By her mother from Bitola sent
in Skopje for study to her aunt
at music-high, and she then
at that piano faculty enrolled.
Everything was somehow over focused
on that existence forced;
in which possible was even dying
but not without exams giving.
That is how that stupid mum attached
her destiny with the school bench
as well with the piano-tank, a way
which crushed her in the last day…
…of the third semester when
the genesis of that hard torment
reached its peak, as mum interested
was in nothing else but the head…
…of her daughter educated to be.
So mother had at all no anxiety
when her daughter had distress
when having that exam-test.
The nerd-mother did not care
while seeing her daughter so pale
with, under the eyes, those dark stains
thinking constantly of the exam-index.
The daughter stayed without nerves
when intuiting eye contact with others
on her forehead
…that and all of them did not care
whether dead she is or with else blue
so as the death itself is she, took
just by that same sad mum’s look.
Hence mum only for that index cared
paying no attention to that glimpse scared;
old-champ thinking nothing else but of the future,
before sleeping- of her daughter’s concert career.
The young already forgot which was the date
of her birth, and that Ana was her name,
simply, at the end of the 3rd semester
when this pianist stayed without lucky-star.
In those days when somebody told her that instead of tormenting herself powdering her whole face she could do just as Catherine Deneuve was advising, meaning- just by powdering the tip of her nose with coca she discovered that instantly her whole face was done well as by the most expensive makeup artist. So even when the day after she woke up, this girl, although with her face lengthy unwashed…
…was with her cheeks blushed so strangely
made she was every day when waking up.
Then everything begun decaying very quickly
actually regressing towards worst as possibly
when and some needles were tried,
and ampules, pills and trips.
Falling in the abyss of that so loud
music, semi squashed from
the crowd in the disco her girlfriend
semi dead pulled her out,
and to the emergency presented
her under a false name,
intending her mum not to find out
what this all was all about…
Those villains from the hospital though
did not gave her the therapy on time
since under that name health-security number
existed not, and they didn’t want their hospital
put on loan- which was their intelligibility real.
Since the treatment was given
with a big delay
our pianist stayed with half head
patched. Her mother took her back
to Bitola, and in some clinics,
institutions wrenched her to.
From than 30 years passed by, but
our pianist this hell exited not though.
To that girlfriend she has told
that her strongest happiness appears
when saluting the new day
with the rembrance of that day
when the horse in her hand was needled,
though the hand continued than
in the hours to come uselessly waving
entirely unusably hanging
as the necks of the swans that are dying…
All soaked in the dawn
she’s than taken by the thought
of the unusable-hand
that over the emotionless atrocities had won.
Author: Igor Pop Trajkov
translated from Macedonian into English by the author
from his poetry book “The Seal of the Truth”.
The online version of the magazine you can find it HERE.