INTERVIEW

With heartfelt gratitude,

Biljana Letić from Australia, Balkan Beats on Zed Digital.

Balkan Beats and

Radio 4ZZZ 102.1FM & Zed Digital Australia.

An interview with me has been published in the magazine Rasejanje.info.

INTERVIEW

Maja Milojković – “Poetry, a deeply personal expression that comes from the soul like a melody.”

Maja Milojković carries a handful of creative hats in her artistic suitcase. First and foremost, she is one of the founders of the poetry club Area Felix, editor of the international magazine for creative literature and culture Area Felix, deputy editor-in-chief of the publishing house Sfaros in Belgrade, and also the founder and vice president of the association Rtanj and the Moon’s Poetic Circle. Exclusively for the readers of the media portal Rasejanje.info, Biljana Letić shares a story about the achievements of the versatile artist Maja Milojković, told from the perspective of a writer, author, and poet. Biljana Letić is a native of Belgrade who has been living in Brisbane, Australia for almost three decades.

The multi-talented author and artist Maja Milojković, originally from Zaječar, Serbia, has a rich background in the specific creative field she is devoted to. She is passionate about many artistic directions, which she refers to as her “four aces”—poetry, painting, singing, and dance. This interview focuses on poetry, books, and the series of honorary awards Maja Milojković received in 2024. Maja’s artistic journey and her golden path to fame are covered in this story, along with two of her poems, “Follow Me” and “The End and the Beginning.”

Biljana Letić: How would you describe to the readers – who is Maja Milojković?

Maja Milojković: Maja is an Aryan name that means illusion or that which is not in Sanskrit, so my name carries a symbolic meaning.

Two in one – my SELF, which does not like to be in the spotlight, and Maja, who is extroverted. I enjoy solitude, while Maja loves fame. And so it goes endlessly – a dual nature that allows me to play with everything I’m not and to enjoy, unburdened, all that comes from this world. My vivid imagination is reflected in me as a versatile artistic being.

Poetry, painting, singing, and dancing are my four “aces,” and I believe they are gifts from God. That doesn’t mean I’m the best, but rather that these paths are the best means for expressing my soul. You are given life and talents—they are instruments through which you act, conveying a message you discover within yourself. That message must always be one that awakens optimism in people, inspires them toward self-realization, and transforms them for the better.

Last year, I became a promoter for the music label FORTUNA DENMARK, which creates fantastic hits. They recorded my song Egyptian Night, for which I also have a music video in which I sing.

Biljana Letić: Let’s start with the books you’ve published. Can you list all the books and awards you’ve received so far?

Maja Milojković: I’ve published two poetry collections: “The Moon’s Circle”, published by Sven from Niš, and “The Wishing Trees”, published by Sfairos from Belgrade. My third collection, “Be Like a Paper Kite”, is currently in preparation and will also be published by Sfairos.

Together with Dr. Milan Mladenović, I co-edited the international anthology “Rhymes from Rtanj” for 2024, published by Sfairos in Belgrade.

I’m represented in around 40 domestic and international anthologies. Also, this year I was invited by Dr. Brajesh Gupta Mevadev from India to be one of several editors on an international anthology from India. In addition, I worked on stylistic editing for two novels by Croatian writer Vladimir Pavić.

In 2024, I’d like to highlight the book “Hyperpoem”, an international anthology edited by Alexander Kobishev from Russia. It is the longest poem in the world and has been included in the Guinness Book of Records. I contributed a quatrain to it. This anthology gained international popularity and was presented at the book fair in Munich this year. It is also available for purchase on Amazon.

I have had a long-standing collaboration with the esteemed writer Agron Shele from Belgium, participating every year in the international anthologies he edits. A copy of each book is sent to the Royal Library of the Netherlands.

I’ve also collaborated for many years with Abdallah Gassmi from Tunisia. Every year, I participate in anthologies he edits, and last year I was invited as an honorary guest, along with several other poets, in Tunisia.

Six years ago, I joined leading global movements for peace, animal protection, anti-racism, and similar causes. As an activist, I have received a large number of awards from many countries. Here’s a small portion of the awards I received in 2024, among them:

• The Literature Award from the Academy of Ethics in India, awarded by the Academy’s President, Dr. Jernail S. Anand. This is, in fact, the highest recognition I received in 2024. Only three of these diplomas were awarded in Serbia: to Vice President Maja Herman Sekulić, the President of Matica Srpska, Dr. Dragan Stanić and myself.

