Oskar va Pushti Honim

"Mushaklarning buyukligi emas balkim Ruh insonga kuch beradi".
Pushti Honim...

"Oskar va Pushti Honim"
Qancha ko'p o'qimayin har safar avtorning qobiliyatiga, falsafasiga tan bermay ilojim yuq. Zero har bir qismini, Oskarning har bir hatini deyarli yoddan bilsamda har o'qiganimda ta'sirlanaveraman...

Londonda ayni issiq qahva bilan deraza yonida kitob mutoala qiladigon ob-havo. Dam olish kunlaringiz maroqli o'tsin azizlar.

Mahzun

www.orzuarts.co.uk

ORZU ARTS

2007 yil Londonga ilk bor qadam qoyganimda bir kun kelib dunyoning Teatr markazlaridan biri bo'lmish shu ulkan shaharda men ham o'z teatr jamoamni yig'a olishga, qoyingki aqalli biron bir kichik asarni sahnaga olib chiqishga muyassar bo'laman deb oylamagan ham edim.
Ustozim, Toshkent Davlat San'at Oliygohining ko'zga ko'ringan Usta Murabbiylaridan biri Hamida Mahmudova "Teatr shunday sehirli dargohgki unga qadam qoydingmi, bas, fikru hayolingni bir umirga olib qoyadi" degan edilar. Darhaqiqat Teatr atalmish dargohning sehirli toriga ilinganimdan afsusda emasman. Shu "olamni" kezib sarson bo'lganimdan bahtlimanki zinhor dilivayron emasman.

O'tgan bir yarim yil ichida truppamiz bilan ikkita asarni o'z tashshabusimiz bilan Buyuk Britaniyaning poytahti bo'lmish Londonda tomoshabin e'tiboriga havola qildik. O'ylaymanki takrorlanmas O'rta Osiyo millatlarini san'atini elga tanitishda dengizdan tomchidek bo'lsada hissamizni qo'shishga muyassar bo'layapmiz.

Bu beminnat savob ishga sidqidildan bel bog'lagan vatandoshlarimiz bilan tanishing, ular: Abdurashid Shodiev , aktyor, tashkiliy ishlar  (Toshkent), Nazgul Jhuzumova aktyor (Bishkek), Sevara Yakubova  aktyor, raqs va sahna harakatlari (Toshkent),  Sardor Mirzahodjaev qoshiqchi va musiqachi, (Toshkent) va men Yuldosh Juraboev  rejhisyor, aktyor, (Osh, Fargona).

Oldinda hali yana rejalashtirilgan ulkan mashaqatli biroq lazzatli sarguzashtlar kutmoqda bizni.

Hozircha e'sa bizning web manzilga tashrif buyurib biz bilan yaqindan tanishib boring.
http://www.orzuarts.co.uk/

fikr va mulohazalringizni doim iliq qarshi olamiz .

BORBAT. The Legend.

The world of artists and musicians contains many fascinating & little known legends.


BORBAT


The hands of many generations have entrusted me with this ancient story. It is a true account of the sufferings of real people who lived hundreds of years ago. Who am I? I am a follower of God: I have no home, no money. Some people call me a homeless dervish, some say I am mad, but I do not care for it is my life’s holy mission to walk this earth and tell this extraordinary tale.
Today it is your turn to hear it, to rescue it from oblivion. Stay with me and listen. Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a great kingdom far, far to the West. The sun shone upon its green fields, its beautiful lakes and mountains. It was ruled over by a wise king with such kindness that all his subjects loved him dearly and lived together happily, singing and dancing. But our story is not about this beautiful country, nor about its people; it concerns the king’s favorite horse... Actually this story is not even about the king’s horse, but about a brave hearted musician.
Let us begin! In the castle of the king there were many musicians, but one was far greater than all the others; his name was Borbat. And what was so special about him? Well, he was young and brave, clever and strong and he played the tambour. When the king was sad, Borbat would play the tambour for him; when he met with his concubines and when he ate, Borbat would always play. In fact he would even accompany the king onto the battlefield, for he knew the music from his tambour brought him courage and strength. Even a thousand archers shooting their arrows could not silence Borbat, and for this unending loyalty the king loved him dearly. Now let me tell you something about the king’s horse and how the king came to love him so dearly too. In fact this was no ordinary horse, but a beautiful creature, with a long flowing mane. Strong and brave, the horse was also very clever and always brought the king home safely from the battlefield. Whenever he was galloping, the king felt he was flying through the sky.  The king always took great care of Borbat and of his horse, protecting them both as he would two precious diamonds, for he knew that if the moment ever came, they would give up even their hearts to him.
One day the king threw a great party in the castle, with wine and food, music and dancing. As he sat on his throne watching the throng of revellers, he began to consider how so many years had slipped through his fingers.
Suddenly he leapt from his seat like thunder on a sunny day and cried out:

