{"id":316,"date":"2023-01-07T14:26:20","date_gmt":"2023-01-07T14:26:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/muvozanat-info.preview-domain.com\/?p=316"},"modified":"2023-08-29T22:03:59","modified_gmt":"2023-08-29T22:03:59","slug":"the-landscape-poems-of-holder-volcano","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/?p=316","title":{"rendered":"The landscape poems of Holder Volcano."},"content":{"rendered":"

Holder Volcano<\/strong> <\/span><\/h1>\n

Member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The landscape poems<\/span>
\n<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Holder Volcano -Abdusalomov Holder Usmanovich was born in 1959 in Uzbekistan.Graduated from Tashkent National University. He has been writing poetry and prose since 1975. He wrote 4 collections of poems, a number of novels, as well as short stories and novels in two languages, in Uzbek and in Russian. Holder Volcano has been a member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan since 1999. His literary works have been translated into English. Has no titles and awards.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Evil neighbour<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

Only by moving to a new place of residence can you get rid of an evil neighbor.<\/p>\n

(Uzbek proverb)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Humanity, please excuse me, of course,
\nbut I have a suspicion that your neighbours
\nmay have loaded their belongings onto their UFOs
\nand flew to other galaxies from the fact that
\nbillions and billions of years ago,
\nreaching a high level of development, as today,
\nyou attacked neighbouring planets, unleashing a bloody war,
\nviolating their territorial integrity,
\ninflicting nuclear strikes on their countries,
\ndestroying their cities, leaving you all alone …<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

17\/07\/2022.
\nIn the morning 8:57.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The princesses of the swamps sing in the twilight<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

The moon looks aut the windows secretly,
\nThe sleepy twinkle of the stars in the distance.
\nSilence is silent, so as not to accidentally,
\nDisturb the sleep of sleeping fields.<\/p>\n

The country roads of the village are turning white,
\nAlone at the gate the wind is walking.
\nA star has fallen like a golden arrow of the night,
\nWhere the princesses of the swamps sing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

25\/03\/2020. 8:59 am. Canada.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cuckoo\u2019s nest<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

The man waited long and patiently
\nlooking at the grey cuckoo\u2019s nest,
\nwith a long pole in his hands.
\nHe waited for and waited and finally the cuckoo,
\npoking it\u2019s head out of the nest, it sang:
\nKooky! Kooky! Kooky! Kook\u2026
\nThe man hit the cuckoo with the pole
\nand it fell down to the carpet.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

01\/03\/2018.
\n10:07 in the morning.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Trams call for me through the snow<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

In a snowy fog, distant lights are eyes of a cat,
\nIn delirium, whisper frozen lakes.
\nA lonely pedestrian is crying into a hat,
\nLanterns quietly crumble the snowflakes.<\/p>\n

The shadows of trees fallen on the snow,
\nAre tired and sleep until the morning.
\nThrough the whirring snowflakes, moving slow,
\nThe exhausted trams call for me, longing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

07\/28\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Moon fields<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

The windows of the cat \u2018s eyes shine light,
\nThe expanses of swamps where frogs sing often.
\nThe stars tremble on the eyelashes of the night,
\nLike the tears of homeless orphans.<\/p>\n

One single cricket is ringing, feeling lonely,
\nDarkness over the glades, and groves of trees.
\nThe moon rises silently and slowly,
\nOver the minefields.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

09\/03\/2015.
\n4:27 p.m.
\nBrampton, Canada.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Motherland calls me from afar<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Living here, in the west is quite nice
\nThe air is intoxicating and there are meadows .
\nBut the soul cries like a train in the night,
\nTo my homeland it pulls.<\/p>\n

Poplars and willows make noise in the groves,
\nLike a river under the bridge Kuyganyar.
\nAs if the Motherland calling me with it\u2019s cries,
\nRepeatedly calling for me from afar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

24\/07\/2019. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Longing for spring<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Spring as love works wonders,
\nWaking nature from a sweet dream.
\nSoon, deafening cries heaven,
\nThe birds return, when the grass is green .<\/p>\n

Coming from the pathways is spring,
\nA slim, naive, youthful lady.
\nAnd on the poplar the bird will sing:
\n-Chckadi-di-di-di-di-di-di!<\/p>\n

Hearing this for a while in silence,
\nPeople will stop digging gardens.
\nWill enjoy the singing birds,
\nLeaning against the shovel handles.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

16\/10\/2015.
\n4:53 of day.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The poor trees<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

Rivers and ponds covered with ice,
\nOutside the window, the blizzard howled.
\nOh trees, I would let you into the house,
\nAnd you would warm yourself by the fire,
\nBut you’re motionless along the road,
\nIn parks, gardens and beside the gates.
\nLike families in the bitter cold,
\nThe same as people without fuel.
\nShivering on the edge of a frozen river,
\nAnd you have no shelter over your head.
\nBut trees, do you really not have a furnace,
\nand even a little wood?..<\/p>\n

04\/03\/2015.
\n2:08 of the day.
\nthe city of Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Winter dandelions<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

The late dandelions appearing beautiful
\nThey look like fluffy, snow-white cotton.
\nTheir hair turns grey, since they are fearful
\nFearing that winter is just after autumn.<\/p>\n

Their winds blew like dandelions in the fields,
\nIt\u2019s fluff whirled and flew weightless.
\nThe trees were playing an accordion well,
\nLike a musician in a cluster of snowflakes.<\/p>\n

Snow covered branches of the trees,
\nThe snoring rivers under the ice!
\nOh, how these lanterns of empty streets
\nlook Like flying dandelions!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

21\/01\/2016.
\n12:00 noon.
\nCanada. Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bath<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

