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February 22, 2024 at 18:19 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories, 22.2.24 #26182
Dimitar
ParticipantJust a note re: Toše’s Wikipedia entry. Wikipedia is so absolutely notoriously anti-Macedonian and wherever possible, always misprepresents, downplays or outright lies re: pretty much anything to do with Macedonia. In this case, it states that Toše is
from an Aromanian family” (Aromanian = Vlah). In fact, Toše is from a mixed Aromanian and Macedonian family (father is Macedonian, ie; Proeski is MK name) and identified as Macedonian. Footnote. No one who knew Toše can ever forget him. He truly was a divine being/presence with an incomparable voice. The story that sticks with me came via his mother after his passing, she revealed that an angel had appeared to her in a dream prior to her son’s birth and had made her partake of an extremely bitter soup. She had to eat it all, and later understood that it meant her son would pass from this life at such an early age.Toše Proeski; “Zajdi Zajdi” ( this is the song every singer from the Balkans must attempt and reveals one’s true vocal mettle.
February 22, 2024 at 17:39 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories, 22.2.24 #26178ParticipantThank you for your kindness, AHH, (you too, archeon). Yep, ancient Macedonian ruins of Heraclia Lyncestis, statue of Filip Vtori in Town Square + River Dragar in Bitola.
The Immortal Toše Proeski ; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To%C5%A1e_Proeski#Songwriting
“Ako Odam Vo Bitola” (If I Go to Bitola) (w. images of Bitola)
Ако одам во Битола
Ако одам во Битола,
ќе прошетам по Широк сокак.А на Дембел чаршија
кафе ќе се напијам,
младост мило ќе си спомињам.Еј, мори моме, како да речам,
за Солуна, за Стамбола,
неа не давам.Ако одам во Битола,
ќе нарачам до три пајтона.Први мене ќе носи,
в’ други чалгии ќе свират,
в’ трети товар, мерак ќе носам.Еј, мори моме, како да речам,
за Солуна, за Стамбола,
неја не давам.За Солуна, за Стамбола,
Битола не давам.If I go to Bitola
If I go to Bitola*,
I will walk on the wide street.And on the Dembel* street
I will drink coffee,
I will remember my lovely youth.Hey, oh girl, how can I tell you…
for Thessaloniki, for Istanbul,
I wouldn’t give her.If I go to Bitola,
I will order three carriages.The first one will carry me,
and the second one will play chalga*
the third load will be my joy.Hey, oh girl, how can I tell you…
for Thessaloniki, for Istanbul,
I wouldn’t give her.For Thessaloniki, for Istanbul,
I wouldn’t give Bitola.February 22, 2024 at 03:49 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories, 22.2.24 #26130ParticipantNight
When night descends and veils the earth,
The bat wings t’ward its twilit quest.
The traveller procures himself a berth,
And welcoming sleep, takes his rest.The moon begins its nightly climb,
Kissing each and every star;
As children dream their dreams in time
And place their wishes in a jar.Simple folk lay down their cares.
Kings and queens remove their crowns.
Both alike send out their prayers,
And naked, lay their bodies down.Falsehood feints on bended knee,
And dons its mask to hide its face.
The audience pays its entry fee
As players join to take their place.When night descends and veils the earth,
The instinctive self is energised.
All good men reveal their worth,
As truth steps forth undisguised.February 22, 2024 at 03:43 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26129ParticipantNight
When night descends and veils the earth,
The bat wings t’ward its twilit quest.
The traveller procures himself a berth,
And welcoming sleep, takes his rest.The moon begins its nightly climb,
Kissing each and every star;
As children dream their dreams in time
And place their wishes in a jar.Simple folk lay down their cares.
Kings and queens remove their crowns.
Both alike send out their prayers,
And naked, lay their bodies down.Falsehood feints on bended knee,
And dons its mask to hide its face.
The audience pays its entry fee
As players join to take their place.When night descends and veils the earth,
The instinctive self is energised.