-          Everyone stop! The guests were amazed and turned their attention to the king.

-          This is my royal decree, which I proclaim once only. Listen to me, and 
remember this for the rest of your lives. When the time finally comes for my horse to depart this life, whoever should bring me the news will lose his head.
Gravely he left the hall. He left alone. Knowing the king as well as he knew himself, Borbat quickly took measure of the situation and began to play his tambour. Very soon the guests were dancing and enjoying the party once again. After this the months passed, maybe years too for nobody cared to count them. One stormy night, when it was raining heavily outside, the moment had finally come for the king’s horse to pass away. As it happened, the king was away from the castle taking a rest at his summer palace in the country. Ministers were thrown into confusion and recalling the king’s terrible decree, dared not send a messenger to inform him.
However time was passing rapidly and the secret could not be kept for long. The king could return at any moment.

-    Allow me to bring this sad news to my king! – said, brave hearted Borbat to the frightened ministers.

-          Let me find a way to save your lives! Of course everyone was delighted at Borbat’s suggestion, even if secretly they thought he must be mad. Taking his tambour onto his shoulder, Borbat set off to meet with the king. He sang the whole journey long, beseeching the gods, the stars, the sun, moon and sky to give strength to his beloved king. When at last he reached the summer palace, he found the king in his garden, already lost in melancholy thoughts. The flowers around him seemed to hang their heads. Borbat remained at a distance so the king would not see him, and he took his tambour from his shoulder. At the first gentle sounds of his quiet strumming, the birds knew Borbat had come, and ceased to sing. All the animals fell silent and even the wind stopped blowing; the flowers too lifted up their petals and prepared themselves to listen. The king too realized that Borbat had come to amuse him and for one brief moment a light shone in his sad eyes.
Now Borbat started to play and with his music conjured up a vision of a thousand horses racing faster and faster, stampeding headlong towards them. As the thunder of their galloping hooves grew ever closer, all who listened began to tremble inside. Caught up in this magical dream, the king remembered his warring days and, was on the very point of calling for his battle armour, when suddenly, the music stopped.


-         No!, - cried the king. His body broke into a cold sweat and he felt the pain of a thousand needles piercing his very soul.
In an instant the dream had vanished. He realized that a life and not the music had come to an end…. the end of his horse’s life. He turned to Borbat and asked:-         Is he dead? Borbat gave no reply. Taking his tambour onto his shoulder, he bowed low before the king and left in silence and no one stood in his way. The king understood immediately. Nobody had brought him the news. He had lost his most loyal companion….
Many years have passed since then, maybe thousands, I do not know. This ancient legend about Borbat, the king and his horse I have carried across rivers and seas and now you know it too.

The Lazgi Legend from Horezm

  The Lazgi Legend from Horezm

                          

Welcome and listen to this music. It is speaking. It is speaking about suffering and pain. It is singing about separation and loss.

Music…

Love….

Suffering….

What is it that draws them all together?

Is it something spiritual, a gift from above?….from God?

Today we will tell you another great story.

Today we will try to reveal the pain a musician has in his heart.

Many years ago, Xiva, the ancient capital of Horezm, was famous along the Great Silk Road, famous for its embroideries, rugs, tapestries and ceramics. Merchants came there from all over the world…. Horezm is also a land of legends and stories and from the time when Xiva was celebrated from China to Paris and Rome, comes the following story; it will break your heart.

