Blesok no. 54, May-June, 2007
Poetry


from “Relocated stone”

Nikola Madžirov



Shadows pass us by


We’ll meet one day,
like a paper boat and
a watermelon that’s been cooling in the river.
The anxiety of the world will
be with us. Our palms
will eclipse the sun and we’ll
approach each other holding lanterns.

One day, the wind won’t
change direction.
The birch will send away leaves
into our shoes on the doorstep.
The wolves will come after
our innocence.
The butterflies will leave
their dust on our cheeks.

An old woman will tell stories
about us in the waiting room every morning.
Even what I’m saying has
been said already: we’re waiting for the wind
like two flags on a border.

One day every shadow
                will pass us by.

Translated by: Magdalena Horvat




When someone goes away
everything that’s been done comes back


                 For Marjan K.


In the embrace on the corner you will recognize
someone’s going away somewhere. It’s always so.
I live between two truths
like a neon light trembling in
an empty hall. My heart collects
more and more people, since they’re not here anymore.
It’s always so. One fourth of our waking hours
is spent in blinking. We forget
things even before we lose them –
the calligraphy notebook, for instance.
Nothing’s ever new. The bus
seat is always warm.
Last words are carried over
like oblique buckets to an ordinary summer fire.
The same will happen all over again tomorrow—
the face, before it vanishes from the photo,
will lose the wrinkles. When someone goes away
everything that’s been done comes back.

Translated by: Magdalena Horvat




Flying


The haze hangs over the city
like the Virgin Mary’s bowed head
from a fresco far away.

Satellite dishes talk to
angels
trying to determine tomorrow’s weather:
clear, safe, significant
like a calendar with
red dates.

But as soon as the night joins
the shadows to the wall,
you will sneak out towards the branches
like a rare bird
from the other side of a bank-note.

Translated by: Magdalena Horvat




Many things happened


Many things happened
while the Earth was spinning on
God’s finger.

Wires released themselves
from pylons and now
they connect one love to another.
Ocean drops
deposited themselves eagerly
onto caves’ walls.
Flowers separated
from minerals and set off
following the scent.

From the back pocket pieces of paper
started flying all over our airy room:
irrelevant things which we’d
never do unless
they were written down.

Translated by: Magdalena Horvat




Clock hands


Inherit your childhood from the album.
Transmit the silence
that widens and narrows like
a flock of birds.
In your palms preserve
the irregularly shaped snowball
and the drops that slide along the lifeline.
Say the prayer
with your lips closed:
the words are seeds falling in a flowerpot.

Silence in the womb can be learnt.

Try to be born
like a big clock hand after midnight
and the seconds will overtake you at once.

Translated by: Makedonka Božinovska




Return


I open fearfully the door
to draw a border with the sun rays
upon the carpet.
I feel like shouting,
but the echo of the unfurnished room
is faster than me.
The sweat on the door-knob is not mine
and the rush on my neck
does not belong to this world.
I emerge in several
painted memories,
my soul is the womb's palimpsest
of a far-off mother.
Hence the thought of return
and the quiet squeaking of the hinges.

I would expand the space with a step
to thicken the grains of dust
and multiply the hairs that fall
down, always white
because of the light.

Translated by: Zoran Ančevski




Someone’s voice


Today is the day, today
an unknown saint is being celebrated.
Our child
will be named after him
and will say the prayers
that have no signature.

Today is the day when
someone’s voice from the stained glass
will come back in many colours.

Even my cough is a call
after someone who’s not here.

Today is the day when
childhood passes
imperceptibly as warm air
through a dreamer’s lungs.

Translated by: Magdalena Horvat




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