Biography of Makhtumkuli. Magtymguly – spiritual healer of the human soul

Audio: Mamed Huseynov - “Monologues of Magtymguly (Fragi)”, mono-opera for soprano, cello

On May 18-19, Turkmenistan annually celebrates the Day of Revival, Unity and Poetry of Magtymguly.

Several centuries separate us from the time when the great poet, transformer of the Turkmen literary language, Magtymguly, lived and worked. He was born and raised on the banks of the Atrek River in the town of Hadji-Govshan. Magtymguly’s father, Davlet-mamed Azadi, was a very educated man and paid great attention to the formation of the spiritual image of his son. Magtymguly graduated first from the mektebe in his native village, and then from the Shirgazi Khan madrasah in Khiva. He will write about his years of study at the madrasah in one of his poems: “Educated by you, enlightened by you... / The wisdom of books was life-giving rain for me...”

Much about the poet’s life can be learned from his poems; there is no exact biography of Magtymguly. After graduating from the madrasah, Magtymguly returned to his native village and began teaching in the mekteb. The inextricable connection with the people, with their life, was the fertile soil on which Magtymguly’s poetry grew. He composes poems about his native nature, about the hardworking Turkmen people. Magtymguly spent a lot of time on self-education, studying history and art of the countries of the East. Having become a famous poet, he traveled extensively in Iran, Afghanistan and other countries of the East. Magtymguly's poetic heritage consists mainly of songs written in ancient folk form. His songs reflect heroic themes, legends and traditions of the Turkmen people. Love lyrics (“Beloved,” “Two Moons,” “Come on a Date”) play an important role in his work. In his youth, Magtymguly fell in love with a girl, Mengli, but her relatives married her off to someone else. The poet married a certain Ak-kyz, but family life did not bring him happiness.

The poet's sons Sarah and Ibrahim died in early childhood. Sad lines began to appear in his poems. Magtymguly’s philosophical songs sound the theme of the frailty of the world, the brevity and impermanence of human life. The poet died in 1782 and was buried next to his father. The poetry of the national poet even today amazes with its depth, lyricism, patriotism, it is close and understandable to us living in the 21st century: “The mountain ranges of the earth will part. / Descendants will remember Magtymguly: / Truly, he became the mouth of Turkmenistan.”

Not appropriate

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. He crawls - he doesn't run.
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.

It’s not difficult to recognize a worthy husband -
He will come to the rescue at the first call.
To understand the tricks of a lying friend,
Check how he keeps his word.
When the people see off the horsemen
For feats of arms on a long march,
Saddle horse, look at the ridge,
And his mane, and his withers, and his horseshoes.
The poor man does not look at the minting of a penny.
Any coinage of a penny is good.
To know what the bride's soul is like,
Look, taking from under the roof.
The horseman's wealth is only a horse and Kamcha.
He will give up his life for his friend and his life.
Look: the rich man's cauldrons are huge,
How many guests tasted pilaf?
He who goes with his retinue is rich, like Khatam.
The one asking for help follows closely behind.
But both, blind like moles,
Look, they are becoming a catch of death.
The custom of the fathers has been forgotten and trampled.
Look: sad is the fate of the brave.
In the treason and cowardice of the best fighters
The traitor and coward reproaches him harshly.
The coward is haunted by fear everywhere.
Look: fighting in the steppe and in the mountains,
Dzhigit plunges the enemy into dust,
And a coward leaves a brave man in battle.
Traders forgot Allah long ago.
Having bought grain from farmers for next to nothing,
After waiting for it to rise in price,
It will be mixed with sex in the markets.
Shaitan deprives us of abstinence,
It prevents the faithful from performing prayer.
Look, those who didn’t want to open their eyes:
The sprout of his evil seed branches.
And a real horseman is cheerful and kind.
He does not harbor grudges in an open heart.
Look: the neighbor is shivering with anger,
He, empty-headed, cannot live without strife.
The ill-fated brothers went into the desert.
Magtymguly became related to the enemy.
Khojas and seids are wallowing in the dust.
Look how the foundations of life are crumbling.

I respect advice as law.
Don't be a dishonest friend
Captivated by a chance meeting,
Don't be ready for service.
Death will enter on every threshold;
To those who are alone in trouble,
Be responsive, kind and not strict,
Don't be cruel to illnesses.
When, finding yourself in battle,
The coward loses his will,
With friends in one ranks,
Don't be afraid of your enemies.
We'll leave. The years will fly by.
Everyone will become equal then.
Don't be afraid of fools. Never
Don't be involved in them, Fragi.

