A poet blown away by the wind "I am saddened by the vicissitudes of the chariot of fate: the stupid bliss, the intelligent suffers." (Zakirjan Halmuhammad (Furkat)
They called him the Lermonts of the East. His poems are the best examples of Uzbek lyrical poetry of the late XIX – early XX century. Many of his gazelles became known as folk songs. He was the first publicist among Uzbek poets, wrote about the need to study the Russian language, Russian science and technology; he sought to educate the people in order to join the world culture through the Russian language. The film by Yuldash Agzamov tells about the most tragic period in the life of the poet, who took the pseudonym Furkat (Separation). Soviet biographical films have always kept a high bar of quality, because this is the guarantee that the viewer will not just believe in the shown - he will feel what he saw with his heart. This is especially true of films about the great poets of our once multinational state. Because the poet is not just a citizen of his country, he is its conscience. That's how Furkat is shown. Today, when the values of the socialist system are not respected, someone may accuse the film of excessive ideologization. That's not true. Everything that is shown here is based not on the dogmas of socialism, but on the work of the poet, who passed the pain and suffering of the people through his heart. The creators of the picture thoroughly studied the work of Fourkat, offering the audience an excellent sample of his poems. There is not as much about love as I would like. The film explains this reason, and love gazelles can be found elsewhere: "She, opening her face, confused the sky - the star of her beauty, the whole world was blinded," "Because of the cheeks of her tender basil wilted in confusion. The bright scarlet tulip in the garden gave them a blush, “In front of your face even the sun was confused with fire, drowned in the bloody dawn and disappeared in the darkness of the night.” The film does not include the last years of the poet. Years of continuous travel: Turkey, Greece, Bulgaria, Egypt, Arabia, India, China. But wherever Furkat lived, he never forgot about the Motherland, about his beloved Kokand. Until the last minute, he believed that he would see them again - it was from this persistent inexhaustible pain that his strongest poems were born: Woe to me! With a ruthless hand, like a bush, I am torn from the ground. The roots remained in my native land – I dried up from my homeland far away. I've forgotten joy and peace. In the world of place I don't find... As a homeless traveler, as a stranger under the walls of the Motherland wandering. I will not look at the edge of my native land and not survive my trouble, but I know that someday I will come to my homeland with a song.