; and was the third-party nominee of the “Shijoat” Youth Organization in the same region.

Currently, he is the Head of “Golden Wings” in Fergana region and the Chairman of the “Council of Young Reformers” of Fergana region. He is also a member of the Juntos Por Las Letras writers’ association in Argentina and works as an editor for the national “Ijodkorlar” (Creative People) journal.

A Letter from Said to Saida
Said Ahmad and Saida Zunnunova’s love and memory… eternal through history

They changed my name into numbers cold,
My joy turned bitter, my pain grew bold.
I don’t know if God will grant me strength,
But trust me, Saida, I’ll love you at any length.

I’m not the one to blame for their deceit,
Not for the lies that call pride “elite.”
I’ve never been the foe they claim—
Believe me, Saida, I’m still the same.

“To the land of no return”—they sent me far,
No demon bound me, no cursed scar.
Will I return in ten long years?
Wait for me, love—hold back the tears.

To me, you were the moon and sun,
You bore it all while I was gone.
You loved without a word of debt,
From Said to Saida—my deepest respect.

Baxtiniso Salimova Azamat qizi was born on August 29, 2004, in Zarbdor neighborhood, Guzar district, Kashkadarya region. She is currently a 4th-year student at the Faculty of Philology of Karshi State University. She is the absolute winner of the 2nd season (2025) of the “Young Readers’ League.” She is also a two-time winner of the “Smart Reader” competition organized at the regional level. She won 3rd place in the “Young Readers” competition held in honor of the “International Book Giving Day.” To date, several of her articles, poems, and stories have been published.

NIRVANAMAN

My body is the border

between light and my shadow.

Sometimes I wear the lion,

sometimes the chameleon.

Where is my Nirvana Man,

the one who can quit crawling

among the identities

who inhabit my being?

I am like hostile siblings

hiding inside my human,

senator/saint/assassin.

All drunk on sweet wildgod wines.

COHABITATION

One’s freedom designs one’s doom,

and doom patterns one’s freedom.

Domesticated as one,

a different damascene

dominates each domain.

One decorates Notre Dame

and one does Nostradamus.

Thingdom is my domicile–

loud energy and atoms,

dumb gravity’s domination

YOU ARE MY JACKPOT

I won you on a poker hand.

I thought he thought I was bluffing

so I said, “Double or nothing.”

He had two 10s and a 7

and I had two 10s and a 9.

But when he lost he was laughing,

and I didn’t see my danger,

I didn’t know that I was stuck.

I’m still eager to ante up

to gamble with friends and strangers.

They won’t take you as my wager,

so I never have any luck.

LA SREVER S’EFIL

When I went to sea

My mama warned me:

Bewre, my son,

the breakers,

the banks, and the bars.”

dilated — deleted — deluded:

that man now cast by shadow

a fleeting ex-star’s cameo in some other’s dream

distort-reflected from the funhouse mirror

a wivk to darken the lightness

noonday moon’s dry rain

a spectator prpjected from zoo’s perspective

faint notes inhaled from the tuba

downside in outside up

When I went to sea

My mama warned me:

Bewre, my son,

the breakers,

the banks, and the bars.”

NYUN

“When birds

lose their plumes in the sand,

they can’t

glue balloons to thir hands.

They can’t fly

so they die.”

— traditional blues song

The years are like so many sweet girls.

They cuddle against the navel in the middle of the night.

They change O the challenge the body

with pain with delight.

But though the waist is gone, its shadow yet remains.

   Is this what we needed?

   To lie in fields that we seeded

   with the sperm of you/and/me?

My skin is a wrinkledup grocery sack,

all the goodies unpacked and eaten long ago.

My erection turned into ice yesterday,

my eyelids into snow.

But though this face is gone, the halo yet remains.

   All the stones unheeded…. The skies…. The fields….

   Back have kneeded into worms, my butterflies.

And the years. And the years: just like the sweet young girls!

Hanging in memory like leather kites,

gaufy garish stabbing harsh neon lights

to mark the passing of fond remembered rites.

But though this voice is gone, its cho yet remains.

   Is this what we needed?

   To die in fields which receded with the germs of yesterday?

*

(A toast: Time is a precious necklace bequested upon your birth. As time’s beneficiary, you must realize its worth. Though age emcircles your throat with its usual yearly pearl, the worth rests in the wearer and not within the jewel.)

*

The Duane you loved is gone:

There’s a Stranger in his skin.

The old duane was younger,

and the new one’s bones are thin.

Former laughs reform as coughs.

The change cloud=to=clod begins.

*

“When birds lose their plumes in the sand,

They can’t glue balloons to their hands,

They can’t fly so they die.”

[nyun is a Korean homonym that means years of floozies]

Guardians

You stand at the border,

For the peace of the homeland.

You are vigilant without moving,

For every trial.

Your parents without seeing you,

For five, six, seven months.

Your children, longing for you,

Thinking in your mind.

You are the guardians of the homeland,

The fortresses of the future.

If my homeland is restless,

You cannot sleep even late.