           In the king’s harem was a woman of such astonishing and angelic beauty that the moon felt shy to look upon her, and by day, her smile shone with more radiance even than the sun. Her lips were lovelier than a rose and her long hair was like a beautiful waterfall. When she walked through the garden, the nightingales swooned and the roses curtseyed; flowers sprang up from her footsteps.

          Her fame spread far and wide, and many a foreign prince wished to buy her.

          However, the king was in love with her himself. In fact he was so much in love that he could neither sleep at night nor eat in the day. The woman was blessed with a particular gift that made her different from all the others and beyond value for the king; she could dance and with her dancing would soothe his heart. Secretly she was in love with him too.              

          However, as a mere slave in his harem, she was afraid to declare herself. Unable to speak with anybody about her feelings, she expressed all her sorrow through dance. Every movement, even her glances, bore witness to her love.

       At night she spoke only to the stars, and by day, would sit and weep by the lake. The fish played in the water to make her happy, the birds sang for her in the trees for they alone understood her suffering. Watching them, she would gather fresh ideas for her dancing.

      Every day she breathed new life into her dances on the carpet. However the other women in the harem, indeed many people in the castle, grew increasingly jealous and began to hate her.

       The king could not proclaim his love either and he too would walk in the garden, talking to the birds and the fish in the lake. The poor animals saw the love of the king and the woman, and felt sorry they could not bring them together. For this reason, the birds always sang sadly.

       On one particular day when the woman was walking through the garden, a snake slithered by her feet. A guard rushed over and began beating it with a stick, believing the snake would bite her. In fact the snake had only come near because it was in love with her too! The snake writhed in agony. The guard picked it up and threw it in the lake. This happened so rapidly that she was unable to save the creature. As she watched the snake still writhing in the water, it seemed to dance the fight between life and death. Finally it died and sank to the bottom of the lake.

      Afterwards she felt guilty for the snake’s tragic fate, and her sufferings became more intense; she began to wilt like an unwatered flower. The king noticed, but could not approach her. So he ordered his ministers to take the women of his harem to the country. They were taken to the mountains, which were full of poppies; the king’s dancer was transported in a sumptuous carriage with white horses, favoured like a princess. The other women became even more jealous and their hatred increased.

       At a party, while everyone was enjoying food, wine, dancing and music, the dancer was asked to collect some poppies, which grew by steep cliffs. As she was picking the flowers someone pushed her….

    Oh cruel life, so much suffering for one poor woman, was this not enough? Her arms and her legs were broken, but she was alive. She realized why she had been pushed but could not betray her tormentors and remained silent. She had a wise heart, like an angel.

    However she wept bitterly, for she was no longer able to dance for her beloved king: this meant she could neither express her love, nor even see him. They brought her back to the castle, groaning, moaning; that very evening she was due to dance for the king and his guests. she thought: if I cannot see him or dance for him, I must dance to be able to see him for the last time and to say goodbye/farewell. She requested her most beautiful, shining best clothes for her to chose her last dance costume. Then she told the guards to bring her in their hands, place me in the middle of the carpet: nobody in the castle was to know she had had an accident. Her request was done.

Into the middle of the party, the middle of the chamber/carpet, 4 servants carried her sitting on a litter. Her head and face were covered to conceal hide her suffering.

Here she is, in the middle of the carpet: every time she would bring something new: she did not walk so everyone was intrigued/wondered what she would do. Amazed at her unusual entrance, everyone…Nobody could see her tears under the cover, she was crying from the physical pain in her arms and legs, seeing the king for the last time, the pain in her heart/soul. For the first  time in her life in the castle she began to speak a word to the guests;

Oh my king! her voice that was beautiful, but at the same time trembling/trembled, in this voice was full of suffering and loss/separation.

This my dance is for your attention. I will dance it for the first time: I name it LAZGI. This is the dance of farewell/parting/separation.  

Before her eyes, she recalled the snake fighting between life and death. She was in the situation: unbelievable pain. Her love for the king was stronger than her agony. She does not want to die without seeing him for a last time.

