The Literary Rhythm, Journalistic Cadence

Plagiarism is no longer seen as shameful among many young writers. There are more ‘wannabe’ poets than true poets – Poet and Journalist Nosirjon DEHKONOV

An interview with Nosirjon DEHKONOV (Nosir ABBOS), Chair of the Namangan Regional Branch of the Uzbekistan Journalists’ Association, member of the Writers’ Union, and Head of the Literature and Art Department at “Namangan Haqiqati” newspaper.

Interviewed by Jakhongir NOMOZOV | Uzbekistan

— Which emotions take precedence in your work — longing, pain, patience, or hope?

— “Emotions are as colorful and unique as the eighteen thousand particles of the universe. I’ve never really sat down to analyze which emotions dominate my writing. But if I had to respond, I’d say longing — a longing for the future. Pain, too, is a leading emotion. Just as no person can live without dreams, no soul is without pain.

Especially in poetry — it walks constantly, eternally hand in hand with pain. Because anguish realigns the wrinkles of your spirit, it purifies you. Sometimes, in the chaos of emotion, you feel the need for that cleansing sorrow.

Patience… what is patience? I find it hard to explain the kind of patience I’ve come to know. So whenever the topic arises, a question wells up from my chest: What is patience?

I have only three poetry collections published — one of them is called “The Smile of Patience.”

“Though hardship visits me time and again,

I have seen more good from you, O world.

In you, patience wears a smile,

While every breath of mine aches with sorrow…”

Hope — it is my savior. This feeling is the lifeblood of optimism, creativity, construction, artistry, and humanity itself. It is an enduring force, an undefeatable energy, a light in the darkness, and the root of all passion.”

— What kind of literary school was Namangan for you?

—“I completed my higher education in Namangan.

From my youth, I understood how vital the ‘air’ of Tashkent and other large cities is for a creative soul.

But during the 1980s, a time when nepotism and open corruption were rampant, my family situation didn’t allow me to move to Tashkent. My mother often advised me to stay close. My father was an extremely honest and principled man — in the local dialect, a “communist.”

Truthfully, I could have gone to study in Tashkent right after school… This regret still pierces my heart.

I deeply admired literary giants like Ozod Sharofiddinov, Matyokub Koshjonov, Rauf Parfi, Erkin Vokhidov, Shavkat Rakhmon, Khurshid Davron, Abdulla Oripov, KHalima Khudoyberdieva.

By the time I moved from Chartoq to the regional center for work, I was nearly forty. I had already gained recognition as a poet and journalist in the district. It was at the invitation of my mentor Makhmudjon Parpiyev, then editor-in-chief of “Khalq Irodasi”, that I came to the city.

Through poets like KHabib Sa’dulla, Abdullakh Jabbor, and Ziyoviddin Mansur, I became acquainted with the pillars of Namangan’s literary scene — Professor Odiljon Nosirov, Ismatullokh Abdullokh, Alikxon Khalilbekov, and university lecturers Makhmudjon Mamurov, Qodirjon Nosirov.

I had the honor of knowing People’s Artists of Uzbekistan Kamoliddin Rakhimov and Urinboy Nuraliyev, and the poetess Dilbar Bonu. I received encouragement from devoted educators like Nozimjon Kozokov, KHabibullo Ubaydullayev, and Dilshoda Dadajonova.

Especially as a regional correspondent for “Uzbekistan Ovozi”, the literary environment of Namangan played a pivotal role in my successes.

Influenced by respected journalists such as Farhod Yolchiyev, Ghulomjon Akbarov, and particularly the renowned writer-journalist Rustamjon Ummatov, I strove to shape my professional identity and personal literary image.

My poetry collections, “Songs of Two Rivers” and “I Have a Petition from Love”, received attention. I was eventually accepted as a member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan.”

— As a journalist, what are your guiding principles regarding the responsibility of words?

— “There is an undeniable truth:

Literature is the art of the word — journalism is the politics of the word.

As a journalist, I always keep the essence of words at the forefront when crafting diverse materials aligned with various genre requirements. Every word carries its own logic, color, and semantic nuance.

Unfortunately, the responsibility toward language seems to have waned somewhat in journalism today. At times, one can’t distinguish between literary and official styles. Many journalists write in rigid, formulaic ways.

Reportage, sketches, and satirical essays — once staple genres of journalism — have all but vanished from the press, which is truly disheartening.

In an age of advanced digital tools, many writers don’t go beyond dry news and chronicles. This impoverishes our vocabulary and suppresses the richness of the Uzbek language.

Misuse of language not only strips it of its beauty but also damages our grammar.

I believe we must work closely with dictionaries, understand the origin and root of every word, grasp its semantic hints and stylistic tone, use synonyms and antonyms accurately, and apply grammatical cases properly. In short, to use language responsibly, one must know grammar thoroughly.

— What spiritual connection exists between journalism and poetry for you?

“Publicism is essential nourishment for poetry. Even if poetry is born from emotion, when infused with the passionate tone of publicistic writing, it becomes more impactful.

Publicistic writing helps transform vagueness into clarity.

