The role and function of Macedonian poetry in Canada represents the most direct way of expressing the spirit of the old world surrounded by the conditions faced in the new world. This genesis began over 100 years ago as the first Macedonians began migrating to Canada. The historical circumstances developed a truly Canadian Macedonian poetic narrative which the Canadian Macedonian Heritage Society presents to you the reader. The selected poems are just a sample of some of the works of Canadian citizens of Macedonian descent.
Spero Thompson is a colleague and contributing writer of the Brachi Miladinovci Macedonian Poetry and Literary Society of Saint Clement of Ohrid Macedonian Orthodox Cathedral in Toronto, Ontario.
Patsy Sider-Aspassia Bossota is the author of five poetry books entitled "Diary of a Soul (1998)", "A Spark from the Ashes (1998)", "Between Two Worlds (2000)", "The Joy of Justice (2003)", "Prohibited Culture (2006)", a book of Short Stories entitled "Amazing Garden"(2009) and author of many other poems and short stories. Poems from "Between Two Worlds" are presented for your reading.
They are following in the footsteps of the first representatives of modern Macedonian literature at the beginning of the 19th century. These include, Joakim Krcovski, Kiril Pejcinovik, Dimitar and Konstantin Miladinov, Grigor Prlicev, and Rajko Zinzifov. It was further developed in the 20th century by Vojdan Cernodrinski, Nikola Kirov - Majski and Atanas Razdolov. Then the development of Macedonian Literature continued with Koco Racin, who is considered to be the founder of modern Macedonian literature.
The first post-war generation of Macedonian poets, include Blaze Koneski, Aco Sopov, Slavko Janevski, Vlado Maleski and Kole Casule. The new generation of Macedonian writers appeared in the early 1950s, encompassing among others Gane Todorovski, Mateja Matevski, Dimitar Solev, Ante Popovski, Boris Visinski and Simon Drakul. They were followed by, Zivko Cingo, Petre M. Andreevski, Radovan Pavlovski, Jovan Koteski and many others.
From a young age I loved This village In its irrigation channels I grew up Playing in the water And when the sun came out From behind the mountain Barefoot yet happy I welcomed it And when dawn softly broke At the edge of the village It was the start of an endless Summer day Bread and salt we ate But like little children We asked nothing We had freedom Riding on my little donkey In the cool ...
On the fourth of March I left the village And went to Athens From there I would come here And I would have a fine time My cabin was down in the depths On the Queen Frederica Three others and myself Locked in like mice We stopped in Naples It was the first stop Up to there we had a good time It still hadn’t hit us yet When we left Gibraltar Out on the open waters Very few of us remained standing ...
You become a stranger in your own place A stranger in foreign lands They changed our names And they look like boxes So, you can have a permit to work An uncle tells me The old ones have to change The names, above all A thousand up and down in the piggybank They called me Box It didn’t bother me very much I’m not going to stay there anyway First job in Canada Washing dishes, and lots of them It ...
After sixth grade Our minds were on the village stroll In our Sunday best To steal a little look The girls, arm in arm One in red, one in blue We didn’t know if they were enchanting us Or making fun of us After so many walks The girls didn’t enchant us What enchanted us were the smells from the bakery And we searched our pockets for drachmas And like the fox With the unripe grapes We set our ...
I was talking with a friend of mine He tells me he can’t sleep His little dog was killed And he grieves for it deeply “I had it like a small child,” he said “So it wouldn’t drip or get wet I took it out every morning Before the sun had risen yet It never once offended me It never talked back It only looked me in the eyes And wagged its tail I wish I knew if someday We will meet again If they too ...
A young woman was weaving With white thread at the loom She was wearing a black dress Her future was sombre Why is your thread white And your clothing black Are you mourning your mother Your old father perhaps I do not mourn my mother Nor my father My youth has turned black And I weep night and day Swiftly your youth passes Quickly time slips away Cast off your black clothes So your sorrow may ...
In Grandista, three young maidens Were gathering chamomile. They heard some thunderclaps Before the sun had set. On the ridge of Eleo lightning flashed, In Strebreno it thundered, In Zelenich rain was falling, And Gurlo could not contain it. The rain grew stronger, The rocks began to roll, The torrent swelled and raged, Flooding all the fields. They climbed upon a hillside, Trying to save ...
Spring of ’48 But there was no celebration. No lambs were roasting in the village Those who had remained Wanted only peace They ran toward their destination To protect Whatever was left That was still their own Many underage children Had stayed in the village Others had been left orphans With no purpose at all They ran like hunted birds Through roads and fields Their clothes all worn and old Torn ...
Just before midnight, on a summer night, our windows half-open, yet not a single word was heard. From the mountain opposite the moon was rising. A shadow appeared in the alley beside the marketplace. Footsteps were heard in haste, heading toward the river. Someone had gone to fetch Babo Geraka, the midwife. Labour pains seized the mother, and she said her prayer. She wished for nothing else but ...
The Last Breath of a Guerrilla Fighter Before dawn on Holy Wednesday, fighting in the battle of Lia, they had spoken to him of freedom. His body collapsed upon the earth, yet he no longer felt pain. His soul separated from the body, invisible, gazing from above. While stray bullets flew, they could no longer touch his soul. It was one of those futile days, like a little boat without oars. He saw ...
