MATEJA MATEVSKI:
Excerpts from BANISHED FROM PARADISE (Selected Poems)
Rpt. from Matevski,
Mateja. Banished from Paradise. Transl. Zoran Anchevski. Skopje, Macedonia: St.
Clement of Ohrid National and University Library, 2011. Rpt. with permission of
Mateja Matevski and Zoran Anchevski.
1. Banished from
Paradise (1963)
2. A Tree in the
Ravine (1963)
3. The Return from
Troy (1976)
4. Sitting on the
Porch, Waiting for Rain (1980)
5. Eagle, Snake and
Cactus (1985)
6. The Black Tower
(1992)
7. On the Theme of
Arion (1996)
8. Cold (2003)
9. The Return of
the Breeze (2006)
10. Voyages (2007)
EQUINOX (1963)
Banished from
Paradise
I
The gate closed
behind us.
The road to our
future days flashed ahead like a lightning
and was gone.
Now we are naked
and alone
before this barren
expanse of darkness where
we must devise a
crossroad to crucify our looks upon
before they wonder
off along the road which is gone.
Don’t turn back.
Tall is the fence
we cursed with our disobedience
as tall as the sky
and far above our eyes
so we can’t see the
beautiful tree with its fruits
upon which we
crucified god and renounced him
Now we go naked and
desolate in the dark that
we must sow with
seeds and fear for the crop
and the cold in our
bare bosom.
I looked for the
culprit who churned curiosity in me
that made me blind
with healthy eyes foolish with shrewd mind
It is you Your body
with rainbow eyes that shone above
the dappled
branches I cannot forget
for I climbed them
one by one to reach the far off sun
only to creep now
dismal and naked
And what did you
give me
You made me give up
the one who made me and cast stone at him
at his goodness
your eyes filled me
with defiance
you culprit of
insolent beauty I suffer for.
The gate closed.
The road to our
future days flashed ahead
and was gone.
Now we remain
without it alone and desolate in the dark
Will you or will we
devise a crossroad
that we shall
follow now you culprit of my innocence
to whom I gave all
but you tied with your word instead
for ever and ever.
II
You were satisfied
and glorious but alone
like an offshoot
that had nothing to creep along to the sun
and I was the beam
of light your eyes
rose upward beyond
the dream
And why should I be
guilty for making you give up the one who made you
you creator of my
loneliness ugly to my slender body
when I became a
wall you climbed over to look above his shoulders
at the rainbow of
our future days that flashed in a moment
and was gone.
You bit boldly at
the tasty disobedience and now you regret
you betrayed the
one who fed you and made you alone
Now you are not a
lonely offshoot we are two vines that
together defy time
we feed on the
blood that we suck from each other
And it is good that
no one places a hill before us
even if we crumble
out of love
You have me and I
don’t regret anything
We’ll devise a path
to the meaning of
this existence
that knows not of
god but only of hardship.
III
The gate closed
behind us.
The road to our
future days flashed ahead like a lightning
and was gone.
Now we are naked
and alone
before this barren
expanse of darkness where
we must devise a
crossroad to crucify our looks upon
before they wonder
off along the road which is gone.
O dark and blessed
crossroad of bitter and unforgiven love
Her warm eye glows
in the night and creates the sites
that we should go
to
It is so difficult
fearsome and weary this building of roads
through nothing
with nothing
But we did build
them and became the first saplings that
inhabited them
Even if they become
ruined the warm eye will again
teach us will
certainly teach us how to build them.
By ourselves.
A Tree in the
Ravine
I
There is a small
tree
lonely and ugly
swaying
in the ravine black
alone and pining
It has two branches
a trunk and silence
looks like a man
suffering
wedged and buried
in the earth
It has no memory of
many days
of much snow or of
winds and grasses
or of birds that
would build a nest on it
It just stands
naked as a cross
and like a man
wedged in the earth
like a corpse
laughing at your face
With a mouth of
sand and a body of stone.
II
This tree is dry
and alone
its eyes are
southern winds
that gaze beyond
many sunsets
The winds do not
visit this ravine
god has forgotten
it too
it chills and
shivers in the darkness
Dark waters crumble
the rocks
beasts’ howls
gnaw at its bark
But it still stands
as if in flight
fed by the dream’s
winds
that gaze beyond
many sunsets
Even sunset is not
a sunset in that ravine
III
Where there is no
sun there is neither sunrise nor sunset
nor darkness is the
darkness in which we cry
nor there is space
nor time nor solitude.
