Nargiz Ismayilova (Azerbaijan)

 
Nargiz Ismayilova (Azerbaijan)
 
Nargiz Ismayilova was born on March 12, 1986 in Ordubad. In 2008 he graduated from Nakhchivan State University with a degree in “Azerbaijani language and literature”, and in 2012 from Ganja State University with a degree in “Literature of Foreign Peoples” with honors.
Nargiz Ismayilova worked as a senior researcher at the Department of Literary Studies of the Institute of Literature and Art at the Nakhchivan Branch of ANAS. She served as Chairman of the Council of Young Scientists and Specialists of the department. She is a doctoral student of the Department of World Literature and Comparative Studies of the Institute of Literature named after Nizami of ANAS and conducts scientific research in the field of “Azerbaijani prose of postmodernism and independence in Italian literature”.
She is a member of the Azerbaijan Writers ‘Union, the Azerbaijan Journalists’ Union and the World Union of Young Turkish Writers.
She is a Doctor of Philosophy in Philology, majoring in “Azerbaijani Literature” and “World Literature”. She is the author of 2 monographs, 60 scientific, more than 400 newspaper articles, 7 fiction, 8 translated works. Nargiz Ismayilova was awarded the “Ali Bey Huseynzadeh Award” established by the Writers’ Union of Azerbaijan and the “Literary Newspaper” in 2017. She was elected “Writer of the Year” and “Journalist of the Year” in our autonomous republic.
She was awarded the honorary diploma “Scientist of the Year” of the Nakhchivan Branch of ANAS. She was awarded at the IV Euroasian Literary Festival of Festivals (LIFFT) in Baku. She is a Presidential Award winner.
She is the project manager of the international conference “A bridge from Nakhchivan to Konya: Nematullah Nakhchivani”.
 
Her books:
 
1. “Marilyn inside me” ” Ganun ” Publishing House, Baku: 2015.
2. “Gardalan”, “KHAN” Publishing House, Baku: 2016.
3. “Holy place-Nakhchivan”, Nakhchivan, “Ajami” Publishing House, 2015, p. 270.
4. “Expected Moon” “KHAN” Publishing House, Baku: 2017.
5. “You must come back”, “KHAN” Publishing House, Baku: 2018.
6. “Ajami”, “KHAN” Publishing House, Baku: 2019.
7. “Metakedar” “Mucru” Publishing House, Baku: 2020.
 
Her monographs:
 
1. “Mammad Said Ordubadi: East and West”. Latvia, Riga: 2019
2. “Nakhchivan literary environment in the East-West context”. 2020, Ankara: “Academician’s Book House”.
 
Her translation books:
 
1. “Marilyn inside me.” Baku, “Ganun”, 2015, p. 184
2. “Marilyn inside me” Istanbul, “Minval Publications”, 2015, p. 208.
3. “Holy Place: Nakhchivan” Nakhchivan, “Ajami” Publishing House, 2015, p. 270.
4. “Gardalan” Baku, “KHAN” Publishing House, 2016, p.220
5. “Expected Moon” Baku, “KHAN” Publishing House, 2017, p.230.
6. “You must come back” Baku, “KHAN” Publishing House, 2018, p.13
 
1. Kahraman Tazeoglu. I leave you by heart (together with Elkhan Yurdoglu) (poems), “KHAN” Publishing House, 2015, p. 72.
2. Kahraman Tazeoglu. Bukre (together with Elkhan Yurdoglu) (novel), “KHAN” Publishing House, 2015, p. 256.
3. The I, II, III of volumes of the work “Al-Fawatih-Ul-Ilahiyya-Val-Mafatih-Ul-Geybiyya” (commentary), “Ajami” Publishing House, Nakhchivan-2019, p. 675.
4. Ajdar Tagioglu. Fake Armenian History and Priest Author: Movses Horenatsi. Istanbul “Eastern Library”. 2018, p. 96.
5. “Marilyn inside me.” Istanbul, “Minval Publications”, 2015, p. 208.
 
“Marilyn inside me”, “Expected Moon” works were published in Turkey, and “Gardalan” was published in Iran and have been delivered to the wide readers` audience.
 
