Osmiot Den - Sofija Grandakovska Izdava~: Ikona

8/14/2019 Osmiot Den - Sofija Grandakovska Izdava~: Ikona

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Osmiot den - Sofija GrandakovskaIzdava~: IkonaBul. Partizanski Odredi, br. 91000 Skopje, Republika Makedonijawww.icon.com.mk

Izdava~ki prava: Ikona

Site prava se za{titeni.Godina na izdavawe: 2005

Recenzenti: akademik Katica ]ulavkovad-r Slavica Srbinovska

Prevod na angliski jazik: Dejan GeorgievskiLektura na angliski jazik: Dijana KomlenacDizajn i likovno-grafi~ko oblikuvawe: AMVON Komunikacii

The Eighth Day - Sofija GrandakovskaPublished by: IkonaBlvd. Partizanski odredi, 91000 Skopje, Republic of Macedoniawww.icon.com.mk

Copyright IkonaAll rights reserved.2005

Reviewers: Professor Katica Kulavkova, Ph.D.,Member of Macedonian Academy of Sciences and ArtsProfessor Slavica Srbinovska, Ph.D.

Translation from Macedonian by: Dejan GeorgievskiLanguage editing by: Dijana KomlenacDesign and layout:AMVON Communication

CIP - Katalogizacija vo publikacijaNarodna i univerzitetska biblioteka "Sv.Kliment Ohridski", Skopje

GRANDAKOVSKA, SofijaOsmiot den/ Sofija Grandakovska; prevod na angliski: DejanGeorgievski/=The Eighth Day/Sofija Grandakovska; translation: DejanGeorgievski. Skopje: Ikona, 2005,- str.Tira`: 500.ISBN


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Na onoj komu ku~kite Lajki mu bea }erki,a site nie zaedni~ko semejstvo.


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Vovedna

ôvekot spoen vo pregratka so denotpo damne{na ~ista sila,~etirinaeset od Avraama do Davida rodovi,od Davida do Vavilon u{te tolkuisto tolku i do Hristai koj znae kolku do sega vo ìvotta zemnai onie {to doprva idatvo ednoto svetlini da ìveat,

vo ovoj den sedmi

sveta neka e silata {to ne se ni{tikako meneweto na smrekite niz vremeto,preobrazbitevo povtorno obnovenite bilki od samokorenot,neka se mnoàt praznuvawataza voskresenie damne{novo voskresenie se~ieza raspnuvawe na krst,veli ~ovekotraspnat od svojot po~etok,ra|aweto vo voskresenie ìvotnood ìvotno-drugi velat,

po eden prapo~etoksrede tri mese~iniso mnogu boi na ludiot vitel.

Toga{,izleze ~ovekot i pra{a:


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[to e toa {to ne e tajna,a }e mora da se odjanyakako edinstven zavetoploden vo pregratka na milna sila?

Ako e Svetlosta SvetostSvetosta Doblest,Svet neka bide Zborot

da stignam do Mudriot.

I.

Moèbi i nikoga{moèbi docna nekoga{}e be{e ~udotvornoda ne be{e sonotpred koj kako gre{nikpove}e leta begavbez da se setamdeka }e treba da go sretnamda go pro~itam znakot negovkako vizija na edna celinatebna svoina,sekoj obid da izbegambe{e obid {to mi se vra}a,sonot na son mi doa|akako jasno pretskazanie,jasno da ne go vidam.

Se redat bledi poliwai skrben nem zvuk,Tibiduva{ kina~ na vozduh{to se teteravi tapoi prokleto lesno,moli{ da stane{ izguben likbez tajni i kopneì -

tie spoeni vo ulav vresok{to ~eka da se najdekako izgubena slikakako veter bez dvièwekako presret na ona {to treba se skroti.


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Pukam bez zvuk vo glasotstojam pred nere{en ovalkoren neznaenkako korenot na sto~etirieset i ~etvrtiotod rodot mojsilata silina {to izvira

ednata tatkova,drugata majkina,so prvata radostvo trinaesettata novinaod ovalot vo polo`ba na {estza cel eden ìvotmu dadov na sonot zavetkako najlesen ~ekordo krajot na letot.

Talkam niz obiditekako {to se talka vo nevremeda gi pro~itam brojnite znacikako nekoj ~ita~ od yvezdite,povtorno,kako isku{enik stojam pred nivi pred seto nebo nad mene{to mi teìkako pred do`d {to se najavuva,m isku{uva ona {to ne go gledambez molba moli

bez molba da se svrtamda go dopramkako najsovr{eno bessoznanieme prekolnuva,vika.

Dali ti trebam kako Sluga,dali mi treba{ kako Gospodar i Bogda doznaam,pa, da kleknam pred tebe najponiznone kako gre{nik,ami kako ~ovek molitel?

Dali moèbi saka{ne{to da priznaam pred kameniot predeli pred site sliki kako pustina pred mene,da kleknam kako pred ikonazamoluvaj}i za sebeza sopstvenite pra{awaza prikaznite na{i milni,so onaa nade` ~ove~ka{to ja nosam vo sebe od pokolenijata,da zamiàmda ne se sopnam pred isku{enietoneizvikuvaj}i da progovoramda gi govoramnekaànite svetosti na mudrosta -

a kamenite predelii site pustini mol~at,kako i tikako odgovori sveta tajna od sonot?

Koj si?[to si ti?ôvek li sii {to bara{ od meneme|u site izbrani vnuci


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od site ~etirinaeset od Avraama do Davida rodovi,od Davida do Vavilon u{te tolku,isto tolku do Hristai koj znae kolku po nego?

Pa,

ne sum proroka }e moram da prorokuvam,me ma~i{i mami{Tinesoznaena silo,~udo,da pomislamda ne te otkrijamisto kako da ne postojam.

Gledam ne~ie telo i lika vo oblik na ku}a,vleguvam i odam niz ne~ii odaipolni si starini i svetost,go vidov i predvorjetoi dvajca glasnici maì,ne moàm da odgatnam vo sebe sikoja e taa silada tragam po odgovor na javekaì,koja e taa ku}a

vo koja na son stalno vleguvamvodena od za mene poznatod rodot me|u lu|eto maì,maòt vo ode`da so boite na esen.

Si mislev,da ne e teloto na Bogakoga nekoga{ odamda osetam mirda ne slu{nam glasda vidam i ne~ujam ne{to

{to kako vo sonistoto mi se slu~uvada pozboruvam so sebesi,kogai bogovite molat,i bo`jotoi yvonoto za glasnosi pitom molk~etiristotini i natamu inakvi èlbiso nezgasnat àrza novi dni.

Me ima tvojata mo}.

Ti,od koja smisla doa|a{,od onaakade neboto i zemjata ne se dopiraat -ottamu prio|a{,no pak ne znamzo{to

i koji {to si ti {to me vika{ili treba da ~ekamna son }e te vidam da se javi{ako si ~ovek vo toj oblik i so taa lika,da ne molam i vikam


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mojot glas ne~uenìvot teì,onojza mene znaenod rodot me|u lu|eto maì,maòt vo ode`da {to se nosi vo Listopad

re~e -s vo svoe vremejas pak }e se vratam,ostanuvaj}i pred ku}ata bez bremei s takai s takavo edno beskrajno ra|awena isku{eni~ka nekakva silane~ija mo}so seta golemina me pregrnavo ona {to treba jas da go imam,pa, za mig zaprevso misla vakva:sekoj ima migmigot tojra|a{ novi kosmosibez migovida rodi{ migtoj svettoj zborzborot tebe

ti migotti svetotsvetot jasjas migotmigot sveti

vitelot razigranvo sopstvena pregratkakobi za spas vo neviden beskraj,moli do kobza mojot spas -

Otkrovenie,kopneam da te odgatnam!

Znam deka ne si samo sonti si ona {to me najde,prokleto,prokletomoram da te najdamzavetot toa me vikakako da treba da se vratam nekadene tolku dalekuda oslobodam del zataenda se oslobodam sebe sistigaj}i do tebekako ne~uen silen krik{to si odi{se vra}a{,tuka si postojanopirejuva{ bez imeza da bidam s svoe,m nosi onoj tivok i miren

za mene poznat maìmeto mu go znamvo tebnosta mu go ~uvamvo ku}ata me nosisaka ne{to da mi re~eimeto


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da,ima{ ime,imeto tvoena ku}ata mora da e.

êkav znak.