All is deaf.
Nothing exists.
But the tree still
grows. Slowly.
Not knowing.
Only the earth
speaks slowly there
about something
happening.
And a sparse spring
that knows
everything.
IRIS (1976)
The Return from
Troy
I
So we left Troy
subdued and silent
utterly surrendered
to the kindness of the wind
with opened gates
and heavy fruit trees
Troy washed by the
sunny hymns
that we left
floating above the blossoming karst
from which wine was
dripping and the bread crumbles
We left it as sad
gentle companions of time
who came from afar
looking for sweet paths
in the wide
hospitality of the ripe olives
But as soon as we
found ourselves alone at open sea
face to face with
the hostile waves
and the rocks that
cut into the ship’s waist
and when the wine
was drunk the meat was eaten
we relied on the
high-pitched song in our throats
and reclined slowly
upon the dark hunger of fatigue
for our voyage
across known and unknown seas was long
where nightmarish
paths of the stars were entangled
until they sunk in
the deep whirlpools of the sea
followed by our
hunger vigil wandering and song
And the jagged wall
made us unable to understand
the splashing of
traitor’s words and the noisy foaming of time
that mentions
things to us our memory knows not of
invented by the
wind by that wonderer of the sea
II
Then we devised the
stories of bravery of great might
and of the wooden
horse made by the wise Laertes’ son
and of all other
brave deeds and tears shed after great clashes
of the thunder of
horse-hooves and the lightning of spears
and of the blood
blossoming like dew after the evil gods’ will
who were so envious
of our sorrows and weddings
Then we invented
the smoke rising from the tall towers
the crying the
wailing and the flash-floods of death
the scream of the
blossoms and the despair of the barren mothers
amidst the ruins of
sun and wind and dream
For there was
neither Troy nor a long siege to its walls
nor Achilles’
shield nor Priam’s tears
all was a nicely
devised story by the blind pauper
who beguiled us
when weary on our swart ship
while waiting for
the storm to end for the wind to slacken
all was just a long
tune of the tireless water
mixed with dream by
the voice of the old pauper
We were only
travellers who sought for unseen things
who exchanged the
plough for the curiosity of the oar
and embraced the
sea and its noisy infinity
who left behind the
distant mist and the gentle hoar-frost of Ithaca
We dreamt of the
far-off sleeping distances that burrowed
into our hearts
since the time of our grand- grandfathers
filling it with
gentle tales and loud deceits
and the whole song
about the wandering along tall hardships
was only to show
the beauty of the word
and tell that
Laertes’s son came to the shore again
III
The sea loudly takes
us after the traces of the tall towers
after the moss on
the walls
after the dust on
the wretched gates
while the jewellery
of the autumn fogs
and the cold of
loneliness
drip tirelessly
upon the unquenched eye
We found its traces
in the ancient manuscripts
in the crumbled
rocks
in the buried signs
its face was lost
in the long-forsaken tales
in the quiet
lullabies of the geological secrets
its throat slowly
grew quiet in the tectonic changes
in the quick thunder
of the torrential deluges
The city rose
immense before the squinting eyes
built upon tall
rocks and hills beneath the clouds’ eaves
the city hid under
the moss under the stone under the wave
like a manic dream
a nightmarish raving a wind’s stammer
once present like
pain then distant like a song
the city of great
alarming sea beauty
The sea leads us
after the traces of the city
which we are to
find and accept
like a handful of
ripe fruits like a garland of flowers
like a wild tower
upon heavy branches
for the dream of
the voyage for the nightmare of wandering
for the bright rest
before the cynicism of deceitful time
that breaks our dream
with hideous pathlessness
But the city is
nowhere to be seen neither was nor will be
in the field of the
tale in the sea of the song
neither traces nor
manuscripts talk about the city
and the sad and
beautiful wanderings of Ulysses
would have been all
for the sake of love of waters
of embroidery and
an imaginary undone hair
if this throat did
not receive the flow of the noisy mythology of the sea
and started to talk
about the constant presence of the dream
