Nikola Madzirov

Lit.-Mag #36
Home & Homecoming

They return three times sadder


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

Translated from Macedonian by
Zoran Anceski


Es ist wahr, dass die Stadt
als Folge einer Lüge entstand
notwendig für die Menschen
die Blumentöpfe und die Haustiere

(so versorge ich mich mit
den nötigen Rechtfertigungen)

Es ist wahr, dass alle Menschen
die Gebäude verlassen
(wie bei einem Erdbeben)
und mit einer Vase in Händen
zu den Wiesen gehen

Sie kommen dreimal trauriger zurück
mit Staub in den Handflächen
und einigen Geräuschen
wie Löcher in der Erinnerung

wieder allgemeine Stille.

Aus dem Makedonischen von
Alexander Sitzmann


It is true that the town
grew as a result of a lie
necessary for people
flowerpots and pets

(that is how I provide myself with
the necessary justification)

It is true that all the people
get out of the buildings
(as during an earthquake)
and with a vase in their hands
head towards the meadows

They return three times sadder
with dust in their hands
and few murmurs
like holes in their memory

again common silence.

Translated from Macedonian by
Makedonka Bozhinovska


Over the airport speaker today
I address you: Turn around
before you put on the seat
of your autumn jacket.
Cut the air
with the dark movement of your face.
Don’t trust the guardians
of lasting values. In the houses
protected by law there are
no tenants. Don’t trust
the continent that
lowers its palm gently
over your forehead. Let’s go running
after cars, to soak in the smell
of burnt petrol.
Reject stories about whales
and explosions. The world’s secret
is written on the doors of run-down
public toilets. Kneel down, pray
and bow your head as a street
shoe-shine boy does. Lean your ear on the ground
and predict all earthquakes and resurrections.
Like a mirror in a lift reflect all
the heights of the Universe.

Translated from Macedonian by
Magdalena Horvat

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