Barav znacida stignam do pobeda {to ne sogoruvavo rani spomeni najdov vizija od detstvolik na ~ovek me|u oblacinalik onoj `rtvenikkoj nosel ve~nost,ovoj pregrnalosvoilne ~ove~kamitskabezvremena mo}i znaev deka e ~asovnik{to nikoga{ ne meri vreme,i svest{to ja vozdignuva èlbata za ra|awei sila bez ime -Ti mora da si ~ovek,zatoa veruvamtoga{toa be{e vizija za Svetec~ij lik nikoga{ ne go sretnav me|u svetite

nitu pak go prepoznav me|u obi~nite.Doprena do sr` deka si ~ovek~ie ime e na ku}ata bo`ja{to na son stalno mi doa|apred golemi praznici

kako pred golemi isku{enija{to praznik mi vetuvaatkoga nemam golemi èlbidovolnoda bidam sre}na i bez nivno,

edna edinstvenakako odgovor da mi dojdeda mu odgovoram na sonot {to mi baraza{to nade`ta mi kopneeda stignam do tebekako do sopstven brodkoga na patot kon tvojata zemjadopiram do izmisleni planetigoltam par~iwa te{ko nebozapoznavam iljada zakoni na misli skitnici -patot do sopstvenoto otkritiemora da si ti

dvojna yunicavo trinaesettiot ètvaren denposokata na nebo mi ja ispi{a:

Patot si ti.

]e te najdam,}e te pronajdam, tebe odgovoru,

bez da mi is~ezne{bez da m odmine{bez da te izmislamvo nevidliva dale~ina kade sikako dale~na pregratkaa dale~inite bliski -


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iskra bez stravza novi ro`bi vo vremeto,imeto tvoena ku}ata mora da e.

Prvo da te vidam kako ku}a

da te sretnam kako ~ovekda te zapoznaam kako iscelitel

i Svetecu,da se pomolam pred tebeza moite race poddadeni kon neizvesnostaza mojot dopir so smrtta pretvoren vo strastza zatvorenite bez klu~ tajni vo meneza moite kopneìi sonbez boi bojadisan,za sekoe vreme {to mi e bliskoza ne{tata {to dale~ni treba da se,mnoèwata na ni{tavilata~emerot vo mislitela`nite sliki nemo`ni da gi uni{tami pred koi nemo`na stojam,za stravot {to mi go silatkoga sum tuka,a saka tamutoga{

i onamu,za vremeto nosenoso seto nedonosenoi sebesi otstrana videnakako senka dlaboko damlosana,za burata {to sakam da zavr{i

koga krajot e neizveseni ne znam komu treba da se predadamkoga nema koj da mi re~ekoga se pra{uvam sebe sikako moàm ni{toto da go vidamrasplamten zalog na seni{te bedno

{to qubi da viree rasko{no -go gledam vo prostorot izmislen i izvi{en,koga tu|ite glasovi gi slu{am kako svoikoga ja odgatnuvam obremenetata sila na sonotvo kojtvoite glasnicimene neznajni dvajca maì vo temni kostumikako za sve~en ~in oble~eninekaneti mi dojdoago baraa od meneonojod rodot me|u lu|eto maì,maòt vo ode`da so boite na esenmaòt {to na son me ven~ava bez zbor

Svetecu,pomoluvaj}i se da ti kaàmnemoèj}i da mu re~amda mu priznaam deka sakam da go pra{amvo koj del od vremeto da go pobaramda ne se sre}ava so mene samo na son molkum,

vo koj del od sonot nesonuvanda go prepoznaambez da go pra{am da znaeznaeso godini sonot me teraza nego da molam,


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vo koj del od mislata da go smestamda ne ja izlee re~tanenapi{ananepro~itanaèdnaìveana ìva vo mene,

da go smestam vo ìvotta i ìvosta,re~e -sakam s da mi kaè{,kako da mu kaàm za neka`livata mudrakoga znaekako da go odgatnamznaej}i gosonnasonuvanmojtitih i miren maù,da go razvedram i bolnoto nebopa, prinesi me vo sebeta, ne mora na racei ne mora vo ode`da so boite na esenmilno prijdibez dobredojdeso usni razvle~eni{to priod }e oglasatdobredojde na gostinot vo ku}ata ni-

Svetecot ja ~uva,oti ne se morituku po obi~ajnie da ja is~uvame,prijdi,koga listot prezreva

donesi gosve` da go storam na zalezot negov,

deka sakam da me slu{neda go nateram ako neda ne me mori

neka odiiliTojmoèbi na pat kon sebe razmisluvaìvotot e dardali nosi qubov za mene,no taa kade e?Moèbi na polovina pat od meneda se sretneme tamu toga{ili na krajot od denotizasekoga{,ne samo na son da me vikaposetuvanosi i vnesuvavo ku}a na son soneta ne me iznesuva -

posakuvam bez da sakambez da mislam i promisluvamkako nikojkoj cel ìvot

nikako i ne govorel pred tebe Svetecu,nenacrtana ikono,vdahnata silino,od najdlabokoto vo mene da ti izre~amod mene jasnovidno da izustam:koga na{ite na razmin zakoni


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rodija svestkade postoeja samo skeleti od zborovi{to govorea ne{ta bez bojadi{ea samo ~udni oblacilikot nema{e obliknitu oblik povrzan so lik,

tamu racete {irum setibea poddadeni kon nevidlivi insekti{to obvrzuvaa izlez od oblikot -a ne postoe{e.Minuvavme niz {inite kako vozovi bez celvodeni od inakvi ritmiisekoj kako skakulec na {trekna sopstven na~in mol~e{ekako skameneto mo~uri{te bez àbi i insektivoden od sila na nevidliva zla kob{to kako zelena pe{tera demne{enad se~ie besteìnsko telo,edinstveno i cvrsto odevmeso ~ekor na mravka kon nevetuvana silada stigneme do svet na neizìveani ubavinia tie molea so cvet me|u usnitebez iskon i pogled nanazad,ne rodivme vo domot sonse voskresna èlbata za nera|awese rodivme niesekoj vo svojot dom za nepoznatiot son,tamu izbegavme od soznanieto{to n dopre -

juri{ za blagodat so mar{ot na bumbarite

hitinot i tie }e opstojatso umeeweto na obnovenieto svoe,

seu{te juri{aat vo polu~ekor napreddo sledniot agol moèbi samoglavniot gi vodi nemokon skrienoto duvlo{to ne postoi kako edinstveno -tatni govor na gnile`

i pogled revnosen rie -ima li nazad po dopirot so tebe,ima li nazad po dopirot so sonot da se opstane?

Sekoja slikasopstvena prazninabessilenbessebenzaseben vo slikatazborot vrzan e tukaiscican vo su{nosta svojanekaàn e~iza silata vo ustata zbranaehotno da te potsetine da te oslobodipepel da te stori vo ìvosta tvoja,izleziizlesninezamiìi odi ti,odida go setam vo viorot razbesnetda go vidamdamoekako s na{e


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kako Svetite pred papataza istoto Sonceza istioti eden Do`dza inakva - azza site nas

za moeto pred vasi za taa ista vodakako tie pred meneso istata- azda ka`amkako tie za inakva -

buka {to smiruva.

Vresok od utrobatatamu rovi vo gr~is{ibanzakosten do sr`kako kosten tvrd bol,oblak i dnobestebnost steblionde kalednen iskonkon belototelotootelotvori

irazjaren nered vo silinatataa ni likuvamolimolitva bez amin

vikavikvoo,Gospodi!


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II.

Be{e den nedelaneobi~no ~uden za menevo koj nao|am mnogu dobrinai sobiram sila za {estte drugi

taka sekoja nedelaza mene e sveta,stignav pred ku}ata {to ja baramda ja vidamda ti go znam imetoznaev deka ti go znamne moèv da se setamoti ne te znaevznaev deka postoi{doznav pred desettina leta,istata ku}a be{e

sonot {to mi ja vele{ene me povede onojmene znaenod rodot me|u lu|eto maì,maòt vo ode`da {to se nosikoga ne{tata umiraat so boite na esen

molev

Avenea?Boè Gospodeisposti mespazi mespasi me

ènata vo menemene vo neatiida se vidamne vo toj dim

d i i i mvo sebe, Gospodi,so otecot i presvetata sestra se molevi na trpeza vo nedelazaedno so Sveta Nedelaznaeviskonska sila si ti{to na son mi se prikaàsamokoren si tiod vekovi nesozdadenvo ova vreme voobli~en -

i u{te kolku od sonotdo svetata tajnai sredbata so tebe{to kako svet graal vetena mi e -

Sredbata so Mudriot Semo}?

