Category Archives: death
The Soul I Want to Keep
What I do know about my grandmother is what my father always told me. “You have her voice, you have her eyes.” She had style. I saw a photo of her published in a book. She was posing for the camera in the most distinguished way with my grandfather next to her. I stared at the old photo hard, trying to see some of her personality that I could take away with me. I dearly wanted to know her and perhaps learn more about myself so I created her in my mind.My grandmother was just 15 when she met my grandfather, who was much older than her. It was illegal to marry that young in Greece so they went to Marce, France. So the story goes.As a baby she sang to me. It was over the time we visited Greece. I have the vision of her cradling me in her arms and it won’t leave my head. Tragically she died young. She had diabetes and for some reason did not care for it so it spread. The doctors needed to amputate her leg because it got infected and she died because of the loss of blood.If you ever visit the island of Kalymnos, you will find a statue of a woman holding a ‘laina’. She is the symbol of strength for the island. The woman worker who prepared the house. She gathered food, dealt with household chores and cooked for the family. How interesting that in such a male dominated culture a woman is the symbol of the island. She’s interesting to me because of her beauty, strength and grace. Likewise, my grandmother is highly spoken of and my grandfather who was great in his own way, seemed to be her shadow.
The Pull of A Spiritual Bond
Chasing My Roots
I look and act like my grandmother. She is the one I hold onto. She is my dream of who I want to be; graceful and kind with a thorn by my side, that allows me to breath among human kind. I remember her, I have a kind image of her. A young woman, the reflection of a mother of the past. Living a life of the now, holding onto that while everything else is destructive and in ruins. The tension love holds, the veins I hold in place and the heart I guard for dear life. Oh how it plays in my mind, that thought I left behind in the anonymous land I love.
Every time I visit Greece I’m immersed in emotions that haunt me in beautiful ways. I yearn for these feelings when I am far. Do we all feel a spiritual bond with a specific family member? Or is it just me? Are my genes so strong that they are pulling me in her direction or am I over-romanticizing the thought?
I ventured abroad 10 years ago to find my roots as I searched for clues to my identity. It’s a funny ole thing to do because one might think they they already know themselves. But I needed to search my past and it wasn’t because of untold stories. I was drawn by my past spirits. A home will always have this power of attraction. The problem was that I was pulled between Greece, the origins of my family and Australia, the place I was born and grew up in. The power of this pull eventually came from different directions as I made my home in different cities of Europe. And attracted me so deeply to Paris.
I have family living in France that I never met properly. I’ve seen them once when a few members visited my aunt in Kalymnos. It was the first time I heard Greek spoken with a French accent. It was delightful and I pondered about visiting them. But what would I say since they are now so distant? And besides, the bond I have is with my grandmother.
When I visit Greece again I will search for the photo of my grandparents and add it to my post.
By Bike To Australia & Back
Inspiration of Greece
A story of poems that illustrates a continuous beginning. Fresh and anew again and again. My poems are about absorbing the world around me with a pencil and paper in my hand. The way I see my life and the lives of others as I build my own outlook. There are poems for every mood in each chapter, sequenced like a story. A story of every day life, love, family and travel.
The Romance With My Art
Oh how I yearn to learn the language and live in France one day. Paris is the place for artists. It’s where one goes to create, to be appreciated, to discover and to be discovered. It was where I had my portrait done and where I returned again and again for various reasons in my life. When in doubt, I always turn to Paris.
The last time I was in Paris I danced! I wrote my impressions and formed them to created poetry. I love being with my arty friends because they don’t see me as weird. They yearn to have their senses challenged in the same way as I do. I talk to them about my ideas and I can see in their faces that I’ve triggered something. They speak with no words and I then know I’ve created a spiritual bond. Just like the one I have with my grandmother.
Poems That Touch The Soul
“Sometimes we need to step away from our immediate surroundings for all to become clear and find truth.” I started writing to introduce my poetry book. Included are color photos of our dance adventure in Paris. If they give the same impressions as my own, you will experience unexplained emotions that can never be replicated or told again.
I continued to write, “This is true for myself. It is how I came to write my poems as I realised my subconscious love and passion for dance. My varied life experiences at home and abroad led to self-discovery and a realisation of a life of dance that I have always led that relinquished my disappointment of lack of pursuit.”
