Silence Comes from Somewhere Else
translated from the Macedonian by the author
When at evening I hear the voice of my dead mother,
I summon deer to my side—
they who understand all the languages of fear
without saying a word.
I would invite them into the courtyard of quiet changes
and ask them about the sins of the unborn,
about the distance between the blood
of two enemies after the war.
I would ask them to lock the silence—
secret of the open eyes.
ТИШИНАТА ОД ДРУГИ МЕСТА ДОАЃА
Кога навечер ќе го чујам гласот на мојата мртва мајка,
повикувам елени во својата соба —
оние кои никогаш не прозбориле,
а ги разбираат сите јазици на стравот.
Ќе ги поканам во дворот на тивките промени
и ќе ги прашам за гревовите на неродените,
за далечината помеѓу крвта
на двајца непријатели по војната.
Ќе ги замолам да ја закатанчат тишината —
тајната на отворените очи.
Copyright © 2026 by Nikola Madzirov. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 10, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
“Absence is not silent. Poetry is the archaeology of unburied memories. Often, in my dreams, I see my dead mother coming home with bags full of fruit, while I run towards the apricot orchards. The scars of the unsaid appear on our faces while we sleep. My father still uses [my mother’s] old toothbrush to clean the edges of her picture frame on the gravestone and the letters of his own name engraved beside hers. This is his way of feeling more alive … like a poet trying to revise his already published poems, to create a new history.”
—Nikola Madzirov
Nikola Madzirov
