Poetry – Igor Isakovski

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Poetry – Igor Isakovski

Translated from Macedonian: Elizabeta Bakovska




we advise each other with our eyes, you say.

and I think that we speak with out souls –

it’s somehow the same, my brother on another

and third continent, because we know

how the other one breathes, even when

we don’t write to each other for months

(even when I don’t write to you for months)


I don’t send you my new poems,

I don’t write to you what I hear

while I sleep while I read.

I don’t tell you if and how much I drink

(often abundantly, as a south american

rain running down my throat,

an amazon of tides and floods)


I don’t tell you how the walls around me

tremble, but I sometimes write down

a poem: so that it comes handy in the long

dawns, a bit before sunrise

to put me asleep, to wake you up


you send me your music

such unpretentious lists

packed with melancholy that no

sunlight can paint

and now I think how many pairs of ears

can endure it before they start

to burst like rich chinese fireworks


we advise each other with our eyes, you say

why would be need ears, I think.

we understand each other with our souls, silently, I know

you know it too, my brother, I know that you do.

AuthorIgor Isakovski
Translated byElizabeta Bakovska
2019-01-15T10:22:56+00:00 January 5th, 2019|Categories: Poetry, Literature, Blesok no. 123|0 Comments