Magtymguly is a spiritual healer of the human soul. Lyric poetry of Magtymguly frags Institutions and organizations

The great poet and thinker of the Turkmen people, Magtymguly Fragi, has been glorifying the Turkmens with his immortal creativity and his very name for about three hundred years. The poet's authority and his place in the historical, socio-political and cultural life of the nation are enduring. Magtymguly established himself in the soul of the people with the highest confession of eternal spiritual and moral values, firmly entered their consciousness as a guideline that unmistakably determines what is good and evil in life, and became an unquenchable light in the eyes of the Turkmens.

Magtymguly’s poetic and philosophical heritage has forever entered the depths of the people’s hearts as a song about high love for the Almighty, the Motherland, man, nature and life itself. And therefore, it is not enough to study and consider Fraga’s work only from the point of view of literature and artistic expression. He is a poet-thinker who, in his literary works, developed philosophical thought, illuminated artistic consciousness, and eloquently described the worldly life of not only the Turkmen people, but also the peoples of the world. Subtly combining human philosophical views about the world, humanity, Motherland and love, relying on the most advanced ways of thinking, Magtymguly penetrated deeply into the human soul and remained forever in the people's memory.

Being a master of words on a global scale, Magtymguly is, first of all, the national poet of the Turkmen people. The love and warmth that he felt for his native people is incomparable. But it was precisely selfless love for the Motherland and his people, deep reflections associated with his fate that took Magtymguly beyond the national framework, turning him into a poet of all humanity. For a person who loves his people is capable of loving other peoples, a person who does not lose his dignity is able to highly raise the authority of another person. The poet's philosophical views about the world, man, life, revealed in his time to his compatriots, his instructions on the spiritual improvement of society and people are the result of this immense love for his people. Magtymguly called on his contemporaries and people to comprehend what is the key to a fair society and a happy life, to look at the root of everything that happens. He directed people to spiritual perfection, self-knowledge and awareness of themselves as a nation.

The great poet, who dreamed of his people living a peaceful and calm life, being educated, developing their culture, leaving his compatriots a wonderful poetic heritage filled with wisdom and the warmest feelings. The polished, deep thoughts in these wonderful poems, aimed at the future, meet the spiritual needs of not only the Turkmen people, but also all of humanity. That is why the significance of Magtymguly’s poetic heritage, going beyond national boundaries, has become an integral part of world literature, a worthy contribution to the intellectual treasury of humanity.

Today, Fraga’s creativity brings spiritual pleasure not only to the Turkmen people, but also to other peoples of the world. At the same time, the poet’s work reflects universal human life problems. It is for this reason that his beautiful poems, sounding on the lips like a song and absorbed in the memory as wisdom, have been translated and are being translated into dozens of languages ​​of the world.

Magtymguly is a spiritual healer of the human soul. The poet’s poems, without losing their significance through many centuries and generations, are popular due to the instructions they contain, which act like a balm on the heart, inspire souls and have the most beneficial effect on people. His poems are medicine for despairing hearts, strength for tired bodies, spiritual wing for the discouraged. That is why our people have always treated Magtymguly as a healer, capable of curing ailments that appear in days of grievances, worries and sadness. Like a balm, poetry, like a drug, the words of a poet in any era cleanse the soul of everyone - from young to old, awaken love for this beautiful world, humanity and life, raising the spirit of the people high, ensuring the spiritual health of the entire Turkmen society. Indeed, Magtymguly’s poems heal a person like the life-giving water of a mountain spring. These poems are as pure as the morning air. They, like the fragrance of a blooming garden, delight the human soul. They excite, affecting every cell of the body, like gentle, melodic, heart-soothing dutar music. In a word, Magtymguly’s poems are a spiritual medicine that contains everything good that is necessary for human health.

The era in which Magtymguly lived was very difficult and tense. Fragi is a great personality, formed in the abyss of strong shocks and various kinds of circumstances. He is an outstanding person, an expert on the universe, who understands the positive and negative aspects of society, life and people, who has fully mastered the secular and religious scientific achievements of mankind, and has passed through the stages of spiritual perfection. The thinker Magtymguly called on the Turkmens scattered at that time in different parts of the globe, who did not have a single state, to prosperity, harmony and national unity. The greatness of Magtymguly lies in the fact that he was one of the first to consider all Turkmen living separately as a single nation and promoted this.

The poet's youth coincided with the era of the rule of the Afshar Turkmen, and the time when he showed himself as an outstanding poet-thinker - with the rule of the Qajar Turkmen. Of course, the Afshar and Qajar rulers were Turkmen. But both the Turkmen people and Magtymguly were dissatisfied with them, since they did not care enough about the national interests of the Turkmens. Therefore, it was difficult to call these states the national Turkmen powers that Magtymguly and the people dreamed of. Therefore, Fragi, saying: “I have many ailments because of the country and the times,” openly expressed his attitude towards the era. It was in such a difficult and difficult time that Magtymguly was looking for a way for the “happy destiny” of the people and “the achievement of endless spring.” Even when he traveled in Bukhara or Khiva, in Afghanistan or in India, in Rumystan or in some other country, “walked from edge to edge,” all his thoughts and concerns were about the Turkmen land, his people and his fate.

