“Be the change you want to see in the world”
I have been writing poetry, if I really look deep into my childhood, since 1993 and I remember there was a war in Bosnia and a lot of refugees came to Macedonia. The word “war” ruthlessly became something you hear, breathe, fear, every day. My first poem was about war. And I guess ever since I am trying to find the peace with me and the world around me. Writing liberates, empowers, endows. It gives me the means of creating a new world, save this one from oblivion, give shape to the one we dare not live. Writing, especially poetry, became a way of life to me, an inseparable part of me, who I am.
You must wonder how did style got into this story. I like creating things on my own. Being my own, telling my own story. That is why I like old furniture, old clothes, old houses, old music. They have a story, lives lived and dared not to be lived inside them. I can freely say I am not into fashion, but more into style. Never was a boutique roamer, always wanted to go through old closets. Style is priceless. I hope you will find this ‘philosophy’ of mine through my posts.
Starting this blog was long due. When I was younger I used to keep journals and scrapbooks and loved typing my poems on my aunt’s old typing machine. Although I am an old-fashioned gal, I gave into modern technology and the opportunities it has to offer, especially after few years spent in reading other people’s blogs on poetry and personal style.
And finally, why “Vezilka”? The meaning of the word („везилка“ in Macedonian) is ‘the Embroideress‘ and the reason why it fits in perfectly with my idea is because one of my favorite poets and a great Macedonian linguistic scholar, Blaze Koneski, wrote a poem by this title. In this poem Koneski tells the story of the Embroideress telling the poet “how to give birth to a song of pure worth”. This poem symbolically embodies these two passions of mine, as given in the response of the Embroideress:
“Two cherished threads unpick
from the depth of your heart
and weave them into fulfilling their part:
A black one to mourn of fearful sorrow unsaid
A red one to tell of yearning, longing and dread.”