“Teshkoto”   (The Dificult one - Dance)

By Blaze Konevski  ( Translation  by Dr.Stojadin B. Naumovski-Dr.Coci )


O, teshkoto ! Why is that as soon as the  zurly scream wild,

as soon as  the drum thunders  with underground echo

hot sadness is  burning   me in the chest,

why is a river  poring in to my eyes

and why is that  I feel crying  as a child,

to  bend my hands, to cover my face,

to bite my lips, and  squeeze  my cursed heart ,

not to  shout .


O te{koto! Zurli {tom divo }e pisnat,
{tom tapan }e grmne so podzemen ekot
vo gradive zo{to `al luta me stiska,
vo o~ive zo{to mi navira reka
i zo{to mi ide da pla~am ko dete,
da previjam race, da prekrijam lik
da grizam jas usni, stegam srce kleto,
da ne pu{ti vik.


O, teshkoto ! Here the old men are coming out, 

With thoughts on the forehead, and their eyes wet

And the first step on the soft meadow

Is calm and slow, with suspended sadness.

But drum growls and screech raises

And lightning sparks in every gaze ,

And forward comes down, arrows, streams

 the tight row.


 O, te{koto ! Starci izleguvaat eve,
na ~elo im misla, vo o~i im vlaga
i prviot ~ekor po mekata treva
e miren i baven, so zadr`ana taga.
No 'rznuva tapan i piskot se kreva
i molwa svetnuva vo sekoj gled,
i napred se spu{ta, se strelka, se sleva
stegnatiot red.


Next to the old man the young are catching up on the jump;

The heart  - the grey falcon in the cell could not  hold back

the live fire bent in the eye could not hold back

the youth that wants to fly away  could not  hold back !

The dance started its lullaby! The ground spinning   around,

And  it  looked  as if it reaps out  the shaken century,

And  the surrounding numb hills

were returning their echo.


Do starcite momci se fa}aat skokum;
ne izdr`a srce - siv sokol vo kletka,
ne izdr`a plamen `iv potulen v oko,
ne izdr`a mladost {to saka da letne!
Se zalula oro! Se zavrte zemja,
i ~ini{ - se korne stresnatiot vek,
i okolu trpnat ridi{tata temni
i vra}aat ek.


And as if this over flown dance was ingrown 

With heavenly power in to our land

And in it the sound of the rivers talk you hear

And in it  the scream of wild and scary wind

And in it the whisper of the golden wheat

And the evening quiet   fragrance  spreads,

And the soil breads  in the spring fullness

With fired up breath.


I bo`em se vraslo kipnatovo oro
so iskonska sila za zemjava na{a
i vo nego {umi na rekite zborot,
i vo nego rika div veter i stra{en
i vo nego s{epnat uzreani `itja
i ve~eren miris se razleva tih,
i zemjata di{e vo proletna sitost
so zapalen zdiv


 And it seems like the soul of my suffering ancestors

Is fully textured   in to this hard dance-

Piled up futile century by century   of darkness

From the bloody pain, from the cursed slavery,

Century by century composed by the unyielding idea

For a happy family, for free world,

From the song of love that is dying with a scream

Like a flying crane.


 I du{ata ~ini{, na rodot moj ma~en
vo te{koto oro se utkala seta -
vek po vek {to trupal se' popust i mra~en
od krvava bolka, od robija kleta,
vek po vek {to ni`el od korava misla
za radosna ~elad, za sloboden svet,
od pesna - za qubov {to gine so pisok
ko `erav vo let.


O, teshkoto ! Whenever in silence I am watching  you,

gray  dark fog is falling over  my eyes,

and suddenly – to infinity  the line extends

the hills vanish  in empty  desert –

and from the muddy fog  here there comes again

shadow  next to shadow,  and all  one next to the other

in endless line dance  son  behind the father

behind the  grand  father is grand son.


O te{koto! Koga vo molk, da te gledam,
na o~ive magla mi napa|a sura,
i odedna{ - v beskraj se rastega redot
i ridja se gubat v pustelija {tura -
i eve kaj ide od maglata matna
se' senka do senka, se' eden do drug -
vo beskrajno oro sin odi po tatka,
po deda si - vnuk


The suffering  times are  their  field ,

here music is the jingle of the chains,

Their heads are bent down,

And They walk slow - all step by step.

O times lived by my ancestors  in darkness,

Who will  find a word for your  fear ?!

Who will find me a word for the open terror  

 For the disaster and mass murder ?!


Vremiwata mra~ni se nivnoto pole,
i nivnata svirka - na prangite yvekot,
a glavite im se navedeni dole,
i pokroce vrvat - se' ~ekor po ~ekor.
O vremiwa, {to ve v mrak rodot moj minal,
koj zbor }e mi najde za va{ata strav?!
Koj zbor }e mi najde za u`asot zinat
nad pusto{ i krv?!


Who will give me the number of the hot wounds,

Of the firry nights, of the deserted burn and  dusts,

Who will count the pains stock piled in the heart,

And the tears in the eyes and curses  on the lips.

O, the hard one (dance)! You were the chain of slaves,

Of brunette girls  and  line of brides,

with hands holding  the  catch, by the rape of the cursed   vicious savage .


 Koj broj }e mi ka`e na lutite rani,
na plamnati no}i, na pepli{ta pusti,
koj na srce bolki }e izredi zbrani,
i na o~i solzi, i kletvi na usti.
O te{koto! Sindxir ti be{e na robja,
od kale{i momi i nevesti red,
so vrzani race so plen {to gi pognal
nasilnikot klet.


 O, teshkoto !  You were the chain of slaves,

Until the people rise in the leafy woodland,

Until the bitterness aggregated trough centuries

Did not start  a strong  rebellious dance!

And the dance lullaby trough bloodbath and a fire,

And the call was heard through the thunder in smoke-

You got spread by the   rebellious foot

Everywhere in  the motherland.


Sinddxir ti be{e na robja,
dur ne stana narod vo listena gora,
se' duri so jadot od vekovi sobran
ne povede bujno, buntovni~ko oro!
Se zalula tanec niz krvje i ogan,
i povik se za~u i grme` vo ~ad -
te raznese segde buntovnata noga
po rodniot kat.


O, teshkoto !  Now days when in our villages

in freedom for the first time I run into a dance,

is it strange that – warm tear will  surge,

is it strange- that I could feel  sadness in my heart?

From age of slavery you my people are coming

But in your heart you bear golden gift and song.

Your wheat triple fertile will be, and your life as well.   


O te{koto ! Sega po na{ite sela
vo sloboda prvpat {tom kje oro sretam,
zar ~udno e - solza da pote~e vrela,
zar ~udno e - `alba jas v srce da setam?
Od vekovno ropstvo, moj narode, ide{
no nosi{ ti v srce dar zlaten i poj.
P~enicata tvoja tri` plodna }e bide,
i `ivotot tvoj!