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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 117 | volume  | December, 2017



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 117December, 2017

The Poets Who Stole a Boat in Struga

p. 1
Sonnet Mondal


The Poets Who Stole a Boat in Struga

a real story from the 53rd Struga Poetry Evenings, Macedonia 2014

A sudden Facebook text this morning by Nikola Gelincheski transported me to a day before the fi-nal event of the 53rd Struga Poetry Evenings, Macedonia, 2014. My poet friend Márcio-André, whose actions might be attributed to a modern day Ezra Pound added me to a group-chat in Face-book, where Nikola mentioned: Hello guys:) Here's a small tribute to the event from 2 years ago. I decided to take the first sentence from your story and use it on my lessons as an activity for practicing past tenses  . His words invoked a night that had incited me many times, to write about it, but not so much as today, maybe due to this still night — silent, except for a breeze that makes me remember of a similar flurry of air — when I stepped out of the Skopje airport — bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, in August 2014. My trip to this poetry fest was loaded with fervour and ea-gerness, much due to the fact that it was my first tour outside India — that too for a cause woven around my passion. Rest remaining same (as expected out of a 50 year old fiesta), the fourth day drew me into a side-splitting yet spunky escapade that became an anecdote to be shared with later visitors to this annual poetry conclave.

Along with the enthusiasm, that this visit brought with it — there was a series of episodes, which uplifted my spirit to get involved into the act — that inducted into the list of the three poets who stole a boat at midnight. The very first inhalation, after stepping into Macedonia was like a breath with the smell of individualism — something like escaping with your passion from the shackles of daily dos and don’ts. From a Yugoslovakian restaurant to a local dance concert in Ohrid, I was imbuing myself with the prevalent Macedonian culture. It is climacteric to mention here that my fateful urge to marry at an early age led to a quick separation and that happened just one month before this visit. Toing and frowning with agony and blames, I was still searching for an escape-tunnel — like a desperate rat searching for its lost hole. It was haunting to realise how life changes as we step into

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