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We Are Still Countrymen

When the night meets Saturday
Manhattan turns into such a party
That daisies jump out of flowerpots
Dangerous types come out then
Female good-for-nothings, male sisters
But the main fun is hunting for taxies
 
The driver pulled over, as if he knew
Droplets of drizzle extinguished his headlights
And just in the moment before I thought that
I recognized St. Basil1 on his car charm
 
All taxi drivers are mostly the same
Old naysayers and nihilists
Or silent, lost for words from ugly scenes
Familiar speech just made him wince
Somebody's honked for him to hurry up
A small mouse peered from the corner of the rear-view mirror
 
But every swearword is a mousetrap2
And he couldn't wait to get caught
He pushed away the steering wheel like hot soup
Turned around and slapped his forehead
A bullet stuck in the barrel and silence
But his heart is beating in seven eights3
 
Just yesterday we were countrymen
I can immediately tell that we have the same eyes
Why are you pretending that you're foreigners
When you're not?
 
Just yesterday we were the dream team
And look how things are today
It doesn't matter that the country is new
We're still same old
 
In 19914 he packed his suitcase
Horticulture, but currently a driver
Let's go to his house, to fetch the wife and the sister-in-law
 
Three glasses, he says, start a river
And four glasses flood New York
A tear dropped and clouded his mastika5
 
And he said bitterly, don't wish it on anybody
To earn their bread with politics, that's a sin
You see, my little sons, Vangel and Blaže
Reach for the globe, looking for Strumica6
And wherever they put their little fingers on the Balkans
They cover at least three countries
 
And so it went, one drink after another
The morning blew by like fine flour
Bringing along that old longing for the South7
Nothing too bad
 
God, look after my ex-countrymen
My songs are full of their words
And our sorrows are so much the same
That they confuse me
 
  • 1. Presumably in the recognizable form of an orthodox icon
  • 2. Ex-Yugoslav nations are prolific swearers and swearwords are a stereotypical way to spot a compatriot abroad
  • 3. 7/8 is a characteristic rhythm in Macedonian folk songs, also used in this song
  • 4. i.e. at the start of Yugoslav wars
  • 5. The Macedonian version of ouzo, i.e. a clear spirit which gets clouded when a drop of water is added
  • 6. A town in western Macedonia
  • 7. Longing For the South, or T'ga za Jug, is a famous Macedonian poem


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01.02.2025

Doctor Faust





Oh, Doctor Faust
Behind you, do you see all these years you've spent wasting your life?
It's time for you to let yourself live life
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
Diving like this into dead languages, that's not life
If you spend time with them, living languages will revive you
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
Science is a well where you drown yourself, if you want my opinion
Descend into the well of pleasure because that's life
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
Leave your Talmudic and astrologic studies behind
Instead, prepare a thesis on my anatomy
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
Throw your books away, forget Latin, smile at live
In my arms, you'll get to know love and life
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
I like your physique, leave physics behind, discover life
Looking together, in physical love, the meaning of life
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
 

Oh, Doctor Faust
I like your physique, leave physics behind, discover life
Looking together, in physical love, the meaning of life
 


01.02.2025

On board of the Aspasia





You traveled in pursuit of your destiny
To white but mournful Switzerland
Always in the deck in a chez-lung downstairs
by the familiar and saddest cause
 

Always restlessly your folks have been prowling around
But you, staring at the wings, were indifferent
You laughed bitterly at what they said because you felt
That you were travelling to the land of death
 

One night when we were passing through Stroboli
You said to some laughing man in a joking tone:
'How my sick body looks as it burns,
to the flaming top of the volcano!'
 

Then I saw you in Marcilia as you were lost
in the noise without turning back
And I who loved only the wet expanse,
I say I could love thee
 


01.02.2025

Gramophonomaniac





In room of miss Janka
winders and curtains tremble
Like in a fury there a gramophone plays
Because miss Janka is a gramophone maniac
From morning to morning constantly plays.
Syrena’s records are still brought by miss Janka,
She puts all of her money in it and continues to sing
 

And I play on gramophone
trali tralalla la, trali
tralalla la
In winter at home, in the summer on the balcony
trali tralalla la, gramophone plays
And nothing worries me,
I have Syrena’s records
When something annoys me - I play on the gramophone
Because when I play on the gramophone
then in gramophone I have my all concerns
 

Neighbours of miss Janka, their wives and lovers declared, not being able to sleep at night:
We have enough of miss Janka,
that gramophone maniac,
the police needs to know about it
But when the officer came, miss Janka says
What to do, man, understand I’m afraid to sleep alone
 

And when I play on the gramophone
trali tralalla la, trali
tralalla la
In winter at home, in the summer on the balcony
trali tralalla la, gramophone plays
And nothing worries me,
I have Syrena’s records
When something annoys me then I play on the gramophone
Because when I play on the gramophone
then in gramophone I have all of my concerns
 

As soon as the strict officer heard it himself and wanted to give advice to the poor maiden
He says to miss Janka, that gramophone maniac
„A pity, I will sleep here”
And since then every night from miss Janka’s room
The bas of officer makes the curtains tremble
 

And I play on gramophone
trali tralalla la, trali
tralalla la
In winter at home, in the summer on the balcony
trali tralalla la, gramophone plays
And nothing worries me,
I have Syrena’s records
When something annoys me - I play on the gramophone
Because when I play on the gramophone
then in gramophone I have my all concerns
 


singable
01.02.2025

At the End of the Park





When sunset
makes the sky grow pale,
from the window,
I look around me.
 

At the end of the park, I see you
searching for me
like one evening
a year ago.
 

I watch you from afar and
in your hand,
there's
hidden more than one caress.
 

At the end of the park, I see you
running towards me,
of course,
I know it.
 

It's only an impression,
a trick of my heart
that makes me see
all this.
 

Tenderness
is something that
grows deep
in the soul.
 

If I remember
and if only
I think about you:
 

At the end of the park, I see you
searching for me
like one evening
a year ago.
 

I watch you from afar and
in your hand,
there's
hidden more than one caress.
 

At the end of the park, I see you
running towards me
and this time,
I know it.
 

You're no longer an impression,
a trick of my heart,
I've found
you again.
 

(At the end of the park, I see you
searching for me
like one evening
a year ago.)
 

At the end of the park, I see you
searching for me
like one evening
a year ago.
 

At the end of the park, I see you
searching for me...