A bit of culture

Thanks to Thammy’s book, I found out (what I should have known), that “T’Ga Za Jug”, as well as being the name of a decent Macedonian wine and an atmospheric restaurant in Skopje, is also a famous poem about being homesick, written by the poet Konstantin Miladinov while he was studying in Moscow. Here it is:

Т’ГА ЗА JУГ Longing for the South
Орелски крилjа как да си метнех
и в наши ст’рни да си прелетнех!
На наши места jа да си идам,
да видам Стамбол, Кукуш да видам;
да видам дали с’нце и тамо
мрачно угревjат, како и вамо.
If I had an eagle’s wings
I would rise and fly on them
To our shores, to our own parts
To see Stamboul, to see Kukus;
And to watch the sunrise: is it
Dim there too as is here?
Ако как овде с’нце ме стретит,
ако пак мрачно с’нцето светит,
на п’т далечни jа ке се стегнам
и в други ст’рни ке си побегнам,
к’дето с’нцето светло угревjат,
к’де небото ѕвезди посевjат.
If the sun still rises dimly
If it meets me there as here
I’ll prepare for further travels
I shall flee to other shores
Where the sunrise greets me brightly
And the sky is sown with stars.
Овде jе мрачно и мрак м’ обвиват
и темна м’гла земjа покриват;
мразоj и снегоj, и пепелници,
силни ветриштца и виjулици;
околу м’гли и мразоj земни,
а в гр’ди студоj и мисли темни.
It is dark here; darkness surrounds me,
It covers all the earth,
Here are frosts and snows and ashes,
Blizzards and harsh winds abound.
Fogs all around, the earth is ice,
And in our breast cold, dark thoughts.
Не, jа не можам овде да седам!
Не, jа не можам мразоj да гледам!
Даjте ми крилjа jа да си метнам
и в наши ст’рни да си прелетнам.
На наши места jа да си ндам,
да видам Охрид, Струга да видам.
No, I cannot stay here, no;
I cannot look upon these frosts.
Give me wings and I will don them;
I will fly to our own shores,
Go once more to our own places,
Go to Ohrid and to Struga.
Тамо зората греит душата
и с’нце светло заjдвит в гората;
тамо дарбите – природна сила
со с’та раскош ги растурила:
бистро езеро гледаш белеит
и си од ветар синотемнеит;
поле, погледниш или планина,
сегде божева jе хубавина.
There the sunrise warms the soul,
The sun sets bright in mountain woods:
Younder gifts in great profusion
Richly spread by nature’s power.
See the clear lake stretching white
Its blueness darkened by the wind
Look at the plains or mountains:
Beauty’s everywhere divine.
Тамо по с’рце в кавал да свирам,
с’нце да заjдвит, jа да умирам.
If my heart could skip to the piper’s notes
as the sun goes down-my dying would be easy.

As so often with translated poetry, the English is pretty clunky but gets the idea across. (I used mostly this version by Graham Reid, but took the last two lines from here.) It would be interesting to see what someone who could actually write poetry could do with it.

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