Maftuna Rustamova Ruslan, a 9th grade student of secondary school No. 30, Jondor district, Bukhara region

Maftuna Rustamova Ruslan qizi. 19.09.2010 I was born in Jondor district of Bukhara region. Currently, I have graduated from the 8th grade of school No. 30. I have been interested in writing poems since my youth. Currently, I have many achievements in the field of poetry.

I participated in the district stage of the “Zukko Kitobhon” Republican Competition and took an honorable 2nd place. I participated in the district stage of the “Jaddidlar izida” Republican Competition and took an honorable 2nd place. In addition, we participated with a team in the “Third Renaissance in the Eyes of Youth” Competition and took 3rd place. On March 8, 2025, my first book was published under the title “My First Words in the World of Poetry”. I was awarded the “New Age Science Creator” badge, established in cooperation with Africa and Uzbekistan. I was appointed as the coordinator of one of the famous US magazines “Synchronized Chaos” in Uzbekistan. Currently, I am the head of the Bukhara region Press Service of the “Young Reformers’ Council”. My creative works have been published in many magazines and articles and indexed on Google.

In his crisp and taut collection April No Longer Comes, poet Yucheng Tao evokes fragile, transitory moments of elegance that seem to fade away even as the speakers appreciate them. 

A speaker recollects a museum visit with his now-deceased sister to see a Rothko exhibit. He later imagines a blue horse carrying her from her casket “to a spring which never ends.” Spring, and specifically the month of April, show up later in the collection in some very short pieces on butterfly wings and in “Fever,” a longer piece on a speaker’s recovery from illness. The winter imagery of snow and mist in many other pieces (“Snow,” “We,” “The Glory of the Snow”) becomes a counterpoint, burying or shrouding beauty in a way that is itself graceful. 

Tension and a subtle melancholy permeate many of Tao’s works, even those otherwise vibrant and full of life. In the first poem, “The Fading Light of Dead April,” about a couple enjoying a pizza dinner at a restaurant, Tao shows us the delicate bubbles in clear soda, yet ends lines with “bitterness” and “cutting off the clarity,” leaving readers with confusion and angst. In “The Glory of the Snow,” the speaker watches a beautiful woman dance, with picturesque imagery of her red lips against the white mounds of flakes, but then, ‘a clumsy dancer,’ she falls to the ground. 

Death makes an appearance throughout the collection, directly in “Mr. Raven” and elsewhere as an aspect of our existence. In “Arrival Before the Rose Dream Ends,” a man eats out with his girlfriend in Portland, Oregon, the city of roses and the shadow of Mount St. Helens’ past eruption, and dreams of the volcano when he passes away in his sleep. In “Mr. Raven,” the speaker’s ticket to the afterlife “is written in the age spots on his hands.” Even an inanimate scarecrow (“The Scarecrow”) becomes less alive as bored teenagers and the weather wear down its body. 

Coupled with the many natural images in the collection, mortality here seems as natural as the change of the seasons, whether characters choose to drift away peacefully or beg for more time. As Tao says in “We,” “Things shift, change, and transform: birth, death, and beyond.” 

Our hopes, dreams, and identities here can be as fragile as our physical bodies. In “Where,” a speaker searches a rose garden looking in vain for a particular flower, comparing himself to Adam and Eve cast out of Eden when the blossom remains out of sight. The protagonist in “Untitled” puts on the face of a clown to cover his emptiness after his reflection, his identity, falls all around him with the shards of a broken mirror. The very last piece in the collection, “Mary’s Secret,” shares the story of a little girl rescued by loving people from an abusive situation, who attempted to bring spring into her heart. 

The short lines and reserved, non-grandiose language of the poems in “April No Longer Comes” ground the sentiments in reality and make the motifs of the book more universal. Many readers can relate to “lost Aprils,” times beautiful yet delicate, now fading into memory.

Yucheng Tao’s April No Longer Comes is out now from Alien Buddha Press and available here.

Waylaid

You waylaid me

When I was determined,

With boots and walking stick,

To trek into the ravine,

A sober, brackish crevasse

Down Old Woman Creek.

But you, your hues against

Blue, an enticing brilliance

In the morning light,

Thwarted my intention.

Your sensible summer viridians

Absent, you got me drunk,

An inevitable debauchery.

On yellow, crimson, saffron

And that leathery bronze

And alizarin of the oak.

Presumption

The blackbird scolds me,

A torrent of abuse from

High above in the willow.

Furious over my very presence,

She imagines the worst in me

(This is becoming tiresome.)

Presumes an evil agenda,

A scheme on her lovely eggs,

Her nest in the bulrushes.

When I look up to reassure,

To list honorable intentions,

To even express disinterest,

I notice, just past her wings,

The moon, transparent in the

Morning sun, undeniably

Virtuous against blue.

I am grateful for the coincidence

“Oh, there you are!”

And offer a genial introduction.

My appeal to the blackbird

Is the moon will vouch for me.

We’ve been acquaintances,

Maybe pals, for some time now.