Be{e den nedelano}ta soniv son - samo temninaistata pred da izrti den prvii dve svetli linii me|u edna temninakako dva svetli dena okolu edna no}~uvstvo na strav m razbudi,utro be{e mugrinakoga ve}e izrti den vtoriza mene {esti od nedelata se stori


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kako vo den prvi koga bivtorpat rodena setivvo sr`ta na vekot zarienane znaev kako vo nego trebakako ~ovekot edna{,od stravot

toj me stvorine{tata svetiod drugata stranazapo~na samo za mene da gi tvori,vo ovoj den {esti {to za mene se zbiporivot saka{evinoìtoto da go napravam da se dvoidel po del,boja po bojada ja odgatnuvam zagatkata svoja,kako ~ovekot edna{ {to pra{a:

{to e toa {to ne e tajna,a }e mora da se odjanyakako edinstven zavetoploden vo pregratkana milna sila?

Po~nav od po~etoktoj stoi vo krajotako od ovde do negosamo sonot e,toga{ Svetecu,da ne bide samo son zavekkade nema koj da me potsetideka e vremei postoi takvo vreme

da po~ne da vireei slikata izmislena negova -pusto ne se gleda,migot minattolkui

kolkuitolku dale~ensvoeto ra|awesopstvenata smrtgi meri{ i premeruva{so dolìnata na svojot ìvot,za navek bez vremeso novite poliwa za tr~awena pettata strana od ve~nosta,semo}u ôvek,

kopneej}i so detetome dofati sonot so godini sonuvanda ne bidat i godini sonuvani samogo dofativ ovalotda go re{am nego vo nemoènietood sto~etirieset i ~etvrtiot koren od kvadratotistiot prepoloven na dvekako gor~liva treva {to isceluvaovalot samo epilog mi vetuvada ne sogoramsamo prazno ime da me imenuva,od sonot trgnavpreku ku}ite bez ime projdov,be{e den tretiza mene petti od nedelata se zbi,se kolnam vo site ubavini


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mora da pronajdam odgovortoj mora za mene da postoi,sila velika me odvede na javekade edna{ Svet ôvek me krste{e,maòt vo ode`da so boite na Listopadna son

pred istata ku}a zastanakoga sevnavda se vratam kon svojot po~etokdoznavna toj den êtvrtokda po~nam s i silno od po~etokso silata bez imesilno {to me terada se vratam nazad popoleka spokojnona pirejot ìvoteni ìvotot zemen

so ubavi strastikon brojni radostiso sre}ata na ~elo nenapi{anasite burii nevremiwa da gi pridobijamod mojot brod da gi isplivamna pat kon tvojata zemja,o, Svetecu,i svetot moj da go osvojamda go pregrnamso site krici nebroeniso sudbinata mi pomnoèni.Ve}e den ~etvrti se zbiod koga stravot me stvorikoga na pat trgnavpred mnogu godini

od patot se vrativod utrobata na majka mi presveta se rodivsreda nov denstignav tuka pred tebekogo vo oblik na sveta ku}a go spoznavimeto preku svetata ku}a ti go doznav

vo mojata vizija od detstvoto silno veruvav,vodena od silata bez ime mrakot da go urnamza vo nego da ne se turnam,kako s da be{e sozdadeno za menevo ovoj Zlatec,sreda den,na denot na ra|aweto na Svetiot Krstitel,i da ti re~am,ne soniv sonkade nekoj jasno }e mi re~e,samo na son

maòt od rodot me|u lu|eto maìnekolku ku}i kon tvojot eden dom mi pokaà,vistinskiotimeto tvoei imeto na tlotosamo mi se kaàvo osmiot den bikoga stravot do nebo me izvi{ii nemam {to da pregrnamodozgora se{to gledami

Avenea a a a a a a a?Ajiram


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Gospodi Boè,isposti mespazi mespasi meènata vo menei

mene vo neatuka sumod gore s gledamnebo i son izvi{uvamzemja i nebesa obrnuvamd i i i mda se storiod temninata da se izdvojamna ìvotot od ovde da se prilagodam,Gospodivo sebe

isvetlina svetlo da vidamda go daruvam ona {to go imamvo ime na seto ubavoi toa sito,vreme e da zapo~ne,inaku{to sum jas bez vas migovi moi -

samo obi~en talka~ po dolìna,i beden nemo}nik vo viso~ina -

pomogni mi,Svetecu,dal-di-su-vam!

III.

Ne dade.Samiot raskaà kako bilo.

Sveto neka bide

edno ne poinakvo postoewepo nalika gospodovaprikazanie na sila,odzema sekoe bremes {to e tegobnogo pravi lesnozaumnoto - umno.

Blagoslovena da emajka mu okoravena{to go rodi,

na son ne dojdoa angeli milikako glasnici rodot da go javat,nitu pak devet nare~niciplodot so sveta re~ da go pretstavat,znae{e prostum

Toj

vo utrobata ekoja mina vo blaènstvoonolku ~asa i dnii lunarni meni predodredenikoga ro`bata progledana Golem i Svet DenDenot na za~nuvaweto na Svetiot Krstiteli stana sin vo Listopad


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da bide sin na ognot ìvoteni ìvotot zemen.Minaa dvanaeset gospodovi letakoga vo trinaesettotoonaa sila bez ime{to na po~etokot stvori nebo i zemja,

posaka da go povikada go vidi bo`joto odozgorai go rodi vtorpat,primi sovet od onoj koj nema likase vrati od Boga doprenda vdahnuva sila kako svedo{tvovo sekoj onoj na bo`jata nalika,vdahna molitva vo negokako prvo pismo dadeno:Ti}e bide{

Tojedinstven }e bide{vo den prvine samo na tvoite mili roditeli,me|u svetite i presvetiteobi~nite }e gi lekuva{so tvojata ve~na sila,}e ~udotvoruva{ od gradotkade ìtija na svetci niknat,edinstven }e bide{ne samo po um i likai delood koeza mnogumina vinoìta }e riknat.Bi den vtoriToj

po~esten po pohodot posledenzapo~na pohoti da tvori,ne zapira i na tretiot den bo`jibez prestanso silna voljaso svetlosni godini

i bez da go zazori,a utroto,koga den ~etvrti se rodiod prvata - az minaniz sekoja druga sozdadenastigna do pettiot den vedna{bez molitvi na usniteso molitvi od iskon vo sebeza sekoj onoj {to se ma~i i stradakako vulkan svojata sila ja naso~ikon sekoj onoj

{to umee da ja blada.Den {estii no} {esta se stvoribidnaa mnogu {to dojdoaTojda gi izbavi.Na sedmiot den,kako Bog {to re~e -da se odmoriza site {est no}i i dniso Sveta Nedela da se pomolii so site sveti i presvetiza site onie drugibez negovata sila da se izmoriso u{te pogolemasekoj nov da go primi


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kako gostin i stradatelvo ku}ata kade se roditrinaesettata po redvo gradot ~udotvoren i svet.

I najposle Toj.

Tuka pred negoviot hram zaprevsamata kako glasnik dojdovna povikot silen jaspred da sonam ku}ata razru{ena,brzav vo gradot edinstvenkraj ezero belo da stignamvodata `ivotod vodata nieod krv i mesopotomci na Avraama i Davida

isusovi ~edasinovi na na{ite Marii Majkii tuka soprevkade sila bez imeharfuva niz tragi od nemi gradoviuriva bolkako na krst za krajSamPresvet samuvaMudrost nedoprenadopira do bezbroj kako blagodatra|a odnovo rodenod istiot e korenod krv i mesoIsusovo semeSin na Listopad

Sila bez imeSvetecu,Spasitele!


20/52

Vo osmiot densvetlosta e svetost,svetosta e doblest,svet stana Zborotkoga stignav do Mudriot.

Post scriptum

NE VERUVAM, MOJOT SVETEC NE UMIRA

Prolog

Porano ne znaev {to e toa Svetec,se osamuvav, da go vidamtolku mnogu obi~en {to misli so srceto,so o~i kako kosten golemi i pogled kako staklo {toreè,me nau~ija deka toj e sam so site,deka negovite pravila ne se i na{i,a deka i toj i nie sme edno isto.Go zamisliv osamen na nekoja planinakako go galat yvezdite

kako gi razmestuva oblacitei kako gi ~uva tajnite.

1.Go vidov patot rasposlan kako nebokoja nasoka da ja za~nam, mislev,najdobro taa {to ne moàm da ja vidam,a vo mene kako stolb se izvi{uvai odvnatre me korne, kako ìva rana rikapo svojot siguren isceluva~.

