Fazu Gamzatovna Aliyeva

The price of good. Stories and essays

In harmony of conscience and talent

“A person comes into this world to create with two hands: one hand is his feelings, morality, conscience; the other is talent, knowledge. And the success of his activity depends on how he will use both.

What is this book about? Times change, that's an undeniable truth. The truth is that the word of the people's poet of Dagestan, writer and publicist Fazu Gamzatovna Aliyeva, which tells about the world and the native land, about morality and humanity, remains unchanged. Today she pleases us with her next book - "The Price of Good", which consists of a cycle of lyrical miniatures - short stories and several essays.

The first thing that came to mind when I read the pages of the new book was the dialogue between Sofia Andreevna Tolstaya and Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev. One day, Ivan Sergeevich, together with Sofia Andreevna and Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy, came to Yasnaya Polyana to relax and hunt. Sofya Andreevna asked Turgenev: “Why don’t you write anymore?” He replied, "I can't." Then she asked: “What do you need in order to write?” And Turgenev, looking around (if no one could hear them), answered in a whisper that whenever he wrote something, he was shaking with the fever of love, and in order to write, he must be in love. “And now, alas, I am old and can do neither one nor the other,” the writer said with chagrin. Shocked by his answer, S.A. Tolstaya jokingly said: "Well, fall in love with me at least, only to start writing again." The writer answered with a sigh: “No, I can’t fall in love with anyone anymore.”

Today, leafing through the lyrical confession of F. Aliyeva's miniatures, you are convinced that she has always been in love, all her life. In love with her land, with a tiny part of the mainland, in love with people, with a bright beginning in a person, in love with life itself. And this love, embodied in images, is transmitted to the reader.

She does not get tired of writing about virtues and moral purity, about duty to the Motherland and to herself, about love for her native land and for people. He writes about time, which reveals the essence of each of us. The source of her pain for the Motherland, for people, love for them, expressed by the deep and wise word of a poet, writer, citizen, is inexhaustible.

The book "The Price of Goodness" is an original prose, defined by its style in literary criticism as "poems in prose". This is a cycle of lyrical stories, sketches, revelations, lyrical reflections of the author about life and human relationships. About love for one’s neighbor (“I am your seagull”, “The path no longer rings”, “Mother's eyes”, “I created my own spiritual world”), about life and death (“Messenger of Death”, “I was afraid from childhood”), about the upbringing of the younger generation, about continuity (“My sadness accumulated drop by drop”). It is also a lyrical confession of grief and loss (“I created my spiritual world”, “Voices of insomnia”, “Everything changes”), good and evil (“The price of goodness”), retribution (“Lame Khatun”), thoughts about the Motherland ( “The roots are all under the left hand”), about the price of bread, labor, about human qualities - good and blameworthy (“I am looking for silence”, “Domestic thieves”), about eternal values. The images of the beloved grandmother, Omardada, are not ignored. Particular attention is paid to the problems of continuity, respect for elders, faith, morality, patience.

"The Price of Kindness" is a kind of acropolis of the author's creative thought. Like her previous books, the new one is distinguished by deep lyricism, lively images, a call for goodness and humanity. Her wisdom is majestic, time-tested and sustained. She understands the price of goodness and conveys to the reader the idea that any misfortune and grief can be avoided only by doing good, doing good, preserving humanity. And therefore, with each of his stories, the author encourages people to participate, understand, and accept others. Any of her stories is a compromise, it is a struggle for peace and harmony. Although Fazu's morality is unobtrusive, many of her stories are didactic, instructive, and mentoring. She considers it important to awaken good feelings in a person: nobility, fidelity, sympathy, justice.

Keeping the purity of thoughts and deeds is hard work for the heart, but it is as noble as it is necessary. A similar idea was expressed by A. Likhanov in the preface to a book about three American humanists - R. Bradbury, H. Lee, J. Salinger “Dandelion Wine. To Kill a Mockingbird... Catcher in the Rye (Moscow: Pravda, 1988). Although their word was spoken in defense of childhood, children's destinies, it also applies to adult life and is expressed in micro-plots, lyrical reflections, reflections of Fazu Aliyeva in “The Price of Goodness” - in order to preserve the prototype of the harmony of truth, beauty and goodness. These thoughts, according to A. Likhanov, “are the main rafters of their compositions, the inner foundation on which the atmosphere rests, in which only action can breathe. “Dandelion wine. To Kill a Mockingbird… The Catcher in the Rye” – three brilliant humanistic panegyrics in defense of childhood, three hymns to humanity, three lawyer speeches in favor of kindness, love and kindness.” These same words can be attributed not only to the last books of F. Aliyeva “Herds”, “And the guns thundered, and the muses were not silent”, “The price of good”, but also to all her work.

The last book is a kind of amphitheater of human life. Here a person, as it were, sees himself from the outside, realizes his vices and virtues. The reader not only looks at the actors (heroes) as a spectator, but also becomes a participant in events, experiences, finds in the episodes a mirror reflection of his image, his actions, actions, himself. In fact, conclusions-thoughts after reading the stories “break in without asking into our hearts, into our souls, making us shudder from a sense of justice and injustice, from pain and joy, from laughter and longing,” as A. Likhanov said.

A considerable place in the book is given to pictures of nature, descriptions of mountains, rivers, seas, waterfalls, stones, rocks, etc., which occupy a special place in the author's life. In general, when it comes to the work of Fazu Aliyeva, you certainly expect something good and bright, wise. Her moral principles are based on the traditions of her ancestors, the laws of the mountains. And all this is conveyed with a special lyrical tone and expressiveness. Her word is indicative, exemplary, representative. At the same time, it is typical, that is, it goes into the category of classical ones. Although the book "The Price of Kindness" includes short stories, essays of the writer, however, the volume of feelings and thoughts in them is great. As the American writer E. Hemingway said, "good prose is like an iceberg, seven-eighths of which are hidden under water." Reading the book "The Price of Good", we see what depth is hidden in short stories, we see a great master who deeply knows and understands life. Although who, if not her, who grew up in a mountain village in a hungry, harsh military and post-war years orphan, not to know the hardships of mountain life. Tracing the fate of the lyrical heroine of her works, and with it the biography of the author, we see with what boundless patience and amazing endurance the inhabitants of the mountains endured difficulties. Where patience ended, endurance began to work, where skill was lacking, they learned from wise ancestors.

