BLAZE KONESKI [8917]

Blaze Koneski

(República de Macedonia, (FYROM), 1921-1993)

Poeta y traductor macedonio nacido en Nebregovo, cerca de Prilep, Reino de los Serbios, Croatas y Eslovenos, ahora República de Macedonia. Uno de los poetas más destacados de éste país. Estudió medicina en la Universidad de Belgrado, trabajando más tarde como recitador en el Teatro Nacional de Macedonia. En 1946 comenzó a trabajar como profesor de filosofía en la universidad San Cirilo Methodius de la ciudad de Skopje, donde trabajó hasta su jubilación. Fue miembro de la Academia Macedonia de Ciencias y Artes desde 1967, ejerciendo como presidente desde 1967 a 1975 y Doctor Honoris Causa de las Universidades de Chicago y Cracovia.

BIBLIOGRAFÍA:

Land and Love (poetry, 1948)

Normative Guide with a Dictionary of Standard Macedonian with Krum Tosev (1950)

Grammar of Standard Macedonian (volume 1, 1952)

Standard Macedonian (1959)

Poems (1953)

A Grammar of Standard Macedonian (volume 2, 1954)

The Embroideress (poetry, 1955)

The Vineyard (short stories, 1955)

Macedonian Dictionary (1961)

Poems (1963)

A History of Macedonian (1965)

Macedonian Dictionary (volume 2, edited, 1965)

Macedonian Dictionary (volume 3, 1966)

Sterna (poetry, 1966), Hand - Shaking (narrative poem, 1969)

The Language of the Macedonian Folk Poetry (1971)

Speeches and Essays (1972)

Notes (poetry, 1974)

Poems Old and New (poetry, 1979)

Places and Moments (poetry, 1981)

The Fountains (poetry, 1984)

Macedonian Textbooks of 19th Century: Linguistic, Literary, Historical Texts (1986)

Images and Themes (essays, 1987)

The Epistle (poetry, 1987)

The Tikves Anthology (study, 1987)

Meeting in Heaven (poetry, 1988)

The Church (poetry 1988)

A Diary after Many Years (prose, 1988)

Golden Peak (poetry, 1989)

Poetry (Konstantin Miladinov), the Way Blaze Koneski Reads It (1989)

Seizmograph (poetry, 1989)

Macedonian Locations and Topics (essays, 1991)

The Heavenly River (poems and translations, 1991)

The World of the Legend and the Song (essays, 1993)

The Black Ram (poetry, 1993)

Conversación

Yo imagino una conversación contigo

Algunas justificaciones

Algunas explicaciones.

Discurro palabras convenientes

verídicas

Cálidas

Cabalmente sinceras.

Quizá yo te diría

En ese diálogo

Que, a pesar de todo

Trazaste un arco iris 

Sobre mi vida

Que me encajaste en alguna totalidad irrepetible

De modo que todo obtuvo sentido

Como si por sí solo se hubiese creado un milagro.

Quizá pocos y quizá nadie

Se inventase así a sí mismo

Como nos inventamos nosotros dos.

Y sin embargo, a pesar de esta alza grande

En gesto y palabra

Al final llego a la conclusión 

De que va a ser mejor que no suceda nunca esa conversación.

traduccido al español por Sanja Mladenovska

Epistle

Without you, Tyre and Sidon,

life has existed here for thousands of years and will continue.

We humans are like grass:

crushed, dried, withering, dying.

The land alone remains.

We humans are like ants:

squashed, destroyed, and again gathering in a pile.

From here, sometime, began the march to the Indus, who could have foreseen that?

Along the Via Egnatia Cicero went into exile

in Salonika.

Near Drama

Caesar's ghost appeared to Brutus

in the tent

on the eve of the decisive battle.

And fifteen martyrs were consecrated at Tiveriopol. Naum built a monastery

at the source of the White Like.

This land also gave strength to King Marko. And yet,

has it not suffered humiliation?

Everything is ordained -

we depart

but the land remains.

Small things

All these trinkets,

toys,

trifles, souvenirs,

small mementoes or great moments, small presents from great friends,

one day

they'll lose their magic attraction, their small warm souls,

to turn into cold bits and pieces. Maybe the elm which has begun to die

now similarly feels that it bears

a lot of withered branches.

Skopje

You who will stand on Gazibaba, you, my descendant hear me:

From here I too have gazed on Skopje,

it was a spring day, one of those

when the fresh outlines of the roofs

are softly interwoven

and every poplar is a green waterjet.

My gaze a little veiled

(that's why I'm silent)

but clear-sighted and bright.

Know you:

I feel that this my call

is the boldest grasp for the future,

an embrace of your soul, I'd say,

and cutting like a fresh-honed edge, dreaming, teeming, screaming:

remember me!

The call

This voice of the muezzin

from a tape,

this velvet baritone

from the mosque,

this morning it sounds so persuasive,

like a link between earth and heaven,

so consoling and so calming,

and so deep at first sight,

that intimate contact!

And yet, if you understand the prayer's words

you'd realise that this is just a call,

effective only for the faithful

on this poor earth of ours.

Recollection after many years

I was perhaps not quite twenty when I wrote:

"So much did woe cry out within me that I was born into a tribe in need." And to this day

the injury will bleed:

I'm haunted by that ever-present woe and one that's greater still,

so that, sower of barren seed,

I'll say,

to change the words a little,

"Still does the woe cry out within me that I am horn into a tribe in need."

And yet I hope this isn't so,

since I have undergone the test

of such great woe.