In the 18th century, there was a great contradiction in implementing the main social thought of Magtymguly - “the unification of the Turkmen tribes.” In this century, each Turkmen tribe sought its own path independently, and there was strong discord between the tribes. The absence of a national Turkmen state and the search for protection by these tribes in different places aggravated the disagreement and further separated them from each other. There were many intentional forces that wanted to sow confusion among the Turkmens. And at this time, the thinker Magtymguly repeatedly repeated that the greatest enemy of the people is disunity; there is a need for common mutual understanding, the unification of all tribes, serving one goal and a single state. He tried to bring to the minds of his “wonderful people” that they must fight for the formation of a single Turkmen nation, a strong and indestructible Turkmen state, only then “will there be a happy fate for the Turkmen”, only then will no force resist the people and the state:

Tribes live as one family,

There is only one tablecloth laid out for him,

A high share is given to the Fatherland,

And the granite melts before the troops of Turkmenistan.

This idea of ​​Magtymguly is clear and close to everyone. In the 18th–19th centuries, this poem served as the national anthem for the Turkmen people. But how can this bright dream be brought to life to unite a divided people behind one dastarkhan? To achieve this, the poet-thinker put forward the idea that everyone should “look into their mouths” and unite around one leader. No matter how difficult and hopeless situations the poet found himself in, he never lost faith in the happy future of his people.

Magtymguly Fragi’s greatest service to the Turkmen people is his struggle for unity and condemnation of discord. For a long time, many generations of the Turkmen people have been and are being brought up on his lesson of unity. Life has proven the veracity of the bright ideas of Magtymguly, who dreamed of a powerful state.
Today the happy future that the poet-thinker wished for his people has become a reality. Nowadays, independent neutral Turkmenistan is known on the map of the globe as a country of peace and harmony.

The Turkmen people, who believe that unity is a great miracle, will always be grateful to Magtymguly. The bright ideas of the great poet, his wise instructions and lessons will always be important for the further strengthening of the power and prosperity of our Fatherland. In the new historical era - the era of power and happiness of the Turkmen state - the authority of Magtymguly, the demand for his far-sighted thoughts and philosophical views, which, having turned into a universal value, are the spiritual foundation of our modern society, are increasingly increasing.

President of Turkmenistan

Gurbanguly BERDIMUHAMEDOV

Not appropriate

(translated by Yu. Valich)

Khan's son from lush tents
It’s not appropriate to invite someone to the barn for dinner.
A shepherd drives cows out into the field,
It was not proper for him to equip an army.

Wise advice helps everywhere.
A worthy friend will help in trouble.
What will you answer at the Last Judgment?
It is not appropriate to ask the wise about this.

The valiant does not tremble before a thunderstorm.
Not every horseman will become a hero.
The cancer is backing away. From crawling - not running.
It is not proper to forget your own home.

Know that wine of knowledge is beneficial,
Promising healing to the dead is ridiculous.
The raven is given seven centuries to live.
It’s not time to disrupt the course.

Don't be afraid of thorny roads -
The doors will open to the heavenly palace.
The rivers that merged into a single stream,
It is not appropriate to irrigate dead deserts.

Heart of Fraga, you are on fire today:
I saw the fallen in battle.
A bitter funeral feast in a sad country
It is not appropriate to announce hopes with a song.
* * *

Mountains in the fog

(translated by A Tarkovsky)

The peaks of the mountains in the milky fog,
They are not visible to us in winter.
Don't talk about your husband
Judge by appearance alone.

The one walked away, the other sat down.
People mock the unworthy.
The love fire will burn -
One is hiding, another is screaming.

And in front of me in the open space
The sea played with my hopes!..
Dzhigit both in poverty and in grief
He walks the straight road.

But if rock wears on your heart,
Lukman is fussing over you in vain.
The moon wants to return in vain
Goods purchased by the Earth.

The clothes of the exuberant are constricting.
The ignoramus is captivated by vices.
Hope lives on the coward
Hide behind a strong wall.

I stand with my head bowed:
What has my tongue done to me?
But only a coward is not eager to fight,
To lie with your bones for your native land.

And who will condemn Magtymguly?
Because he won't forget,
That I gave my word to the truth and will be
Faithful to that oath to the grave.

(translated by A. Tarkovsky)

Like the flesh of the return of being,
Having experienced the dream of death, he wishes
My bloody one
The soul desires other times.