So since childhood, Fazu Aliyeva has been stocking up on the wisdom of the highlanders of her region, where pearls of folk wisdom that can claim eternity are poured from each mouth. And therefore later, having matured, gaining more and more fame, she began to open “big chests with small keys”, where, sparkling like a diamond, these treasures of folk wisdom, courage, patience are stored. It could be one word or phrase, one proverb or one short story in the author's books. She generously shares with readers her accumulated experience, her gift, the wisdom of her ancestors. “Do not rely on the mountain, it may collapse, do not rely on the sea, and it may dry up,” she directs readers, educates the ability to be content with what Allah gives a person, the ability to rely only on one’s diligence. It seems that the more she distributes to people from these “chests”, the fuller they become and, as a result, thoughts become deeper and words sharper.

Such “chests” are carefully stored in the house of any highlander, and the wisdom of their ancestors comes to his aid in the most difficult time. You just need to know how to open them and use them.

Wisdom from the heart "chests" spreads along the path to a person when he is mistaken. Small proverbs, small parables, thrown into these “chests” by the ancestors, teach contemporaries to live, love and protect their Motherland, cherish their hearth and pass this wealth on to the new generation.

From childhood, in the mountains by the hearth, a person is taught that, having come to this earth, he must justify his appointment to be a man. It means to do good, it means not to do to another what you would not want yourself to do. “Before you stick an awl in the heart of another person, stick a needle in your heart to know how it hurts,” said the highlanders. So in the new book “The Price of Good,” Fazu Aliyeva seeks to reach out to the hearts of readers and convey to them the truth of wise ancestors that no one has managed to live longer due to their bitterness, anger, intolerance. Quite the opposite - "life can be extended in only one noble way - by sowing love and good memory in the souls of people."

Fazu Gamzatovna Aliyeva(December 5, 1932, Ginichutl village, Khunzakh district, Dagestan ASSR - January 1, 2016, Makhachkala, Dagestan) - Soviet and Russian Avar poetess, people's poetess of Dagestan (1969), prose writer and publicist. She made a significant contribution to the development of Dagestan and Russian literature. In addition, she was involved in human rights activities.

She was awarded two Orders of the Badge of Honor and two Orders of Friendship of Peoples, the Order of the Holy Apostle Andrew the First-Called (2002); she was awarded the gold medal of the Soviet Peace Fund, the medal "Fighter for Peace" of the Soviet Peace Committee and the Jubilee Medal of the World Peace Council, as well as honorary awards from a number of foreign countries.

Biography

She began writing poetry in early age and already in her school years she was considered a real poet. Fazu wrote in Avar and Russian. The poems of the seventeen-year-old Phase were first published in the Bolshevik Gor newspaper in 1949, later in the newspaper Komsomolets of Dagestan and the Avar-language magazine Druzhba. Critics were already struck by the aspiring poetess and writer with her brightness and extraordinary talent. Fazu Aliyeva sincerely believed that poetry purifies a person, makes him brighter, kinder and more sublime.

In 1954-1955, Fazu Aliyeva studied at the Dagestan Women's Pedagogical Institute.

In 1961 she graduated from the Literary Institute named after A. M. Gorky.

She was a member of the Writers' Union of the USSR.

She owns the phrase-call: “Everything happens in life - people can not love each other, quarrel. But I ask you - never shoot each other. Nothing in the world can justify that."

Activity

She was the author of more than 102 poetry and prose books translated into 68 languages ​​of the world, including poetry collections "Native Village", "Law of the Mountains", "Eyes of Kindness", "Spring Wind" (1962), "I distribute a rainbow" (1963) , "The Moment" (1967), the poems "On the Seashore" (1961), "In the Heart of Everyone Ilyich" (1965), the novel "Fate" (1964), the poem "Tavakal, or Why Men Turn Gray", the novels "The Family Coat of Arms ”, “Eighth Monday” about the life of modern Dagestan. A.'s poems were translated into Russian - the collections Blue Road (1959), Stone Carving (1966), Eighteenth Spring (1968).

In 1950-1954 she worked as a school teacher.

Since 1962, the editor of the Dagestan publishing house of educational and pedagogical literature.

Since 1971 - editor-in-chief of the magazine "Woman of Dagestan".

For 15 years she was the Deputy Chairman of the Supreme Council of Dagestan.

Since 1971 - Chairman of the Dagestan Peace Committee and a branch of the Soviet Peace Fund of Dagestan, member of the World Peace Council.

Member of the Public Chamber of Russia (until 2006).

She was buried at the City Cemetery in Makhachkala.

Creativity score

The head of the manuscript fund of the Institute of Language and Literature, Mariza Magomedova, said about the creative contribution of Fazu Aliyeva: “Truly, she devoted her whole life to praising the honor, dignity of a person, the Motherland. The main themes of her work are the theme of war and peace, labor and military feats. A girl from the small village of Ginichutl conquered the world, talking about her love for her native land, for people, for the world.

Phase Aliyeva was awarded the prizes of the magazines "Soviet Woman", "Spark", "Peasant Woman", "Worker", "Banner".

Her book "A lump of earth the wind will not carry away" was awarded the prize. N. Ostrovsky.

Bibliography

Translations into foreign languages

Plays

• "Khochbar" is a play written in collaboration with M. Magomedov.