Indestructible

Know: what I created in the main is eternal, like the moon,
My Turkmen country is forever free.
We will forget peace if the enemy knocks on our gates,
The Turkmen fortress is, you know, a fortress made of steel.
Suleiman himself, Rustam, Jamshid threatened her with a sword,
The Shah sent a hundred thousand fighters every day - nothing mattered.
She is an example to the mountains when a warrior raises his shield,
And every swing of her sword will give birth to daredevils.
Teke, yomud, yazyr, goklen and ahal will stand in a row,
When they go on a hike, the flowers in the gardens are glowing with delight.
The Iranians were thrown from the ridges to the bottom of rocky pits,
And day and night their pitiful groan is heard from there.
We are not afraid of the enemy, let him stand at our very walls,
We cannot be taken prisoner - the Turkmen’s son does not know the word “captivity”.
Whenever guests come, he is always ready for them,
A Turkman's speech is always direct, there is no lie in it.
This is what Magtymguly says - there is no stain on the soul,
God looked at him - his country is blooming!

Mountains in the fog

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 land.
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 down 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!

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 mountains 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 in 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.

Exile

I was a khan in my homeland,
For sultans he was a sultan,
For the unfortunate he was Lukman.
I was dressed in red,
Was life, was the ocean -
Now he has become a miserable wanderer.
To the blind I was sight,
For the dumb it was a speech,
The people's thoughts were in full swing.
The lovers' soul was burning,
There was singing, there was treats -
I became a beggar in a foreign land.
I, Fragi, was a scimitar,
I was a red coin,
The groves of heaven were Reikhan,
There was fog over the mountains,
I was happy, I was desired,
It was a palace and became a desert.
I'm looking for salvation
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.

Wanderers, look at me.
Who else is yearning 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, kicked up 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 stained, -
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?
Years will fly by over the years,
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?

Turkmen lyric poetry reached its highest rise in the work of the great Magtymguly Fragi (Prague) (1733-1783). The Turkmen people pass on their love for Magtymguly from generation to generation.

In the 19th century The famous Hungarian traveler and scientist A. Vambery, having visited Turkmenistan, wrote: “The moments when I happened to hear a bakhshi singing one of Magtymguly’s songs during a celebration or a simple party made an extremely interesting and indelible impression on me.. As the battle being sung became fiercer, the singer and young listeners became more and more inspired.

It was a truly romantic sight: young nomads, breathing heavily, hitting their hats to the ground and madly clutching their curls, as if entering into battle with themselves.”

Turkmens have long loved and knew how to appreciate the songs of bakhshi, but their passionate attention and love for Magtymguly is special. For the first time, his poems reflected with such vividness, completeness and involvement the tragedy of the life of the Turkmen people, their aspirations and thoughts, sorrows and dreams.

The nightingale is the favorite flower,

To me, Fragi, are my dear people.

My humble verse, persecuted verse,

My great-grandson will say.

(“The Singer”. Translation by A. Tarkovsky)

The poet's literary heritage consists mainly of songs and ghazals. The songs are created in an ancient folk form - each represents an arbitrary number of quatrains, united by a rhyme according to the scheme: abab - vvvb - gggb, etc.

The last quatrain usually contains the name of the poet or - sometimes - his literary pseudonym - Fragi, which means Separated. The total volume of his poetry has not been established; approximately 16-18 thousand lines have been preserved; part of the heritage has perished forever.

Magtymguly wrote not only about the people and for the people, but also in the language of the people. His poetry completed the process of mastering Arab-Persian poetics by Turkmen literature. The poet proved, contrary to the prevailing opinion in the East at that time, that not only Persian and Arabic, but also the Turkmen language is suitable for high poetry.

Magtymguly’s attitude towards Iran was ambivalent: he hated the Iranian conquerors, in whose captivity he experienced many difficult days, but he honored the rulers of thoughts - the great Iranian poets, from whom he learned his craft. The poet introduced elements of Chagataisms into his poems so skillfully and tactfully that they did not obscure the peculiarities of the Turkmen language; this was one of the reasons why the almost unliterate people brought Magtymguly’s work to the present day.

Magtymguly recognized himself as a poet, marked by God and sent into the world to serve people. This idea is expressed figuratively in the poem “Revelation”:

They appeared to me when I lay down at midnight,

Four Horsemen: “Get up,” they said. —

We will give a sign when the time comes.