From under her scarf/cover, she gazed long at the king’s face, enjoying him. The cruel musicians might have given her more time to enjoy her last look at the king, butr they interrupted her. Started the music for the dance.

Her broken arms slowly rose/lifted into the air, and her body began to move like a snake, which was so painful. She bit her lips and the tears streamed from her eyes; but nobody could see that. Her body was as if on fire, burning, but she did not stop, her dance becoming faster, faster. The people were shocked: never seen a dance like this before. Nobody realized this was the last dance of her life.  

Then, the human tongue was not good enough to describe this incredible dance. As the music and dance rose to a climax, like a guitar string snapping she fell to the floor, like flower torn up and flung aside. The king jumped up. Everyone was shocked. The angel was dead, overwhelmed by the pain. At the same time however, the dance Lazgi was born and became famous throughout the entire world.

Many years passed after this story; the ages….but the Lazgi still talking about the angel who brought this dance into being/the world. Lazgi is a dance of loss and separation.

Music…

Love….

Suffering….

What is it that draws them all together?

Is it something spiritual, a gift from above?….from God?

The End

ASAR

ASAR
Alamlarimni qog'ozdan olibmi yoki  dardimni qog'ozga to'kibsochsam  yuragimdagi yaralarim engil tortadi deb fikr qilibmi bilmadim  yozaverdim... Tunda uyqularim yoqotib yozdim, kundayam yolg'izligimdan  
yozaverdim, yo'ldayam avtobus, poezd, metroda, samalyotda...  
yozaverdim. Hech qachon, hech kimga hatto eng yaqinimga ham  
aytmaganlarimni yozdim. Hammasini yozdim, yurak yuragimdagi yillab  
yotgan dardlarni so'zga bulab yozdim. Goho yig'lab, goho ho'rsinib bazan shirin orzularga, hom hayollarga berilib tabbasum ila yozdim. Endi buni Kitob qilib chop etsam o'qiganlar ko'zi yoshga,
bag'ri  rahmga to'lib, og'ir  dardimdan chuqur chuqur ho'rsinib o'qiwlariga  
amin edim. Har bir yozilgan varaqni qayta qayta o'qib chiqaverdim. Har  
o'qiganimda dilmni alam, sog'inch, armon o'rtayverdi. Ko'zlarimni  
jiqqa jiqqa yoshga bulg'ayverdi... Nihoyat bir kun o'zimga o'zim  
"Bo'ldi, dunyoda bitta fojeali yurak bo'lsa shuncha bo'larda" dedimda  
mungli asarimni nihoyasiga etkazishga ahd qildim. Shunday qildim ham.
Endi asarimga nom berish kerak edi, oylab o'tirmay asarni nomini  
"Men Seni Sevaman" deb atadim....
O'ylanib qoldim... endi bu kitobni o'qiwdan Nima foyda? 10 yildan  
buyon yozayotgan asarimni butun ma'nosi shu ekan holos:
Men seni  sevaman... Qolganlari e'sa shunchaki ehtiros holos...
Mahzun.

BORBAT (Perevod na russkiy.)

BORBAT. 

Mir isskusstvo i muziki polon tain i sekretov. inogda i nedoskazannih. nedonesyonnih do nas legend.

Inogda nas lyudi sprashivayut: kto mi? Otkuda? I kuda idyom? Chto mi neseyom i predsatvlyaem soboy?

Ochen chasto nash otvet zvuchit bukvalno tak: Mi stranniki mira sego, Dervishi, posledovateli puti gospodnoy. Stranstvuem po miru i rasskazivaem istorii, legendi, pritchi. I vot segodnya mi zdes, hotim podelitsya s vami ocherednoy pritchoy Velikogo Kazachskogo naroda.

