The great achievements of modern Uzbek prose cannot be imagined without the works of the Hero of Uzbekistan, People's Writer Said Ahmad in various genres. It is no secret that several generations of readers have learned from these works a world of joy and excitement, lessons and life lessons. The author's realistic stories, such as "Desert Eagle", "Apricot Teacher", "Falcon", "Mountain Legend", "Birth of Love", "Lights of Iqbal" have a permanent place in literary collections, selections and manuals. , serves as a creative experiment in mastering the mysteries of artistic creation for young writers as specific examples of prose. The trilogy "Horizon", the novel "Silence", the play "Bride's Revolt", dozens of comedies clearly show the weight and splendor of the rich literary heritage of the master writer.
Among the works of the writer, we read essays about his teachers, contemporaries - famous writers and poets Oybek, Gafur Gulam, Abdulla Qahhor, Maqsud Shaykhzoda, Mirtemir, and witness the scenes of the difficult period in the history of Uzbek literature of the last century. We find valuable information, events directly related to the personality and life of the creators, the creation of famous works. Most importantly, such memoirs, the powerful image of Said Ahmad, the beloved writer of our people, the literary and aesthetic views of great artists, the deep thoughts on the content of creativity - the world of art is full of its scale. la-tokis appears. Below you will read some excerpts from the author's confessions about teachers, students, and the mysteries of creation in general.
* * *
They say the word is a shot. The shot cannot be returned to the rifle. We cannot chase after what we say. That is why we are responsible for every word, every line.
* * *
We didn’t suddenly become easy writers. The "slap" of Ghafur Ghulam, Abdullah Qahhor, Mirtemir made us writers. These teachers, whose memories will never be forgotten, still haunt us.
* * *
All our lives have been spent in violent, turbulent years. Divorce did not bend our legs. In these ways we have carried our faith healthy, leaving no room for betrayal in our hearts.
* * *
The farther Oybek is, the closer he is. The farther you go, the higher the value. As he moves away, the love of the people draws him into his arms. As you move away, your voice becomes clearer and brighter…
* * *
Oybek is physically exhausted, but the light radiated by his genius still illuminates our hearts.
I am proud to have had so many conversations with such a great person, and I am glad to see such a scholar.
* * *
Young people who were interested in poetry often asked Ghafur aka how to write a poem. Then Ghafur aka jokingly replied:
- To write a poem, you must first wash your hands thoroughly with perfumed soap.
Gafur aka loved humor. One day, I asked him which of his peers do you like the works of. He laughed and replied seriously:
- I love the poems of Ghafur Ghulam among my peers, I love your poems from those younger than me.
"I don't write poetry," I said with a laugh.
Gafur aka also laughed and replied:
- You were standing next to me when the best poems written by Ghafur Ghulam were born. Even if you did not write, you are a partner of Ghafur Ghulam.
* * *
Ghafur Ghulam has been working on the story "Shum bola" for almost twenty-five years. The first and second parts of the story were completed in 1936. The third part was completed in the late forties. Revised in the early sixties.
Ghafur aka kissed the last edition of his life and rubbed it in his eyes.
"All right, it's over," he said, his eyes twinkling.
- Why? I said. "If you're interested, you'll write the paint."
- No. Now you write the paint. You write. Shum bola endi akademik, laureat, deputat…
* * *
Ghafur Ghulam met a betaine poet who sold poetry to district newspapers.
G.Gulam: - How much does the poem cost now?
Poet: - Different. In district newspapers from two to five soums. In regional newspapers it costs from six to ten soums.
G. Gulom: - How much do you sell poetry a year?
Poet: - It will reach three thousand soums.
Gulom: Look at me. If you don't write poetry at all, if you write a poem that you will become a palon, I will give you five thousand soums a year. Is that so?
* * *
Abdulla aka could not simply describe his joys and sorrows. It was unique to Qahhor, and anyone who heard it would say it for a lifetime.