 
NOTRE-DAME`S SHADOW IS GOING PINK
 
Notre-Dame`s shadow is going to pink Every year on April, in Paris… Quazimodo and church`s deafening bell
Awakes Notre-Dame from his eight hundred fifty years dream Scratch Quazimodo’s fingers his chest
Shatters all her femininity
Notre Dame shames for his bareness Everyone has seen his body
Gems and tattoos on his spine Roses….
Everyone has seen the nudity of his spirit All has touched his lips
Cherry flowers and Notre Dame`s grayish loneliness Everything painted with Esmeralda’s lipstick
This year on April, in Paris…
Sena was proudly silent, didn`t wave Tired of his ships,
This year on April, in Paris…
Kisses was lost in corner of oldest bars, Notre –Dame was freezed on artist`s brushes
Smiles weren`t seen sincerely on Merlin Monro`s portraits This year on April, in Paris
Lusifer, send me please,
Let me pass over God`s love, Sleek his hair…
Priest dreamt Esmeralda more than eight hundred years..
If the God damned Notre-Dame this year on April, in Paris? There was a call to sin on his body,
Did I sell my soul for him?… If God give me a chance
Did I break all my laws?
Cherry flowers and Notre Dame`s grayish loneliness Everything painted with Esmeralda’s lipstick
This year on April, in Paris…
 
 
DEMON ROARS WITH LAUGHTER AFTER 101 YEARS AGAIN
 
Swallows are flying from my soul To lands that I do not know…
Taking my loves, my pain, my regrets … My pain spreads to foreign cities,
“People” no longer build cities in my heart… Bums snoozing on torn cardboard
– Darkness is in all my streets, loneliness is in all my roads … Cracks in all my mirrors,
I`m losing Dear, I know
Your dislike losers,
You don`t care of beggars in their mother’s arms … No matter for you the fate of Chernobyl, Hiroshima … You never be sensitive seeing a forgotten doll.
Your past never remain in your throat while eating cherries. The smell of Hermes in your palms,
Intricate stains on my soul …
While you look at the world as Elon Musk shape, I am reading Javid over and over.
So, so, so…
Again, you are not interested in my topics … You laugh at my troubles again, I know …
You know, the lungs of the world are infected with cancer, Became myth the heroism of the Amazon women
No woman hums her baby lullabies – Curses take the place of petting
Tales not excite babies. As we forget,
We are globalizing,
Radioactive waste chews our souls. Our brains are full of worldly throws. Few minds criticize me every day
They do not say a word about Urmia, they are silent. Green is gradually losing its essence …
The color of the seas turns red. A statue is erected to freedom,
peace pigeon gets to eat a hundred varieties, becomes a cookie.
My soul is smoking as coffee in your hand You smile neatly …
My sorrows in your republic seem ridiculous, I know, you think a lot of people should die. As my soul wanders among the dimensions Sorrows drops from my anger,
I hear
The moans of Afet
The smell of Hermes in your palms,
 
Intricate stains on my soul …
While you look at the world as Elon Musk shape, I am reading Javid over and over.
Heavy curtains fall on your eyes, global fog while enveloping your soul
Demon roars with laughter after 101 years again
 
 
DON`T I LOOK THE WORLD WITH THE EYES OF SEVENTEEN MILYON REFUGEE CHILDREN?…
 
Already children are unhappy in my soul As the gaps grow …
My pain lasts like winter nights
While a Chernobyl silence reigned in my heart …
What are these Khojaly cries, Arakan reliefs in my mind? As you don’t remember me as East Turkestan, my dear, More stinking hands than Yamuna trying to caress my hair
Then you walk away from me with a meteorite indifference … The whole earth is praying for it,
Exept me … Are you aware?
All April 1 is still celebrated as the Day of Laughter in this world… Oh pitty you are the Children’s Day of the world
Which starving 250 million children … Your laughs are not sincerely…
But you still laugh …
Are you the center of the whole world?
Why does everyone congratulate you, as everyone congratulates a pilot? And dispatcher?
A question make me anxious since my childhood … How did Heyly kill Gwen?
Why do straight concepts make happy everyone? Is this Euclid’s disease?
Why is everyone afraid of origami loves? While you look at the world from the palaces. My non-existent world is rolling
To Anderson’s tales,
All the butterflies laugh disgustly to the length of my life, Even little Saxes, nicknamed Sinober …
I hear the squeaks of fried spiders at the base of their teeth … I don’t believe the tales you tell me anymore –
Also to Duymajik…
As you test me with afar,
The laughings tasting coffee antidepressant influence drops to my world … The sun doesn`t rise in my soul today
 
While all want to touch my wounds. So why am I so happy in my ruins? Does that make you angry, my dear?
Don`t I look the world wıth the eyes of seventeen milyon refugee children?… But I know that you are the cause of all these shortcomings.
 
