:d ocean resonates secret poems


[echoing across the pond]

Poem for Mitko
_Michael Rothenberg


Today, when Ziggy
(the dog) and I
go down to the ocean
we’ll send you a poem

Some wild ribbon
Invisible soul
birds in flight
across chrome waters

We will wait
for your silent reply
Look for a word
and world of peace

Riding back
over bright breakers
from your land-
locked European country


A Sea-Monkey
I was born and raised
in Florida

Learned my liquid life
Now, I am pulled
by the moon

Birth and inevitability
Yes, the ocean
gives us power

Tells us the rolling universe
does not belong to us
No matter how hard

we try to destroy it


Godless power
Chrome waves

Sun’s flames
soak my brow

Ziggy stops to dig in the sand
Barks at the blue-black raven

calling from the stranded
boulder on Shell Beach


I’d go crazy living on an island
surrounded by a fevered sea of woe

and sapphire horizons

I plan for a busier tomorrow
But I can’t get the ocean out of my head

You could crave another island

But whatever’s there I can’t describe
Lupine, thistle, and wild oats

on the bluff
Something I think I see, but can’t

inscribed in the mercurial sky

I wait for an explosion


This is not a good year for Tyrants!
Copper skies above Tahrir Square

Here comes that crashing thought
That currency I sent away over the expanse

to be read by you, Mitko
Tear gas clouds in Tahrir Square

Coming back tied and frayed around a rugged headland
We have had enough of this enslavement!

Men and women, boys and girls with stones
Give them what they want

Don’t wait for permission from the headquarters
Authorization from the Opera

Live long and without endorsements


The dog still barks, but can’t say exactly what he believes
Is that a dragon or civilization burning on the beach?

Coming in or going out
I can’t tell which way the poetry is running

A wave followed by another wave followed by another
Tide of the underworld rushing overall, blowing silver

over shipwrecked shores and tortured skies
A sleeper wave slashing

Pillars of…


I asked the California badger
on the road back home
Do you find this dream amusing?

There was something vicious in his response
Is the human condition just entertainment?

I ask the badger
about Political gamesmanship
and coppery metaphors

Slung across the heavens
like Handel’s Messiah?

No reply!

This is not a domestic animal!


O, Brother from another great continent
Beyond shimmering cataclysmic fever

Foam and light rushing up over my feet
Mammoth rubbings on mammoth stones. . .

Oh Macedonian Brother

I went down to the ocean today and the sky and sun and water
were blinding and gorgeous chrome, so I kind of got caught

in light and isolation and could think of nothing else



.OCEANia and :Christmas
_Mitko Gogov

.lips are touching salty waves,
oceans playin’ with d messages lost in them.
We think that inside float
maternal fluid which nourishes us while we sleep
as teddy bears, as kangaroos
in d


We fly with our messages
like freed birds from their cage..
Love is transferred through cosmic channels!
..an uncle somewhere far across the pond
sit on the shore,
caressing the existence of his thoughts
sending them far away to me
to be returned as hidden universes.
The day ends ..

. .. and, somewhere there Jesus is born.


dogs bark in joy,
about one I know for sure.
In these bottles we keep all
d messages, those which are yet to be sent
condemning the mystery of not knowing.

!Telepathy is a pact with mice. .. you hear me?


We signalize d existence,
as fireflies in summer. .. even d Indians would envy us
for d art of connecting.
Do we hear each other or d waves are too strong?!
I hear how d water cleans our souls. these salty rocks
one day will fall apart!
We run lost as we should
win this marathon, but not
all waves end at the same place?


Embraced each other with d thoughts that returns
– boomerang technique is more active nowadays.
The end of reason is near ,
in d rain we hide d cry of our fear.
At the end of the day

:all stars are falling down
– but they not fade;

they glow us from closer!

night lights,
they make d passion for more myth!


We reserve space in d universe
as if d hotel of our life has remained with(out)
no rooms. Guests are our memories. ..

fill d beds and under them they hide Us
from ourselves..*

Here the lake is calm
..dreaming of its elder brothers and sisters
will there be a river born to bring me
at d sea,
will there be a sea born
to bring me to you?


The Absolute dives with special equipment
we the trackers are dolphins
we close our snouts while we breathe,
yet, our ears fill with water .

Can we hear d water composition
for the rain, for d snow that melts in us
or icicles are born?