Majnun, far from home,
In the remote regions of a foreign land,
Your laughing Leili,
Intoxicated with tears, desires.

Looking for Shirin, from city to city
Exhausted Farhad wanders;
Her life-giving rewards,
Already incinerated, desires.

Vamik, who finally got there,
To her Azra, to her palace,
Seeking freedom like a fugitive
The evil one is full of desires to dissolve.

Prigozh Yusup, like a deity,
Not believing in my triumph,
Zuleikha looks at him,
He wants to hold back his love moan.

Fragi is exhausted by illness:
Uniter of Tribes
The arrival of the blessed one,
He is in love with Turkmenistan and desires it.

I'm looking for salvation

(translated by A. Tarkovsky)

I am a slave of love, goklen from Atrek,
I'm looking for the mistress of the spell.
A mentor in the desert of the century,
I am looking for the gift of peace.

Severely banished by fate
From under the parental roof,
Deprived of the edge of the dear,
I'm looking for a holiday market.

Brother Abdullah - the apple of his eye -
Disappeared. Mamed-Sapa is far away.
I am the patronage of the prophet,
Swallowing the heat of tears, I search.

And my heart flutters like a bird,
And I feel bitter, and my blood is clouded:
I don't know where to hide
Where to run? I'm looking for Mazar.

I walked through innocent meadows,
Sang to the skies, mountains, valleys,
And now in the den of serpents
I'm looking for my sonorous dutar.

Magtymguly in the time of vengeance,
Like a chain, it endures its torment.
Where are you, Turkmenistan? Rescue,
Having accepted the blow of fate, I search.

(translated by A. Tarkovsky)

Wanderers, look at me.
Who else is languishing like me?
Moths, lovers of fire,
Who among you does not strive for bliss?

Wind, wind, you are in foreign lands
Sang in my ears, raised the dust of the road...
Is there a just Shah in the world?
Where is his happy capital?

Holy man, have you seen the heavenly paradise,
You bless the earthly land,
And a bai walks around the world.
Tell me where poverty can hide?

I made a pipe from reeds -
The moneylender heard the debtor.
You are my birds! From the hawk
Can a titmouse hide?

Fish, you are the boat and the rower,
The blue abyss is your palace.
Is there an island in the world where the fugitive
Could you not be afraid of eternal disasters?

The envious world, you are as old as time,
You are taking away your blessed gift...
Is there such a market on earth?
Where are diamonds for pennies?

There is only one beauty in the world,
Like a fortnightly moon;
Her mole is marred, -
Who can compare with my chosen one?

My Mengli lived on earth,
She burned my heart and left.
I have her arrow in my chest.
Where is she? Which star is the queen?

I miss my native land.
Did you walk with her in the mountains?
Let me know if it's still there
Is it raining, is the gray fog swirling?

The years will pass by.
New cities will arise.
Who can tell me if it will happen then?
Does a person pray according to the Koran?

A new moon will be born -
She did not disappear forever.
Built for the moneylender,
Will there be a secure dungeon?

Magtymguly spoke little, -
You could read the sadness in his eyes.
Swans of the fatherland,
Isn’t it bitter to be separated from you?

(translated by G. Shengeli)

Mountain peaks: fogs here and there;
The sea wind howls among the heights of Gurgen;
When the rain rushes by, they roar madly
Streams of muddy foamy waters of Gurgen.

The forests are dense - there are reeds along the banks;
The living flower garden is replete with beauties in silver;
There is a gray sheep, a white horse, a black bull,
There are buffalo and aurochs: the cattle of Gurgen are plentiful!

There are rough rows with Mayas;
Merchants and drivers crowd around the water;
And layered ridges rise everywhere
Unshakable rocks - like a stronghold of Gurgen!

Horsemen rush around the camp to tighten their shawls
And with a hunting falcon they jump on a dangerous path.
And the doe exposes her chest to the wet wind;
The entire sky of Gurgen is filled with the call of a deer!

Magtymguly passed through many different countries,
But I have never felt so many wounds in my heart:
Here is the tender peri, swaying like a gazelle,
Finding a ford among the wild waters of Gurgen!

I had to

(translated by T. Streshneva)

Love and the sea have no bottom,
I had to burn in immense passion.
Plays with the heart like a chipped wave,
I had to overcome the madness of the waves.

I was asleep. The moment of awakening was threatening.
Love is difficult, I knew that from books.
But I did not comprehend the depths of suffering,
For this I had to endure torment.

Love is like a sigh, like a breeze,
As soon as you touch you, you're far away again.
And the melancholy becomes ever sharper and brighter,
I had to mourn my past happiness.

Your pupil is like a small sun,
The bonfire of love burned me with fire,
I'm happy that I saved love
That I had to capture it.

