# The landscape poems of Holder Volcano

Усманович Холдербай

Holder Volcano

Member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan


The landscape poems


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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.


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Evil neighbour


Only by moving to a new place of residence can you get rid of an evil neighbor.

(Uzbek proverb)


Humanity, please excuse me, of course,

but I have a suspicion that your neighbours

may have loaded their belongings onto their UFOs

and flew to other galaxies from the fact that

billions and billions of years ago,

reaching a high level of development, as today,

you attacked neighbouring planets, unleashing a bloody war,

violating their territorial integrity,

inflicting nuclear strikes on their countries,

destroying their cities, leaving you all alone ...


17/07/2022.

In the morning 8:57.

Canada, Ontario.


The princesses of the swamps sing in the twilight


The moon looks in the windows secretly,

The sleepy twinkle of the stars in the distance.

Silence is silent, so as not to accidentally,

Disturb the sleep of sleeping fields.


The country roads of the village are turning white,

Alone at the gate the wind is walking.

A star has fallen like a golden arrow of the night,

Where the princesses of the swamps sing.


25/03/2020. 8:59 am. Canada.


Cuckoo's nest


The man waited long and patiently

looking at the grey cuckoo's nest,

with a long pole in his hands.

He waited for and waited and finally the cuckoo,

poking it's head out of the nest, it sang:

Koo-koo! Koo-koo! Koo-koo! Kook...

The man hit the cuckoo with the pole

and it fell down to the carpet.


01/03/2018.

10:07 in the morning.

Canada, Ontario.


Trams call for me through the snow


In a snowy fog dozes twilight,

As if in delirium, it silently speaks.

A pedestrian is crying into a hat,

Lanterns crumble the snowflakes.


The shadows of trees fallen on the snow,

Are tired and tend to sleep in the snowfall.

Through the snow flakes, moving slow,

For me the exhausted trams call.


07/28/2017. Canada, Ontario.


Moon fields


The windows of the cat 's eyes shine light,

The expanses of swamps where frogs sing often.

The stars tremble on the eyelashes of the night,

Like the tears of homeless orphans.


One single cricket is ringing, feeling lonely,

Darkness over the glades, and groves of trees.

The moon rises silently and slowly,

Over the minefields.


09/03/2015.

4:27 p.m.

Brampton, Canada.


Trams call for me through the snow


In a snowy fog dozes twilight,

As if in delirium, it silently speaks.

A pedestrian is crying into a hat,

Lanterns crumble the snowflakes.


The shadows of trees fallen on the snow,

Are tired and tend to sleep in the snowfall.

Through the snow flakes, moving slow,

For me the exhausted trams call.


07/28/2017. Canada, Ontario.


The Motherland calls me from afar


Living here, in the west is quite nice

The air is intoxicating and there are meadows .

But the soul cries like a train in the night,

Pulls me to my homeland, pulls.


Poplars and willows make noise in the groves,

Like a river under the bridge Kuyganyar.

As if the Motherland calling me with it's cries,

Repeatedly calling for me from afar.


24/07/2019. Canada.Ontario.


Longing for spring


Spring as love works wonders,

Waking nature from a sweet dream.

Soon, deafening cries heaven,

The birds return, when the grass is green .


Coming from the pathways is spring,

A slim, naive, youthful lady.

And on the poplar the bird will sing:

-Chicka - di-di-di-di-di-di-di!


Hearing this for a while in silence,

People will stop digging gardens.

Will enjoy the singing birds,

Leaning against the shovel shanks.


16/10/2015.

4:53 of day.

Canada, Ontario.


The poor trees


Rivers and ponds covered with ice,

Outside the window, the blizzard howled.

Oh trees, I would let you into the house,

And you would warm yourself by the fire,

But you're motionless along the road,

In parks, gardens and beside the gates.

Like families in the bitter cold,

The same as people without fuel.

Scurrying, shivering on the frozen river,

And you have no shelter over your head.

But trees, do you really not have a furnace,

and even a little wood?..


04/03/2015.

2:08 of the day.

the city of Brampton, Canada.


Winter dandelions


The late dandelions appearing beautiful

They look like fluffy, snow-white balls.

Their hair turns grey, since they are fearful

Fearing that winter is just after fall.


Their winds blew like children in the fields,

It's fluff whirled and flew weightless.

The trees were playing an accordion well,

Like a musician in a cluster of snowflakes.


The blizzards have changed into dandelions,

And the fluff from them is blown away!

These snow-covered streets lights,

The flying dandelions it looks like!


21/01/2016.

12:00 noon.

Canada. Ontario.


Bath


In your bath, snow-white lilies bloom

and real green reeds rustle, where frogs

sing in chorus, blowing bubbles behind their ears.