I believe only through regular reading, understanding, and internalizing publicistic literature can one speak truly living words. This, of course, is a vast topic in itself.

— Poets have always been seen as the “conscience” of society. How has this notion changed today?

— Poets are the conscience, the alert voice, the living breath of society.

But today, when I reflect on that truth, I feel ashamed.

Plagiarism is no longer seen as shameful among many young writers. There are more ‘wannabe’ poets than true poets.

A fifth-grader has six poetry books published! You open the book, and your heart aches. In some contests, the condition is: ‘Has their book been published?’ This fuels a meaningless race for printed collections.

The concept of a ‘book’ is becoming diluted. Some individuals gain fame as ‘poets’ or ‘writers’ by buying poems, having them ghostwritten or edited by others. This devalues literature and ruins the public’s perception of books.

— What do you most advise young creators: reading, writing, or learning?

— I most strongly encourage young talents to write a lot. After all, writing frequently necessitates deep reading. One poignant concern I observe is that many young writers drift away from the vibrant oral traditions of our people—those oral expressions are a lifelong wellspring. The art of subtle metaphors, rich descriptors, sometimes melancholic, sometimes joyous, sometimes powerful, sometimes solemn in tone—these emerge naturally in folk creativity. Folkloric artistry flows beautifully through philosophical reflections shaped by lived experiences and rendered in melodious, liquid language.

When recommending books to young writers, I often suggest works like “Alpomish” or “Malikayi Ayyor”, noting how reading those lines can infuse a new musical resonance into their poetic voice.

— How does your psychological state shift during the creative process? How do you cope with stress or emotional lows?

-It often seems many of our contemporaries live immersed in stress and emotional turbulence. Perhaps because a creative soul is more sensitive, I feel I am able to rescue myself from stress and gloom through the act of creation. Writing for me is a means of escape and spiritual preservation. To shield myself from both expected and sudden blows to my spirit, I write.

Whenever I jot down lines that floated in my mind, and later feel overshadowed by gloom, I commit them to paper. Whether the piece is substantial or brief, creation itself feels like a divine phenomenon. For me, creative moments are times of solitude—being alone with one’s inner self.

In my poem “My writings” (“What I have written”), I reflect:

What I have written — are the waves of my heart,

The moments I was left alone with solitude…

These words mirror my most intimate creative states.

— What are the distinctive features of Namangan literature and its place within Uzbek literature?

— Namangan—known as the “city of flowers.”

Creators born in mountainous regions absorb the mountain’s climate, just as those raised in gardened, lush areas inherit its gentle temperament. Though it may sound mystical, one’s environment inevitably shapes one’s character and creative expression.

Namangan writers often embody delicacy, a yearning for freedom, a love of beauty—in their unique temperament and literary voice. Thus, Namangan literature holds a special place in Uzbek letters, characterized by softness, quiet charm, lyrical imagery, floral beauty, and vivid poetic contours.

— What is the status and recognition of Uzbek literature on the international stage? What steps are being taken?

— Significant projects aim to worldwide promote Uzbek literature and showcase the beauty of our language. I am aware of initiatives like “1000 Books” and the Wikipedia Uzbek-language project. A three-volume anthology titled “World Poetry”, curated by esteemed poet-journalist Karim Bakhriyev, presents works by nearly 500 poets from 144 countries across five continents in Uzbek translation. This is truly heartening—poetry transcends borders and strengthens global friendship and peace.

As a literary creator, I am deeply proud of translations by luminaries such as Uzbekistan Hero Ibrokhim Gafurov, People’s Poet Khurshid Davron, Guzal Begim, and Gulnoz Mominova.

— As a journalist, how do you feel about the power and responsibility of words? What are the current tasks of Uzbek journalism today?

— The views I previously shared about the power and responsibility of words speak for themselves. In terms of contemporary challenges:

We recently hosted the Chodak Conference, attended by delegates from the Namangan and Sirdaryo branches of the Uzbek Journalists’ Union. The theme was “Creating National Content and Artificial Intelligence Technologies.”

Our goals are clear: to embrace advanced digital technologies, develop skills in creating national (Uzbek-language) content, and strengthen advocacy and usage of AI tools. Artificial intelligence is a double-edged sword: if developed locally, it empowers and protects us; if fully dependent on foreign systems, it becomes a means of control—monitoring our internet, thoughts, even faces and voices. Thus, national security now includes digital independence and algorithmic sovereignty. A state without its own AI platform risks being managed by others. AI is not just an economic tool—it is a strategic defense component.

— What new methods would you propose for using mass media to advance social and educational work?

— This is a vast topic, but I firmly believe that a revival of printed media—newspapers and magazines—is essential for educational outreach. Digital journalism should grow without restrictions, but restoring daily printed publications is vital. If we can bring readers back to consuming newspapers and journals, I believe that reading books will again become a cultural need. In promoting education and expanding media’s full potential, no method surpasses reinvigorating and popularizing print media.

Read: Writing as a Mirror to Humanity

_________________

Jakhongir NOMOZOV is a young poet and journalist from Uzbekistan.  He is also a Member of the Union of Journalists of Azerbaijan and the World Young Turkic Writers Union.