On Thursday, April 17th, Nikola Madzirov was introduced to an international audience in the highest accessible floor of the Stravos Niarchos Foundation Library by Wang Yin, the founder of Limelight Poetry and one of the organizers of the World Poetry Salon.  After a brief introduction to the event and the poet, Wang Yin brought Nikola Madzirov to the stage alongside his musical accompaniment, Becca Stevens.  Becca introduced the poem’s titles and played traditional acoustic stringed music alongside Madzirov’s incantatory recitations of his work in Macedonian.  Translations of the poems were provided to the audience so that one may read the English translation alongside or after the work was read by Madzirov. 

 

Many people in the crowd began the evening following along with the translations but set their papers down moments later, to submerge themselves fully in the pleasure of the auditory experience.  Macedonian is a lyric language, and Madzirov’s readings were wholly expressive even in a language that might not be understood by members of the audience, myself included.  While the majority of the poems were read in Macedonian, Madzirov would read the English version of a selection of lines from each piece, as in the poem translated as “Separated” in which the final stanza reads “I separated myself from the air, the water, the fire.  /  The earth I was made from / is built into my home.”  The final line was repeated twice, softly, and worked like clay when in the second repetition it was said as “is built in my home.”  This style of reading, translating, repeating, creating a driving rhythm or a rolling lullaby was a beautiful display of the aliveness that is natural within poetry, and goes in direct contradiction to a later statement that Nikola Madzirov reported was said to his father when he was working on translations of traditional music of his Macedonian homeland- “don’t kill this song, don’t write it.  Sing it, maybe you will add to it.”  Madzirov here shows us how the life of a creative work does not end when it is written, but can still find the living song, perhaps especially when it is shared in a room of rapt listeners.

 

The poems that Madzirov read were beautiful ruminations on home, belonging, nation as defined by whatpower (invader, colonizing power, the land?), the living Earth, and self.  These topics felt especially poignant as they were shared in a room of such striking diversity and in a time when the United States’ foreign policy and reputation in geopolitics is rapidly and alarmingly increasing not only in its laughability, but indeed its capacity for greater danger both internally and externally.  As the United States funds the Palestinian genocide and bombs Yemin, in this one small room, the discussion turned to Madzirov’s last name, which translated, means “migrant” or “person with no home.”  As the poetry explores notion of original land as part of oneself, Madzirov gracefully recounted endless wisdoms of what it means to be a colonized person, a person whose family was removed from their traditional lands, especially when the trouble with colonized language was brought forward.  He said, “Invaders, when they first come, they change the names of the cities, the rivers… and then,” with a sardonic nod, “they start talking about love.”   Madzirov says that his writing is “an attempt not to forget.”  And through his writing we are invited to remember alongside him.

 

As a balm and a map for an aching culture, I believe the World Poetry Salon to be a worthy and enriching way to spend an evening.  Anyone who yearns to trouble the hyper-nationalistic perspective of our society to try to imagine the ways that we might create a culture which values all homes and all people as equals, or at the very least, to witness one another’s remembering, should absolutely attend the upcoming Salon events.