Go vidov patot rasloen od kal i vodaotsekoga{ e sostaven od nekojkoj vo sonot i druga sozdade, a nego -ne go gledav vo mene.


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Kako vo prazen stomak, mrak se izlaja kako ku~e{kabolka{to sama od sebe se lekuva -a dali mojot obid vrede{e?!

Se nude{e kako òlta mese~ina

so pogled vperen kon proyirno sonce, a toa na zaleza toj pak, kako da zboruva za nekakov kraj.Zalez e - rekov, ne e kraj, notreba{e da se brza,koga,taa prostodu{na skromnostmi ja ispi ranata kako sveta voda.

Bev toga{ blizu Azija,a vodi, vodi... sekakvi mi zboruvaai denovite tesno se zbivaa,

za se{to raskaùvaa, nema{e koj da zapi{e,koga eden taen zapis preku Efes, Smirna,Konstantinopoleh, a taa Kapadokija,i doru~ekot na tivkiot Bosfor,kamenata tvrdina i najgolemata Aja Sofija -me zapre vo mene,na voda me isfrli kako davenik isceden od bunilo,so golem spokoj rekov:

Se ozabil vo kopneòt za udar

Toj mi e dale~en kopne`,smrznuvapogledot go skusuva,toj saka da go ìvee i ovoj Pantelejmon.

2.Nekoj umrel.

3.Na voda izlegov, no nazad,tamu kade ve}e edna{ bev rodena.

4.Pri~est se sprema{e.

5.Niz spokojot sprostrenakako da nemam {to da dopram,a tolku branovi na mirno morekako zreli gradovi i kuli kameni-vo podno`jeto samo ne~ija smrt se nayira{ekako nepovratna senka na ne~ij obraz,

a likot ne se gleda, nekoj se ma~i vo zborovi{to ne moàt da se snajdat vo spokojot{to bara{e ti{ina kako zakopano zimovo poslednite migovii poslednite branovi.

Kako da se ~u {epot od nikade dojdenkako zavetdeka naskoronekoj }e bide spokoen,

Toj sprostren nad spokojot,~eka{e.

6.Denot izrasna vo staklena figura,


22/52

nekade,dete se za~nuva{e.

7.Nekade,druga smrt se sprema{e.

8.Ima vreme i toa postoizalezot seu{te trae,nekade druga smrt se sprema{esmrt vo smrt kako zakana i spas, lice v licezagledanikako kopne` i Ti spokoen kako figura od vosok,Ti mora da si takov i Ti mora so tajni da seme~uva{i ti ne misli{ - ti s znae{

pred site kopneì i vremiwa znae{ kako biloi kako }e bide, ne e tajna za Tebe,ne, ne veruvam vo zalezi kako blièwe na krajot,ne, ne veruvam,Mojot Svetec ne umira.

9.Postojano povtoruvav -Te najdovkako vo prikazna {to ne postoiizmislena nekade vo detstvoto

dodeka go minuvav parkot za nakaj doma,te sozdavav kako misla pred spiewekoga ti go izmisluvav likot vo mojata du{a,barav kallivi pati{ta i {areni kilimikoi ti gi postila{, jas da gi gazam

koga go gledav beliloto vo spokojposakuvaj}i da go imamvo onie migovikoga zimata {ara{e zakanikoga site stravuvaa dali postoi{i dali }e te najdat.

Tie zaprea,a mojata prikazna se tkae{e sebeda te otkrie nekadeda te pokrie tebesmrten kako nasve~en i osamen kako Bogizrasnat vo nad-monahi dodeka sam go nosi{ tovarot na svetot,sakav da te pra{am...??A, ti -

Kako me najde?Moèv li da go odminam nemirotda se vivnam kako ranet stvorvo ne~ii pazuvi koi ne bea moi?Moèv li da ja pottisnam prikaskatada ja zavr{am so somne`taka ranoi da ostanam bez tebebesrebreniku vo imeto,tajniku i rastajnuva~u najgolem?Se vidovme vo dvorot

so siguren po~etok na prikaznatanao|aj}i te tebe,Moj Svetecu.


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10.Ne okorave,umre.

11.I kolku pove}e si mrtov

oddale~en kopneì i ve~nosti,tolku si ìvo razigran vo krvtakako siguren pogled so otvoreni o~i{to kako staklo reèi toa stalno bez krv,kako ostvaren dopir {to tagata mi ja razne`nuvakako pekolen zrak {to silata mi ja razigruvakako {iro~inata na zborotkako zaluden odraz za imeto na deloto tvoe{to raste kako bremenost dodeka zborot se stesnuva.A nema sporedbi,

nitu tagata gi ra|a, nitu radosta gi za~nuva,da te izre~am tebe, Edenu,O, Svetecu Moj,taka dojde i taka zaminaonaka ostro -kakva {to ti be{e mislataprodorna i vistinitaostanuva takva da kruìi go izmolknuva stravoti studot od nego da begai povtorno krugot se obesil

niz koj }e moram samakako osamen kowanik niz burite na vodite,a ti strada{ bez prestandodeka trae i posledniot od nas.

12.Kuso se isplakavpo vesta deka umrel Mojot Svetecpotoa go osetivkako {totuku vratena od sredba so nego,koj znae

kakvi magnetni poliwa otkrivniz koi go sprostirav mojot ìvot,koj znaekolku li tirkizni vodi proplakavniz koiTojode{eza mojot umor da go spastrivo celo edno ìvo nebona koeToj

Mojot Svetecostanuva.

13.Mislev,sto godini }e poìvee.

14.Tamu se nemi zborovitevo ovie migoviza smrtta na Mojot Svetec.

Tamu se golemi slikitevo ovie denovi{to kako najtenki ogledalaja pokaùvaatskrotenosta na edno ~ove~ko srce


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kako golemi sudbiniponeseni bez zbor kako golem tovar,na polno}pred zadu{nica,gi isprì ribiteja svari p~enicata

se podgotvi,bez zbor,tivkokako {to i ìvee{e,Mojot Svetec.

15.Ribite nikoj ne gi proba.P~enicata nikoj ne ja dopre.Gi podgotvi za nas.A nie nego za kov~eg.

16.Razni{aj gi vetrovite nebesni}e ~ujam {to da baramzad prevezotna s ona {toso tebe ostana odneseno.

17.Ne veruvam,Mojot Svetec ne umira.

Epilog

Samkako monah od svoeto ra|awesam i vo svojata bogovska smrti potoa,

i pak samno, otkoga te najdovi postojano, pak te nao|am.

A Letka nema da ra|a pove}e.

Kako nevernik od bolkamislam da ti go otkopam grobotda te vidam spokoeni da ti go dopram mrtvoto teloneraspadnato i pak spokojno,

i toga{se otkaàvza{to me dopre spokojot po koj tragamkako odglasdeka si ìv,a mislite mi se neverlivi,nemerliva e i qubovtaprijatele moj,ne veruvam za smrtta,re~e, ne sum jas Bog,a ti{inata go znae{e toa.

Taa me sledi,i toga{,sum jas so tebe.I toa e postojano taka.


25/52

Mi ostavi patna patot sme sega dvajcajas i maòt vo ode`di so boite na esenpovtoruvame..Pogledgled...

podelpogledqub o o o o o vgleddelminaskri{noeden ~ovek~eka

gledme stresepogledooooogledvoeden ~ovekeden ~ovek

ogledso meneromorza tebeRoMoR

overnopotoj pogledre~esiot romor

prote~esza nas.

Ottoga{svirepa i rovka èdza nebid vo tenka no}mo}no so sebe zborimoèbi za svojot dolg-kon tebe{to ìvot kresnai kopne` raspnavo eden den,pa neèn stisokoganvrisokzareven vo sebesipregrnat od tebe-iskonu.

Ti mol~i{.

Patot si vrve{e

vozot {iba{edoprevme nebo.

Pove}e ne izustuvame:

Ne, mojot svetec ne umira.(1997)


26/52


27/52

To the One who dwelled with the Laika she-dogs,And deemed us all his Catholicon.


28/52

Introductory

The man is as one with the day in his armsBy the rule of an ancient, pure force,So, the fourteen generations from Abraham to David,

And from David to Babylon fourteen more,And that many yet to Christ -Who knows how many by now have lived on Earth,And how many are yet to comeTo live in the light of the One

In this day seventh

Sacred be the force that can't be vanquishedLike the changes brought to the junipers by the passingof time,

The changesOf the plants renewed by their own roots,May the celebrationsOf the ancient resurrection multiplyIn everybody's resurrectionIn crucifixion,Says the manCrucified since his beginning,The birth into the resurrection of lifeFrom life itself -Others say,

After the genesis primordialAmidst three moonsWith the colors of the mad whirlpool.