I explain my nomadic life and it is this life I have led in the pursuit of finding my artist self, the spirit of my grandmother.
“Life is dance, and without dance there is no life, and love for these are inseparable. I’m a dancer and poet at heart. Two inseparable art forms, one soul. “Poems that touch the soul & don’t adhere to the pattern of life”, refers to a nomadic lifestyle that lends itself to reach the unexplored self. This is an art form, one of its kind because it can dance and has always danced. It unites strongly through poetic philosophy that delves into ethical boundaries, aesthetics, education and love. A concept that encompasses and revolutionises a soul. It becomes true in its purest sense as every word put to paper is felt by my heart and a final breath celebrates creation.”
This poem illustrates the journey of finding my artist self through my grandmother of whom I’ve never met. I can feel it. I do have her voice, I do have her eyes. And what more, I have her name ‘Maria’. Traditionally girls are named after their grandmother in Greece. I chose the name Malena which represents my artist self.The poem is published in my book, Sudden Clarity. Last night I created an audio for this poem just so I can share it with my readers.
Colors emerge with age
Rusty browns and creamy whites
Classic and timeless
Up to the present day
Poise and stance romanced
I searched for the thought in my head
Like an apparent fate
That raced to catch the bait
Only to return home instead
I went in search for you
I found you
And ironically returned without you
Hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
The torture runs again and again
The thought remains in my head
To let go of it
And free it
Is a symbol of love
Freedom of self,
A vision of self
Is a hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
And there she was
I saw her from afar
I looked back
And there she was
I saw her below
And I thought that was me
I saw her near
Enclosed in a city
In a coffin
I saw she was
It was a coffin for me
Like the flowers he gave
The frozen flowers,
Like the photo
Of the love
That buried her head
Two decades apart
She unlocked her heart
It was a place
He buried his head
People walked by
Without a care for a soul
A heart, a body
When it grew old
And youth, a past
A curse to bear
Use her, describe her
Malena was her name
Was her ultimate aim
Ich habe eine kofer in Paris,
Was her claim
I might be related to the Greek Australian journalist John Mangos!
Did you know that I might be related to John Mangos? Whether it’s fact or fallacy, I’ve been told this all my life. Before I changed my maiden name, people asked me ‘Are you related to John Mangos?’ all the time!
“John Mangos has had a thirty-six year career in journalism, the past thirty-three years in television. He is currently a news presenter for the Seven Network and is a regular guest on the Sunrise and Morning Show programs.” http://www.johnmangos.com/biography
The Family Member You Feel Most Connected To
I’m doing this for you!
For your youth, not mine!
& my woes of a lost life
Absence of essentials
A mattress is all I have
& I sleep with a ritual for company
It’s not about me!
I live for you
But without you
Kind words fail dutifully
Sifting through clothes & jewelery
A mother and daughter
Relevant only upon death
By Maria Grujicic
Copyright 26th February, 2013
Meraklou is a woman who has style in life and fashion. It’s a word in Greek and knowing this will greatly help with interpreting the poem. This is a fatal end, though I assure you happiness is set in disguise. :) As always, likes are appreciated and impressions are most welcome. Feel free to ask questions, as long as it is respectful, there is no right or wrong in poetry.
Dear Mother Earth,
The day my soul was given a name, was the day I was taken away. Like a caterpillar, with one aim, to grow… change… fly, and find you again. Dying alone is delicately defined as dying in a loveless tone. My deepest fear isn’t the inevitable act but the unpredictable, lonely journey. Oh if only I could have you near. Though, only … When love is still warm in my heart I can die. And so I’m alive, I cannot stop until I find It. It keeps my light sparking the trail. It lifts me up high. And when it’s time to die I don’t feel alone with my beautiful memories. I sleep with my friends. Details are beyond my reach, but the feelings hold my peace. I can smile. This is my Truth. It’s true because it is in my thoughts. I can feel It with all my heart that pumps the warmth through my blood. I’m dead in my head.
This is a letter from Venus to Mother Earth in my first novel, Do It Like A Dance. Read it like a poem.