in the ruins of the
heart
LINDEN (1980)
Sitting on the
Porch,
Waiting for Rain
*
I sit on the porch
as the rain approaches
It is heralded by
the summer heat
the fatigued grass
the ashen leaves of
the cherry tree
the sticky smells
of summer
It is quiet and
heavy weight lies upon my head
the dry afternoon
stifles my throat
The air thickens
and boils out of nothing
the ball of insects
flying above the roses
turns wild and
ominous
I feel and see
how the earth
cracks under my feet
its parched
feverish lips
The sky creeps
toward her
like a vile
centipede
and the air starts
to fidget in the leaves
Suddenly in the
deaf silence of the day
an echo of thunder
spreads above the garden
freed from the
summer shackles of heat
Suddenly before the
rain
could let a drop
the leaves the
earth the bird
lost in the bush
hurry to meet it
along with my
breath left on the porch
We don’t see the
change
but it already
happens
first in us and
then everywhere
it happens
inevitably like destiny
on this fearful
porch
of afternoon
*
I sit on the porch
as the rain falls
small drops at
first rare and ringing like coins
chase the swarm of
insects away
that stifle my
chest
beneath the drops
sing the soft drum of the earth
and the gentle
goose-flesh of the dust
Suddenly the rain
pours
and trickles down
the stooped leaves of the
cherry-tree
it shimmers down
the leaves of the aspen
it softens the
linden leaves
and the porch turns
into a forest hut
in the middle of a
summer storm
Nowhere behind the
curtains of the rain
do I see windows
and eaves
just a grey
cleavage in the sky
as it’s always been
and a solemn peace
as before a million
years
in the biblical
forests
while it’s raining
while the grass is
sighing
while I’m breathing
*
I sit on the porch
as the rain falls
and feel as if it
rained upon me
upon my own crown
of leaves my boughs
my trunk my roots
my ants
it drips from my
forest on my land my thought
flows along the
wrinkles of my surprise
it wipes my fear my
dread my loneliness
my sleeplessness my
tremor my gloom
it drips down my
temples and creeps into my
eyes
the awakening
sustaining fertilizing rain
and I become a
ringing spring
a blossoming flower
a ripening fruit
and I live and grow
in this ancient forest
of my existence
in this great
forest
among these
rustling leaves
And so I turned
into rain
until the stifled
chuckle of the motors and the
smoke
on the other side
of the flooded street
returned to remind
me
that I sit on the
porch
while it’s raining
raining
raining
the long-awaited
city rain in the
summer dusk
THE BIRTH OF
TRAGEDY (1985)
Eagle, Snake and
Cactus
Let all be ruined
let all be
forgotten
Fear of ancient gods
sows ruins
shrieks and smoke
rise up
on the hot wind
In the night of
misfortune
let all be buried
let only the evil
of gold
be unearthed
And ancient faiths
and songs and phases of the moon
the lament of the
Mayas and the terror of the Incas
Before the lances
of the white gods
the ancient
calendars are extinguished
with the ancient
stars
and the seasons are
enveloped
in the blackness of
time
And new litanies
before new temples
on the ashes of
ancient books ancient maps ancient gods
and new words
before new prisons
while the fruits of
the wounded earth cry to an unavailing sky
But here one soon
learns about the delusion of power
the flimsiness of
chains
of fetters
for the grandsons
of long-forgotten grandsons
are unearthing the
long-buried gods
the locked-up
languages
the long-silent
songs
and eagle and snake
and cactus
once more pick a
spot for the cradle of song
unchain old myths
among the mountains’ thunder
and slaves
shouldering known and unknown seeds
once more move
towards the great seed of the sun
THE BLACK TOWER
(1992)
The Black Tower
I
Now it is crucial
to disclose
to understand and
know
what happened to
the black tower
bleak and accursed
that which shed
only evil
through fear
and broken dreams
and wounds
that gushed fire
into the petrified sky
as from a dragon’s
eyes
a beast's maw
And the town
beneath the tower cringes in sleeplessness
in nightmare fever
has shivered
through the ages
from ills and
famine and from deadly perils
with an ear for the
clanging swords high overhead
for the crackling
fires
for the wretched
cries
of warriors and
armies
All this poured in
spouts through the ominous gates of the tower
the black tower
in the night of man