Awards

• Order of the Holy Apostle Andrew the First-Called (December 11, 2002) - for outstanding contribution in the development of domestic literature and a high civic position
• Order "For Merit to the Fatherland" III degree (July 16, 2015) - for merits in the development of national culture and art, means mass media and many years of fruitful activity
• Order "For Merit to the Fatherland" IV degree (November 16, 1998) - for services in the field of culture and the press, many years of fruitful work
• Order of Friendship of Peoples (June 21, 1994) - for merits in the development of national literature and active social activities
• Two Orders of the Badge of Honor
• gold medal of the Soviet Peace Fund
• medal "Fighter for Peace" of the Soviet Peace Committee
• commemorative medal of the World Peace Council
• People's Poet of the Dagestan ASSR (1969)
• In 2007, Faz Aliyeva was awarded the State Prize of the Republic of Dagestan in the field of literature for the book of poems "Eternal Flame".
• In 2009, the President of the Republic of Dagestan Mukhu Aliyev presented F. Aliyeva with the Order of Merit for the Republic of Dagestan No. 1.
• Prize of the Union of Journalists of Russia "Golden Pen of Russia" (2004)

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Parable Eleven

Let the woman in the house be wise.
Subject to ingenuity and intelligence,
A smart, faithful wife,
Keeping family and husband interests,
From the coolest thicket
A decent way out must be found.

There is a mountain parable:
Two twin brothers
Weddings took place at the same time.
One family
To the delight of the villagers
She became such an exemplary from the first days,
What about the love of another similar couple
From now on, people began to say:
"Lovers Hussein and Habibat",
Although many in the village knew,
That young Hussein was quick-tempered
And even - as the neighbors noticed -
He could shout at his Habibat.
But they heard in response from Habibat:
“Well, what are you, dear! Sweetheart!
Well, calm down, cool down, my love.
Will I ever be able to
At least something to cross your will?
And in the second family
Everything went wrong:
Only skirmishes, quarrels and scandals.

Sometimes it came to fights.
And the wise men of the aul, joking,
So they said about the second family:
“God forbid others such a fate,
Like Hasan and Umuzhat.
They divide the week into two parts -
Six days of war, and only a day of "love".
And speaking of this, villagers
Gasan was not considered innocent,
But still, out of two scandalous names
They called Umuzhat more willingly.
Since everyone knew that if the husband
And he will say a word, maybe without thinking,
Then in response a dozen words will receive
Evil and prickly - from his wife.
As if Umuzhat only dreamed -
How to bring Gasan to a scandal.

And then Habibat decided
Call your grumpy daughter-in-law.
And began to pour water from a jug
In a big bucket. And so it happened
What if by accident in the bucket
From somewhere a frog appeared ...
"Ah," Habibat cried out in fright.
And rushed to the tongs, so that from the water
Shake out this frog ...
However,
As soon as she touched the water,
The frog opened its mouth to her,
With such excitement, she opened her long mouth,
That, not having time to take a sip of air,
She took a sip of water, and, as they say,
Went to the bottom. “And you have to be patient! -
Habibat spoke loudly, -
If I didn’t open my mouth, I wouldn’t drown.”

Thinking about something Umuzhat.
Embarrassed, she sat silent.
But this was only the first hint.

And soon invited Khabibat
His daughter-in-law to the mountains - to take a walk.
And there, having made a small ball of snow,
She threw him up,
And that lump, rolling down,
All growing, became a snowball,
And collapsing, with all the accumulated strength
Khabibat hit him on the head.

What a fool I am, however, -
Habibat screamed. - Well, is it possible
Throw snow, standing under the mountain,
To cause a heavy lump on yourself?

And again they will be mad about something quietly
I thought. And everything went into itself.

And they say, since then they have in the family
Lad started. And peace reigned.
Now, as soon as Umuzhat decides
To quarrel with her husband - in memory rises
The frog that absurdly drowned
And a snowball that rolled down the mountain.

My toast, friends, to restless women,
What can, hiding their emotions,
Be silent wisely, give in with dignity,
Keeping peace and husband and family.

* * *

Let her be patient
Such that, if suddenly
She will have to pick nettles, -
Don't let your hands go.

Kohl will say: “Drink this river!
Otherwise, be in trouble!
Let him not answer a word
Leaning face down into the water.

* * *

Let it be wise
So that she could
Experience wealth.
And strong
To fall into poverty
Managed not to grieve.
Let it always measure
Your step
And your scope
With the fruits of a man's labor
And with what's in the bins.

Parable 12

Let it be wise
So that she could
Experience wealth.
And strong
To fall into poverty
Managed not to grieve.
Let it always measure
Your step
And your scope
With the fruits of a man's labor
And with what's in the bins.

The highlanders have a parable:
The handsome guy lived
But he was poor
And the rich of the village often laughed
Over his poverty. But here it is
I saw and regretted somehow
A beauty from this village.
And announced to all fellow villagers,
What will make it in their village
Not a poor man, but the first man.
Mother in tears: “Ah, why should we be a fool for a son-in-law?”
The father shouts: "You come to your senses, daughter!"
But the girl managed to calm down
her parents and got married
For this handsome poor man,
For this beautiful Ahmed.
And it became like this: goes to the Godekan
Ahmed her - she runs forward
And the chair carries, and a soft pillow ...
He will come to the godekan, he will prepare everything
And he says: “Sit down here, Ahmed!”
And how, it happened, suddenly in their village
Difficulty arises or what question
And people go to her to ask for advice. -
She tells them: “Not from me, no, no,
And Ahmed should take advice.
Ask Ahmed. My Ahmed
The wise will be able to give an answer to everything.

Well, see people like his wife
And he cherishes his opinion and appreciates it, -
Since those days, they themselves began to respect
Once a poor guy - Ahmed.
Now, when they went to meet him,
The villagers were the first to raise their hands,
And peers gave way,
When he came up for something...

My toast to wives -
Not only at this hour
For us - lovely, sweet, dear!
For them to appreciate us
And raised us in the eyes of others!