- Touching Story – Letter from a Mother to Daughter (christiansinspirational.com)
- Dear Mother Earth… May we always care for you… (thedailysisterhood.wordpress.com)
- The family tussle over my dear Mum’s heirlooms that’s shown me the best gift we can give the next generation (dailymail.co.uk)
- james baldwin: my dungeon shook: letter to my nephew on the 100th anniversary of the emancipation (blkcowrie.wordpress.com)
- Earth Is Closest to the Sun for 2013 Today (space.com)
But know what it is in your mind
This is the key to unleashing
the wretched disguise of patterns
in daily life
I write and keep writing
This is what will remain of me
after I die
With a set of clues
Only to anonymous eyes
I place my soul in my own heart
& I will always have you
When I feel the rays of the abundant stars
Your words will always live in my head
Your body and mine will always be
This is the love I have
for an anonymous star
By Maria Grujicic Copyright 2012
I’d like to introduce you to a Serbian singer named Toma Zdravkovic. An unknown, Toma Zdravkovic started singing in a pub. You know the kind, a smoky room full of people, entertaining them while they drink, smoke, chat, laugh.
Memories of The Last King of The Pubs
He was inspired by women, alcohol… He grew up in a very poor village and started singing ay 15 years old. Because of poor and bad life he decided to go and move to a town close to his village. Frozen on the street he came across a female singer, Silavana Armelvic who took him to a pub close by the street. Afterwards he went to a town called Tuzla and he spent 5 years in one hotel making the party room full every night.
Afterwards a friend brought him to Belgrade and he got a job. He met his first wife in Novi Sad and he had one daughter. He got a divorce. His first love sent him a telegram in a hotel in Novi Sad that she was very sick in Bosnia. He decided to spend time with her up to her death. After that he wrote a song called Buket Belih Ruza, in English Bouquet of White Roses…..
He had cancer and the doctors told him he had only a few years to live. After I learned of him, the words of his life touched me so deeply, a sadness crept up on me. Why didn’t I know of him sooner? Why didn’t I experience his magic? But a reply in my conscience realized his soul lived on by the words he left behind. The video alone one can view and sense the atmosphere that radiated through his charisma, his voice was like a touch that said all will be all right if we can live this remaining life together.
Toma Zdravkovic said in an interview that the pub was the place for his performances because it was like a theatre. A unison of famous people joined with him at this pub, entertaining. Watch them in the video. He was an unknown, an anonymous star, he touched their soul, and he expected nothing more from that but another night of the same.
At the end of the night after everyone left he found some unknown to give all his earnings to. Incredibly it took him 15 years to produce his album. 15 years battling cancer, and other challenges life brings, he wrote all his own songs. He felt humiliated performing at first, he was laughed at in his first performance because he was so shy. About 5 per cent of the world population knew about him, people in a pub who loved him. He carried on and after 15 years he produced his album and he was on TV, and shortly afterwards he died of the cancer that he battled up to that point. I was further touched to find out that he had cancer of the throat.
I dedicate this poem to Toma Zdravkovic. The man I never met but touched my soul. His story alone, his music, his stance, the emotion in his eyes that he pulls away, seemingly hidden away, touching souls by his voice, his music. My poems are designed to touch a soul, to reach the unknown, not to reveal the mystery of life, rather, be immersed in it. At times I give up. I had a spell of not writing for months, but after some soul-searching with Toma Zdravkovic I was presented by an answer.
There are those that battle to be rich and famous, and those that battle each day just to do what we love. Give me a chance of another life again and again, and I’d choose to pursue my passion.
The story is based on word of mouth because I don’t understand the Serbian to interpret his interview. If some details aren’t correct or if you have more information about Toma Zdravkovic please let me know. The poem is part of my new poetry book titled, Poems That Touch The Soul.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. Anaïs Nin
- Soul Friends (poemsthatdance.com)
- 3 Sisters Live In The Shadows Gypsy Style (suddenclaritymalena.wordpress.com)
- Small Is the New Big! (evasantiago.wordpress.com)
- writing about writing (unremarkableman.wordpress.com)
- Sharon Olds and two Poems (clarepaniccia.com)
- The Night Before Christmas (techlearning.com)
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
This is the world
According to us
Play the life
Head in the sand
One cannot hide
The bush once was
Was left behind
The skies were all I could see
My place, My identity
It was true, once
A graveyard lurks beneath
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
This is the world according to us
By Maria Grujicic (Artist name Malena)
This is of a spirit that roams lost, and unable to find home. If origin is lost, there is no direction for destiny. Lately I am preoccupied by a pointless industrial development that plans to go ahead just across from where I live. The problem is that the beautiful bushland will be torn away, and what’s more, a sacred Aboriginal burial site and meeting place will also be buried.
