Editor’s Choice




Abdulla Aripov  (21 March 1941 – 5 November 2016)

Abdulla Oripov takes a worthy place in Uzbek literature. He appeared on a literary Olympus together with such poets and writers as Erkin Vakhidov, Omon Matjon, Kalima Hudayberdiyeva, Oydin Kojiyeva. The poet from the first days of creativity had original style and entered many innovations into Uzbek poetry

Abdulla Oripov was born on March, 21st, 1941 in Koson valley of Kashkadarya region. In 1958 he entered to study to the philological faculty of Tashkent State Univercity on branch of journalism. He graduated the university in 1963. From 1963 tol 1974 he worked in publishing house, in 1974-80 years he worked in magazines ” Shark yulduzi “, “Gulhan”, then on various posts in the Union of writers of Uzbekistan. Some time Abdulla Oripov supervised over committee on protection of copyrights. In present Abdulla Oripov is head of the Union of writers of Uzbekistan.

The first collection of Abdulla Oripov “Mitti yuduz” was published in 1965. In this collection of poems describes nature. After that a number of other collections: “Kuzlarim yulingda” (1966), “Onajon” (1969), “Chashma”, “Rukim” (1971), “Uzbekistan” (1972), “Kayrat” (1974), “Yurtim shamoli” (1976), “Najot kalasi” (1980), “Yillar armoni” (1984), “Ishonch kupriklari ” (1989), “Munojot” (1992), “Dunyo” (1995) and “Saylanma” (1996) were published.

The of rare talent Abdulla Oripov “as translator” translated novels such poets and writers as A. Pushkin, T. Shevchenko, V. Charenz, N. Gajnaviy. Abdulla Oripov also is author of words of a national hymn of republic Uzbekistan.

Translated by antonina iplina , a member of Uzbekistan writer’s association in 2008




Coming out of the spawn, she was thrown to

Clayey pond full of dust, fell-off-leaves upon.

All days long she ate crumbs had dropped off into

And the world that she knew was that shallow pond.

Plenty of willow-trees overhung until

Toxic leaves poisoning stagnant water ill.

It hurts me, a gold fish lonely swam in it

And she thought like her pool was the world, indeed!


The wings


A man doesn’t have the wings,

Do not grieve of it.

He was given a brave heart by the nature’s things.

What’s a bird? It’s not brave that is why to it

Wings were given to escape, it is more in need.


An eagle


A young eagle, flying high,
Tries to reach the rocky face,
Scatters clouds in the sky.
Rapid heart has got a faith.

Where’s flying he? What for
Moves he strong wings? On the hills
Storming mansion’s waiting for,
A swift flight to him appeals!

Fighting with the frisky winds,
Onto peak he down came,
Sat a moment, spreaded wings,
As a snowstorm became.

But, the nature, what could be
You gave proper aim to him?




A star felt down suddenly,

It means an earthy life has gone.

But such a grief we bear easily,

A human being thus was done.

Sometimes I stare in the skies

Remembering my mother’s face.

But, not a star, as soon she dies,

Will down crash, the outer space!


Lake Sеvan


There are some words to Lake Sevan I want to tell,

My heart of grief has got a song of praise to you.

Your surface is without specks of dust, as well

Armenian clear land, Armenian skies of blue.

And even if too overfull you’ve never been,

And the Zangu has flown out of the way,

But, Lake Sevan, your face will be forever clean

If even to the bottom dry you up one day.


A poet


Heavy load as a hill
Shouldered a poet.

Having had a strong will,
Makes his way a poet.

So, the world, full of pain,
Put aside a poet.

Working with might and main,
Sings as birds a poet.


To my mother tongue


The nightingale’s singing is

Entire, has not changed at all.

A threat of danger here is

A poor parrot to be called.

I put the nightingale’s song,

Undoubtedly , the verse into.

The day you die, my mother tongue,

I will become a parrot too!


A reed-pipe


One early morning came some men,
High up the hill they saw a pipe
And plunged a knife into its stem.
It was in blossom, large and ripe.

It was deprived of eyes, at first,
A heart was taken out and
Internal organs then were burst,
A throat blown in the end.

O, poor pipe, it felt so hurt
And even frost was on the tongue.
A drawling wail that they heard
Was painfulness alike the song.

They made to suffer little cane,
Collecting sounds, after all
A pleasant music through its pain
They got and were delighted all.


A rope-walker


Balancing, in a flash
A rope-walker posed
Like a tear on the lash
And his eyes were closed.

Under skies going on,
Charming tricks he made,
Though the rope he walked on
Was alike a blade.

When the show came to end,
Wondered at him,
People were clapping hands
Voiced in a vim.

Alas we, not the blind,
With the open eyes,
On a road that is wide,
Cannot walk sometimes.




A billion of the stars behind

There is no bound in a space.

It does not even go in to the mind,

Impossible to take in an embrace.

I look far off the space at night

And feelings burst in to my heart.

As boundlessness, my soul is wide,

My body’s narrow and apart.

A spring of water

Breaking through the rocky stone,

A spring went towards the river.

People felt for it much sorrow

And they paved a short way even.

Do not touch it, let it flow

Where stony hills are sited.

Carving its way on a slope,

Let it take delight in fighting.

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