Slushayte i naslazhdaytes.

kogda-to davnim davno, gde-to dalyoko-daleko, na Vostochnih Kazahskih zemlyah zhil i pravil mogushestvenniy Han. Pravil on stranoy spravedlivo, lyubil svoy narod, i oberegal ego. Tak zhe narod bogoslovil svoego dobrogo Hana. V strane tsarila rayskaya zhizn’, narod pel i tanseval, ne znali gorya i pechali. Prostornie i zelyonie luga, bespodobnie sadi i polnie urazhaem polya okruzhali gigantskie gori svetyashimsya ot solntsa snegami na vershinah. No istoriya kotoryu mi hotim vam rasskazat ne pro etih lyudey, ne pro etih gor, ne pro etu stranu, mozhet bit dazhe i ne pro Hana. istoriya koturuyu mi vam seychas rasskazhem pro dvuh vernih duzey velikogo Hana.

U Hana vo dvortse bilo ochen mnogo muzikantov, no sredi nih bil odin molodoy muzikant, ne pohozhiy na vseh ostalnih. odin kotoriy mog igrat volshebnie melodii na svoyom dutare. Odin ot melodii kotorogo Han zabival vse goresti i pechali, melodii kotorogo vdohnovlyali velikogo Hana pered bitvami…. I Ego zvali Borbat. Borbat vsegda i vezde soprovozhdal svoego Hana, dazhe na pole boya on hrabro igral na svoem dutare. Voini Hana napolnyalis siloy, koni na pole bitvi mchalis bestrashno na varaga. On igral, igral i vdohnavlyal Hana i ego voinov.

Tak zhe u Hana bil verniy i mogushestvenniy kon. Han na sedle svoego bistrogo kak veter konya slovno letal na oblaka. Etot kon i muzikant vsegda prinasili emu udachu i pobedu. Oni bili ego talismanami i vernimi druzyami, kogda vse ego okruzhayushie pereklanyali koleni pered ego koronoy eti dvoe sluzhili emu, emu Mogushestvennemu Hanu. Han mog delitsya snimi o svoih gorestyah i radostyah. on mog besedovat snimi chasami na prolyot.

Odnazhdiy Han daval zvanniy pir.Gosti pili vino i eli myaso, tansevali i veselilis’. Han vozlezhal vo glave i naslazhdalsya divnimi vinami, vziral na dovolnih gostey. No vdrug ego podobno molnii, porazila misl’ o skorotechnosti vremeni, o tom, chto neumolimo letyat godi, chto ego zhizn podhodit k kontsu, on uzhe daleko ne molod i sili postepenno pokidayut ego. Stareet i ego moguchiy kon’. Godi delayut svoyo delo. I on predstavil kak tyazhelo pridyotsya pri rasstovanii so svoim lyubimtsem. I kak tazhelo stanet emu hodit bez vernogo konya v pohodi.….

I vdrug kak molniya sredi belogo dnya on vskochil so svoego trona;

- Slushayte! Slushayte vse!.- pokrichal on,- i zapomnite! Esli kogda nibud pridyotsya mne lishitsya svoego vernogo konya, esli probyot ego chas i on rasstanetsya s zhiznyu.Tomu kto prinesyot etu skorbnuyu vest’ nagradoy budet smert’. Eto moyo hanskoe slovo, zapomnite vse!.- skazal han i molcha pokinul zal.

Vse molcha ostalis v shoke ot uslishennogo, ot vnezapnogo zhelaniya Hana.

No tut verniy muzikant velokogo Hana bistro soobrazil i nachal igru na svoyom volshebno vesyolom instrumente. Cherez mgnovenie narod piroval i radovalsya ot melodii Borbata i krepkogo vina, bistro zabiv tolko chto uslishannoe ….

Posle etogo proshlo vremya. Mozhet proshli mesyatsi mozhet godi. Nikto neznaet, nekto ne schital eto vremya. I vot v odnu burnuyu noch, kogda lil dozhd, gremel grom i sverkalo molniya, derevya ot uzhasnogo vetra sklonyali golovi do zemli, zveri ot uzhasa ukrilis v norah chas ubitiya nastalo Hanskomu konyu. Verniy kon velokogo Hana pal.....