All good men reveal their worth,
As truth steps forth undisguised.February 22, 2024 at 02:18 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories, 22.2.24 #26124ParticipantThe Demon Slayer’s Lot
all through the night,
slaying demons mercilessly;
the demon slayer’s lot!upwind of bad luck;
when fleeing the dogs of war,
old wolves lie lowback at the siege camp,
the swineherd and the maiden;
if pigs could flyin life as in death,
God’s mercy knows no limits;
the unravelling noosebeneath the cloak of misery,
the sole hope of the hopeless
shows its face…February 22, 2024 at 02:16 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories, 22.2.24 #26123ParticipantPlease Hand the Devil His Walking Stick
Well, he used to be bad, he used to be lit,
The life of the party, the ultimate wit.
I’d always fall for the same old schtick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick.Bedecked as he was in diamonds and pearls,
With his circle of the best looking boys and girls.
Always irresistible and oh so slick;
Please hand the devil his walking stick.And if you were one of the lucky few,
You knew you’d always be skipping the queue.
Should things get tight, he’d be there in a tick;
Just hand the devil his walking stick.I was always jealous of his sure-fire technique,
But there’s some kind of dent in the old mystique.
When I’d try to catch up he was always too quick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick!We used to run together every day of the week;
He was always obsessed with his perfect physique.
Now he’s ragged and thin as an old toothpick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick.Came by the other day when I wasn’t home,
Came back again when I was all alone.
I couldn’t resist him one swift kick;
Please hand the devil his walking stick!For such a long time we were best of friends,
But all good friendships come to an end.
Finally called his bluff and gave him the flick…
Someone hand the devil his walking stick!February 22, 2024 at 02:14 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories, 22.2.24 #26122ParticipantThe Place Where You Forget Your Name
When you go to the place where you forget your name,
You lay down your sword, you lay down your blame.
You lay down your memory, you lay down your game,
When you go to the place where you forget your name.When you go to the pace where you find your sight,
You no longer see in terms of darkness and light.
You no longer see in terms of wrong and right,
When you go to the place where you find your sight.When you go to the place where you meet your soul,
There are no longer parts, there’s only the whole.
There’s no victory, no failure, there’s only the goal,
When you go to the place where you meet your soul.When you go to the place where you forget your name,
There’s no way to return to from where you came.
Nothing has changed, yet nothing’s the same…
When you go the place where you forget your name!February 21, 2024 at 23:27 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26118ParticipantThe Place Where You Forget Your Name
When you go to the place where you forget your name,
You lay down your sword, you lay down your blame.
You lay down your memory, you lay down your game,
When you go to the place where you forget your name.When you go to the pace where you find your sight,
You no longer see in terms of darkness and light.
You no longer see in terms of wrong and right,
When you go to the place where you find your sight.When you go to the place where you meet your soul,
There are no longer parts, there’s only the whole.
There’s no victory, no failure, there’s only the goal,
When you go to the place where you meet your soul.When you go to the place where you forget your name,
There’s no way to return to from where you came.
Nothing has changed, yet nothing’s the same…
When you go the place where you forget your name!February 21, 2024 at 21:06 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26107ParticipantLol, this of course I meant to tag onto the first post of Karolina. I couldn’t resist adding this performance of her first hit some 20 odd years ago, (performance is recent some 6 mths old, and demonstrates her growth and range). My God, looking at the Karolina of today I am struck with the thought that if honey could be poured into the form of a woman it would be in the form of Karolina! Btw, when Macedonian musicians play, even on a pop standard like this, I believe all serious musicians should stand up and take note, they are truly master musicians!
Kaži Mi! (Tell Me!)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssw_LdI3bncFebruary 21, 2024 at 20:57 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26106ParticipantKarolina Gočeva is the leading young female vocalist / diva in Macedonia. She has matured into a truly brilliant musician, and her more recent efforts include the following masterful jazz performances with Macedonian composer/pianist Duke Bojadžiev and Clarinetist, Ismail Lumanovski, (check his finesse at his solo at about 1:30), the latter both Bitola natives, as I am.