If you’d like to help, no matter where you are in the world, please sign the following petition.
Thank you for listening.
TO SIGN THE PETITION CLICK HERE
I’m pleased to announce that my poetry book “SUDDEN CLARITY” is out now. It is so far my best work and I couldn’t have done it without my artist friends from around the world. And of course my husband who is also an artist!
No words are enough to describe my feelings.
Keep on dancing!
To read the REVIEWS Click here.
Whenever you find lack of inspiration, look to the sky and open your heart.
I hope you enjoy my first attempt at making a film.
I kept it simple and easy.
T o d a y I w a s f e e l i n g a l i t t l e d i f f e r e n t .
And so I did something very different.
I was alone with the sun
And it shone on me
The colors of its rays
Called to me
I followed them with my eyes
and what I was able to see
Set them free
Thank you for listening,
Maria Grujicic, Artist name Malena
I just finished putting together a poetry book that I really love. It has a very different flavor from my other books for various reasons, but mainly because of the setting. The people who have been following me will know that I have moved back to my home city from Europe. I now live in a very tropical environment with not a lot of people in sight. With distance a barrier, and the expanse of the horizon, nature is more visible. The sense of reality is different here in Darwin, Australia. It has its own set of challenges along with its pleasures, and certainly a huge transition period for me. Change is the underlying theme of my poems and this includes memories of home, transition of times, and adapting to the new.
If you are interested in reviewing my poetry book, you can either join my Facebook fan page where I will be posting the link, or add me as a friend on Fastpencil. This is particularly useful if you would like to some day publish a book yourself! I hope to soon find the resources to do up an audio CD of my poems as well. If anyone has advice on this, I most welcome it!
You are also welcome to join me on Twitter!
I look forward to your comments!
Thank you for reading,
Maria Grujicic *Malena*
The scariest moment is always just before you start.Stephen King
- many forms of poetry (ellenolinger.wordpress.com)
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- I Love Poetry (eternalneko.wordpress.com)
- Jamaican Poet Ishion Hutchinson Interviewed by Leanne Hayes (repeatingislands.com)
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- National Poetry Competition second prize: Ponting, by Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch (guardian.co.uk)
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- The Magical Origins Of My Songs (prefacme.com)
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- Introducing Malena (poemsthatdance.com)
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- National Poetry Competition winning poem: To the Lighthouse, by Allison McVety (guardian.co.uk)
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And all of a sudden he’s pretty again
His mouth doesn’t make a sound
A shape is seen
He left to the sound of the wind
From here to somewhere in between
By the ripples where waves eventually meet
To the sound of the wind
Drops made the water in the sea
And the ripples played
Where the waves would eventually meet
And it was clear
It was the wind that led him to see
And all of a sudden he was pretty again
‘I don’t feel thirsty,’ he said, surrounded by rain
Ended in pain
Pushed him to the side
Again and again
How was it that the rain came,
It surrounded him
With the sound it made
A battered mind
Chattered too much
It swayed and pressed side to side
Strands of hair combined
Created a look
Blades of grass
Were a maze to the truth
People gathered to crowd it
The boy drowned in it
And all I was able to do was see
It was the absence of a name that led me
It was found
And then it alerted a sound
To where I felt abundantly free
I wasn’t thirsty when it rained
It was then when I created
By Maria Grujicic (Malena)
If you need clarity to this poem, let me know. Thank you for reading, as always.
Words, once they are printed, have a life of their own.Carol Burnett
- sudden downpour (animalcrackersonthecouch.wordpress.com)
- A sudden rain (grow4.wordpress.com)
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- Dance 101: Introduction to Hip Hop, Dance Performance, and Finding Yourself Along The Way (howtobea20something.wordpress.com)
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- Yes, I do work at nights, by myself, in a dark shack… (thebeardedblogger.wordpress.com)