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ThenThe man came out and asked:What is it that is not a secretAnd will have to be suffered throughAs the sole oathImpregnated in the arms of a beloved force?

If the light be sacred,If sanctity is virtue,Let the Word be sacredSo that I may reach the Wise One.

I.

Maybe neverMaybe sometime laterIt could have been miraculousHad it not been for the dream

From which I, like a sinner,Was fleeing for yearsRemembering notThat I shall have to face It,To read Its signAs a vision of a wholeThat belongs to me,And every attempt at escaping ItWas attemp caming again to me,A dream follows a dreamLike a clear omen,

For me not to see It clearly.

Pale fields line up,A frail, silent sound, too,YouBecome an air-ripperThat lumbers blindlyAnd terribly weightless,You pray to become a lost faceNo secrets, no yearnings -They are merged in a mad scream

That waits to find itselfLike a lost picture,Like a motionless windTo face what needs to be tamed.


30/52

I crack, no sound in my voiceI stand before an unsolved ovalUnknown rootsLike the roots of the one hundred and forty forthOf my kinThe strength that spouts force

One from the father,The other from the mother,With the first joyIn the thirteenth noveltyFrom the oval in the sixth positionFor a whole life,I gave my pledge to the dreamAs the easiest stepTo the end of the flight.

I drift through the attempts

Like drifting through the stormTo read the signs like a star-reader,Once again,Like a novice I stand before themAnd all the sky above meThat weighs down on meLike before a rain that announces its coming,What I don't see tempts meIt begs me without a pleaWithout a plea to turnTo touch It

As the most perfect unconsciousness,It beseeches me,It calls me.

Do You need me as a Servant?Do I need You as a Master and GodI should find out,And then kneel in front of You most humbly,Not a sinner,But a supplicant?

Or do You want meTo confess something before the rugged sightAnd to all the images spread in front of me like adesert,To kneel as in front of an iconPraying for myselfFor issues of my own,For our dear tales,With that human hopeI carry within myself from my kin,

To close my eyesNot to stumble upon the temptationTo say without shoutingTo utterThe unsaid sacraments of the wisdom -

And the rugged groundAnd all the deserts are silent,Just as You areAs an answerAnd a holy sacrament of the dream?

Who are You?What are You?Are You a manAnd what do You want from me,


31/52

Me of all the chosen grandsonsOf all the fourteen generations from Abraham to David,And from David to Babylon fourteen more,And that many to ChristAnd who knows how many since then?Well,

I am no prophet,But I will have to make prophecies,You are torturing meAnd deceivingYou,An unfathomable force,a miracle,So that I should thinkAnd not uncover YouAs if I didn't exist.

I see a body and a face in the shape of a house,I enter and walk thru' somebody's chambersFilled with antiquity and sanctity,I saw the atriumAnd two heralds,I can not unravel it inside meWhat is that force that makes meSeek the answers in the realitySay,What is that houseThat I enter constantly in my dreams

Headed by a man I knowFrom the man-folk,The man in the garments of the colors of the Autumn.

I thought,Could it be the body of the LordWhen I go sometimesTo feel peaceTo hear not a voiceTo see and not hear something

That like in a dreamReoccurs to meTo talk to myself,WhenGods, too, prayAnd both the divineAnd the bell for the voiceSounds tame silenceFour hundred constantly different wishesWith an undying zealFor new days.

I'm possessed by Your power.

You,From what sense do You come,From the oneWhere sky and Earth don't touch -You approach from there,Yet I don't knowWhyAnd who

And what You are that call for meOr should I waitTo see You greet me in a dreamAnd should You come as a man in mans image,Not to beg and scream


32/52

My silent voiceWeighs a life-time,The OneThat I knowFrom the kin of the man-folk,The man in the garments worn in October

Said -For everything there is a seasonI shall returnStanding in front of the weightless houseAnd so onAnd so onIn an endless birthOf some tempting force,Someone's powerEmbraced me in its entire magnitudeIn everything I should have,

So, I stopped for a momentWith a thought:Everybody has a momentThat momentYou give birth to new universesWithout momentsTo give birth to a momentIt the worldThe world wordThe word youYou the moment

You the worldThe world II the momentThe moment the worldAnd

The playful whirlpoolIn its own embraceCurses for salvationIn the unseen eternity,Prays until the omen comesFor my salvation -

Revelation,How I yearn to unravel You!

I know You are not just a dreamYou are that which has befallen me,Wretched,DamnedI have to find YouMy pledge is calling meAs if I should return somewhere

Not that farAnd free a suppressed part,Free myselfReaching YouLike a silent piercing cryYou leave and You come back again,You have always been here,So that I can be all that I am,I am carried by that silent and quietMan I knowI know his name

And I keep it to myselfHe takes me to the houseHe wants to say somethingThe nameYes,


33/52

You do have a name,Your nameMust be the name of the house.

I waited for a sign.I sought omensTo reach the victory that won't burn out,I found a childhood vision in some early memoriesA face of a man in the cloudsLike that altarThat carried eternity,This one huggedConqueredNot humanBut mythicalAgeless powerAnd I knew He was a timepiece

That never shows the time,And a consciousnessThat praises the desire to give birthAnd a force without a name -You must be a man

Thence I believeThenIt was a vision of a SaintWhose face I never saw among the sacredNeither recognized among common men.

Touched to the core by the knowledge that You are themanWhose name stands on the house of GodThat haunts my dreams

On the eves of the great holy feastsAs if faced with great temptationsThat promise me a holidayWhen I have no great desiresBut enoughTo be happy without them,ButA single wishTo come to me as an answerTo answer the dream what it wants from me'Cause my hope yearnsTo reach YouLike a vessel of my ownWhen traveling to Your land,I reach imaginary planetsI swallow pieces of the heavy skyI meet thousands of laws of wandering thoughts -

The road to the self-discoveryMust be You,A double rainbowOn the thirteenth day of the harvestWrote the way on the sky:

You are the path.

I shall find You,I will find You, oh, answer,Won't let You disappear

Or pass by meWithout having to invent YouStanding in an invisible distanceLike a distant hug,And the distances nearby -


34/52

A fearless sparkleFor new offspring in the time -Your nameMust be of this house.

Let me first see You as a houseMeet You as a manKnow You as a healer

Oh, SaintAnd pray before YouFor my arms reaching out to the uncertaintyFor my touch by death transformed into passionFor the secrets locked within me without a keyFor my yearningsAnd a dreamPainted without colors,

For every age I hold dearFor the things that ought to be distant,The multiplication of nothingnessThe despair in the thoughtsThe fake images that I cannot destroySo I face them powerless,For the fear theu give strenghth toWhen I'm here,And it wants thereThenTo the other place, too,

For the time carried awayWith everything unfinishedAnd myself seen from the sideAs a shadow in a deep coma,For the storm I would like to end

When the end is uncertain,And I don't know to whom to surrenderWhen there is no one to say it,When I ask myselfHow could I see the nothingnessAn enflamed pledge of a dismal apparitionThat loves to thrive opulently -I see it in the space imaginary and praisedWhen I hear other voices as if they were mineWhen I solve the burdened power of the dreamIn whichYour heraldsTwo man unknown to me, dressed in dark suitsAs if ready for a celebrationCame uninvitedAnd demanded that I renounceThe one

From the kin of the man-folk,The man in the garments of the colors of the Autumn,That man that weds me in a dream without a word,

Oh, Saint,While praying to tell YouBeing unable to tell himTo admit that I would like to ask himIn which segment of time to seek himSo he wouldn't meet me only in a dream, silent,In which part of the undreamed dream

To recognize himSo that he should know without having to ask himHe knowsThe dream urges me for yearsTo pray for him


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In what part of my thought should I put himSo that he wouldn't spill the wordUnwrittenUnreadThirstyLiving alive inside me,To place him in life and vitality,He said -I want you to tell me all,How can I tell him of the unspeakable unutterablewisdomWhen he knowsHow I can grasp himBy knowing itA dreamThoroughly dreamedYou

MyQuiet and peaceful fellow-manLet me brighten up the ill skyThen take me into yourself,You don't have to carry me in your arms,You need not wear the garments of the colors of theAutumn,Approach gracefullyWithout a welcomeWith your lips apartTo announce the coming,

Welcome to the guest in our house -The patron Saint guards it,'Cause He does not get tired,But by the ancient customWe should take care of it,

Approach,When the leaf over-ripensBring it to meTo make it fresh again at its decline,

