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.
When a villager dies— a friend, a parent, or a brother— then we begin to think deeply: why do we quarrel, my friends? The phone rings early— who could it be, who could it be now? The message is a sorrowful one: so-and-so has died today. The news keeps spreading until everyone has heard— another villager is gone from this city. Young and old gather together in the biting cold, to stand before the ...
Death came down from above before the night had fallen. He had no tail—only wings, like a little angel. I said to him, please, I still have much to do— do me this one favour, I do not want to die yet. “Death,” he told me, “of the body is but another beginning for your soul. The two of us will go elsewhere— there lies your eternal life.” I insisted, begged for a delay, to remain a little longer. ...
I cannot see what I have become. Others look at me in wonder, while I believe I have remained the same through all that has passed. And when we say our farewells, and eat the wheat, we all begin to wonder— who will be taken next?
In this temporary life we live, God traced for us a way: One passes through it light and swift, Another like a storm-tossed day. And though your start seems light and fast, Never let humility depart; Let your path remain the proper one, For gratitude must guide the heart. In the tempest of this life, Never lose your courage strong, So you may yet be freed from harm Before the wreck should come ...
If I could ever write Two beautiful songs, They would be for the ones I admired— Those two beautiful flowers. I would caress them every morning Before I went to work, And like a bird in flight They gave me wings. And in the evening when I returned With tired wings, They ran to me and I held them close, And I flew from joy. And when spring arrived And they opened their petals, The bees circled ...
It was the month of July, The grandchildren had come, Their little tents were set up, Their fingers were on fire. Each one sat in a corner, Talking electronically, And every now and then they laughed. One was making tweets, The other going beep-beep, Texting from here, Tweeting from there. Their little heads were down, Their little fingers on fire, Not a word could be heard. I tried to ask them ...
If I were crystal water In little golden channels, So you could wash your white neck, My five-times beautiful gardenia. So you could wash your face, Your golden-blond hair, You would make the sun grow dim With all your beauty. If only you would let me Caress your golden hair, If only I could enchant you As your beauty enchants me. To be grafted like a young shoot Deep within your heart, So I too ...
Beneath the blooming almond tree, In the cool breath of spring, Upon silken sheets Anthoula was sleeping. She slept and she was dreaming— Three young lads Danced all around her, Wooing her with love. The first one gave her A blooming branch And a little ornament. The second gave her A gold coin And a golden ring. The third one whispered in her ear— He had no ornament to give. He bent down softly ...
We write about the past Because we don’t know the future The present goes fast And this...we have to nurture As I remember my parents They had so much to tell I was so busy with my errands So much behind I fell Now I have the time They are not here to ask The memory they left behind Will be my only task That’s way I am writing These precious lines in brief Now is time for binding Because time is ...
Christmas as I remember Long long time ago Those cold days in December With fresh fallen snow The church bells would chime And echo throughout the village The sun rays would shine We felt we were so privileged I had my mother and father My two sisters and me Baba Kata our grandmother I felt like I was in my high We got no Christmas presents We had no Christmas tree We had each others presence ...
