Oh! Brother poet Eloquent and gifted Macedonian You are dead, And from the grave no one is able to speak. Yet! You speak, your words come alive Whenever your poems are spoken Wherever your poems are read Here in this land, far away from Macedonia I have read what you have written. Oh, Soldier poet, when you died in the war I was a child nine years of age I would be unable to understand your sad poem “What are these ...

Introduction; The master artist sets down his paint brush and steps back, satisfied It is the last brushstroke of the millions that precede this final act of applying his trade. With a sense of resignation he lowers boxes of paints and brushes, adhesives, gold leaf protractors and compasses along with a stool and benches, from the top of the scaffolding to the ground. He climbs down, how many times has he ascended ...

Sunday mornings at the Cathedral of Saint Clement Ohrid The congregation gathers in the Church sanctuary There, traditional Byzantine frescoes on the ceiling and walls Depict the Birth, Life, Death and Resurrection of our Lord Jesus In whose memory the communion service is celebrated. Stand at the back, unobtrusively taking in the whole scene Inhale the wafting scent of incense and melting candles Observe the ...

Robed Macedonian priest Swinging smoking censer, heavy incensed air Harmonic and familiar, two part Macedonian Orthodox funeral song. We are gathered to lie to rest Cousin Sophie Who lived well and lived long. Born in Oshchima, Macedonia Land of her Fathers Rich in history and Christian culture Leaving the Balkans to which turmoil relates. To Canada and a new life with promise This young girl and family did ...

Macedonians of today are proud of their heritage Especially the role of women in keeping language alive During a violent century, it was the Macedonian speaking home That held together the Macedonians as a distinct people Who held the people together? She who was the preserver of the Macedonian language The teacher is honoured by the child`s first word “Majka” Words to infants are seeds planted, which grow to become ...

Recently in a local bookstore, I opened a copy of Jack London’s collected stories. Glancing down the list of titles, I smiled in recognition of familiar readings from my boyhood. Coming upon the title The Sea Wolf I stopped, as memories of my Father and the arrogance of my youth came into my mind. Turning to chapter 24 in this particular story, I looked for that special word. My eyes went up and down the pages where ...