'Cause I want him to hear me,Or if not, to make itStop haunting meLet it goOrHeMaybe, on his path towards himselfHe thinks,life is a giftDoes he bring me love?But where is it?Maybe halfway to me

So, let's meet there thenOr at the end of the dayAndForever,Not just call me in my dreamsVisitCarry me and take me intoThe house dreamt in my dream and not taken out -

I wish without wantingThinking or considering it

Like no oneWho failedTo speak to You, oh, Saint, all of his life,You, an icon unpainted,You, an inspired power,


36/52

From my deepest self to tell YouTo say it as a prophecy:When our diverging lawsGave birth to the consciousnessWhere only the skeletons of the words existedThat conveyed things colorless,Breathed only strange clouds,The image had no formNor a form connected with the image,There, the armsWere widely outstretched to the invisible insectsThat demanded release from the shape -And there was none,We walked the rails like aimless trainsGuided by different rhythmsEach like a grasshopper ready to hopKept silent in his own private way

Like a petrified swamp without frogs or insectsLead by the force of an unseen ill-fortuneWhich watched like a green caveOver all weightless bodies,We walked united and strongWith ant-like steps towards the strengthnot promised to usTo reach a world of beauties never lived out -And they begged with flowers between their lipsWithout origin and a look behind,We had no dream born at home

The desire for sterility resurrectedWe were bornEach in his home for the unknown dream,We fled there from the knowledge thatTouched us -

A charge for plenty with the march of the bumblebees,

Only they and the chitin will remainBy their ability to perpetuate themselves,They still charge forward in a half-stepMaybe only until the next cornerThe leader leads them quietlyTowards the hidden lairThat does not exist as the only one -The speech of the decay rumblesAnd a diligent gaze burrows -Is there return after a brush with YouIs there a return after a brush with the dreamto survive?

Each imageits own void

PowerlessSelflessSeparate in the pictureThe word is tied hereSucked out dryUnspoken it echoesThe strength concentrated in the mouthTo remind you with its echoNot to release youTo turn your life-force to ashes,Come out

Spill it outNoClose your eyesAnd goGo you


37/52

To feel it in the raging hurricaneTo see itYesMineLike all that is oursLike the Saints before the PopeFor the same SunAnd the same RainFor another AlphaFor all of usFor mine before youAnd for that same waterAs those before meWith the same AlphaTo speakAs they did for a different -Soothing noise.

A scream from the gutsRoots there spasmodicallyFloggedAnd ossified to the marrowThe pain hard as a chestnut,A cloud and a bottomSelflessness sproutsThere some mudA single primordial timeTo the whiteThe body

IncarnatedAndEnraged disorder in the strengthIt gloatsPrays

A prayer with no AmenCriesA cryInOh,God!


38/52

II.

'Twas a Sunday thatI found rather strange,In which I see a lot of kindnessAnd gather my strength for the other six days,Thus, every SundayIs sacred to me,I made it to the house I have been seekingTo see itTo know Your nameI knew I know itJust couldn't remember'Cause I didn't know YouI knew You existedI learned a dozen of years ago,It was the same house

Mentioned by the dream,I was not taken by the oneKnown to meOf the kin of the man-folk,The man that walks in garments wornWhen things die in the colors of the Autumn

I prayed

AveNo

Ah?Dear Lord,Cleanse meGive me a shelterSave me

The woman in meMyself in herYouAndTo see myselfNot in that smokeS m o o o k eIn myself, oh, Lord,With the Father and the Holy Sister I prayedAnd at the Sunday tableTogether with the Holy SundayI knewYou are the primordial forceThat came to me in my dreamYou are self-procreatingUncreated by centuriesAt this time incarnated -

And how much more dream remainsUntil the holy sacramentAnd the meeting with YouWhich was promised to me like the Holy Grail -The meeting with the Wise Omnipotent.

It was SundayOn previous night I had a dream - nothing but darknessThe same that ruled before the first day sproutedWith two bright lines amidst the darknessLike two bright days enveloping one night

I was awakened by fear,It was early dawnIt was already the second dayFor me it turned into the sixth of the weekJust like in the first day


39/52

I felt like I've been born againStuck in the marrow of timeI didn't know what to do in itLike the man once didn't know,He created meOut of fearHe created meThe sacred thingsOn the other side just for my sakeIn this sixth day for me condensedThe urge wantedTo make the rainbow splitOne piece at a timeColor by colorTo solve the riddle that I am,Like the man that asked once:

What is it that is not a secret,And will have to be suffered throughLike a single pledgeImpregnated in the embraceOf an endearing force?

I started at the beginningWhich is at the endIf only the dream standsBetween here and himThen, Saint,

Let it not be just a dream foreverWith no one to remind meThat the time has comeAnd that there is such a timeTo start sprouting

And his invented image -Alas, it can't be seen,The moment that passedThat muchAndHowAndSo distantYour own birthYour own deathYou measure once and againWith the length of your life,Forever timelessWith the new fields open for runningOn the fifth side of eternity,All-powerful Man,Yearning with the child

I was caught by the dream dreamt for yearsMay it not be years of nothing but dreamingI got the ovalTo solve it in the impotenceOf the one hundred and fourth square rootThe same divided in twoLike a bitter herb that healsThe oval offers nothing but an epilogueSo that I don't burn outOnly be called by an empty name,I started in the dream

And passed over the nameless houses,It was the third dayFor me the fifth of the week it was,I swear by all the beautyI have to find an answer


40/52

It has to exist for meGreat strength took me to the realityWhere once I was baptized by a Holy ManThe man in the garments of the colors of the AutumnIn a dreamHe stopped in front of the same houseWhen I flashedAnd started back to my beginningI found outOn that Great ThursdayTo start it all from the beginning and stronglyWith the nameless powerThat urges me stronglyTo go back slowly, quietlyTo the weeds of lifeAnd earthly livingWith pretty passions

To numerous joysThe luck not written on the foreheadAll the stormsAnd bad weather to win overTo scoop them out of my boatOn the road to your land,And, oh Saint,Conquer my world, too,To embrace itWith all countless criesMultiplied in my fate.

Already it was the fourth daySince my fear created meWhen I took the roadMany years agoI returned from my guest

I was born from the womb of my saintly motherWednesday, a new dayI got here in front of YouThat I got to know in the shape of a holy houseI learned Your name through the holy houseIn my childhood vision I believed strongly,Led by the nameless force to demolish the darknessSo that I don't fall in it,As if everything was made for meIn this month of JuneWednesdayOn the birth of the Holy Baptist,And let me tell You,I didn't have a dreamIn which someone will tell me clearly,Only in a dreamThe man from the kin of the man-folk

Several houses pointed towards Your home,The true OneYour nameAnd the name of this landRevealed themselves to meOn the eighth day it wasWhen my fear took me up to the skyAnd I have nothing to embraceI see different things from aboveAnd

AveNoAaaaaaaaaah?AiramOh, Lord,


41/52

Cleanse meGive me a shelterSave meThe woman in meAndMyself in herI am here

I see all from aboveI uplift the sky and the dreamI switch the earth and the heavensMay it turn toS m o o o k eSo that I can separate from the darknessTo adapt myself to the life here,Oh, Lord,In myselfAndLightness light to seeTo give what I haveIn the name of all that is beautifulAnd well-fed,It is time for it to startOtherwiseWhat am I without You, my moments -

Just a wanderer that walks the length,And miserable powerless soul in the height,

Help me,Oh, Saint,

I'm engrossed in my quest!

III.

He didn't let meBut told the true story himself.

