Do you know Nikola Madzirov? You will soon.
[caption id="attachment_1032" align="alignleft" width="205" caption="Nikola Madzirov. BOA poet."][/caption] Who is Nikola Madzirov? In short, he's one of the most powerful young voices in European poetry - and he's coming to America. At the tender poetic age of 37, Madzirov's poetry has been translated into thirty languages and published in collections and anthologies in the U.S., Europe and Asia. In March 2011, BOA Editions will publish his first full-length U.S. collection, Remants of Another Age, which will include an Introduction by Carolyn Forche. The list of awards that Nikola has garnered could stretch from Macedonia to the U.S. Most recently, he has been selected as the featured poet for Velestovo Poetry Night. Each year (this year marked the 22nd celebration) one Macedonian poet is selected as the featured poet for Velestovo Poetry Night and the night is dedicated to their work. A magazine is published spotlighting their poetry, along with essays, photos, interviews and reviews of the poet's work. Nikola Madzirov is the youngest poet in the history of this event to win the prize. Velestovo Poetry Night takes place in the village of Velestovo, which is located 1000 meters above the Ohrid Lake. In addition to the usual honors, Nikola performed at the event with his relative Zoran Madzirov who is a noted jazz percussionist. Nikola and Zoran will continue performing together in Skopje and abroad. U.S. dates are currently being scheduled by Blue Flower Arts to coincide with the publication of Remnants of Another Age. Here's a sample poem from Nikola's debut U.S. collection. We look forward to sharing more about this dynamic world poet as publication date nears. AFTER US One day someone will fold our blankets and send them to the cleaners to scrub the last grain of salt from them, will open our letters and sort them out by date instead of by how often they’ve been read. One day someone will rearrange the room’s furniture like chessmen at the start of a new game, will open the old shoebox where we hoard pyjama-buttons, not-quite-dead batteries and hunger. One day the ache will return to our backs from the weight of hotel room keys and the receptionist’s suspicion as he hands over the TV remote control. Others’ pity will set out after us like the moon after some wandering child.
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