You have been given an invaluable gift.
Be careful with the fragile vase, potter,
The rough bazaar reaches out to her.
You had to own the crown of love.

I drank poisoned wine.
And only you are free to appreciate me,
I was building a fortress - the wall collapsed.
I had to get caught in my own network.

Magtymguly, by the will of the waves, swim,
Love has no shores, sufferer,
Don't call your friends for help anymore,
I had to die as a slave of love.

(translated by M. Tarlovsky)

My heart is longing for the distance - determination in abundance,
But I have no wings, and I don’t know how I’ll fly,
I can read all the books, all the scrolls,
But I don’t know how much knowledge I will gain.

The sage will not say: everything in the world is clear to me,
There is a lot we do not yet have the power to know.
The drink of knowledge is tart and wonderful...
I reach out with my hand... How I’ll wet my mouth, I don’t know.

I'm locked up, who can say what's outside.
I don’t know myself what is better and what is worse.
And every day my horizons become narrower.
I don’t know where I’ll get the right to leave.

I can’t tell - cold or fire?
The meaning is hidden in the heart, but behind seven locks.
Who will I guide on the path with my words?
Why am I dragging out my lot, I don’t know.

Magtymguly, the wind is susceptible to nonsense.
Leave all this mess to him!
In the abyss of secrets the boat of guesses cracks,
And why am I turning the steering wheel, I don’t know!

The Wanderer in Love

(translated by A. Tarkovsky)

The salt of the people's desires,
I fell in love with the pain of dreams.
Moonlit rose in the sky
I fell in love with the ocean.
Nightingale - both noise and quarrels
I fell in love with Gulistan;
The whirlwind of a heavy braid,
As if in a dope, I fell in love;
The steppe has bewitched me;
I fell in love with the path of wandering.

A cruel lot drove me
Through rivers and valleys,
flashed before me
Mountains of Mecca and Medina,
I wandered in the gardens of Eden
I saw ghostly krins,
And I was overwhelmed
They brought sadness to the country.
What should I do? A hundred sorrows
I fell in love with a hundred sufferings.

I am alone. In the desert sands
My gaze drowned. Oh, woe!
Why are you throwing arrows?
Your Farhad is wounded. Oh, woe!
You tormented my heart.
In the veins there is bile and poison. Oh, woe!
Hopes Blinded
They fly with the wind. Oh, woe!
So - sobbing - hot coal
I fell in love with spells.

What kind of sea is in front of me?
What are these wild cliffs?
Burning body
Fire wasps sting.
Who are you: Golitz? eagle?
Silver-voiced nightingale?
Seventy thousand each
Scythes destroy the pitiful prisoners.
Cinnabar silk on thin
I fell in love with the slender figure.

Come! Don't you see
Like a slave in love languishes,
How captivity beckons me
Are your black braids a prison?
Is it really a bad time?
Shouldn't I be dreaming about happiness?
Poverty has pierced my soul
the body is sharpened by the fireweed:
From your unkind hand
I fell in love with death in the lasso.

My darling rejected me:
Doesn't want to bail
Take a half-dead heart
The jailer has separation.
It's hard for me to wait
Wince at every sound
And wring hands during meetings...
Evil eyebrows cool bows
And evil eyelashes - hundreds
I fell in love with the arrows in the quiver.

So Magtymguly is in love
Became a prey to deception.
My country was torn apart
Horses of enemy sultans.
There were a hundred capitals in the state,
There were thousands of duhans...
I disappeared, killed by my dear,
Having become ash, sank into the ground,
Because it's too strong
I fell in love with the purpose of wandering.

(A. Tarkovsky)

Enough, heart! Open your circle:
I suffer in it, like a miserable prisoner in a pit.
Cruel, spare me from torment,
Don't let me, my heart, burst into tears.

My life flew by like a single moment.
I saw the goal, but did not achieve the goal;
I was lonely - embarrassed and drooping,
Deceived by you and dreams.

And like a blind man, bowing his head,
I supported my neighbor, I sing,
And I send moans to the zenith and shed tears,
A little white light will dawn over the steppes.

You are on the road waiting for me. After
You and I are having an eternal argument,
And it’s hard for me: I’m drunk with your wine,
I am lonely, you are more stubborn every day.

But maybe someone else is ready to understand
My misfortune and the power of these words;
My voice will ring among the hills.
The Lord is stern, and his sword is above us.

I didn’t take care of my mind or my eyes,
I couldn’t stop my desires,
And I cry in the networks of earthly roads,
And life flies like a bird beats its wings.

I'm running from oppression and burning in fire,
I rejoiced, serving your spring;
This world was a bad support for me,
I was left in the desert with the dead.

Closing my eyes, I made my way to Iran;
Drawn by fate, I ended up in Turan.
An eternal hurricane trumpets over the world,
Owner of crazy hearts.

