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Come to the South


Aleksandra

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Aleksandra

You call my eyes to the west

where the devils dance.

I am calling you here, where the food grows.

Here, in the south, my grandmother

met her love in a field, where the sweat

made a river of their faces,

and the winter ate their bones.

Come here, to my land, where the graves

of my ancestors are.

Come, listen to the echo of the crying

and pain from their time.

I will show you only one view from the crest

of the mountain – it’s enough for you to

touch my soul, to learn why I am sad,

to learn why, before sleeping,

my heart screams in pain,

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.

 

Come. Come to the South --

touch the ground,

and listen to my heartbeat.

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The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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No, I won’t return

Rather I enjoy the sun blazing

Through the heat coated glass

Sitting on air-conditioned crouch!

You know South makes wine tasty

And we make it the worthy goods.

Love becomes a trade here or either

The sense of humor that lasts a very little!

Though my love is far apart, I know

I would recall it sitting on my balcony.

 

My mirror is still not fade

And so is my soul.

I can talk to the souls of my ancestors

Every night when loneliness

Dazzles my senses like a doll.

 

Here, every pavement haunts

Their emptiness they possess in corporate conspiracy.

No feelings attached, No longing for serendipity

As I lost something long before

I got loneliness with urban apathy instead.

 

 

No, I won’t!

 

 

 

 

* i don't know whether i got the contrast of the opposite thought or not!if not, i will be.................. icon_redface.gif

 

 

RoNy

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

hi aleks,

 

i like this

 

very chilling the way uyou perceive generations and death. i also like the bone chilling sentiments in your poem.

 

vic

Larsen M. Callirhoe

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Hi Alex,

 

This is a emotionally charged poem. The lines:

 

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.

 

piercing.

 

A powerful poem. Thanks for the read.

 

Lake

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Hi Aleks, Using the compass to direct our emotions is quite wonderful.

Aleksandra wrote:

 

the west where the devils dance

 

and

 

Aleksandra wrote:

 

in the south where my grandmother

met her love in the field

where the sweat

made a river of their faces

 

I love the imagery.

 

~~Tink

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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goldenlangur

Hello Aleksandra,

 

The striking imagery in your poem suggests a stepping back in time in history - a reliving of the suffering, hardship and dreams and spirits broken:

 

"Here, in the south, my grandmother

met her love in a field, where the sweat

made a river of their faces,'

 

Also:

 

"...the winter ate their bones.

Come here, to my land, where the graves

of my ancestors are.

Come, listen to the echo of the crying

and pain from their time."

 

There's a sense that this haunts and pervades the poet's present and the legacy of pain endures.

 

"...why, before sleeping,

my heart screams in pain,

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.."

 

 

 

 

This pull between the present (the west) and the past (south) is brought out wonderfully here:

 

"You call my eyes to the west

where the devils dance"

 

And:

 

"Come. Come to the South --

touch the ground,

and listen to my heartbeat."

 

Perhaps mistakenly I imagine the narrator's voice as that of someone who confronts two conflicting interpretations of history and is wrought with the burden of the past.

 

 

Poignant and powerful writing.

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Alek, you accomplish a remarkable feat in this fine poem by expertly blending two very different kinds of love. A notable love of country is present throughout, but there is also a hint of a romantic love.

 

From the very beginning of the poem, the geographical references allude to the vast distances which play a key role in separating the narrator from another person:

You call my eyes to the west

where the devils dance.

I am calling you here, where the food grows.

"West" and "east" are terms usually used to refer to two very different and distant worlds. However, there is another world, the one where her

... grandmother

met her love in a field, where the sweat

made a river of their faces,

and the winter ate their bones,

and she, once again, summons this other person there, to "the south":

Come here, to my land, where the graves

of my ancestors are.

 

The narrator's sense of her culture is deeply ingrained. She is aware that her land, though beautiful, has a hard history:

Come, listen to the echo of the crying

and pain from their time.

I will show you only one view from the crest

of the mountain – it’s enough for you to

touch my soul, to learn why I am sad ...

She invites her loved one

to learn why, before sleeping,

my heart screams in pain,

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.

The stones are hard. They are ancient, like the name of the poet, and I will say it now: ALEKSANDRA.

 

Perhaps it is only the rare reader who would detect a romantic undercurrent in this poem. After all, there is no direct reference to love of another person, and the narrator could be addressing the multitudes. Nevertheless, to this reader the connection is obvious:

Come. Come to the South --

touch the ground,

and listen to my heartbeat.

I hear it now. I hope that someday I will.

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Aleksandra
No, I won't return

Rather I enjoy the sun blazing

Through the heat coated glass

Sitting on air-conditioned crouch!

You know South makes wine tasty

And we make it the worthy goods.

Love becomes a trade here or either

The sense of humor that lasts a very little!

Though my love is far apart, I know

I would recall it sitting on my balcony.

 

My mirror is still not fade

And so is my soul.

I can talk to the souls of my ancestors

Every night when loneliness

Dazzles my senses like a doll.

 

Here, every pavement haunts

Their emptiness they possess in corporate conspiracy.