 
BOOKMARKS ARE NECESSARY FOR OUR LİFE…
 
I envy most bookmarks. I think they are the inhabitants of a world of magnificence like Alice. Bookmarks walk away from everyone, hide in the bosom of books. Most bookmarks have caught my attention lately. Who stayed where, who felt what when they read which line – they only know. I remember every line of my life by heart… Our lifes are without bookmarks. Our lives are without bookmarks. It takes refuge in the shadow of the unknowns of where we are and who we are saddened by. We often do not remember our splendor. Bookmarks are necessary for our lives. Let us have bookmarks to remind us of our happiness. Remind us of our love hidden in a glass of wine, our sorrows in raki and white cheese, our hopes of running out of vodka… We all need bookmarks, which play the role of an alarm clock in our life, page by page. We need bookmarks to remind us. I want to be a bookmark. To mark the forgotten “I” on your pale pages. Maybe to announce our beautiful moments, happy seconds. Be a bookmark, my dear, it is better to be a bookmark than to embrace the shadow of nothingness… As you move away from your goals step by step, remind yourself… Remind people of the forgotten tears in the yellow pages. Come and be a bookmark, my dear, find the fingerprints of love – torn, condemned to the pages… Be a bookmark to show the innocence hidden in a lipstick. Arrested in tears, the brightest colors of the rainbow come to the surface of the water… Step towards the child in the shadow of the water… Find your past there… Let there be a bridge of hopes between the past and the future… Then in an old house to the bottom of a narrow wall… Stop, go to the table… Which has witnessed many human feelings… Light a red candle… In memory of the moment when her lover’s innocence disappeared. Then feel humiliated like a lipstick. Shoot a circle around the candle. Ask for forgiveness from the fire. Kneel down, sinful spirit, kneel down… Beg to the laughter of the shadows. Cry your selfishness… Lying on that bed, the heir of an old love. Let the realities stumble on your ribs. Let the sweat of conscience drain from your body until it fills your waist. Ask forgiveness for sweat, rainbow, tears, red lipstick pollution… Stand up! Kneel down under unlit light… Understand that it will not burn… Accept that nothing will be the same as before… Recognize the condemnation to be forgotten, along with what you have forgotten… Hug your knees… As you hugged him one last time… Kiss the neck of the shadow. Black-and-white radio squeaks lose its youth… Declare your defeat in the power of the moments you forgot to be a bookmark… Come to your senses, my dear, kneel in the shadows. Let the shadows try to forgive you. Pearl shades. Cry the shadows. Instead of being a bookmark, wildly fold the pages of life. Let the shadows take revenge on you. Let to cut your hands, those pages you wrote with love… Contaminated innocence of red lipstick with your blood… Don’t bookmark, my dear… The fiery touches of no shadow that does not deafen your cold soul, your iceberg heart… Sleep my dear, close your eyes. Let the shadows weep for the deprivation of life. Let your soul squeeze your throat. Let the shadows give you a comfort of silver. And you sleep, my dear… Imagine being forgiven by the shadows. Let him commit suicide in the great life you are watching – as bookmark.
 