In my house a wave is coming,
from d ocean is, We say. ..
on my walls dark blue worlds
aquarium filled with indigo sky

.my fishes are dreaming d Big Water
Lemurians dears ~


.all rights reserved. Michael Rothenberg & Mitko Gogov copyright © 2011



_this is a project that I like to call meditation trough #poetry and it happen on d Christmas Eve’ when Michael sit on d ocean and sent his poetry trough d waves in my house where I receive d salty smell of d eternal life that we live.

Before I share d bio that I took from wikipedia I want to mention here that I become friend with him after he start d big poetry event 100 Thousand Poets for Change, that took place all over d world in one single day 24. September and I decide to make poetry event that will be part of d event and will be placed in my city as only manifestation that will support this IDEA and will sent signal, light from Strumica for more awareness in all fields. more about 100 TPC and Big Bridge [here]. if u are into poetry u can create d event for ur region for next year, it’s planned for 29 September – [join Us, write to us at: walterblue@bigbridge.org]

Michael Rothenberg is an American poet, songwriter, editor, and active environmentalist in the San Francisco Bay Area. Born in Miami Beach, Florida, Rothenberg received his Bachelor of Arts in English at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Afterward, he moved to California in 1976, where he began “Shelldance Nursery”, an orchid and bromeliad nursery.

In 1993 he received his MA in Poetics at New College of California. In 1989, Rothenberg and artist Nancy Davis began Big Bridge Press,[1] a fine print literary press, publishing works by Jim Harrison, Joanne Kyger, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Whalen and others. Rothenberg is editor of Big Bridge,[2] a webzine of poetry. Rothenberg is also co-editor and co-founder of Jack Magazine,[3] He is the editor of:

  • Overtime, Selected Poems by Philip Whalen
  • As Ever, Selected Poems by Joanne Kyger
  • David’s Copy, Selected Poems by David Meltzer
  • Way More West, Selected Poems by Ed Dorn (Penguin, 2007)
  • Collected Poems of Philip Whalen (Wesleyan University Press, 2007).

Rothenberg’s poems have appeared in 88: A Journal of Contemporary American Poetry, First Intensity, Cortland Review, Golden Handcuffs Review, Exquisite Corpse, Zyzzyva, Mudlark,[4] Jacket, Rolling Stock, Sycamore Review, and other publications. His books include Unhurried Vision, Paris Journals, What The Fish Saw, Nightmare Of The Violins, Man/Woman w/Joanne Kyger, and Favorite Songs. In 1990 Rothenberg began writing songs. His songs have appeared in films by Hollywood Pictures, Shadowhunter and Black Day, Blue Night.


Mitko Gogov (1983, Skopje, Macedonia) aka kihuPotru is conceptual artist, published poet, youth worker & activist.

Conceptual/ multimedia artist (art academy, Bulgaria, non-formal educational art programs & workshops France ) with few expos, performances and art installations behind, showed in France, Norway, Italy, Serbia, Bulgaria, Macedonia.. published poet and short stories writer, translated in English [Philippines, Us.. ], Serbian, Croatian, Italian, Spanish, Indian [telugu], Bulgarian, Macedonian.. [still working on d first book that should be published February, 2o12]

youth worker that works with young people from everywhere, push for social inclusion and volunteering. .. active graffiti painter and word as a [dj] with the name Dzamski, specializing in psychedelic trance, dark forest, experimental and ambient sounds.
Blogger, open for communication. #culture #art #media

:Tomas Tranströmer _or d Nobel Prize IN Literature_o11

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Tomas Tranströmer

Born: 15 April 1931, Stockholm, Sweden

Residence at the time of the award: Sweden

Prize motivation: “because, through his condensed, translucent images, he gives us fresh access to reality”

That what I would like to mention on my blog is this year Nobel Prize in Literature 2011. One hour before the official annunciation of d awarded author on fb there where conversation between the Balkan literature circles that one of d nominated for d award is writer from Serbia. [fake info] probably because now we can read that besides d laureate 7/1, the 81-year-old Syrian poet known as Adonis at odds of 4/1 was second and Japan’s Haruki Murakami was third at 8/1.

Then we saw d first news like: The 2011 Nobel Prize in Literature is awarded to Tomas Tranströmerbecause, through his condensed, transluscent images, he gives us fresh access to reality“.