Listen, look, remember,” they said.

From the hands of Muhammad himself, the poet accepts the cup that bestows enlightenment:

And they doomed my flesh to torment,

I drank everything that was brought in the cup;

My mind burned out, I lay in the dust...

“The world is before you. Come and look!” - they said...

Distant lands have opened up to me

And the secret movements of existence.

So I lay there, holding my breath.

And, spitting in my face: “Get up!” - they said.

Magtymguly opened his eyes and stood up.

What thoughts came in succession!

Streams of foam flowed from my lips.

“Now wander from one end to another!” - they said.

(Translation by A. Tarkovsky)

The motif of revelation, the recognition of creativity as something close to a ritual act, maintained by Magtymguly in the laws of the Muslim tradition, was extremely widespread in Eastern poetry of those years and in the eyes of the people gave the poet special spiritual strength.

Almost all the great epic storytellers were, as it were, ordained poets by divine providence, regardless of their desire and will. The poet’s dream in life was to see his people united, forgetting enmity, free from foreign yoke:

Like the flesh of the return of being,

Having experienced the dream of death, he wishes

My bloody one

The soul desires other times.

Fragi is exhausted by illness:

Uniter of Tribes

The arrival of the blessed one,

He is in love with Turkmenistan and desires it.

(“Desire”. Translation by A. Tarkovsky)

Magtymguly's work is imbued with a certain tragedy. Some criticism is inclined to see in this echoes of the basic doctrine of Sufism (and Magtymguly, like many poets of his time, was a Sufi) - the eternal opposition of the real world, as the kingdom of evil, illusoryness and imperfection, and the other world - the embodiment of true reality, justice and happiness.

Magtymguly actually has the following lines: “Death sews shrouds for us, without missing a beat, we are all slaves, its yoke cannot be overthrown,” “A worm-eaten nut - this is our insignificant world!”, “Earthly paradise is a barren tree,” etc. But to see in them only a reflection of Sufi philosophy means to largely simplify Magtymguly’s poetry.

The tragedy of his poems lies not only in the doctrine of Sufism, it is greatly complicated by the dramatic events of his personal life (the loss of his beloved, the death of his son) and aggravated by the fate of the Turkmen people in the 18th century. (tribal feuds, destructive and brutal raids from Iran and Afghanistan).

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.

(“Not appropriate.” Translation by Yu. Valich)

The decline of morality, the mental confusion that gripped people who had forgotten their heroic past, caused Fragi almost more pain than the Sufi inevitable lack of happiness on earth:

The husband turned into a coward, the slaves turned into husbands,

The lion turned into a fly, and the flies turned into lions,

The dungeon became a home, the clock became centuries...

Before the hordes of doom, what should I do?

(“Invasion”. Translation by A. Tarkovsky)

Unlike the Sufi, the poet accepts life with all its tragedy and transience. Phrase: “O healer, gentle Lukman, give me healing!” - just a rhetorical figure, and not a mystic’s prayer for salvation. The transience of life and its imperfection push the poet not to a cup of wine - the eternal oblivion of a dervish, but to tireless work on an imperfect earth:

Good is not a frequent guest in this world:

Love him and do not give in to evil.

Magtymguly, you haven’t found a cure

From the malice of the world and its deceit.

The time will come - you will descend into the silent kingdom -

Don't waste a day or an hour!

(“Instruction”. Translation by A. Tarkovsky)

And although a person on earth is “not eternal,” he must be “just and merciful,” the poet asserts:

The world is a fortress on earth, time erases writing.

In the eternal human chaos, everything has lost its value.

Where, triumphantly, life bloomed - the dead desert is visible,

You will not find traces of nomads - you are not eternal, you are not eternal!

Separation is an evil disease, trouble for the one who is separated.

Be fair and merciful while you are young and strong.

And your life will light up, as if you were lit by fire.

Like a torch, you will come out with light - you are not eternal, you are not eternal!

(“You are not eternal.” Translation by A. Tarkovsky)

Magtymguly's creativity is rich and multifaceted. It covers various aspects of the life of Turkmen society. His songs are like an encyclopedia of the life of the people. They reflect historical events, life, customs, laws, and cultural traditions of the Turkmens.