 
`LL BE CRUSHED AS THE INDIFFERENCE OF A CIGARETTE AMONG YOUR
FINGERS
 
I missed you all day today …
I will also miss you tomorrow … Again, again, again, again …
Dark gray shade is born from the confusion of feelings … It’s amazing,
I can’t hug …
You fall down my heart,
You are suffocating and burning as volcanic ash My value,
Irreplaceable.
Impossible replacing you, I try, but can’t. I`ll succeed, I must gain …
Melting your absence …
I will continue my dark grey life.
A glass of wine, a cigarette … and books …
You will spread on my pillow as my eye shadow, You will turn into a nightmare and empty my eyes …
I won’t be able to wipe it off, maybe the smell will come from my 13 square meter room … My disappointment!
You will turn into shadows and watch my happiness step by step …
You will be my most magnificent nightmare, you will hang on the walls of my room … You will turn the wind and blow my mind every day …
I know, again, again, again, you will wave my black curtains again, you will burn in my heart …
I will be crushed as the indifference of a cigarette on your fingers … I will be on fire, I know …
Then the doors that will be slammed on my face as the sound of victory … I will lean on the threshold of your dream, I`ll know that you are there … Distances between us will grow up as a call, will be the world …
I`ll beat my knee, not the door, again, again, again … Then my fire will burn some hyacinth …
I`ll make amazing fires in honor of the two of us … Just like in the rituals of wiccans …
I slammed the doors of someone as the act of a winner… I`ll remember with disgust before you, after you …
Then the words of a song which I don’t know the name will calm my soul … I`ll be silent, again, again, again …
I`ll forget you in the books, I will not mark the remaining chapters … I will sob my feelings, I will be troubled by owls.
I`ll be simple … I`ll be lonely … I’ll be iceberg.
The face of this season is autumn, the face of its absence is death … I know that both existence and absence are death …
You are the sound of death … I’m afraid …
 
I can’t walk where I know, I can’t walk in a world I don’t know, I can’t walk in a world I don’t know …
I can’t love between dimensions, distance reunion is far, far from space … Every day before a cup of coffee memorizes the name of you to my heart … I hate, damn the devil, damn the gray rainbows …
Your dream wanders in my brain like the rays of the sun Again, again, again, again …
Every day you scatter from my heart with a bead of nonsense to my soul … I can’t find …
I can’t collect …
You fall from the voids of my soul to the worlds … lifes, hearts, women …
You forget me so skillfully that I can’t find a word, I’m drowning … I missed you all day today …
I will also miss you tomorrow … Again, again, again, again …
I know the day will pass, But a pitty …
Again, again, again, again …
 
 
VAN GOGHUN SARROW IS SADDER PERHAPS, BUT FOR THE FIRST TIME I SAW THE WASTE OF THE WORLD IN ALL YOUR LAUGHTER!
 
Today I saw the Chernobyl of the oldest people in your eyes. Today, for the first time, I sobbed like old people.
I reconciled with my fate, as a toy in a baby’s cradle, doomed to eternal silence. Like the noisy signs of rusted hopes deafening,
everything was unthinkable, helpless, but lifeless. Today your lips were freeze as the corpse, were dirty. I loved you, but for the first time was afraid of you.
I saw a group of red-clad angels without wings in the deserts of innocence turned into a lake of blood.
All the swans are tired, the laws chewed, I saw the sky covered with spider webs.
Today I saw surrendered the stars, the moon, and even the sun that I loved.
For the first time, for the first time, I gathered all my courage and opened my eyes wide, very wide as wide as possible.
For the first time, I was ashamed the nakedness of realities. Today all your kisses was samumshape and annoying Your words was boring my heartbeat!
The sand grains was weathering my pupilary as much as possible. I saw all the flowers in the Arab Spring withered.
For the first time today, I cried with one eye for my today and past!
For the first time, I saw my shores abandoned and ships without a compass. Van Goghun Sarrow is sadder, perhaps,
but for the first time I saw the waste of the world in all your laughter!
 
your oil-smelling lies with nicotine-like irritability draging my existence into a stupid habit …
While my cheeks rubbed into her outstretched hands for comfort … Today, for the first time, I saw my mother old.
 
 
FISH SWIMS IN MY SPIRIT …
 
I want to live without thinking.
Gifting all the rain of thought to dry deserts, and so quietly, I want to live silently.
My thoughts disturb my silent. My heartbeats disturb me.
I hear my blood circulation.
The sound of my broken dreams.
As I realize the worthlessness of values, my soul kneels in front of the evil as the most helpless, helpless …
I can’t get up as I try to get up, my knees are bleeding with ruins of confidence. The realities nettle my soul as the example of the nettle.
I feel suffocate with rage…
No, it looks like I’m drowning …
I do not want to raise my hands and fight.
The waters of all the oceans fill to my body from my eyes. I see everything in blue.
Fish swim in my soul. My hair is algae.
My tears are flowing … Fish swim in my soul…
All the goldfish are helpless in front of my wishes …
I want to tear down the last cries of the man in my soul. I want to be quiet.
My thoughts make mermaids laugh ….
Rocks are rubbed in my palms …
There are vortices.
Waves do not push me to shore.
I annoy the waters of the ocean …
My crossing high sea the waves of the ocean cannot bear. I’m looking for all the lost sailors, sunken ships …
I want to lose my brain longing for the feeling of disappearance. In the Mariana trench.
I want to take refuge in the Bermuda Triangle …
I would like to find those shafts left over from the “Titanic” and ask Chopin to listen to me. I’m crushed, I’m falling apart …
I am going to be fragmented.
I fill the pores of the ocean stones.
Then a cloud steals my soul, I rise, I fly …
I get algae and finally bluish again …
I annoy the sky …
Clouds bring me back to earth …
 