crouched on his
knees
in the dust
together with his
town
its fences
its gardens
and the unreaped
wheat
of hope
rising ablaze
towards the desolate universe
II
It emerges in the
night of nights
in the black womb
of darkness
an invisible
fortress
The real the
fraudulent the far-away tower
a black bird’s wing
a bird of bad omen
of evil times
it covers the sky
It rises and
mingles day with night
in darker blackness
a sable gate of
sleeplessness before a black abyss
a well of confusion
in which we’ve sunk
for aeons
from the stony
caves to the stony signs
over the brow
where ills devour
our voice
There rises the
black tower higher than anything
Higher than the sky
the day the fear and the dream
to fill all space
all time
with its dark
shadow
with itself
with what may prove
a pall of chilling stars
There it rises
ominous and mute
the black insidious
tower
of accursed
existence
untouchable
unshattered
fearless of man’s
hand
of man’s thought
it swallows in its
blackness
the hand and
thought together
in a nonexistent
day
buried by other
days
III
The black tower
dogs me a black shadow
a black bird
a black reptile
from the mind’s black forests
Slyly it peers into
my night
from a deep nowhere
the ancient black
tower
Standing there from
time immemorial
haunting every
awkward step
every corner of my
sight
every sinew of the
soil and every noisy waterfall
every scarlet
cataract of my blood
flooding my voice
It took me time to
see it
to measure its
height and weight
the sneers of its
flames that set ablaze the past of memory
that fire forests
and crack rocks
and melt the sea
Dark ills hasten
from the depths of man
dark seeds that
gave birth to the tower
to tell him in
another voice a dark voice in his voice
that it is made
according to his image
in the mirror of
silence and dark
And while he walks
it follows in his
steps
fear and its shadow
under the futile
glitter of the stars
PERMEATION (1996)
On the Theme of
Arion
Because of his song
his only food –
he was thrown
overboard to taste the bitter and deadly sea
The ship
disappeared behind the spine of the sea
and all around him
its beasts and monsters
sensed the delicate
rose of his body
lost
in the tide of
hatred
His judges were
swallowed by the dark
or lured by the
sweet lily of the blood
But there came the
miracle which said
that the sound of
his song was not in vain
The swift bird of
the sea came rushing –
the childlike and
smiling fish
which tames the
spray of the waves –
it took the lost
singer on its back
and brought him to
the shores of lonely hope
to awake the deaf
mornings of mankind
with his voice
impearled with stars
Now the song
whispers to the wind again
that all malice and
evil which came before him
was in vain
and could not trap
the tame laughter of the dolphin
He moves on and on
in the nights of our vigil
on the light of his
voice between the water and the stars
BEYOND OBLIVION
(2003)
Cold
It’s cold again
tonight
under the linden
on the porch
Where does it come
from
to enter the calm
of the stars
It howls through my
body
A hoarse flute
in a hoarse throat
You ask in vain
You marvel in vain
beyond day and
night
As it drifts
it drifts upon the
planet’s skin
And yours
LANDSCAPES UNDER
WATER (2006)
The Return of the
Breeze
The miracle of
spring comes closer again
Winter still glows
in the word
the departing
winter
the winter of our
nights
All is blue
On a blue and white
forehead
there gleams
the source of
vision
The green wind
removes the snow
before the staring
sky
A voice from an
unknown throat
unravels the paths
of the roots
and puts away the
cloud and the mud
from the night’s
vigil
No one listens No
one knows
No one understands
what it brings
with its tail of
ivy
to the wondering
space
In its breast
open for change
THE WIND AND THE
CITY (2007)
Voyages
“The lonely sail
whitens…” Lermontov
Dishevelled waves
and foaming crests
as the wind sweeps
above them
The grey sky
announces a storm
the shore
disappears in the distance
We set out long ago
The ship hurries
upon the waves
pushed by strange
unknown fervour to
reach somewhere
to a goal that it
dreams of
Who waits for us
Who follows us
with zealous
farewell or welcome
All about grey
spouts of fog
an endless and wild
sea
It seems we sail in
a circle
as our vision grows
narrow
The time you loved
turns its back on you
and cruelly pushes
you down the hill.