* * *

Bloom of love! -
Here is our reward.
I drink my full horn to her.
A mountain in love is a barrier, -
Like a small stone at the feet.
Diver!
After all, if
He was afraid of sharks grin -
In the sea underwater kingdom
He wouldn't find anything.
The shepherd, being afraid of wolves, cannot
Otaru to grow his…
Love multiplies our courage.
That's why I drink!

* * *

Love in the family
Like the bottom of a pitcher.
with a broken bottom
The pitcher does not hold water.
Yes, you can glue.
Only - year after year -
On it, the crack is more and more visible.
She's like a scar. It won't drag on soon.
And will it live? That's what we're talking about.
Scarred love is sugar
On which
The water has dropped.
How to save it?

* * *

I drink, so that for everyone who was not with us today, -
I could not drink and eat at the wedding, -
We kept the good smell of bread,
which we broke down here.

So that everyone sitting at the table,
On the long term save in your blood
And mischief and this invigorating current
Wine, fun, friendship and love.

Parable thirteen

My toast to brave women!
Yes, for women
Afraid of sometimes cold splashes,
But at the same time ready
And no less
other men
For courage and risk.

There is a mountain parable that one day a daughter
Complained to her mother
On her husband: as if he happens often
The woman is different. And the mother said:
“Well, this, daughter, is fixable. Only
You bring me two or three hairs,
But not the usual two or three hairs,
And tear them out of the tiger's whiskers ... "
“What are you, mom!” daughter was scared.
“And you try,” mother insisted, -
You are a woman - you should be able to do everything ... "
The daughter thought for a long time. Then
She slaughtered a ram and with a piece
The lamb went into the deep forest,
And there they ambushed the village - to wait for the tiger.
Here the tiger saw a woman, enraged,
Growling, jumping, he rushed to her.
Then she threw meat at him,
She ran away in fear.
And the next day I came back here.
And again the tiger rushed towards her furious ...
But, throwing meat to the tiger, this time
She didn't run, she stood.
She didn't move and watched him eat...
On the third day, seeing her with meat,
The tiger wagged its tail happily. It seems,
He was already waiting for her this time.

And the woman is now from the palm of your hand
Feeding the tiger. On the fourth day
Seeing her, the tiger meets her,
All overjoyed, ran up.
And, having eaten a piece of lamb, he lay down
And head on women's knees
Blissfully laid down and dozed off.

Here the woman took a moment
And pulled out inaudibly from the mustache
Three, maybe four hairs
She brought them home to her mother.
“Well, here,” said the mother, “you tamed
Such a beast of prey as a tiger.

Now go and tame your husband
Or cunning, or caress - as you can.
Remember - there is a tiger in every man ... "

So, for women!
To languish in them
And affection
And a reserve of courage.

So that without resistance
At their mercy
The tigers surrendered
Slumbering in us!

* * *

Like two pandu strings
Husband and wife.
When one is cut off -
Pandur is silent
Pandur is mute.
I raise my glass
For having two strings
Always equal
Stretched as one
To always be together
Such a song,
which would be heard
Among friends,
And every moment
Woke up a new holiday in them.

* * *

Pave the way for your love
Do not be afraid of mountain steeps and heights,
And, gradually approaching the goal,
Someday you will reach it.

Don't be afraid of eyes as cold as snow
And in them lies tenderness and bliss ...
After all, do springs have their sonorous laughter
They don’t take it from thawed snow? ..

* * *

Man, husband, lover, remember:
Don't be cruel in your desires
Love is like an echo. And by all laws
Must have a source and a source.

Love is a hearth. When it's on fire,
She is generous, open, bright.
You provide the hearth of love with firewood,
Then demand light and heat.

* * *

Oh woman is such a creature
What will forever be a secret for a man.
All poets are looking for a reason
Compare her.
And they won't find it.
She sometimes appears to poets
That is a living, fruitful tree,
And then the top in the sky ascending
Indestructible, proud mountain.
These comparisons have been
Are true.
But for life - hardly ...
It happens that a small ax
And that big tree will fall down.
And the mountain - even the storm will not crush,
And the mystery is hidden in the smallest -
By chance, somewhere a pebble slips,
And the whole mountain will collapse.

Yes, a woman is such a creature,
That there is no more mysterious, probably.
But you men, be bold
To reveal the mystery of it.

* * *

It has been said so for centuries,
That everything is subject to a strong man:
And the tiger in the forest, and the bird in the clouds,
And flocks of fish in the raging abyss.

You're convinced of it, man.
But
Do not flatter yourself with arrogant pride.
There is also a woman's heart.
It
Do not shy away from your power.
It is not subject to fear,
And fear no threat
And the force only calls him to close,
Like a window closing in a storm.
It needs special keys -
Out of affection, respect and trust,
Like summer rays
The warmth of which opens the door.

Men,
I call you to victory
Over a woman's heart.
I'll just repeat:
Look for the key not in coarsened strength,
So that a woman, meeting you, looks
With an open heart
Young and bold
How sakli mountains look from white porches
In the morning fresh dawn.

* * *

Like the wings of a mountain eagle
Husband and wife are in harmony.
On the beat of one wing
The eagle cannot be lucky.

I wish this toast here
Agree to the newlyweds
To get their flight
Throughout life - successful.

* * *

Husband and wife - as two totals
In one result.
Husband and wife are like two streams
In a single merged stream.

And two streams - strength, if
In them, the passion for fusion is alive.
And two rivers, merging together,
Millstones are capable of turning.

* * *

As soon as I remember this word,
O woman,
I am at the same moment
As if filling your mouth with honey,
I suddenly shut up
Mute and quiet.
It is light when there is a wife in the family.
Like a lamp is lit
And it smells like honey.
Wife is a needle
Wife is a broom
A wife is a bee over every house.
Wife - and tenderness and strength.
I drink to her
If necessary - treated me with honey,
Kohl necessary - bitten with a sting.
This is how a wife should be.