He said of a writer who did not know goodness: "This man is like an overturned beetle, stinging the hand of the one who balances." He said of the editors who had adapted the magazine or newspaper to their level: About the untalented writers: "This man came to literature not through a door, but through a hole like a thief's cat," "Manavunisi slipped his foot as he walked down the street and fell inside the union door." He still can't go out, "he said." He can't write, he says in meetings that I'm in literature. " He was burning about some of the officials who were interfering in the literature. "Why doesn't he tell the surgeon to cut the patient, not here?" He doesn't tell the pilot why he shouldn't turn the bolt on the plane, he doesn't tell the pilot on the rope why he should walk like that. He probably thinks that literature is an easy job, and he teaches that this is the summer, this is the summer. ”
* * *
Abdullah Qahhor's assessment of Ufq was a great blessing for me on the path to great literature.
Master Abdullah Qahhor finally called me a disciple. It is an invaluable honor for me that cannot be measured by any wealth.
Every time I sit at my desk, finishing the first lines with a pencil in my hand, it seems as if Abdullah Qahhor is still looking over his shoulder. His inquisitive gaze has haunted me all my life. I, too, pass all my writings imaginatively through his eyes.
* * *
The prince passed away without enjoying this world. But he was a happy man anyway. He was called a poet. Sheikh my brother would say. Young people called him my teacher. Young poets followed him in droves.
He was a scientist. He was a generous man who extended a helping hand to the needy. He was sympathetic to those in distress. He was a talkative man. He didn't know how to complain. He stood firm to the blows of fate. In a word, he was a charming man.
I have seen in the person of the Prince that a man can have so many virtues.
He was a learned poet.
He was a poet-scientist.
Such people rarely come into the world.
* * *
Mirtemir is a very strong poet. We knew that. He was a man who in 1937 was poisoned by the scourge of cult of personality. He was afraid to show his true talent.
* * *
The rainbow that appears in the sky after the rain seems to pull all the colors of the world into seven strands. It's as if if you spread those seven threads, the world will be full of colors.
Man has a child who takes one of these colors as his own. He sees his whole destiny, his biography, his dreams, and finally the world through this color. Nature also depends on this color effect.
* * *
The artist creates his work from paints, from the composer's sounds. An artist needs an eye that sees colors clearly, and a composer needs an ear that hears sounds clearly. What about the writer? He desperately needs both.
* * *
Nemat Aminov is the most eloquent writer among his contemporaries, who has a good sense of the colors and tones of the language and expresses it with great skill. He brought to our literature the rich and cheerful, yet very masculine language of the philosopher Bukhara.
* * *
Uncle Murad's stories are pure national Uzbek stories. The people depicted in Uncle Murad's stories are Uzbek even if you wear different national costumes. Their behavior is completely different from other people…
Uncle Murad describes the horse so kindly that you think the writer is singing. The writer’s heart moves to the reader’s heart. You want to ride on horseback, fly in the wind on the hills, stroke the horse tracks.
I don't think Uncle Murad will finish the story, I think he will sing with all his might. There are climbing curtains in this song, there are murmurs, there are savt.
* * *
You know, when I put an end to the novel, my heart suddenly became empty. Now, when I think about it, my situation at that time was like a widowed father who was handing over his daughter, staring at her on the doorstep.
* * *
I don’t even know what quality I have. But I know I can’t live without a guest. I want to do good to people. I gave a white blessing to about fifty young writers and wished them a "white way" through newspapers and magazines. I wrote forewords to his books.
* * *
Every business in the world has its own account. There will be an answer to every word spoken. It is necessary to make calculations until the world turns a blind eye. It is necessary to respond to what is said.
* * *
Teacher Abdullah Qahhor joked, "When I made a monkey out of my work, he would become a writer." What I have achieved, I have achieved only through my hard work. It’s hard to say anything about popularity. Who knows, maybe it means responsibility. The celebrity will be in the public eye. Every word, every action is in the eye of the beholder.
Newspaper "Literature and Art of Uzbekistan", No. 2015, 23