May a not altogether different existenceBe Holy and Sacred

In God's imageA presence of strength,It takes away all burdens,All that brings discomfortIt relievesThe insane turns to clever.Blessed may beThe Holy MotherThat gave birth to the Bliss,She didn't have angels come to her in a dreamLike heralds announcing the coming of the child,Nor had she nine MoirsTo give the holy word to the child,But she simply knew

He was

In her wombThat spent in blissThat many hours and days andLunar changes predetermined

When the infant saw the lightOn a Great and Holy DayThe day of the conception of the Holy BaptistAnd became a son in OctoberTo become the son of the fire of life


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And the earthly living.Twelve Lord's years have passedWhen in the thirteenthThat force without a nameThat created at the beginning the heavens and theearth,Wanted to call Him

To see the divine realm from aboveAnd give Him birth for the second time,Took an advice from the one without a faceCame back touched by GodTo give strength as a testimonyTo everyone that was created in God's image,He breathed in Him a prayerGiven like the first letter:ThouShall beThe OneThou shall be uniqueIn the first day it was,Not only to Your dear parents,Among the sacred and the exultedThou shall heal common peopleWith Your eternal power,You will make miracles in the cityWhere hagiographies abound,You shall be uniqueNot only in mind and face

And precious noble deedThat willRoar out rainbows for many a manIt was the second dayHe

Honored after the last campaignStarted creating lusts,Did not stop on the third day of the LordCeaselesslyWith unabating willFor light yearsAnd without a dawn,

While the morning,When it was the fourth dayPassed from the first -alphaThrough every other that was createdImmediately arrived to the fifth dayWithout prayer on His lipsWith primordial prayers in himselfFor all that suffer and live in painHe directed His power like a volcanoTo everyoneThat could agonize it.It was the sixth dayAnd the sixth night cameAnd many came to seek from HimTheir salvationOn the seventh day,As the Lord said,To rest himselfFor all the six nights and daysTo pray with the Holy SundayAnd with all the sacred and exulted

For all the othersWithout exhaustion of His strengthAnd gaining greater strengthTo receive all the newcomersAs a guest and sufferer


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In the house where He was bornThirteenthIn the holy miraculous city.

Finally, Himself.

Here, in front of His temple I stopped

I came myself a messengerTo the strong appealBefore I dreamt the ruined house,I hurried through the unique cityTo reach the white lakeThe water is lifeFrom the water we comeOf flesh and bloodDescendants of Abraham and DavidChildren of JesusSons of our Mother MarysAnd there I stoppedWhere the nameless forcePlays the harp through the remains of the silent citiesKills the painLike on a cross for the endAloneExulted He leads a lonely lifeUntouched wisdomReaches many as a blissGives another birth to the already born

He is from the same rootsOf flesh and bloodThe seeds of JesusA son of OctoberA nameless force

Oh, Saint,Savior!

On the Eighth DayLight is Sacred,Sanctity is Virtue,The Word became sacredWhen I reached the Wise One.


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Post scriptum

I DON'T BELIEVE IT, MY SAINT SHALL NOT DIE

Prologue

Earlier, I didn't know what a Saint is,

I chose solitude, to see HimSo simple that He thinks with the heart,With eyes as big as chestnuts and a gaze that could cutglass,I was told that He is alone with everyone,That His rules don't apply to us,And that He is one and the same with us.I imagined Him alone on a mountainCaressed by the starsRearranging the cloudsAnd guarding the mysteries.

1.I saw the road spread ahead like the skyWhich direction should I take? I thought,It would be the best if I took the one I can't see,Inside my body like a column it risesAnd rips me apart from within, roars like a living woundCalling its sure-handed healer.

I saw the road riddled by mud and water

It has always been completed by somebodyWho, in His dream, created another woman, and Him -I couldn't see inside me.Like in an empty stomach, the darkness barked like acanine illness

That heals as it proceeds -Was my attempt worthy of the effort?

He offered himself as a yellow MoonWatching steadily the transparent Sun, and the Sun wassettingWhile He seemingly talked of some ending.

It's sunset, I said, it is not the end, butWe had to move quickly,When -That simple humblenessDrank away my wound like the holy water.

I was nearing Asia then,And waters, waters... all kinds talked to meAnd the days were compressed together,They told stories and stories, and there was no one towrite them downWhen a secret scripture, traveled through Ephesus,Smyrna, Constantinople,Ah, Cappadocia!And the breakfast at the silent Bosporus,The stone fortress and the greatest Hagia Sophia -Stopped in myself,Took me to the water like a drowning man exhausted inagony,I said very calmly:

He is getting greedy in His yearning to strikeThat is my distant yearning,It freezes,My gaze shortens it,It wants to survive this Panteleimon, too.


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2.Somebody has died.

3.I went to the waterfront, but backwards,To the place where once I was born.

4.They were preparing the Communion.

5.Spread out throughout the calmness

I have nothing to touch,While there were so many waves on the calm seaLike ripe cities and towers of stone -At the foot of the hill just a semblance of somebody'sdeathLike an irreversible shadow on somebody's cheek,And the face invisible, somebody is struggling withwordsThat cannot adjust in the calmnessThat demanded silence like a buried winterIn the last momentsAnd the last waves.As if I could hear a whisper coming out of nowhereLike a pledgeThat somebody will

Rest in peace soon,He was spread out above the calmness,Waiting.

6.The day grew into a glass figurine,

Somewhere,A child was conceived.

7.Somewhere,Another death was being prepared.

8.There is time and it existsThe Sun is still settingSomewhere, another death is plottedDeath in a death like a threat and a salvation, face toface, they look at each otherLike a yearning and You, calm like a wax figure,You have to be like that and You have to fence withsecrets,And you don't think - You already know it allYou know what it looked like before all yearnings andages cameYou know how it will be, that is not a secret for You,

No, I don't believe sunsets portend the imminent endNo, I don't believe it,No, My Saint doesn't die.

9.I repeated it constantly -

I found YouLike in a story that doesn't existMade up back in the days of childhood,While walking through the park on the way home,I created You as a thought to think of before I go to


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sleepWhen I imagined Your face in my soul,I sought muddy roads and motley carpetsWhich You spread around so that I could walk on themWhen I watched the tranquility in whitenessWishing I had itIn those moments

When the winter drew threats aroundWhen everybody feared you might not existAnd they might not find You.They stopped,And my tale weaved itselfTo uncover You in some placeAnd then to cover YouMortal, as we areLonely and eternal like a godGrown like a supreme monkAnd while you carry the burden of the whole worldalone,I wanted to ask You...?And you,How did you find me?Could I ignore the discomfortTo rise like a wounded beastInto someone's arm pits that weren't mine?Could I suppress the storyEnd it with a doubtSo early

And lose YouWith the unmercenary appellation in Your nameWeaver of secrets and the greatest demystifier?We saw each other in the yardWith a beginning for the story secured

By the fact that I found You,My Saint.

10.You didn't harden,You died.

11.And the longer You are deadAway from all yearnings and eternity,The more playful in your blood you becomeLike a steady look with open eyesThat cuts like a shred of glassAnd never draws bloodLike a touch that sooths my sorrowLike a ray of light from hell that animates my forceLike the width of the work,Like a futile reflection of the name of Your deedThat grows like a pregnancy while the word is gettingnarrower.There is no comparison,The sorrow can't start them, nor the joy conceive them,So that I could speak of You, Oh, the OneOh, My Saint,You came as You leftSlightly sharply -Just like Your thoughtPenetrating and true

Remains such to circleAnd take away the fearSo that the cold could run away in fearThe circle is hanging againAnd I will have to pass through it alone

Lik l l h h h h i T h


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Like a lonely horseman through the raging water,And You suffer constantlyFor as long as the last of us should last.

12.I cried a littleAt the news that He died, my Saint

And then I felt HimAs if I had just returned from one of our meetings,Lord knowsWhat magnetic fields I have uncoveredTo use them to spread out my life,Who knowsHow much turquoise water I have criedHe walked throughThose watersTo allay my exhaustionInto a whole living skyWhereHeMy SaintRemains to exist.

13.I thought,He may live a hundred years.

14.

The words are silent thereAt the momentSpoken on the death of My Saint.The pictures are huge there,These days,

To showLike the most transparent mirrorsThe humbleness of a human heartLike great destiniesCarried away silently, like a great burden,At midnightOn the eve of a memorial service,

He fried the fishBoiled the wheatPrepared himselfWithout a word,SilentlyAs He lived,My Saint.

15.No one tasted the fishNo one touched the wheatHe prepared them for usAnd we prepared Him for the coffin.

16.Blow away the winds of the skyI shall learn what to seekBehind the veilOf all that was carried away with You.

17.

I don't believe it,My Saint doesn't die.

E il Y th


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Epilogue

AloneLike a monk since the birthAlone in His divine deathAnd then,Alone again

But, since I found YouAnd, repeatedly, keep finding You,

Letka won't give birth any more.Like an unbeliever, in my pain,I intend to dig out Your graveTo see You at peaceTo touch Your dead bodyThat didn't decay and is calm again,ThenI gave up on itTouched by the calmness that I seekLike an echoThat You are aliveMy thoughts are immeasurableAs is the love,My friend,I don't believe in death,You said, I am not a GodAnd the silence knew it.It follows me,

And then,I am with You.

It's always like that.

You gave me the wayThere are two of us on the roadMyself and the man in the garments of the colors of theAutumnWe repeat:A VisionLook...