* * *

So they say: "The husband is a unit."
And “Zero is a wife,” they say.
All
From how they become in a row
Two digits -
Can change.
When the wife comes to the house
Bride with tact and conjecture, -
She, after her husband, becoming zero,
The wife makes ten.
A stupid wife before her husband
Zero becomes forward.
And the count goes backwards
And the result is, of course, worse.
I drink to
So that with a good sense
Wife, sharing life with her husband,
Led him to high numbers
It didn't go to zero.

Parable fourteen

Once in the mother's house,
Leaving her husband's hut with weeping, -
Through the village - not feeling the cold,
The daughter came running. And with difficulty
Taking a breath,
Make noise and complain again
What is where, they say, she is love,
When there are only scandals in the family,
Reproaches, quarrels and slanders,
Distrust and fear...
Here's the story about this
There is such a parable in the mountains:

The mother listened to her daughter calmly
And he says: "O my daughter,
You think about it, because a husband and wife,
Like two swift rivers
Flowing from high mountains.
When they run towards
To each other, then, merging, suddenly
Generate splashes of spray and foam.
There is no reason to be surprised.
Let only spray or foam
No one will be killed in vain.
The foam will settle, the spray will subside,
And the rivers will forget about everything
But for those who are soaked in these sprays,
Still destined to dry.
And in a young family it happens -
Then the foam will boil, then the splashes
Jump between two people.
But is it necessary to beat about it
To the whole district in drums?
The family is like a whole testicle.
On an unbroken egg
The fly will not sit. She has nothing there
Satisfy your empty belly.
And where the crack appears,
There is no sweeter life for a fly, -
And dirt, and damage, and infection
She will make that crack.
Yes, that is the concern of women, -
And you need to know this -
To save love from cracks,
Like an eggshell.

Go home. And this secret
Lead like a root thread...
An egg broken by accident
It can no longer be restored.

* * *

The man in the house, you are the head of the family
her singer,
her soloist,
Remember,
What is your song spirit,
your words
Undeniable in the house and legal.

Words for a song are extremely important,
However, here's what you shouldn't forget:
Your words will then reach harmony,
When they have a wife's melody in them.

* * *

What does a woman's heart mean?
It
Reminds me of the earth on a spring day
When the plowman comes to sow
In the laid furrow grain.
So the woman of her lover is waiting,
And small shoulders crave affection ...
And most importantly in their inevitable meeting,
So that that arrival happens in time.
A good plowman knows why
To come to the arable land late is scary.
After all, for a day of delay to him
The arable land will answer with annual silence.
The answer is not so harsh and strict,
What is in it a whim, or anger, or revenge,
And just life gave its time to everything -
Bloom term
And fruitful period.
Yes, life is infinite and boundless,
But still, men, I ask you:
Henceforth
Late arrival
Ile leaving early
Don't force a woman
Get old.

Parable fifteen

The culprits of the feast - celebrations!


And his parting words.
I want to raise a glass to you, -
And a young husband, and a young wife, -
In every case, take care of each other
From various troubles and from bad rumors.
I am a bricklayer. And I'll tell you
What among us - among the masons - is
This is the old legend:
A long time ago - oh, a long time ago! -
The bricklayer laid the foundation. Digging the earth.
And suddenly, quite unexpectedly, unexpectedly
I noticed a chest under the ground.
It was small, but heavy, that chest,
As if greedily filled with gold.
Here the bricklayer brought him to the house,
Secretly, closing all the windows and all the doors,
Hastily opened the lid of the chest
And… swore. Hell! - At the bottom
There was just a simple piece of paper,
Folded leaf in four parts.
And the bricklayer opened it and saw
It has two painted flowers.
From one - a sting protruded
snakes. And over another easily flew
Like a living bee.
Here the mason thought. But, long
Reflecting on the meaning of the two drawings,
So I could not figure out their meaning.
Then he went to his friends for advice.
But his friends did not give him
Any guesses. So he walked
From one village to another
Both small and old - how to meet -
The same question asks:
Like, why is it here - a flower and a sting,
And here is a flower, but why a bee?
And finally, one of the wise mountaineers
He gave him such sensible advice:
- Enter that high-mountain village,
There lives a very old man,
He knows everything. He can explain.
And the bricklayer went along the mountain paths,
Entered the village and knocked on the door
The nearest sakli. Came out of it
The old woman and the old man are such dilapidation,
What is the wind blowing! and both will fall.
- Oh, assalam alaikum! - bowed
Im a bricklayer. - Waalaikum salam! -
The decrepit old man answered and continued:
What brings you here, son?
- I brought you a magical piece of paper.
Can you explain to me
What do these two drawings mean?
A flower with a snake sting and a bee?
The old man looked narrowly at the paper.
I thought. He shook his head:
No, I can't solve this riddle.
But you go out to that high sakla,
My older brother lives there. Maybe he is
Will be able to unravel this mystery.
And the bricklayer went to the high sakla...
And now he comes down from the porch to meet him
Blooming beauty. Though he
I noticed a slight roundness
On the stomach. "Probably pregnant"
The bricklayer thought. But at this moment
She smiled warmly at him.
Hello, alien. And thanks,
That our house did not bypass.
- I would like to talk to the elder -
With the owner of a hospitable sakli, -
The guest answered. - I have a business.
"Oh, you'll have to wait then, my dear.
The owner is sleeping. And I won't be him
Wake him up until he wakes up on his own.
Although the bricklayer had to wait a long time,
Beauty, however, did not dare
Disrupt the owner's sleep. And so
He woke up and asked his wife
Introduce an unexpected guest to him.
And the bricklayer saw before him
Such a young man
What surprised himself asked:
“Is this really the big brother?
That, recently met old man?!”
Then, unfolding a piece of paper,
He addressed his question
To the owner. And that one, barely throwing
Your view of two mysterious drawings,
He said, "Oh, I'll explain it all."
But we must first taste the food.
The wife set the table. And having dined
The owner says to his wife:
- You go up to the second floor,
Yes, bring me a watermelon. But the most ripe.
Silently, up the steep stairs
The wife went and brought a watermelon.
No, I don't like this one! - Master
He pushed the watermelon with his palm, - Get up
Up again. Bring another.
And again the wife obeyed silently.
But the owner also rejected the second watermelon:
- I told you that we need the most ripe!
Can't you choose what to ask?! -
And for the third time silently obeyed
Pregnant woman. And soon
I went down the steps with a watermelon.
Now the owner, having quenched his thirst,
I finally took the paper from the stranger
And looked at the drawings three times.
“Well, well, there isn’t much of a mystery here.
Here are two flowers that once rose
On the same field. But in them
Characters are not equal.
One is nectar. In the other - snake venom.
And I drew them, I'm sure of it
The man who, unfortunately,
Bad luck in choosing a wife.
What did he want to say with his drawing?
And here's what: if you have a spouse -
A flower with nectar, then you yourself will be
Work hard like a bee.
And if your wife is like
The flower that exudes this poison
Then he will turn you into a snake.
“Ah,” the bricklayer was surprised at the solution.
“Don’t be surprised,” the owner continued, “
You saw an old man in that shrine,
So know it was my little brother.
His wife aged so fast.
Grumpy. And rude too.
And a gossip, too. And herself
Lives all his life filled with poison
And poison my brother with poison.
Do you see my wife? Maybe,
Notice how young she is.
Noticed that she owes me soon
Or bring a son or daughter?
Three times she got up calmly
Up, up this steep staircase,
And she brought me watermelons three times.
Do you think that there is a mountain of watermelons?
Yes, I have only one watermelon!
But his wife wore it three times,
To show me respect.
So that the guest thinks - we live in abundance.
Kindness never ages.
And I cry to her with tenderness and affection,
And a little joy in our house
From kindness
Becomes big.
And if grief falls out big,
Then we will reduce it with kindness.
Here, my young friend, this is how we live.