I was surrounded and driven by great fear,
I considered insignificant dust to be gold,
I saw oppression, I saw sorrow in houses,
Empty things were my friends.

And I thirst and wait in vain for the rain,
And the moon burns as it rises:
The years fly by, leading days after days,
And I wander, haunted by dreams.

They give me blood and bile in exchange for drinking
and the burden of existence is heavy for me.
I fell in love - and I became Majnun,
Leili is entangled in beauty as if in chains.

You call, my heart, to Chin-Machin, to Herat,
To the underground hell where Sirat rises...
And the mole turns black and burns,
The eyes glow under round eyebrows.

It was in vain that I was sincere;
Youthful ardor extinguished by fate.
Still, I didn’t love evil -
The day of truth shines for me even at night.

But in the sea of ​​justice is my raft
Doesn't move. Year after year flies;
Like a dervish, slave Magtymguly wanders
Toward a distant secret along narrow paths.

Magtymguly is a Turkmen poet, a classic of Turkmen literature. Son of the poet Azadi Dovletmamed.

Magtymguly was born in the village of Hadji-Govshan in the valley of the Atrek River with its tributaries Sumbar and Chendyr in Turkmenistan, in the foothills of the Kopet Dag, where the Turkmens of the Goklen tribe lived. The Magtymguly family belonged to the Kyshyk tribe of the Gerkez clan, a branch of the Goklen tribe - a settled agricultural tribe that was vassal to the Persian rulers. In adulthood, the poet chose the pseudonym Fragi (separated). At the end of each poem he placed this pseudonym, sometimes his real name, as if addressing himself. This was in the tradition of poetry of his time.

He studied at a mekteb (rural school), where his father taught. Magtymguly began to read Persian and Arabic as a child, which was greatly facilitated by the home library collected by his father. Also in childhood, Magtymguly became involved in crafts - saddlery, blacksmithing and jewelry. In 1753, Magtymguly studied for one year at the madrasah at the tomb of St. Idris Baba in Kizil-Ayak on the Amu Darya in the Bukhara Khanate. In 1754, Magtymguly went to Bukhara, where he entered the famous Kokeltash madrasah, where he also studied for one year. There he became friends with a Turkmen from Syria named Nuri-Kazim ibn Bahar, a highly educated man who bore the spiritual title of Mawlana. Together with Nuri-Kazym, Magtymguly went to travel through the territories of present-day Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, crossed Afghanistan and reached northern India.

In 1757, both arrived in Khiva, a major center of education with many madrassas. Here Magtymguly entered the madrasah built by the Khan of Shirgazi in 1713. People from families especially marked by the khan's favor studied here. Here he completed the course of study begun in two previous madrassas. In 1760, Magtymguly’s father died, and the poet returned to his homeland. The girl he loved named Mengli was married off to another man whose family was able to pay the required bride price. He carried his love for Mengli throughout his life - many poems are dedicated to it.

Another blow was the death of two older brothers who were part of the embassy to the powerful ruler Ahmed Shah - they were captured. Longing for brothers is reflected in many poems.

Returning home, Magtymguly got married. He loved his two sons, Sarah and Ibrahim, very much; but the boys died when one was twelve and the other seven.

After 1760 and before his death, Magtymguly traveled to the Mangyshlak Peninsula, to Astrakhan, through the territory of present-day Azerbaijan and the countries of the Middle East.

Magtymguly significantly changed the Turkmen poetic language, bringing it closer to folk speech. He also abandoned the Arab-Persian metric, traditional for Turkmen literature, and replaced it with a syllabic system.

Literary name of Fragi (circa 1730-1780s), Turkmen Sufi poet (see Sufism). Son of the poet Azadi. He brought the language of poetry closer to the folk language. Poems about the suffering of a people devastated by a foreign invasion, with a call for the unification of the warring... ... encyclopedic Dictionary

MAKHTUMKULI- (pseud. Fragi) (c. 1730–80s), Turkmen poet and thinker. Son of D. Azadi. Over 10 thousand lines of his poems have survived.■ Selected. poetry, vol. 12, Ashkh., 1983 (in Turkmen language); Izbr., M., 1983; Poems, L., 1984.● Magtymguly.… … Literary encyclopedic dictionary

MAKHTUMKULI- (nickname – Fragi) (b. about 1730 – died in the 80s of the 18th century) – Turkm. poet and thinker. Philosophy M.'s views were formed under the influence of Nizami, Saadi, Navoi, Rudaki and Nesimi. M.’s commitment to Islam was combined with sharp criticism of obscurantism and... ... Philosophical Encyclopedia

MAKHTUMKULI Modern encyclopedia

MAKHTUMKULI- (literary name of Fragi) (c. 1730 80s) Turkmen Sufi poet (see Sufism). Son of the poet Azadi. He brought the language of poetry closer to the folk language. Lyrical poems about the suffering of a people devastated by a foreign invasion; opposed the reactionary... Big Encyclopedic Dictionary