The water in it is so clear that you can even see

the sand and colourful pebbles and small fish,

which rush around in a shoal at the bottom,

not being afraid of anyone,and you,

without paying attention to them, bathe,

take a bath alone, O naked moon!


24/02/2021.

3: 28 pm.

Canada, Ontario.


Running


I saw with my own eyes how poplars and willows

ran across the plains and slopes on one leg.

There were posts, road signs, houses, roads,

stone bridges, misty meadows, horses and cows,

field camps, mulberry trees, cotton fields.

They ran after the train on which I was travelling into the distance,

having to leave my homeland.


15/02/2021.

1: 00 pm.

Canada, Ontario.


I've seen a pregnant sky give birth


When and from whom, I do not know, my friends

the sky with a swollen belly became pregnant,

but I saw it far away silently give birth at dawn

behind the dewy meadows, where the fog swirled.

I saw larks trilling as they lifted a newborn baby-

a red giant-of the radiant sun over a field where

waist-high cedars in rye froze for a moment in surprise.

I also saw that poor suns die silently at sunset,

having lived such a short life without complaining

about anything and generously giving life to all

living beings in this merciless world.

I heard the birds mourn for a long time in chorus

on the tall poplars in the late afternoon silence.


13/02/2021.

6: 30 pm,

Canada, Ontario.


Fishermen


I was sitting on the shore alone, fishing

and suddenly I saw another fisherman,

also with a fishing rod in his hands, who

was looking at me from the depths.


23/01/2021.

10:00 PM.

Canada, Ontario.


Fast food


I thought it was a dug out ground,

yawning with boredom or crying silently.

It turns out that it opened it's mouth

wide, even to the point of refusal, to

eat a hamburger that lies

between the past and the future.


24/01/2021.

3:26 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


Snow-covered fields


On a winter night in a snow-covered field,

the grass sticking out of a snowdrift,

whipped by a heavy snowfall,

screamed, calling people to help,

and the people slept soundly in their huts,

wrapped tightly in a white sheet

that looked like snow-covered fields.


23/01/2021.

7: 09 pm.

Canada, Ontario.


Handwriting


I hear the rustle of falling clothes.

These are the trees quietly undressing

in the changing room of the autumn grove,

and there, in the far-off draughty forests,

the deer with their antlers,

like hangers, roar long and mournfully.

In the sky, a farewell inscription

of flying migratory birds...

I recognize your handwriting, very much!


23/01/2021.

11:03 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


Beard


Oh, Niagara, with your grey beard!

I hear the clacking of the seagull's scissors

to trim your beard.

I wish you could hear, you're deaf,

from your own noise!..

Don't touch him, seagulls, don't touch him,

he's not homeless or a religious fan!

He is a simple poet, a free artist!

Let his beard grow, grow

all the way to the Atlantic Ocean!


14/01/2021.

11; 35 days.

Canada, Ontario.


Sunset


Evening silently breaks eggs,

On the edge of the hot sky.


13/12/2020.

9:24 am.

Canada, Ontario.


Longing for the desert


My soul is like a single grain of sand

longs for the desolate deserts,

where, like long chains of ants

word caravans go silents.


09/04/2020.

10:00 PM.

Canada, Ontario.


Time


O time, that walks with a limp on one leg

in the dial of the old clock,

tell me, do you hate each other, like people do

on our planet and often tied between you

brawl, with knifes, and axes and even

bloody hundred years of war where soldiers kills

millions of peaceful, innocent people and even children,

turning beautiful cities into ruins?

What bloody war did you fight, if it's not a secret ,

in what field hospital of which you had one leg

amputated by military surgeons, by removing

a piece of shell from it to prevent gangrene?

O one-legged time, walking, limping on a prosthetic leg,

in the dial of the old clock!

I'm hearing the sound of your footsteps

in the midnight silence, or is it sounds of bitter tears

that drip rhythmically onto the floor

from your eyelashes?


17/09/2019.

4:44 of the night.

Canada, Ontario.


Oh, if you only knew!


Sometimes we get a grain of sand in our eye and we are removing it

from our eyes, we do not even think how lonely this grain of sand

is in this city, like a city man in a desert.

Maybe it was brought here by the wind from the distant deserts

and it longs for the desert where the Agamas and monitor lizards run,

raising their tails, so as not to burn their belly on the hot sand, where

sand snakes crawl sideways, leaving traces on the surface

of smooth silk dunes and these traces sweep brooding sand blowing,

like in the deserted midnight streets of snow in winter.

There the Sackfuls sing, then crying a hysterical voice on the wind.

They buzz in a sandstorm on the slopes of dunes, like the hump

of wild and yellow camels, where whirlwinds sometimes dance,

like a man who dances whirling, with a sharp dagger in his teeth!

You sit down and look at the ghostly dunes under the starry sky,

when the lonely moon slowly begins to rise in silence,

silently and quietly illuminating the expanses of the midnight desert.