V eto vremya Han nahodilsya na svoey letney residentsii. Vdrug on prosnulsya ot neponyatnogo bezpokoystvie na dushe. Ego ohvatilo strannaya grust. Otkuda? K chemu? on neznal. Vo dvortse vse zabespokolis, vse perepugalis, konyuhi i viziri ot straha bit koznyonnim drozhali i neznali kak bit’. Kto? Kto ponesyot etu strashnuyu vest velikomu Hanu? Vse oni pomnili prikaz Hana. I togda k nim prishyol Borbat;

- Uvazhaemie Viziri, razreshite mne donesti etu grustnuyu vest nashemu Hanu i spasti vashi dushi ot gneva Hanskogo,- skazal hrabriy Borbat.

Bezuslovno vse tut zhe soglasilis i pro sebya podumali chto na verniy smert idyot molodoy muzikant.

I togda Borbat vzyal ne plechi svoy dutar i otpravilsya na vstrechu k svoemu velikomu Hanu. Vsu dorogu on obrashalsya k nebesam, molil bogov i angelov dat silu ego mudromu Hanu perezhit etu strashnuyu poteryu. On molilsya i pel… I vot on doshyol do Hanskogo letnego doma. Han sidel v sadu v okruzheniy prekrasnih tsvetov, slugi pered nim metalis pitayas usluzhit Hanu. No byl grustnim i smotrel kuda-to daleko daleko, svet v ego glazah potuh. On slovno zhdal pechalnuyu vest. Dazhe tsveti opustili golovi ot grusti Hana, ptitsi peli grustnie pesni, i dazhe veter kak bud-to poteryav svoyo napravlenie kak zagnanniy v krug sveryok metalsya v raznie storoni.Togda Borabat tihonko sel na opushke sada i nachal tihonko nastraivat svoy dutar.

Ot pervih zhe svukov strun ego dutara, vse kak bud-to ozhili. Tsveti ponyav vhto Borbat gde-to sdez tihonko nachali podnimat svoi butoni vverh chto by ulovit ot kuda idyot etot volshebniy zvuk. Pechalnie pevtsi-ptitsi zamolkli v ozhidanii, dazhe veter zamer i kak bud-to vremya ostanovilos na mig. Ves mir na sekundu ostanovilsya kak na kartine. Velikiy Han tozhe ponyal chto ego verniy sluga prishyol ego uteshit, malenkiy luch radosti zasvetilos u nego v galzah.

I vot Borbat nachal igrat……

On igral, igral novuyu, nikogda nekem ne uslishannuyu musiku. Eto muzika, chto-to volshebnoe byli v etoy muzike. Slovno tysyachi voennih, silnih mogushestvennih koney gallopom mchalis, mchalis pryamo knim, v sad! Han skochil smesta pered ego glazami proneslis bilie pobednie pohodi, krovavie srozhenie. V ego ushah zazvuchali boevie klichi voinov i lyzg oruzhiya, topot koney, i grohot boevih kolesnits. On videl sebya na sedle svoego vernogo konya mchashegosya na vraga… i emu strashno zahotelos tut zhe osedlat svoego bistrogo vernogo konya, emu tut zhe zahotelos kriknut;

• Konya! Privedite moego Konya!,- kak vdrug vsyo ischezlo. Obarvalas muzika. Vse ego videnie mgnovenno ischezli.

“O, net!” podumal Han, “Net, nemozhet bit’!”. I vdrug on ponyal eto ne muzika obarvolos a zhizn’! Zhizn’ ego vernogo konya.

• Net! ,- vskriknul Han. On vsyo ponyal. On vsyo ponyal sam. Emu nikto ne donyos etu vest. On dogodalsya sam. On obratilsya k Bobatu i skazal;
• On umer?!....

Borbat nichego ne otvetil nizko poklonilsya, vzyal svoy dutar na plechi i molcha pokinul ego. Nikto ne osmelilsya ego ostanovit. Eto bil mudriy Borbat. Eto bil velikiy Borbat.

S teh por proshli veka, i narod do sheh por pomnit svoego mudrogo Borbata. Ego muziku igrayut v narode po sey den’. Teper vi tozhe znaete etu istoriyu, tek beregite ego i hranite v serdtsah vashih.

Sketches for my first show in London, Dervish.

Kings armour

The King

Dervish

Decoration sheet

Decoration sheet

All this are part of the costumes and decoration sheets being made for my show Dervish so far.