The angels do not need even “when Caesar’s right given to Caesar”, fleeing from the weaknesses of humanity …
I am thrown into the “cursed” land. Only the land understands me.
He allows me to take refuge in him. The roots of an old oak embrace me. God gifts me different colors.
I refuse. Never want those pale cynical colors. I never get permission by anyone.
I want to be free.
I don`t want to be indifferent roses,
I don’t want to be a goldfish, I don’t want to be a human …
You don’t like red, my dear, you know that goldfish are not gold … You don’t love people either, my dear, I know that …
But you love violets.
Oh It seems I am turning violet slowly.
 
 
 
HEY I FORGOT MY FEMININITY IN ITS SHADOW
 
I love you, Baku, the city of cosmogonic loves.. I like your nights more.
Your night are differ – glorious but hopeless… Fighting as a warlord, but thrown …
Your nights are differ…..
Stars kissing your Collor neck, don’t you remember the days of sucking raw milk …
Hey the city of unfaithfulness, betrayals city like as oscar! Dear Baku, I love you madly …
Maybe will not call me in khazri mixed voice The voice of Muslim Magomayev.
Maybe I won’t hear on you at once Mushfig’s pains.
Maybe my lover will never wait for me madly as before…
But in spite of all this, I will love you,
O the city of postmodern fantasies, Baku …
Realities make the proclamation of freedom in my heart. I’m ashamed of my nakedness in you arms…
Wrap me with oil-smelling hands …
Kiss my neck as before.
Don’t let me be a sapiosexualist.
Make my heart be warm , my irreplaceable.
Don’t breake my heart, never let me be icebergs …
Never let my eyes be the address of your absent looks…
I bear with, Baku… I am the same …
Your hands are glacial…
Betrayal is dropping from your looks…
Why did you lose your sincerity? Whom you left your innocence?
O the city of meaningless quarrels, the city of ridiculous lovers …
I will not try to be as emotionally proud as Maiden Tower, my loneless makes me cold. I’m oppressed without you…
I have no power for counting the sorrows …
I know it is late, I know you won`t understand me…
O the snake that I have fed in my arms!
O impassable street of my countryless soul!
O masterpiece of my longings, O most bleeding wound …
My weakness that I could not explain …
My weakness, indifference, aggression …
O I forgot my femininity in the shadow …
You must be leave, or I know, I understand this pride will amaze me…
But I can’t bear to be forgotten, I can’t love anyone, I can’t touch, the most scariest is I can’t feel anyone …
Announce duel against me …
I promise, I`ll come without gun, Baku! O my secret love … O my defeat …
 
 
ZERO!!!
 
Leavings Eh …
People are oppressed mainly leavings Hidden, open leavings …
Black and white leavings … Give it up, that is futile!
Today, the petals of all chamomiles are gray. The name of all the hopes is “O”
Betrayal is the name of all loves! Let God protect grey leavings…
I only named you the love, a pitty I realized that
the human decieves himself in the most perfect way. Who knows us better than ourselves?
I thought, YOU!
For me, you understand me better than me, you loved me more … It was possible…
What? Chamomile?
Chamomile is smarter than you? Loves?! Or no?
Eh … It’s always so,
A handful of skeptical thoughts rain …
A handful of uselessness embraces my brain, Everything is anaesthetized …
In fact, everything is lie, Maybe the grey is also lie…
Hey Chamomile ! I saw the most delicate petals on you? And winds?
Your leaves? Your petals?
What is the name of this endless contradictions? Today the petals of all chamomiles are grey.
No matter for chamomile, it loves? They don`t love!
I swear they don’t love!
I wonder why chamomile is called chamomile?
 
 

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