The mason listened to all this. And maybe
For the first time I felt with full force,
What does it mean in the life of every man
Truly a lucky wife.

I bored you with a long legend.
But what to do - life is even longer.
Where can we get time, if not from life,
As long as we're talking about her.

I offer my toast to good luck.
For the fact that in every wedding house
Lucky in love for both newlyweds,
What a lucky owner!

* * *

Man, remember
On your shoulders
The peace of the family, its fate and happiness.
You are the flame
Without which it will go out
In a short moment
Your family hearth.

But what is fire, if it burns in vain? ..
So let me compare
The mistress of the house - with a full pan,
Giving more meaning to that fire.

Rage, fire! But still with his power
Do not get carried away in vain and do not play.
And then, you see, the water will extinguish you,
Boiling and overflowing.

* * *

The culprits of the feast-triumph!
I look at you - happy, young, glorious ...
I want to say - to other healthy words -
And his parting words.
I want you to breathe deeply
The world of joys, remembered more than once
About the good deed that other people
At least in a small part they did it for you.
Let the experience of great-grandfathers teach you:
Without good deeds - all life - worthless.
From grains of goodness, for the first time,
Grow even a handful of grain.
And multiply this handful many times,
And only then - not in a pink number -
Bring it back carefully
Plowed, well-groomed land.
May your field be fruitful
For friendly good deeds
And let him never threaten
Weed of hostility, meanness and evil.

Parable Sixteen

In the mountains, the mistress of the house from a long time ago
Considered a good dove over the house.
And the dove, led by peacefulness,
Brings its peaceful light to the whole family.
For the whole family, but - and on top of that -
Brings the same peaceful weather
And in the life of neighbors, and in the affairs of everything
Family born kind.

There is a mountain parable:
Lived in one village
Two brothers, or rather two families.
But they lived like one family -
With one porch for two spacious houses,
So that at any moment they can see each other
Come in, talk and hang out.
Neither joys nor sorrows were concealed.
Everything was common in these two houses.

And then one of the brothers suddenly said
To his wife, boasting clearly,
Like, we - two brothers - both got married,
Formed two new families,
And everything, as with our father, remains with us,
Like, the friendship of brothers is eternally indivisible.
“Yes, my friend, is that your merit? -
The wife replied with a smile. -
Understand that we are, we are your wives
Managed to keep your closeness,
Not a drop of tar without ruining the honey.
- Oh no! - the husband objected. - We are all...
We, brothers, love each other so much,
That we reject any little things,
that could darken
The light of our relationship...
- Well, well, - the wife answered and smiled.

Two weeks later, one day
The eldest daughter-in-law ran to her husband
And, not hiding her tears, she chirped:
Look, look what they are doing! -
Your younger brother and younger sister-in-law.
You know how we always approach their son
Treated with care and tenderness.
If I had one candy,
So I'm not her son -
I was always in a hurry to give to my nephew.
If bread is in my hands, so I always
I give a larger piece not to my son,
And I give it to my nephew again.
And how are they with our beloved son
Did it today, don't you know?!
They slaughtered a ram and two kidneys
Divided between ours and theirs.
The one that is bigger - they rolled off the son,
And ours - they brought less ...

The husband did not answer his wife.
However, she noticed
Like the sharp tip of an upturned mustache
For a moment, the short one trembled nervously,
And how the husband's face turned pale,
And how unfriendly he threw
His stern look at the little brother's house.

And at this time in that second family
The youngest daughter-in-law spoke
And she told her husband:
You know how tenderly I treated,
With care for your brother's son,
With soul and heart, and a piece is the best
Only for him always and cherished.
What did your brother do today, do you know?
He to his son with two yolks
He gave an egg, but to our son
Gave the egg without any yolk ...

And the younger brother was silent before his wife.
However, she noticed
How his face trembled, and nervously
He bit his lip for a moment...

