This bright motto of the World Artistic Movement is written in the document that came from Moscow. The following was also reported in it:
«The National Artistic Committee of Russia awards the Diploma and the Honorary title of LAUREATE of the XII-th ARTIADA of PEOPLES of RUSSIA (7.2.1. Literature. Adult League. Professional Guild) to:
CHOTCHAEVA ALLA UMAROVNA, literary person, teacher, member of the Russian Union of professional writers, Kislovodsk, Stavropol region, FOR the PROSE WORKS AND POETRY PUBLISHED LATEST YEARS, FOR the PERSONAL CONTRIBUTION to the LITERATURE AND CULTURE of PEOPLES of KARACHAY-CHERKES REPUBLIC».
The document is signed by the President of the National Artistic Committee of Russia M. Tarbokov.
The editorial staff of the magazine «Golden Plaza» presents sincere congratulations to our colleague on the occasion of this wonderful event and wishes new successes in her creative activity.
Alla Chotchaeva (Chotchaeva Alla Umarovna, lives and works in the city of Kislovodsk), poet and prose writer, member of the Union of Journalists of the Russian Federation, member of the Russian Union of professional writers, member of the Caucasian Writers' Club, laureate and winner of literary contests, Director of the Kislovodsk Representative office of V. Chursin Stavropol Institute, teacher of mathematics in Kislovodsk medical college, literary editor of the magazine «Golden Plaza».
Alla Chotchaeva is the author of the following books: a collection of poems «Worthy» (2008, Russian language), a book of poems for children «Snowdrop» (2009, Karachay language), documentary story «Half a century in a white gown» (2012, Russian language). She is a co-author of the book «Sonnets» by A. Korkmazov (2012, the translation of sonnets from Karachay into Russian).
Alla Chotchaeva`s poems are translated into Avar, Chechen, Kalmyk, Ukrainian, German and other languages, they are published in Dagestan, Kalmykia, Kabardino-Balkaria, in Stavropol and Krasnodar regions, in Karachay-Cherkessia, North Ossetia-Alania and Chechenia.



Caucasus! Nothing sounds
So sweet for heart, caressing ear.
As if a stream is running down,
And glare glaciers far away!

Caucasus! Nothing can
Attract me so, nothing is alluring.
The road, that leads to you,
Let there be forever blessed.
God save my Caucasus

Save Caucasus from any strife,
from any controversy, any feud.
The Most High save us from dishonor,
from soullessness and hardship!

Save my Caucasus from discord,
From mutual odium and lies.
Save our nations from disgrace,
Hostility and lowdown slander!

Save my Caucasus from discord,
From sin and mournful guilt.
The Most High save us from dishonor,
From fratricidal civil war!

My city Narsana

In your arms I can dissolve
Because of warm and light.
In your arms I can dissolve
Because of summer rain.

In your arms I can dissolve
In a fantastic dream.
In your arms I want to dissolve
My dear city, Narsana!

Dear land

My dear land! My native country!
How many years I haven’t seen you?!
Away from home remembering you
I felt delighted And thanked my lucky stars.

...How can that be — A squalid picture,
Made by wicked artist,
You meet me on the threshold
Dressed in shabby satin.

Where are the fields, where are bread crops,
These golden waves of wheat?
Instead of rivers, silver lakes I see dull swamps and sinks.
Is it you, my native land?!

Cracked thresholds, Boarded up windows.
Like a hunched old woman
On the roadside,
A willow ...stretched cadging hand.

To my Mother

The silence overgrows, overgrows, overgrows
Your unforgettable, unforgettable, unforgettable
The light, warmth, solace, tenderness —
all that made me
Happy, As criminal carelessness, henceforth —
under the marble tombstone!

All over again

Beyond the barrier rises barrier — The bar is ever high.
Again right off the bat, relying on the above.
And then — all again, and then — all over again:
again to seek the happiness, again to quit the mooring.

And me, I dream at night About a field of camomiles,
About silky dew on my feet, When I walk open-hearted,
Feeling breeze on my face Suffused with lilac flavour.
When I find my native porch One day of springtime thaw.

Alas! The dream is brief — It fades away in nasty weather.
But at dawn the trumpets blow, Arousing hope for happiness.
It means that all again, It means all over again:
Again to seek the happiness, Again to swim against the tide.

In the way

Again alarming whistle of a train wakes me up at dawn
Throwing out of dreams.
Again Comes a fussy day
Like a mad train Burning up the oncoming lane.

There, ahead — a halt, the autumn
Sheds leaves on ways,
As if whispering me:
In the transits of life you will not find yourself.

I’ll leave the wagon In a hurry,
I’ll stay alone In the wide field,
A deep breathe Will fill my heart
To draw the bliss Up to the bottom.

I’ll step farther on the grass Following the road.
In the coppice, perhaps, My way will turn.
I’ll forget completely All deeds and worries —
There is no lot That could be happier!

At the break of dawn

At the break of dawn  I’ll leave my home,
When the world is cloaked with mist,
When the cherished First daylights
Appear slightly far away.

Chased by the autumn sorrow, I’ll run away
From all and sundry, And hide in a sleepy copse;
I’ll walk along the untrodden line,
I’ll wash my soul With dew of senses!

My last shelter

My last shelter Cannot remain In silence —
As before, in spring,
The lilac bush will rustle
Under the wind Bending its foliage over me.

Like before, hum the melody of spring,
I'll certainly pick up words.
Leaving this world, We stay in the dream:
the memory’s eternal, souls are immortal.

What a queer, however, the century!

What a queer, however, the century -—
our lives are vain running:
All day long In a hurry. But why this rush, perhaps,
It’s a sheer waste of time?!

...To run untiringly across your life —
what a senseless race,
what fee of life, Indeed,
not Homo sapiens, just — deer!

A farewell cantata

In a hurry, at dawn, light and airy,
without farewells, quietly and softly,
like flock of cranes my years fly away…
fly away…

Let lights of day
could move away the hour of sunset —
Beyond the clouds will resound
of my days a farewell cantata.


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О нас

«Золотая площадь». Международный журнал культурной и деловой жизни.
The Golden Plaza. International Magazine of Culture and Business.
Свидетельство о регистрации средств массовой информации:
Москва, Федеральная служба по надзору в сфере связи, информационных технологий и массовых коммуникаций (Роскомнадзор), Эл № ФС77-49585 от 24 апреля 2012 г.
Учредитель: Индивидуальный предприниматель Эркенов Рашид Адамович.
Главный редактор журнала «Золотая площадь» Аппаев Билял Добаевич.
Издатель: индивидуальный предприниматель Эркенов Рашид Адамович. Адрес издателя: 369380, КЧР, Малокарачаевский район, с. Учкекен, ул. Ленина, 89а.



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