“Idyll”
February 21, 2024 at 20:41 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26105ParticipantThe Demon Slayer’s Lot
all through the night,
slaying demons mercilessly;
the demon slayer’s lot!upwind of bad luck;
when fleeing the dogs of war,
old wolves lie lowback at the siege camp,
the swineherd and the maiden;
if pigs could flyin life as in death,
God’s mercy knows no limits;
the noose unravels…beneath the cloak of misery,
the sole hope of the hopeless
shows it’s faceFebruary 21, 2024 at 20:14 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26104ParticipantPlease Hand the Devil His Walking Stick
Well, he used to be bad, he used to be lit,
The life of the party, the ultimate wit.
I’d always fall for the same old schtick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick.Bedecked as he was in diamonds and pearls,
With his circle of the best looking boys and girls.
Always irresistible and oh so slick;
Please hand the devil his walking stick.And if you were one of the lucky few,
You knew you’d always be skipping the queue.
Should things get tight, he’d be there in a tick;
Just hand the devil his walking stick.I was always jealous of his sure-fire technique,
But there’s some kind of dent in the old mystique.
When I’d try to catch up he was always too quick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick!We used to run together every day of the week;
He always had the best physique.
Now he’s ragged and thin as an old toothpick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick.Came by the other day when I wasn’t home,
Came back again when I was all alone.
I couldn’t resist him one swift kick;
Please hand the devil his walking stick!For such a long time we were best of friends,
But all good friendships come to an end.
Finally called his bluff and gave him the flick…
Someone hand the devil his walking stick!February 21, 2024 at 19:11 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #26103ParticipantKarolina Gočeva; Dafino Vino Crveno
Дафино вино црвено
момчето ти е заспало.
Момчето ти е заспало
на Каракамен планина.На Каракамен планина,
на сува рида без вода.
Ми поминале ајдути,
гунчето му го украле.Гунчето му го украле,
во меана му го продале.
Гунчето му го украле,
во меана му го продале.Во меана му го продале
за рујно вино црвено.
За рујно вино црвено
и бела лута ракија.Ако му украле гунчето,
нека ми е живо момчето.
Ако му украле гунчето,
нека ми е живо момчетоDafina, red wine
Dafina, red wine,
your boyfriend was asleep.
Your boyfriend was asleep,
on Karakamen mountain.On Karakamen mountain,
on a slope without water.
Along came hajduks 1
and stole his vest.They stole his vest
and sold it in a tavern.
They stole his vest
and sold it in a tavern.Sold it in a tavern,
exchanged it for red wine,
Exchanged it for red wine,
and fine strong rakija.2I don’t care if they stole his vest,
as long as my boyfriend is alive.
I don’t care if they stole his vest,
as long as my boyfriend is alive.1. hajduk” means a rebel, but can also mean a thief.
2. Rakija” is a strong alcoholic beverage, spirits.
February 3, 2024 at 05:37 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #25164Participant“Even in hell, if you are with me,
I would not want to leave.And if I find myself in heaven,
without you, those wide fields will
be confining to my breathing heart.”Rumi
With You By My Side
Whatever may come,
Whatever may be,
I surely will bear
With you by my side.
But if you should leave,
I sorely would grieve,
And the tears that I’d cry
Would never subside.Wherever I am,
Wherever I go,
It makes no difference
With you by my side.
But if we should part
I know that my heart,
From that moment on
Will never survive.Whenever my time
Is finally at hand,
I gladly will go
With you by my side.
But if you’re not there
Why should I care,
If the cold dark earth
Should be my bride?Whatever may come,
Whatever may be;
I surely will bear
With you by my side.
And if you should stay,
We’ll cleave to the day;
Whate’er may betide
We’ll take in our stride!January 22, 2024 at 03:59 in reply to: The Cornucopia – Art, Music, Poems, Creative Stories, Myth, & Glories 20.12.23 #24687ParticipantTruly special; outstanding version for solo classical guitar of the Macedonian Standard; “Makedonsko Devojče” (Macedonian Girl) written and played by Serbian Guitarist, Miroslav Tadić… soothing, uplifting and contemplative.
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