The next morning both brothers are very dry
At the meeting, they greeted each other,
And the cold blew from any word,
Which brothers, tightly clenching their teeth,
Exchanged occasionally now.
And finally, the younger brother decided
And dragged large stones to the porch,
To build a wall in the middle -
Shut off your brother forever...

And so, while he laid the stones in a row,
And the wall began to appear, -
The daughters-in-law both went out onto the porch,
They laughed loudly, but without malice:
- Oh, you fools, brothers, fools!
Well, where, when did you see, tell me
That a ram has grown two kidneys
Not equal in size?
And where, tell me, did you see a laying hen,
For her to lay an egg
In which there would be no yolk at all? ..

Here both brothers only guessed,
What trick have you prepared
Their inventors are wives. And then
They also laughed wickedly
And they admitted aloud that both peace and friendship -
Everything in their families depended on their wives.

I lift this cup standing
And my word is addressed
Keeper of peace and tranquility -
The mistress of the house. Let's drink to her!

On January 1, 2016, Fazu Aliyeva passed away. She was 83 years old. In Dagestan, she was called Fazu. Just Fazu, no last name. There was only one phase. Perhaps it was this rare and atypical name for the Avars (there is no “F” sound in the Avar language) that predetermined her unusual fate. The daughter of a simple nurse became a symbol of the liberated woman of the East and the first national poetess of Dagestan.

She was born on December 5, 1932 in the village of Genichutl, Khunzakh region. His father died tragically when Phaz was not even five years old. Four children in the family were raised by one mother. A simple woman from the village managed to give everyone higher education. And, obviously, it was this everyday maternal feat that subsequently formed the main theme of Fazu Aliyeva’s work: the theme of courage Everyday life.

“I don’t think that courage can be shown only in war,” she said, “there is courage to live, courage to fulfill one’s duty to parents, courage to adequately bear the burden of everyday life. And this courage inspires me to write poetry.”

"You, my daughter, go to a strange house. And every house is a power in itself. Everything is there. There is your own routine. And your own law, And rules, And right. Throw your whims at the threshold And respect their habits: Kohl there lame - lean on a cane. And put on glasses, if there are blind people ", - taught Phase in her poems.

She wrote in Avar, but her first book was published in Russian. The best poets of that time translated the Phase: Yunna Moritz, Vladimir Turkin, Inna Lisnyanskaya...

Fazu called the famous poetess and translator Inna Lisnyanskaya her godmother. Her first book, Rain of Joy, was published precisely thanks to Lisnyanskaya. A well-known poetess became interested in the manuscript of a young Dagestan woman (although, as Lisnyanskaya herself wrote, at that time she really needed money for a down payment for a cooperative apartment).

“Phazu was a close person in our family,” recalls Elena Makarova, daughter of Inna Lisnyanskaya. - Mom translated it, although in general she did not like to translate. But she favored Phase. And Fazu herself, in turn, was so kind to her mother: she showered her with rings and bracelets ... I remember Fazu's radiant eyes, a kind smile, and also, she understood, of course, that mother does not translate, but writes poetry from interlinear ...

Thanks to the Literary Institute and friendship with Inna Lisnyanskaya, Fazu Aliyeva discovered world poetry. And it was Lisnyanskaya who taught Faza Aliyeva to read the Torah, the Bible, and introduced the Latin American poetess Gabriela Mistral to poetry, who became a source of inspiration for Fazu.

And if Inna Lisnyanskaya became the first poetess who opened the theme of happy love in old age, Fazu Aliyeva became the first Caucasian poetess who declared love to the whole world:

Give me your hand, my love. I will put fire on it. That is, I will bare my soul and put it in your palm ...

She said she couldn't write unless she was in love.

Majestic, with heavy black braids, in bright and expensive outfits, it was hard not to notice her. They say that the young Fazu took as an example the image of the legendary Avar poetess Ankhil Marin, whose mouth was sewn up for freedom-loving songs.

- I am very great attention I give my outfits. I have style. If they see me among thousands, people will distinguish that it is me. Only I have such a hairstyle. It's the only way I wear a headscarf. Even if it will be bad, but it's me, - said Aliyeva.

She was only thirty-three when she received the high title of national poet of Dagestan. The first woman is a national poet. Why is she?

– Not because she was, in principle, the only female poet. There were also other poetesses in Dagestan. The fact is that there was only one such Phase: charismatic, ambitious, with colossal willpower, - recalls the poet and translator Marina Akhmedova-Kolyubakina.

When asked what she values ​​most in herself, Phase answered: her will. "We have a lot of young interesting poets, but they do not have enough strength to complete their plans. And if I suddenly decide to do something, I go to this goal by all means. I love myself because my rivals are great people ".

She loved to remember the surprise of her grandmother, who all her life believed that the world begins with a mountain in front of the village of Genichtul and ends with a hillock behind the village, but suddenly discovered the scope and volume of the country. Thanks to Phase Aliyeva, the poetry of Dagestan acquired scope and volume, ceasing to exist in space from mountain to mound, introducing national culture into the context of world literature.

Her fate was not easy. For fifteen years she worked as the chairman of the Supreme Council of Dagestan. And this could not but leave an imprint on the relationship between people. Misunderstandings, disagreements, ill-wishers...

"Fazu, eternal snowfall is over us," poet Magomet Akhmedov began his dedication poem with these words.

The poet was right. Phase was buried on the day of his death, January 1, at the ancient Khunzakh cemetery in the center of Makhachkala. She died after a long and courageous battle with a severe oncological disease. In the city of chalk, the first snowstorm in the new year ...

On the first day of the new year 2016, the great Avar and Soviet poetess and writer with an exotic and unusual name for the Slavs, Fazu Aliyeva, passed away. The biography of this outstanding woman serves as an example for many people of art. Since the poetess lived according to the principles she wrote about, and every line of her poems or prose is permeated with sincere feelings, her works captivate any reader.