Sometimes skiing on the smooth silky sand dunes,

like the frozen waves of dried seas and oceans, you will feel like a

crazy surfer, barely holds on the crests of giant waves.

Oh, if you only knew how lonely that grain of sand in your eye is,

as humanity and as our orphaned planet in the vast cosmos,

in the nebulae of the universe that have no end!

You will immediately take the grain of sand back to the desert,

or the desert itself will come for this a grain of sand, accepting giant

form of rights, and knocking grains of sand, like grains of snowflakes

in the twilight winter, and it will look in the tiny window of your hut.


15/09/2019.

8:10 am.

Canada, Ontario.


Echo


The water droplets fall at the midnight silence.

No, it's not the thawing snow outside the window crying

and not the footsteps of time, which

walks, hobbling on one leg on the dial of the wall clock.

It's the echo of your tears dripping by the window,

in the moonlight and desolate silence, there

across the oceans, in my distant homeland.


03/09/2018.

10:22 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


Time clicks its tongue rhythmically


I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,

but a distant echo of the sad cries of cranes.

I'm the sombre sky and the rainfall pecking

the bunches of the Rowan trees

outside your window, which you will look

through at the distant landscape during winter,

where snow covered forests, fields and

the empty winter snow-covered roads,

the rickety huts of the village.

I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,

I'm just a slave to my desires.

A slave of air, water and food.

At night I look at the moon, like a fish

looking through an ice hole, in a frozen river,

listening to the sounds of the wagons of the trains

knocking against the steel spines of the Railways.

A knock that sounds like a heartbeat,

knocking of a clock sounds like hiccups

after eating the time from our lives.

I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,

I'm just loneliness and peace.

I am the silence and the orphan hood of old graves.

I'm a lonely passer-by, drunk in the snow blizzard

who forgot the path home.

The twilight is lit by the moon like empty white paper,

like snow-covered winter roads,

similar to our September cotton fields.

I go and lengthen my silent shadow.

Balding trees in parks, as if in a dream,

and the leaves are gently flying to the pavement.

The fallen leaves are so soft,

I want to lie on them and sleep...

Let eternity pass on it's tiptoe,

you can sleep, locking the door.

And let time click it's tongue rhythmically,

swinging the pendulum of the grandfather clock.


03/07/2019.

10:18 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


Sad holiday


I'll go out on a autumn field as if on a holiday,

like going to the train station, and standing

on a high slope,like if on a platform,

say goodbye to the migratory birds,

that fly south, flapping their wings.

I wave to them, my weathered skullcap

until they disappear over the horizon

and their sad voices in the distance

do not cease.

Until my soul is emptied, like an empty nest,

which blacken from the distant

in the grove, on the branches of birch trees.


22/08/2019.

10:07 in the morning.

Canada, Ontario.


The distant bird noises


At sunset in a poplar grove by the river,

where there are abandoned ruins of the pigsty,

high poplars deafening noisy birds.

The chirping of hundreds of sparrows, the distant noise

still ringing in my ears,

like the sound of waves in a seashell.


22/08/2019.

11:38 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


The Motherland calls me from afar


Living here, in the west is quite nice

The air is intoxicating and there are meadows .

But the soul cries like a train in the night,

Pulls me to my homeland, pulls.


Poplars and willows make noise in the groves,

Like a river under the bridge Kuyganyar.

As if the Motherland calling me with it's cries,

Repeatedly calling for me from afar.


24/07/2019. Canada.Ontario.


No one is visible on the Milky way


The stars are cramped in the vast sky.

They hit each other with their elbows.

For this reason, one of them,

like a startled bird flew away.

No one is visible on the Milky way,

where they don't even ride a moped.

Maybe they're afraid to puncture

their old vintage vehicle's wheels

over the rusty nails of stars.


24/03/2020.

10:57 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


The distant bird noises


At sunset in a poplar grove by the river,

where there are abandoned ruins of the pigsty,

high poplars deafening noisy birds.

The chirping of hundreds of sparrows, the distant noise

still ringing in my ears,

like the sound of waves in a seashell.


22/08/2019.

11:38 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


By the autumn fire


You're busy alone in a quiet autumn garden,

sweeping the fallen leaves with a broom.

Thoughtfully and silently collect firewood,

thinking about our meetings and making a fire,

similar to fuming volcanoes, which smoke

the bitter cigar in the Kuril Islands.

Sitting by the fire, looking into the smoke,

so that people think you're not crying,

it's just your reddened eyes with

tears, because of the bitter smoke.


02/08/2019.

12:26 of the day.

Canada, Ontario.


Religious Man


He believed in God, but God did not believe him.


14/08/2019.

8:09 in the morning.

Canada, Ontario.