Magtymguly- (literary name of Fragi) (circa 1730-1780s), Turkmen poet and thinker. Lyrical poems of various genres, among which the tragic cycle about being in Iranian captivity and the suffering of a people devastated by a foreign invasion stands out.... ... Illustrated Encyclopedic Dictionary

Magtymguly- MAKHTUMKULI (lit. name of Fragi) (c. 1730-80s), Turkmenistan. poet and thinker. Son of the poet Azadi. Lyric. poems of different genres; stands out as tragic. cycle about stay in Iran. captivity and the suffering of a people devastated by a foreign invasion; pl. poetry… … Biographical Dictionary

Magtymguly- (real name; pseudonym Fragi) (years of birth and death unknown), Turkmen poet of the 18th century. Son of the poet Azadi. He studied at the Shirgazi madrasah in the city of Khiva. He knew well the literature and folklore of Central Asia, Azerbaijan, Iran; a lot of… … Great Soviet Encyclopedia

MAKHTUMKULI- (Fragi) (b. ca. 1730, died in the 80s of the 18th century) Turkm. poet and thinker. M.’s worldview was formed under the influence of Rudaki, Nizami, Ferdowsi, Saadi, Navoi and others. M.’s commitment to Islam was combined with sharp criticism of obscurantism and greed... ... Soviet historical encyclopedia

MAKHTUMKULI- (c. 1733, village of Haji Govshan, now the village of Mazandaran, Iran, c. 1783, village of Ak Tokay, ibid.), Turkm. poet and thinker, founder of Turkmenistan. lit. language and written literature. Information about life is sparse. He studied at the madrassas of Khala Cha, Bukhara, and Khiva. Lived... ... Russian Pedagogical Encyclopedia

Books

• Magtymguly. Poems, Magtymguly, This edition of the works of the classic of Turkmen poetry of the 18th century. Magtymguly aims to give as complete an idea as possible about the best examples of his creativity in different... Category: Poetry Series: Poet's Library. Big series Publisher: Soviet writer. Leningrad branch, Buy for 560 rub.
• Magtymguly. Poems, Magtymguly, The book of the classic of Turkmen poetry of the 18th century, Magtymguly, includes the best examples of Magtymguly’s creativity, including civil and philosophical poems, satire, love... Category: Poetry Publisher:

Biography

Magtymguly was born in the village of Hadji-Govshan in the valley of the Atrek River with its tributaries Sumbar and Chendyr in Turkmenistan, in the foothills of the Kopet Dag, where the Turkmens of the Goklen tribe lived. The Magtymguly family belonged to the Kyshyk tribe of the Gerkez clan, a branch of the Goklen tribe - a sedentary agricultural tribe that was vassal to the Persian rulers.

In adulthood, the poet chose the pseudonym Fragi (separated). At the end of each poem he placed this pseudonym, sometimes his real name, as if addressing himself. This was in the tradition of poetry of his time.

In 1754, Magtymguly went to Bukhara, where he entered the famous Kokeltash madrasah, where he also studied for one year. There he became friends with a Turkoman from Syria named Nuri-Kazim ibn Bahar, a highly educated man who bore the spiritual title of Mawlana.

Together with Nuri-Kazym, Magtymguly went to travel through the territories of present-day Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, they crossed Afghanistan and reached northern India.

Magtymguly significantly changed the Turkmen poetic language, bringing it closer to folk speech. He also abandoned the Arab-Persian metric, traditional for Turkmen literature, and replaced it with a syllabic system.

Memory

Monuments

Monuments to Magtymguly have been erected in different cities of the world. The largest number of sculptures are located in the cities of Turkmenistan and the countries of the former USSR (Kyiv, Astrakhan, Khiva), as well as in Iran and Turkey.

Toponymy

• Makhtumkuli etrap is an etrap in the Balkan velayat of Turkmenistan.
• Magtymguly - gas and oil field zones of Turkmenistan.
• The streets of Ashgabat, Astana, Karshi, Tashkent, Turkmenbashi, Urgench and a number of smaller cities in Turkmenistan and other countries of the former USSR are named after Magtymguly.

Institutions and organizations

The following are named after the Turkmen poet Magtymguly:

• Institute of Language and Literature named after Magtymguly (Turkmen: Magtymguly adyndaky Dil we Edebiýat Instituty).
• National Music and Drama Theater named after. Magtymguly in Ashgabat.
• Turkmen Opera and Ballet Theater named after Magtymguly in Ashgabat.
• Library named after Magtymguly in Kyiv.