ThenPartThenViewL o o o o o o o o v eLookPartPassedSecretlyA manIs waiting forA lookI was shaken by a viewOOOOInsightIntoA manA man

Looks into meMurmurFor YouMuRMurO

Faithfully


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FaithfullyAfterThat lookHe saidAll the murmurIs goneAll

For us.

Since thenA cruelAnd fragile thirstFor nonexistence in a thin nightTalks loudly to itselfMaybe talks of its debt-Towards YouWho started a lifeAnd spread out a yearning

In a single day,So, a gentle squeezeA fireA screamScreaming insideIn Your hug -Oh, Beginning.

You are silent.

The road progressedThe train wheezed by

We touched the sky.

We say no more:No, My Saint doesn't die.

(1997)

SVETA POETSKA RE^ ZA SVETLOSTA na molitvewe Poemata e oblik na molitva Poemata


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SVETA POETSKA RE^ ZA SVETLOSTA

Poemata Osmiot denod Sofija Grandakovska e vosta-novuvawe na svetosta na re~ta za svetosta na svet-losta. Videna i sfatena kako svetlost, svetosta epredmet na zaumen kopne` na ~ovekot. Kopne`ot e ed-novremeno son, edba i misla. Son koj postoi za da se

sonuva bez prestan. @edba koja se ostvaruva sebesisamo dodeka kopnee po ne{to otsutno za da se posedu-va, a prisutno za da se nasetuva i za da gi pothranuvasno-videnijata i pred-~uvstvata. Misla koja spoznavazatoa {to veruva i zatoa {to qubi. Kopneewe pozaumnoto koe od pregolema sila se preobrazuva vone{to drugo: sekoga{ kopne` plus ne{to drugo. Itokmu tuka, vo toa ne{to ot-pove}e, se za~nuva poet-skiot oblik na poemata Osmiot denod Sofija Granda-kovska, koj se vseluva vo prostorot na imaginarnoto,spekulativnoto, metafizi~koto - vo osmiot den, den

koj postoi nadvor od vostanoveniot sedmi~en ciklus,den koj se sprotivstavuva na vostanoveniot stereotipza {est plus eden den za vreme na koi{to e sotvorensvetot, den koj navestuva bunt, li~en grev, poetska ~u-dotvornost, barawe izlez od tradicijata, od kolek-tivnite veruvawa i zabludi, den za poezija, den zaindividualizacija, den za sebe, den za kopneewe. Os-miot den e matricatana mudrosta, osmiot den e mat-ricana mudrost.

Poemata Osmiot den od Sofija Grandakovska e ras-pra{uvawe za molitvata - dali molitva, komu molit-va, zo{to molitva, mora li molitva. Tolku mnogu patza da se otkrijat odgovorite za molitvata ne mo`e ada ne iscrta edno patuvawe, edno osobeno iskustvo

na molitvewe. Poemata e oblik na molitva. Poematae molitva. Osmiot dene den za retki no mo`ni pre-poznavawa na svetosta. Osmiot dene den za pokoruva-we na ti{inata. Osmiot dene den za otkrovenie napoetskata mo} na re~ta, za mo}ta na re~ta, za re~taprosvetlena od svetosta na Vi{(n)iot. Osmiot denodSofija Grandakovska e opevawe na sakralnoto i sak-

ralizacija na re~ta. Onaa re~ koja vodi kon Slovotona postanokot, kon prvoto, osmoto, beskone~noto. Os-miot denod Sofija Grandakovska e proekcija na sim-bolikata na beskone~nosta, na osmicata na beskone~-nosta vo ogledaloto na poezijata. Re~ta e beskone~na.re~ta e kopne` po beskone~noto. Tuka zapo~nuva kru-got na isku{enieto i tuka trae, beskone~no.

akademikKatica ]ulavkova

A HOLY POETIC WORD ABOUT THE LIGHT quest a peculiar prayer experience The poem is a form


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A HOLY POETIC WORD ABOUT THE LIGHT

The Eighth Day, a poem by Sofija Grandakovska, establis-hes for us the holiness of the word on the sanctity oflight. Perceived and understood as light, the holiness is asubject of irrational yearning for man.

That yearning is, at the same time, a dream, a wish, anda thought. A dream which exists only to be able to dreamall the time. A wish that is self-fulfilling, for it desires so-mething abstract enough not to be possessed, but alsoconcrete enough to be sensed and to feed the visions andthe premonitions. A thought that possesses the ability ofcomprehension because of its faith and its love. The pin-ing for the irrational that is transformed by its great forceinto something new: always a yearning plus somethingelse. It is there in that transreal that the poetic forms ofThe Eighth Day by Sofija Grandakovska are conceived,

moving the realm of the imaginary, speculative and meta-physical - into the eighth day. Outside the established se-ven-day cycle, that day opposes the established stereo-type of six plus one day in which the world was created;it is a premonition of a rebellion, a personal sin, poeticwonders, the search of a way out of the chains of traditi-on, collective beliefs and self-deceptions. It is a day forpoetry, for the individual, a day for one's self, a day forcontemplation and yearning. The eighth day is a matrixofwisdom, the eighth day is the matrixof wisdom.

The poem The Eighth Dayby Sofija Grandakovska is aninquiry about prayer - should we pray, to whom we pray,why prayer, and do we have to? So much road covered tounearth the answers about prayer cannot but map a

quest, a peculiar prayer experience. The poem is a formof prayer. The poem is, indeed, a prayer. The eighth dayis a day for rare, but nonetheless possible recognitions ofsanctity. The Eighth Dayis a day to subjugate ourselvesto silence. The Eighth day is a day of revelation of thepoetic power of the word, about the power of the wordas it is, about the word enlightened by the holiness of the

Almighty. The Eighth Day by Sofija Grandakovska is ahymn to the sacral and a sacralization of the word. Theword that leads to the Genesis, to the first, the Eighth,the infinite. The Eighth Dayby Sofija Grandakovska is aprojection of the symbolism of the infinity, of the laiddown Eighth that is the symbol of the infinity, as seen inthe mirror of poetry. The Word is infinite, the word is ayearning for infinite. This is where the cycle of temptationstarts, and this is where it goes on forever.

Professor Katica Kulavkova, Ph.d.,

Member of of the Macedonian Academyof Sciences and Arts

Sofija Grandakovska (1973) has a B.A. in General andSofija Grandakovska (1973) diplomira Op{ta i


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Sofija Grandakovska (1973) has a B.A. in General andComparative Literature from the University "Ss. Cyril andMethodius", Skopje, where she also finished her postgra-duate studies. Her professional expertise ensues from herpedagogical work as a professor of Macedonian Languageand Literature, as well as from her contributions as assis-tant associate at the Macedonian Academy of Sciences

and Arts, Department for Literature and Linguistics. Thesubject of her scholarly interest is focued on comparativeresearch in literary and visual arts semiotics and culturalheritage. She regularly publishes theoretical-scientific stu-dies and reviews, prose, and poetry both in Macedonainand foreign periodicals. She is also a member of the So-ciety for Comparative Studies in the Republic of Macedo-nia and the International Association for Comparative Li-terature (AILC/ILCA).She is the winner of several distinguished awards for lite-rature: 13th of November of the City of Skopje; II award

at the World Day for Protection of Environment, present-ed by SSRNM, Man in the 21st Century, and others.The poem The Eighth Dayis her first book of poetry pub-lished in Macedonian and English language.

Sofija Grandakovska (1973) diplomira Op{ta ikomparativna knièvnost na Univerzitetot Sv. Kirili Metodij vo Skopje, kade gi zavr{uva i svoite post-diplomski studii. Profesionalnata ekspertiza jasteknuva preku pedago{ka rabota kako profesor pomakedonski jazik i literatura i kako asistent-sora-botnik vo Makedonskata Akademija na Naukite i Umet-

nostite vo oddelenieto za literatura i lingvistika.Predmet na nejzin nau~en interes se komparativniteistraùvawa vo knièvnata i likovnata semiotika ikulturnoto nasledstvo. Redovno objavuva teoretsko-nau~ni studii i knièvni kritiki, proza i poezijavo makedonskata i stranskata periodika. ^len e naDru{tvoto na komparativistika na Republika Ma-ke-donija i internacionalnata asocijacija na kompara-tivna literatura (AILC/ILCA).Dobitnik e na pove}e nagradi za literatura: 13 No-emvri na Grad Skopje, II nagrada na svetskiot den za

za{tita na ~ovekovata sredina, dodelena od SSRNM,ôvekot vo 21 vek i drugi.Poemata Osmiot dene nejzina prva poetska kniga namakedonski i angliski jazik.

Osmiot Den - Sofija Grandakovska Izdava~: Ikona

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