That what I found interesting today is the opinion that Timothy Byford (famous film director & friend of mine) shares on his personal web page:

I have to admit to never having read a single of Tranströmer’s poems before this week and am grateful to the Swedish Academy for drawing my attention to his poetry, which I find mystical, dreamlike and enigmatically subtle, prompting one to read them over and over again, every time discovering something new.

Apparently in Sweden he is known as a `buzzard poet` because his poetry views the world from a great height…like a buzzard.

While on Internet d people are separated in their opinions I decide that is good to read some poetry firstly then to try to create opinion. ..or to take a side.  .. I start with links  where we could read more about his works. The official link for d awarded author, also as post in guardian.uk, LA Times etc.

..more for HIM u’ll find @ poets.org or on HIS personal web page.

Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
through brush where a few leaves hang on.
They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
Names swallowed by the cold.

It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat
but often the shadow seems more real than the body.
The samurai looks insignificant
beside his armor of black dragon scales.

translated by Robert Bly


Men in overalls the same color as earth rise from a ditch.
It’s a transitional place, in stalemate, neither country nor city.
Construction cranes on the horizon want to take the big leap,
but the clocks are against it.
Concrete piping scattered around laps at the light with cold tongues.
Auto-body shops occupy old barns.
Stones throw shadows as sharp as objects on the moon surface.
And these sites keep on getting bigger
like the land bought with Judas’ silver: “a potter’s field for
burying strangers.”

translated by Robert Bly

Nikola Madzirov, poet from my city [very famous] in d last days shares on his facebook profile poetry from d awarded laureate so I decide to keep it for myself here. Tomas Tranströmer has been part of d Struga Poetry Evenings 2003 in Macedonia and awarded with d most important award “Golden Wreath“.

Томас Транстромер

Едно дрво се шета по дождот,
сè крај нас ќе мине во поројот сиво.
Има задача. Си зема живот од дождот
како сколовранец во овоштарник.

Штом дождот ќе запре и дрвото запира.
Се насетува исправено, мирно во јасните ноќи
и го чека, како и ние, моментот
кога снегулките расцутуваат во вселената.

Препев: Миодраг Станковски

Ја отворам првата врата.
Голема сончева соба.
Тежок камион поминува по улицата
и го затресува порцеланот.

Ја отворам втората врата.
Пријатели! Пиевте мрак
и станавте видливи.

Врата број три. Тесна хотелска соба.
Поглед на споредна улица.
Отсјај на светилка врз асфалтот.
Убав отпад на искуството.


На следниот свиок автобусот се ослободи од студената планинска сенка
го сврте носот кон сонцето и тргна лазејќи и рикајќи пругоре.
Ние се туркавме во автобусот. Бистата на диктаторот беше исто така со нас свиткана во хартија од весник. Едно шише одеше од уста до уста.
Смртта, знакот на раѓањето, растеше со различна брзина кај сите.
Горе во планините синото море го стаса небото.

Препев: Миодраг Станковски




by Milos Crnjanski


Now we are carefree, tender and airy.

Let us think: how quiet are, the snowy

peaks of the Urals.

If we get sad over a pale figure,

whom we have lost on some evening,

we know that, somewhere, a rivulet,

instead of it, all in red, is flowing!

One love, morning in foreign land,

envelops our soul, gets tighter,

in endless peace of blue seas,

from which the crimson corals glitter,

like, from my distant homeland, cherries.

We wake up at night, smiling dearly,

to the Moon with its bow bent,

caressing the distant hills, tenderly,

and icy mountains, with our hand.


For you

1 Comment

In the tear drop
Which slipped on your face
I saw waterfalls of emotions
Sent to the target.

In the salinity of your lips
I sensed a pearl
Mature for confrontation
With the wisdom of the bleach.

The day when
You will know how to graft
A life,
You already live it.

With me like lantern,
For me like Sun,
Next to me like fire,
Inside you like volcano.

deep nature

deep nature






За тебе

Во капката солза
што потече низ твоето лице
видов водопади емоции
испратени кон целта.

Во соленилото на твоите усни
сетив бисер
созреан за соочување
со мудроста на белилото.

Денот кога
ќе знаеш да искалемиш
веќе го живееш.

Со мене како фенер,
за мене како сонце,
до мене како оган,
во тебе како вулкан.

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