In your bath, snow-white lilies bloom
\nand real green reeds rustle, where frogs
\nsing in chorus, blowing bubbles behind their ears.
\nThe water in it is so clear that you can even see
\nthe sand and colourful pebbles and small fish,
\nwhich rush around in a shoal at the bottom,
\nnot being afraid of anyone,and you,
\nwithout paying attention to them, bathe,
\ntake a bath alone, O naked moon!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

24\/02\/2021.
\n3: 28 pm.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Running<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

I saw with my own eyes how poplars and willows
\nran across the plains and slopes on one leg.
\nThere were posts, road signs, houses, roads,
\nstone bridges, misty meadows, horses and cows,
\nfield camps, mulberry trees, cotton fields.
\nThey ran after the train on which I was travelling into the distance,
\nhaving to leave my homeland.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

15\/02\/2021.
\n1: 00 pm.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fishermen<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

I was sitting on the shore alone, fishing
\nand suddenly I saw another fisherman,
\nalso with a fishing rod in his hands, who
\nwas looking at me from the depths.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

23\/01\/2021.
\n10:00 PM.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Handwriting<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

I hear the rustle of falling clothes.
\nThese are the trees quietly undressing
\nin the changing room of the grove,
\nand there, in the far-off autumn forests,
\nthe deer with their antlers,
\nlike hangers, roar long and mournfully.
\nIn the sky, a farewell inscription
\nof flying migratory birds\u2026
\nI recognize your handwriting, very much!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

23\/01\/2021.
\n11:03 of the day.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sunset<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Evening silently breaks eggs,
\nOn the edge of the hot sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

13\/12\/2020.
\n9:24 am.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Longing for the desert<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

My soul is like a single grain of sand
\nlongs for the desolate deserts,
\nwhere, like long chains of ants
\nword caravans go silents.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

09\/04\/2020.
\n10:00 PM.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Time<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

O time, that walks with a limp on one leg
\nin the dial of the old clock,
\ntell me, do you hate each other, like people do
\non our planet and often tied between you
\nbrawl, with knifes, and axes and even
\nbloody hundred years of war where soldiers kills
\nmillions of peaceful, innocent people and even children,
\nturning beautiful cities into ruins?
\nWhat bloody war did you fight, if it\u2019s not a secret ,
\nin what field hospital of which you had one leg
\namputated by military surgeons, by removing
\na piece of shell from it to prevent gangrene?
\nO one-legged time, walking, limping on a prosthetic leg,
\nin the dial of the old clock!
\nI\u2019m hearing the sound of your footsteps
\nin the midnight silence, or is it sounds of bitter tears
\nthat drip rhythmically onto the floor
\nfrom your eyelashes?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

17\/09\/2019.
\n4:44 of the night.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Echo<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

The water droplets fall at the midnight silence.
\nNo, it\u2019s not the thawing snow outside the window crying
\nand not the footsteps of time, which
\nwalks, hobbling on one leg on the dial of the wall clock.
\nIt\u2019s the echo of your tears dripping by the window,
\nin the moonlight and desolate silence, there
\nacross the oceans, in my distant homeland.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

03\/09\/2018.
\n10:22 of the day.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Time clicks its tongue rhythmically<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
\nbut a distant echo of the sad cries of cranes.
\nI\u2019m the sombre sky and the rainfall pecking
\nthe bunches of the Rowan trees
\noutside your window, which you will look
\nthrough at the distant landscape during winter,
\nwhere snow covered forests, fields and
\nthe empty winter snow-covered roads,
\nthe rickety huts of the village.
\nI\u2019m not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
\nI\u2019m just a slave to my desires.
\nA slave of air, water and food.
\nAt night I look at the moon, like a fish
\nlooking through an ice hole, in a frozen river,
\nlistening to the sounds of the wagons of the trains
\nknocking against the steel spines of the Railways.
\nA knock that sounds like a heartbeat,
\nknocking of a clock sounds like hiccups
\nafter eating the time from our lives.
\nI\u2019m not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
\nI\u2019m just loneliness and peace.
\nI am the silence and the orphan hood of old graves.
\nI\u2019m a lonely passer-by, drunk in the snow blizzard
\nwho forgot the path home.
\nThe twilight is lit by the moon like empty white paper,
\nlike snow-covered winter roads,
\nsimilar to our September cotton fields.
\nI go and lengthen my silent shadow.
\nBalding trees in parks, as if in a dream,
\nand the leaves are gently flying to the pavement.
\nThe fallen leaves are so soft,
\nI want to lie on them and sleep\u2026
\nLet eternity pass on it\u2019s tiptoe,
\nyou can sleep, locking the door.
\nAnd let time click it\u2019s tongue rhythmically,
\nswinging the pendulum of the grandfather clock.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

03\/07\/2019.
\n10:18 of the day.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Motherland calls me from afar<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Living here, in the west is quite nice
\nThe air is intoxicating and there are meadows .
\nBut the soul cries like a train in the night,
\nPulls me to my homeland, pulls.<\/p>\n

Poplars and willows make noise in the groves,
\nLike a river under the bridge Kuyganyar.
\nAs if the Motherland calling me with it\u2019s cries,
\nRepeatedly calling for me from afar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

24\/07\/2019. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Religious Man<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

He believed in God, but God did not believe him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

14\/08\/2019.
\n8:09 in the morning.
\nCanada, Ontario.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Holder Volcano Member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan The landscape poems   Holder Volcano -Abdusalomov Holder Usmanovich was born in 1959 in Uzbekistan.Graduated from Tashkent National University. He has been writing…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":317,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=316"}],"version-history":[{"count":21,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1901,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316\/revisions\/1901"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/317"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=316"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=316"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=316"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}