Biography of Fazu Aliyeva: early years

The future world-famous poetess was born in early December 1932 in the small Dagestan village of Ginichutl. The girl's father died very early, Phaz was not even five years old then. The care of the future poetess and three more children fell on the shoulders of the mother, who worked as a simple nurse in the hospital. Despite financial difficulties, the mother was able to put all her children on their feet and help everyone get a higher education.

It was the example of her mother's daily and hard work that quite strongly influenced Fazu Aliyeva's work and helped shape her image of the heroine of her poems - a brave and courageous woman who, despite all the prohibitions, achieves her goal.

Phase Aliyev, biography: the beginning of a creative path

Phase began writing poetry at a fairly early age. Her poetic skill grew, as they say, by leaps and bounds. Already while studying at school, the girl was considered a serious poet. The first significant verse was written during the Second World War. Fazu Aliyeva (the biography of the poetess is not entirely accurate here, some say that she was 10 then, others - that she was 11 years old) was then very imbued with the teacher's story about the difficulties of the soldiers and wrote a verse that everyone liked very much. It was published in the school wall newspaper.
When the girl turned seventeen, her poem was published by the Bolshevik of the Mountains. Later, the work of a young, but incredibly bright and talented, poetess from the village became interested in more serious periodicals.

After leaving school, Aliyeva worked as a teacher for four years, until she finally decided to get a full-fledged higher education. Therefore, in 1954, Fazu Aliyeva began her studies at the Dagestan Women's Pedagogical Institute in Makhachkala. However, she studied there for only a year, and then, on the advice of friends, she decided to try to pass the exams at the literary institute. Having sent her poems to the competition, she received an invitation to come to Moscow. Here she successfully passed most of the entrance exams, except for the Russian language, and she was not accepted. However, the desire of the poetess to study was so great that she went to admission committee and, having talked with her, eminent literary critics and writers of that time were extremely surprised at what a talented and educated person Fazu Aliyeva was.
The biography of the poetess would be incomplete if not to mention the period of study in those days in this educational institution taught the classics of Soviet literature, and Fazu Aliyeva learned a lot from them and expanded her horizons. Also here, the poetess learned the Russian language better and began to write more Russian-language poems.
After graduation (in 1961), Fazu returned to Dagestan.

Literary and social activities

Even during her studies in Moscow, the first collection of poems by the poetess in the Avar language was published. “My native village” - this is how Fazu Aliyeva called it (the full biography of the poetess sometimes contains a different name for this book - “Native Village”).
After returning to her homeland, the poetess began to write a lot. So in 1961 her poem "On the Seashore" was published. And in the next two years - poetry collections "Spring Wind" and "I distribute the rainbow."

In 1962, the poetess became the editor of a publishing house of educational and pedagogical books in Dagestan. During this period, she not only writes a lot, but also edits the works of other authors. In addition, she tries her hand at prose - she writes the novel "Fate". The writer's work is gaining popularity not only in Dagestan and other republics of the USSR, but also far beyond their borders. It is being translated into Russian, Swedish, French, German, English, Polish and other languages.
In addition, Fazu Aliyeva receives membership in the Writers' Union of the USSR.
1971 becomes a turning point in the social activities of Fazu Aliyeva. It was at this time that the writer became the editor-in-chief of the progressive publication Women of Dagestan, as well as the chairman of the Dagestan Committee for the Protection of Peace. Also during this period, she "takes under her wing" the branch of the Soviet Peace Fund of Dagestan and participates in the work of the World Peace Council.
Actively participating in the political and cultural life of her homeland, Fazu Aliyeva served as deputy chairman of the Supreme Council of Dagestan for a decade and a half.

The heyday of the work of this poetess fell on the sixties and seventies. It was at this time that other nations became interested in her works and therefore they began to be translated into other languages ​​(Fazu Aliyeva, despite her fluency in Russian, most often wrote her works in her native Avar language). It was during this period that she wrote the legendary “The wind won’t blow a lump of earth”, “150 bride’s braids”, “A letter to immortality”, “Eternal fire”, “When there is joy in the house” and other works no less known to admirers of her work.
In the period of the eighties and nineties, Fazu Aliyeva focused more on prose, although at that time two volumes of selected works of the poetess were published in Russian and Avar. In the nineties, Fazu Aliyeva published three novels at once: "Two Peaches", "Falling Leaves" and "Sign of Fire". In addition, collections of her prose are published - “Breaking”, “Why Women Turn Gray” and “Dagestan Toasts”.
For the seventieth anniversary of the poetess, a gift twelve-volume collection of her works "Talisman" was issued.

Awards and achievements

An interesting fact: in Dagestan, the poetess is simply called Phase, without mentioning her last name, implying that she is unique, existing in the singular. However, in addition to the honor and love of compatriots, Fazu Aliyeva received many other awards outside her country.
So, for example, for the collection “A lump of earth the wind will not blow away,” the poetess was awarded the prize. N. Ostrovsky. Also, Aliyeva at various times received awards from such well-known Soviet publications as "Peasant", "Spark", "Worker", "Soviet Woman" and others.

In the sixty-ninth year, the poetess was awarded the title of "People's Poet of Dagestan".
Among other things, she is the owner of many awards for promoting and protecting peace, not only in Dagestan, Russia, but throughout the world. Among them are the gold medal of the Soviet Peace Fund and the medal "Fighter for Peace" of the Soviet Peace Committee.

The creative heritage of this poetess is more than a hundred books and collections, which have been translated into more than sixty languages ​​of the world. It is a pity that such a talented writer, a bright personality and an extraordinary woman is gone. Despite this, her works will continue to live and delight for many more generations, because it is unlikely that in the near future the same star as Fazu Aliyeva will appear in literature. A biography in Avar is what it would be interesting to read to her compatriots today. And I really want to hope that there will be people who can describe the fate of this incredible woman, because she really deserves it. In the meantime, her sincere and bright poems remain, defiantly the brightest feelings and impulses in each of their readers.