Other

In numismatics

• Magtymguly in numismatics

• Turkmen manat

Translations into Russian

• “Makhtumkuli. Favorites." Moscow. Publishing house "Fiction". 1983 414 p. Translations by Georgy Shengeli, Arseny Tarkovsky, Naum Grebnev, Yulia Neiman, Alexander Revich, Anatoly Starostin, Yu. Valich, T. Streshneva.
• "Makhtumkuli". Publishing house "Soviet Writer", B.P., Leningrad department. 1984 384 pp. Translations by G. Shengeli, A. Tarkovsky, N. Grebnev, Y. Neumann, A. Revich, A. Starostin, Y. Valich.
• “I hear my friend’s voice. Pages of Turkmen poetry". Ashgabat. Publishing house "Turkmenistan". 1985 Translation by N. Grebnev.
• Translations into English by Professor Yusup Azmun (UK)

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Literature

• Brief literary encyclopedia, M., 1972.
• Preface by A. Zyrin and M. Ovezgeldyev to the publication of Magtymguly, Poems, Soviet writer, Leningrad branch, 1984
• Nury Bayramov “The Long Road”, Ashgabat, “Magaryf”, 1986. The collection includes the story “The Long Road” (translation by Mikhail Grebnev) about Magtymguly.
• [Simashko, Maurice Davydovich] “Tales of the Red Sands”, Alma-Ata, “Zhazushy”, 1966. The collection includes the story “The Temptation of Fraga” about Magtymguly.

Notes

Links

Excerpt characterizing Magtymguly

- Yes, we need to mate, it’s time to mate.
- We need to harness, it’s time to harness, your Excellency! Your Excellency,” a voice repeated, “we need to harness, it’s time to harness...
It was the voice of the bereitor waking Pierre. The sun hit Pierre's face directly. He looked at the dirty inn, in the middle of which, near a well, soldiers were watering thin horses, from which carts were driving through the gate. Pierre turned away in disgust and, closing his eyes, hastily fell back onto the seat of the carriage. “No, I don’t want this, I don’t want to see and understand this, I want to understand what was revealed to me during my sleep. One more second and I would have understood everything. So what should I do? Pair, but how to combine everything?” And Pierre felt with horror that the entire meaning of what he saw and thought in his dream was destroyed.
The driver, the coachman and the janitor told Pierre that an officer had arrived with the news that the French had moved towards Mozhaisk and that ours were leaving.
Pierre got up and, ordering them to lay down and catch up with him, went on foot through the city.
The troops left and left about ten thousand wounded. These wounded were visible in the courtyards and windows of houses and crowded in the streets. On the streets near the carts that were supposed to take away the wounded, screams, curses and blows were heard. Pierre gave the carriage that had overtaken him to a wounded general he knew and went with him to Moscow. Dear Pierre learned about the death of his brother-in-law and about the death of Prince Andrei.