The role of Magtymguly in Turkmen literature is important. Writers of subsequent generations mastered, continued and developed its traditions. The poetry of the great Turkmen had a certain impact on the work of the best Karakalpak poets of the 19th century. and Uzbek folk shairs.

History of world literature: in 9 volumes / Edited by I.S. Braginsky and others - M., 1983-1984.

MAKHTUMKULI - Turkmen poet of the 18th century, who wrote under the pseudonym “Fragi”.

The years of birth and death are unknown, but there is a lot of information about him in handwritten sources and folk legends. Based on them, it can be assumed that Magtymguly was born in the late 1720s or early 1730s. in Turkmenistan in the Kara-Kala region. His father was the famous poet and religious thinker Dovlet-Mamed Azadi (1700-1760), who had a serious influence on his son.

He grew up on the banks of the Gurgen and Atrek rivers, in places where Turkmen lived for a long time (Makhtumkuli himself came from the Goklen tribe). Initially he attended a rural school, where his father was a teacher, but, endowed with considerable abilities and perseverance, Magtymguly completed primary school early, began helping his father with housework, herding cattle, and cultivating the land. Later he became an excellent jeweler and silversmith. He received further education in the cities of Kerki and Bukhara, completing it in the city of Khiva at the Shirgazi madrasah. He dedicated poems to him, in which he gratefully recalled the three years spent within the walls of this educational institution.

The dramatic turns of his fate left an imprint on his worldview and creativity. Mengli, the girl whom Magtymguly loved, was given to a rich groom, who paid a large bride price. The poet, as legend has it, married the widow Ak-Kyz some time later; their two sons died in childhood. Judging by the poems, Magtymguly was in Iranian captivity; in addition, in some poems he remembers his missing brother and his separation from him, which lasted nine years, which, apparently, is also connected with the captivity of the poet himself and his loved ones.

The cruelty of the conquerors and the tragedy of many peoples - the Iranian Shah Nadir repeatedly devastated Central Asia, Afghanistan, India and the Caucasus - also became the reason for his pessimistic moods, which were reflected in his poems. Having traveled a lot, knowing oriental languages ​​and customs, he saw with his own eyes the consequences of devastating campaigns. And the attack of other enemies, the Kizilbash robbers, who captured Magtymguly and his relatives, became the reason that a considerable part of the poet’s works was lost - his manuscripts were thrown into the river.

It is unknown how much Magtymguly wrote (autographs have not survived; even the names of the poems published in the collections were given not by the author, but by the compilers). Now the corpus of his works numbers more than four hundred units (poems, small lyrical and lyric-epic poems), the total volume of which exceeds ten thousand poetic lines.

Many ideas and conclusions in Magtymguly’s works are drawn from the writings of his father, who was not only the author of lyric poems and the didactic poem Behisht-nama, but also a treatise in verse, unique for Turkmen literature, Vagzi-Azad (1753-1754). Thoughts about the structure of a happy and fair state, expressed in this treatise, were then developed by Magtymguly. He devoted considerable attention to issues of patriotism and love for his native people; he also has pronounced satirical motifs, reflected, for example, in the poem Please, which has become an integral part of folklore.

Magtymguly’s works are loved by the people, transmitted by musicians and storytellers, bakhshis (largely thanks to them, the master’s poems themselves have been preserved) largely thanks to the new poetic language developed by him. He abandoned the difficult-to-understand book language, which was replete with barbarisms and archaisms (Arabisms, Farsisms, Chagataisms). His verse is close to folk speech, built not on the Arab-Persian metric, but on the folk syllabic system. That is why Magtymguly’s works were adopted by the people, a significant part of his lines became proverbs and sayings. (At the same time, in his poems a huge place is occupied by conditionally abstract images characteristic of Eastern poetry).

Legends about Magtymguly are an integral part of Turkmen culture. So, according to one of them, when the poet and his relatives were captured, it was thanks to the poems that they were saved from inevitable death and gained freedom - the Shah was amazed by the lines of Magtymguly. Perhaps, a message from a lover of Turkmen literature, I. Belyakov, dating back to 1904, is based on a legend accepted as truth. He claimed that “not far from the area of ​​​​Kara-Kala, among the Turkmens, a large handwritten volume is preserved ... written by the hand of the poet himself,” and this volume “Every year during the congress of people’s judges it is brought to the city of Askhabad for decommissioning.” The manuscript in question has not been found.

