Poetry – Bogomil Gjuzel

/, Literature, Blesok no. 137/Poetry – Bogomil Gjuzel

Poetry – Bogomil Gjuzel

Flood at the International Writers’ Workshop
Professional Poet
Homage to Stone
The Apocalyptic Spring
The Second Coming
A Stranger at Home, at Home Elsewhere
Breaking Up the Wall
Prometheus’ Eagle
An Island on Land
After the Flood, Them Again
The End of the Century

An Island on Land


“… the Republic of Macedonia is a landlocked country…”



Who says we haven’t got a sea?

We don’t have it now, it doesn’t wash our borders

but once it was in our backyard

then it dried up, what was left was confiscated

together with our house, and us, refugees left homeless.


How can we make do without a sea?

Banished upwards, to the north, we remain (until we cool off)

still in harmony with it (that umbilical cord!) beyond 300 mountains

So what if (as in bygone times) it was (is) called white, black, blue

it is always the same yet different – morning, noon, night.


Good that it’s here, though locked in caves and underground rivers

the high tide thunders in our dreams, the ebb tide runs us aground into reality

Drought is its salt, its blueness – vast, open sea, horizonless –

is a glacier stuck between cliffs that takes shape from longing


for the primaeval ocean – with internalised traces, excessive in their power,

of its breathing in the pulse of our veins.

Finally – and why not? – our salty blood is

punishment for the ancestral sin. Because you once drank brotherly blood

that is why to this day you cannot drink the sea.



translated by Peter H. Liotta

AuthorBogomil Gjuzel
2021-06-02T20:03:01+00:00 May 31st, 2021|Categories: Poetry, Literature, Blesok no. 137|0 Comments