No feelings attached, No longing for serendipity

As I lost something long before

I got loneliness with urban apathy instead.

 

 

No, I won't!

 

 

 

 

* i don't know whether i got the contrast of the opposite thought or not!if not, i will be.................. icon_redface.gif

 

 

RoNy

 

RoNy, thank you so much for your comment. You express your feelings for some other's poetry on very interesting and good way.

 

Thank you.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
hi aleks,

 

i like this

 

very chilling the way you perceive generations and death. i also like the bone chilling sentiments in your poem.

 

vic

 

Vic, glad you like the bone chilling sentiments here. That is hard word to write or to read, I mean for my sentiment when I wrote that.

 

Thanks my friend

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
Hi Alex,

 

This is a emotionally charged poem. The lines:

 

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.

 

piercing.

 

A powerful poem. Thanks for the read.

 

Lake

 

You are welcome Lake. I really wanted to see what others have to say about this poem. I am happy if you think that the poem is emotionally charged.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
Hi Aleks, Using the compass to direct our emotions is quite wonderful.

Aleksandra wrote:

 

the west where the devils dance

 

and

 

Aleksandra wrote:

 

in the south where my grandmother

met her love in the field

where the sweat

made a river of their faces

 

I love the imagery.

 

~~Tink

 

Tinker, that was my intention, to provoke the reader to look some more far...

 

Thank you for comment Tink.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
Hello Aleksandra,

 

The striking imagery in your poem suggests a stepping back in time in history - a reliving of the suffering, hardship and dreams and spirits broken:

 

"Here, in the south, my grandmother

met her love in a field, where the sweat

made a river of their faces,'

 

Also:

 

"...the winter ate their bones.

Come here, to my land, where the graves

of my ancestors are.

Come, listen to the echo of the crying

and pain from their time."

 

There's a sense that this haunts and pervades the poet's present and the legacy of pain endures.

 

"...why, before sleeping,

my heart screams in pain,

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.."

 

 

 

 

This pull between the present (the west) and the past (south) is brought out wonderfully here:

 

"You call my eyes to the west

where the devils dance"

 

And:

 

"Come. Come to the South --

touch the ground,

and listen to my heartbeat."

 

Perhaps mistakenly I imagine the narrator's voice as that of someone who confronts two conflicting interpretations of history and is wrought with the burden of the past.

 

 

Poignant and powerful writing.

 

goldenlangur

 

Goldenlangur hi. How much I love your interpretation of this poem. It happened before also, that when I read your comment, it makes me to think how the poem really can have that sense inside. Really makes wonderful sense that way how you felt this poem, especially here:

 

present (the west) and the past (south) - really I loved how it sounds with that sound.

 

And here:

Perhaps mistakenly I imagine the narrator's voice as that of someone who confronts two conflicting interpretations of history and is wrought with the burden of the past.

you imagine very good. It is talking about the burden of the past.

 

GL thank you so much for your careful read.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
Alek, you accomplish a remarkable feat in this fine poem by expertly blending two very different kinds of love. A notable love of country is present throughout, but there is also a hint of a romantic love.

 

From the very beginning of the poem, the geographical references allude to the vast distances which play a key role in separating the narrator from another person:

You call my eyes to the west

where the devils dance.

I am calling you here, where the food grows.

"West" and "east" are terms usually used to refer to two very different and distant worlds. However, there is another world, the one where her

... grandmother

met her love in a field, where the sweat

made a river of their faces,

and the winter ate their bones,

and she, once again, summons this other person there, to "the south":

Come here, to my land, where the graves

of my ancestors are.

 

The narrator's sense of her culture is deeply ingrained. She is aware that her land, though beautiful, has a hard history:

Come, listen to the echo of the crying

and pain from their time.

I will show you only one view from the crest

of the mountain – it's enough for you to

touch my soul, to learn why I am sad ...

She invites her loved one

to learn why, before sleeping,

my heart screams in pain,

and why I smile to the stones

when you say my name.

The stones are hard. They are ancient, like the name of the poet, and I will say it now: ALEKSANDRA.

 

Perhaps it is only the rare reader who would detect a romantic undercurrent in this poem. After all, there is no direct reference to love of another person, and the narrator could be addressing the multitudes. Nevertheless, to this reader the connection is obvious:

Come. Come to the South --

touch the ground,

and listen to my heartbeat.

I hear it now. I hope that someday I will.

 

Tony

 

Tony, with this comment you almost made me cry. How powerful read of my poem. I am very honored by your words. You explained my poem in details as you wrote this. Yes, this poem is somehow patriotic, inspired by the hard history of my country, and from the present events here, specially provoked by one of our neighbors country.

 

Thank you for your loudly saying my name dear Tony. That hits my heart, because I am proud being Macedonian.

 

And on the end you said something - You answered something to which I alluded in this poem. You are always welcome, and that way you will feel, not only understand,what I am talking about in this poem.

So you found the right point Tony.

I am pleased by your comment.

 

Thank you very much. You are really wonderful

 

Aleksandra 343271.gif

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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