According to legends and statements of travelers, Magtymguly, who could not bear the sight of the disasters reigning in his native land, died in the late 1780s or early 1790s. He was buried in the Dovlet-Mamed Azadi cemetery next to his father. The graves, which are located in North Khorasan in the town of Ak-Tokay, serve as a place of worship and pilgrimage.

According to the Hungarian scientist A. Vambery (1832-1913), the Turkmens “see Magtymguly as a miracle worker who comprehended all the books, all the sciences of the world... His book will rank first among the Turkmen for a long time after the Koran.”

Publications of Magtymguly’s poems began to appear in the first half of the 19th century. The Polish scientist and writer A. Chodzko-Boreyko published three poems in London in 1842, providing the publication with a biographical note.

Professor of Kazan and St. Petersburg universities I.N. Berezin, along with the works of other Turkmen poets, placed Magtymguly’s poems in the Turkish anthology he compiled (the poems were published in the original).

A. Vambery published in Leipzig in 1879 the works of Magtymguly (in Arabic transliteration and accompanied by a translation into German) according to a list he made in 1863 during a trip to the East. A total of 31 poems and 9 excerpts were published (there were inaccuracies and direct distortions of the text in the publication).

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 that 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.

Magtymguly

Magtymguly (مخدومقلی فراغی, Makhdumqoli Faraghi; Magtymguly Pyragy real name Fragi- pseudonym; 1727 or 1733 - around 1783) - Turkmen poet, classic of Turkmen literature. Son of the poet Azadi Dovletmamed.

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.

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 years old.

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.

Memory

• In Turkmenistan, the Day of Revival, Unity and Poetry of Magtymguly Fragi is celebrated annually on May 18, which is a day off.
• In 1959, a USSR postage stamp dedicated to Magtymguly was issued.
• In 1991, a commemorative USSR coin dedicated to Magtymguly was issued.

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 and Astrakhan).

File:Magtymguly heykeli std.jpg| Monument to Magtymguly in Ashgabat

File:MagtymgulyPyragy.jpg| Monument to Magtymguly in Ashgabat.

File:Magtymguly monument in Kiev, Ukraine..jpg| Frags in Kyiv, Ukraine.

File:Magtymguly monument in Astrakhan.jpg| Monument to Magtymguly in Astrakhan, Russia.

File:Magtymguly tomb1.jpg| Mausoleum of Magtymguly in Iran.

File:Monument to Magtymguly in Khiva.jpg| Monument to Magtymguly in Khiva, Uzbekistan.

File:MagtymgulyKrasnovodsk.JPG| Monument to Magtymguly in Turkmenbashi.

Toponymy

• Makhtumkuli etrap is an etrap in the Balkan velayat of Turkmenistan.
• Magtymguly is a gas and oil field zone in 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

• There is a street in honor of Magtymguly in Astana (Kazakhstan)
• The Turkmen State University is named after Magtymguly.
• Institute of Language and Literature named after Magtymguly.
• National Music and Drama Theater named after. Magtymguly in Ashgabat.
• Turkmen Opera and Ballet Theater named after. Magtymguly in Ashgabat.
• Youth organization named after Magtymguly.
• Library named after Magtymguly in Kyiv.

Other

• Since 1992, the International Magtymguly Prize in the field of Turkmen language and literature.
• Orchestral composition by Veli Mukhadov - Symphony “In Memory of Magtymguly” (1974)
• The month of May of the Turkmen calendar was named in honor of the great Turkmen poet - “Makhtymguly” (Magtymguly aý)

In numismatics

File:Soviet Union-1991-Coin-1-Magtymguly.jpg| Commemorative coin 1 ruble USSR with the profile of Magtymguly (1991)

File:10 manat. Türkmenistan, 2009 a.jpg| 10 manat banknote of Turkmenistan with the image of Magtymguly (2009)

Translations into Russian

• Magtymguly. Favorites. M. Hood. literature 1983. 414 p. Translations by G. Shengeli, Arseny Tarkovsky, Naum Grebnev, Y. Neiman, A. Revich, A. Starostin, Y. Valich, T. Streshneva.
• Magtymguly. Soviet writer, B.P., Leningrad department. 1984. 384 p. Translations by G. Shengeli, Arseny Tarkovsky, Naum Grebnev, Y. Neiman, A. Revich, A. Starostin, Y. Valich.
• I hear my friend's voice. Pages of Turkmen poetry. Translation by Naum Grebnev, Ashgabat, “Turkmenistan” 1985