Asim Bajramović
HERZEGOVINIAN PANORAMA!
Every evening, my soul dreams its dreams,
my Herzegovina is calling me.
And whenever Herzegovina calls me,
I let all my dreams begin to sail.
Then, from deepest longing and delight,
my soul takes flight toward Herzegovina.
Forests and mountains spread across the land,
flowering fields and gentle valleys.
Places dear and familiar to my heart,
strung together like a necklace of pearls.
Korjenići, Lastva and Trebinje,
Jasen, Mosko, Bileća and Ljubinje.
Above Trebinje, Mount Leotar bends,
overshadowing the valley with its beauty.
And the entire valley breathes with tenderness,
it seems to me, all the way to Konavle.
Near Bileća, the springs of the Trebišnjica,
have enchanted the whole world with their beauty.
On the other side stands Mount Viduša,
as though grieving because it has no Miruša.
Ključ, Cernica and white Metohija,
Gacko Field and all the nearby villages.
Where the mountains stir the clouds of gray,
there, in dreams, the Bahori lie silent.
And the proud Tower of Fazlagića,
the noble seat of Omer Sarić.
Lipnik, Stepen, and then Lađevići,
Meka Gruda, Korita and Hodžići.
Šakotići, Međine and Plana,
strung together like a necklace of pearls.
And in Plana stands an ancient mosque,
the pride created by its builders’ hands.
Vučji Doli must also be remembered,
and Zaušje, rising above Prijevor.
Through Podgorje and across Požar,
where Sitnica rests in peaceful sleep.
Toward Prisoje and then Milavići,
Dabar Field, all the way to Berkovići.
Nevesinje and everything around it,
then the Odžaci of Ljubović Bey.
Let a good old song begin to flow:
“A nightingale sings around Mostar!”
Let the song remember and proclaim
the names of Počitelj and Stolac beside it.
When I looked down from Divin,
there lay the level field of Fatnica.
A little farther down, my vision blurred,
while Bačevica rested in the mist.
And Fatnica, like a maiden dressed in white,
held Fatničko Field within her embrace.
It is the pride of our entire valley,
the birthplace of Djezar Ahmet Pasha.
Zilovina, like a tiny flower bud,
gave its heart to Fatnica.
The village of Kalac stands beneath the rocky slope,
as though it fears nothing in this world.
It seems to me I would have given an eye,
for it appears to have grown out of stone.
A burning tear broke free upon my face,
when at last I reached Orahovica.
All around it, only hills are standing,
and among them lies my native village.
The ancestral home of all Bajramović families.
Osoje has embraced it across the chest,
protecting it from the bitter winter cold.
And Meteriz sings a gentle lullaby,
like a mother singing to her son at dawn.
The meadows stand silent—what overwhelming sorrow.
The Obod still flows, but the ash tree is gone.
I keep walking, and the story tells itself,
when beneath Kačanj I catch sight of Đeče.
Its foundations seem to be made of pure gold.
That is the village of Ćatović Murat.
Over there are Grablje and Tomaševi Doli.
All of this is what my heart loves.
Author: Asim Bajramović
HERZEGOVINIAN PANORAMA! Every evening, my soul dreams its dreams, my Herzegovina is calling me. And whenever Herzegovina calls me, I let all my dreams begin to sail. Then, from deepest longing and delight, my soul takes flight toward Herzegovina. Forests and mountains spread across the land, flowering fields and gentle valleys. Places dear and familiar to my heart, strung together like a necklace of pearls. Korjenići, Lastva and Trebinje, Jasen, Mosko, Bileća and Ljubinje. Above Trebinje, Mount Leotar bends, overshadowing the valley with its beauty. And the entire valley breathes with tenderness, it seems to me, all the way to Konavle. Near Bileća, the springs of the Trebišnjica, have enchanted the whole world with their beauty. On the other side stands Mount Viduša, as though grieving because it has no Miruša. Ključ, Cernica and white Metohija, Gacko Field and all the nearby villages. Where the mountains stir the clouds of gray, there, in dreams, the Bahori lie silent. And the proud Tower of Fazlagića, the noble seat of Omer Sarić. Lipnik, Stepen, and then Lađevići, Meka Gruda, Korita and Hodžići. Šakotići, Međine and Plana, strung together like a necklace of pearls. And in Plana stands an ancient mosque, the pride created by its builders’ hands. Vučji Doli must also be remembered, and Zaušje, rising above Prijevor. Through Podgorje and across Požar, where Sitnica rests in peaceful sleep. Toward Prisoje and then Milavići, Dabar Field, all the way to Berkovići. Nevesinje and everything around it, then the Odžaci of Ljubović Bey. Let a good old song begin to flow: “A nightingale sings around Mostar!” Let the song remember and proclaim the names of Počitelj and Stolac beside it. When I looked down from Divin, there lay the level field of Fatnica. A little farther down, my vision blurred, while Bačevica rested in the mist. And Fatnica, like a maiden dressed in white, held Fatničko Field within her embrace. It is the pride of our entire valley, the birthplace of Djezar Ahmet Pasha. Zilovina, like a tiny flower bud, gave its heart to Fatnica. The village of Kalac stands beneath the rocky slope, as though it fears nothing in this world. It seems to me I would have given an eye, for it appears to have grown out of stone. A burning tear broke free upon my face, when at last I reached Orahovica. All around it, only hills are standing, and among them lies my native village. The ancestral home of all Bajramović families. Osoje has embraced it across the chest, protecting it from the bitter winter cold. And Meteriz sings a gentle lullaby, like a mother singing to her son at dawn. The meadows stand silent—what overwhelming sorrow. The Obod still flows, but the ash tree is gone. I keep walking, and the story tells itself, when beneath Kačanj I catch sight of Đeče. Its foundations seem to be made of pure gold. That is the village of Ćatović Murat. Over there are Grablje and Tomaševi Doli. All of this is what my heart loves. Author: Asim Bajramović