X
On the 30th, Pierre returned to Moscow. Almost at the outpost he met Count Rastopchin's adjutant.
“And we are looking for you everywhere,” said the adjutant. “The Count definitely needs to see you.” He asks you to come to him now on a very important matter.
Pierre, without stopping home, took a cab and went to the commander-in-chief.
Count Rastopchin had just arrived in the city this morning from his country dacha in Sokolniki. The hallway and reception room in the count's house were full of officials who appeared at his request or for orders. Vasilchikov and Platov had already met with the count and explained to him that it was impossible to defend Moscow and that it would be surrendered. Although this news was hidden from the residents, officials and heads of various departments knew that Moscow would be in the hands of the enemy, just as Count Rostopchin knew it; and all of them, in order to relinquish responsibility, came to the commander-in-chief with questions about how to deal with the units entrusted to them.
While Pierre was entering the reception room, a courier coming from the army was leaving the count.
The courier hopelessly waved his hand at the questions addressed to him and walked through the hall.
While waiting in the reception area, Pierre looked with tired eyes at the various officials, old and young, military and civilian, important and unimportant, who were in the room. Everyone seemed unhappy and restless. Pierre approached one group of officials, in which one was his acquaintance. After greeting Pierre, they continued their conversation.
- How to deport and return again, there will be no trouble; and in such a situation one cannot be held accountable for anything.
“Why, here he is writing,” said another, pointing to the printed paper he was holding in his hand.
- That's another matter. This is necessary for the people,” said the first.
- What is this? asked Pierre.
- Here's a new poster.
Pierre took it in his hands and began to read:
“The Most Serene Prince, in order to quickly unite with the troops that were coming to him, crossed Mozhaisk and stood in a strong place where the enemy would not suddenly attack him. Forty-eight cannons with shells were sent to him from here, and His Serene Highness says that he will defend Moscow to the last drop of blood and is ready to fight even in the streets. You, brothers, don’t look at the fact that public offices have been closed: things need to be tidied up, and we will deal with the villain in our court! When it comes down to it, I need young people from both towns and villages. I’ll call the cry in two days, but now there’s no need, I’m silent. Good with an axe, not bad with a spear, but best of all is a three-piece pitchfork: a Frenchman is not heavier than a sheaf of rye. Tomorrow, after lunch, I’m taking Iverskaya to the Catherine Hospital, to see the wounded. We will consecrate the water there: they will recover sooner; and now I’m healthy: my eye hurt, but now I can see both.”
“And the military people told me,” said Pierre, “that there is no way to fight in the city and that the position...
“Well, yes, that’s what we’re talking about,” said the first official.
– What does this mean: my eye hurt, and now I’m looking at both? - said Pierre.
“The count had barley,” said the adjutant, smiling, “and he was very worried when I told him that people had come to ask what was wrong with him.” “And what, count,” the adjutant suddenly said, turning to Pierre with a smile, “we heard that you have family worries?” It’s as if the Countess, your wife...
“I didn’t hear anything,” Pierre said indifferently. -What did you hear?
- No, you know, they often make things up. I say I heard.
-What did you hear?
“Yes, they say,” the adjutant said again with the same smile, “that the countess, your wife, is going abroad.” Probably nonsense...
“Maybe,” said Pierre, looking around absentmindedly. - And who is this? - he asked, pointing to a short old man in a pure blue coat, with a large beard as white as snow, the same eyebrows and a ruddy face.
- This? This is one merchant, that is, he is an innkeeper, Vereshchagin. Have you heard perhaps this story about the proclamation?
- Oh, so this is Vereshchagin! - said Pierre, peering into the firm and calm face of the old merchant and looking for an expression of treason in it.
- This is not him. This is the father of the one who wrote the proclamation,” said the adjutant. “He’s young, he’s sitting in a hole, and he seems to be in trouble.”
One old man, wearing a star, and another, a German official, with a cross on his neck, approached the people talking.
“You see,” said the adjutant, “this is a complicated story. Then, two months ago, this proclamation appeared. They informed the Count. He ordered an investigation. So Gavrilo Ivanovich was looking for him, this proclamation was in exactly sixty-three hands. He will come to one thing: from whom do you get it? - That’s why. He goes to that one: who are you from? etc. we got to Vereshchagin... a half-trained merchant, you know, a little merchant, my dear,” the adjutant said, smiling. - They ask him: who do you get it from? And the main thing is that we know from whom it comes. He has no one else to rely on other than the postal director. But apparently there was a strike between them. He says: not from anyone, I composed it myself. And they threatened and begged, so he settled on it: he composed it himself. So they reported to the count. The count ordered to call him. “Who is your proclamation from?” - “I composed it myself.” Well, you know the Count! – the adjutant said with a proud and cheerful smile. “He flared up terribly, and just think: such impudence, lies and stubbornness!..
- A! The Count needed him to point to Klyucharyov, I understand! - said Pierre.
“It’s not necessary at all,” the adjutant said fearfully. – Klyucharyov had sins even without this, for which he was exiled. But the fact is that the count was very indignant. “How could you compose? - says the count. I took this “Hamburg newspaper” from the table. - Here she is. You didn’t compose it, but translated it, and you translated it badly, because you don’t even know French, you fool.” What do you think? “No,” he says, “I didn’t read any newspapers, I made them up.” - “And if so, then you are a traitor, and I will bring you to trial, and you will be hanged. Tell me, from whom did you receive it? - “I haven’t seen any newspapers, but I made them up.” It remains that way. The Count also called on his father: stand his ground. And they put him on trial and, it seems, sentenced him to hard labor. Now his father came to ask for him. But he's a crappy boy! You know, such a merchant's son, a dandy, a seducer, listened to lectures somewhere and already thinks that the devil is not his brother. After all, what a young man he is! His father has a tavern here near the Stone Bridge, so in the tavern, you know, there is a large image of the Almighty God and a scepter is presented in one hand, and an orb in the other; so he took this image home for several days and what did he do! I found a bastard painter...

In the middle of this new story, Pierre was called to the commander-in-chief.
Pierre entered Count Rastopchin's office. Rastopchin, wincing, rubbed his forehead and eyes with his hand, while Pierre entered. The short man was saying something and, as soon as Pierre entered, he fell silent and left.
- A! “Hello, great warrior,” said Rostopchin as soon as this man came out. – We’ve heard about your prouesses [glorious exploits]! But that's not the point. Mon cher, entre nous, [Between us, my dear,] are you a Freemason? - said Count Rastopchin in a stern tone, as if there was something bad in this, but that he intended to forgive. Pierre was silent. - Mon cher, je suis bien informe, [I, my dear, know everything well,] but I know that there are Freemasons and Freemasons, and I hope that you do not belong to those who, under the guise of saving the human race, want to destroy Russia.