• An award from Dr. Arch. Franca Colozzo from Italy, on behalf of GPLT for sustainability and climate change. She is a prominent figure in leading global organizations.

• Awards from “RINASCIMENTO – RENAISSANCE MILLENNIUM III,” presented to me by Prof. George Onsy, founder and president of RRM3 from Cairo, Egypt.

• An award from Nobel Prize nominee Abdulgani Yahya Al-Ebarh Din of Yemen for contributions to world peace.

• The “Golden Bridge” award from writer Rahim Karim Karimov from Kyrgyzstan.

This year, I also wrote reviews for internationally recognized authors, including Jernail S. Anand, Hela Tekali from Tunisia, and Aleksei Kalakutin from Russia.

I write for magazines from various countries. I’d like to highlight the regular publication of my poems in magazines such as:

– Synchronized Chaos from California

– Atunis Poetry from Belgium

– Polis Magazino from Greece

– and many others.

Collaboration with seven magazines around the world has earned me great respect from colleagues and recognition in many countries. I gladly accept invitations for cooperation because I believe in the power of international connection through art.

Biljana Letić: Where do you get your inspiration for writing poetry?

Maja Milojković: I find inspiration in prayer, in people, in life itself, and of course, in the desire for what I write to reach the human heart.

Biljana Letić: You’re inspired by Leonardo da Vinci’s quote: “Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard.” How do you experience that – as expressing poetry from the soul in your own way, or as an artistic ‘painting’ of poetry that is heard?

Maja Milojković: For me, it’s both. I express the poetry of my soul in my own way, and at the same time, I paint it artistically through words so that it can be heard – felt – with the heart. That’s the magic of poetry: it transcends visual and auditory boundaries, becoming an emotion, a message, a presence.

Biljana Letić: When did you realize that poetry was your way of artistic expression? What are the most common messages you convey through your verses?

Maja Milojković: I wrote my first poem on November 20, 1993, the day before our family’s patron saint day (krsna slava), dedicated to Archangel Michael, which we celebrate on November 21.

Since 1997, I began writing actively, and the central themes of my work are love, spirituality, inner transformation, the transience of time, and reflections on life and death.

Biljana Letić: The association Rtanj and the Moon’s Poetic Circle is something you founded. What can you tell us about it?

Maja Milojković: It was my wish to gather poets from Zaječar for the first time, coming from Area Felix, the only co-ed poetry club, of which I am one of three founders. In 2018, we went to Rtanj at the invitation of Dr. Milan Mladenović and his wife, Sve Marija Romanova. At that moment, I decided to appoint my influential and dear friend as the president of the association.

It later became a tradition to gather at the Sokolski dom (Milandar) under Mt. Rtanj, hosted by our beloved friends. Last year, we edited an international poetry anthology with the influential Doctor of Philosophy, Pra Milan of Luzice. I brought together 116 authors from all continents, many of whom are my Facebook friends. The anthology was printed under the title “Rtanj Verses” by the first publishing house from Serbia, Sfairos, founded by Dr. Milan Mladenović.

Biljana Letić: How can readers find you on social media?

Maja Milojković: I’m active on Facebook, and I have a website under the name Area Feliks. I’m also the editor of the international magazine for creative literature and culture Area Felix.

Additionally, I’m the founder and vice president of the association Rtanj and the Moon’s Poetic Circle and the founder of the Facebook group of the same name, which currently has 800 members.

You can also find me on Instagram, or contact me via email at: areafelix019@gmail.com

Interview conducted by Biljana Letić from Australia for the portal Rasejanje.info

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci’s statement “Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard” is circulating through the blood. That’s why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. “Trees of Desire” is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems “Moon Circle”. She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists “Mountain Views” in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club “Area Felix” in Serbia.

Charity

Charity pulled her pistol from her holster, aimed, fired. Her concentration (or was it reluctance?) seemed to require far too much time. Charity, our officer, ordinarily cheery Thalia, one of three Graces, a mom who runs Safety Town, summers on the playground, came when called, came with bullets in her gun.

Inside, my wife governed a raucous birthday party, distracted wild, sticky nine-year-olds with games and cake and kept them clear of windows. Outside, a doe lost all grace, flopped helplessly in our yard beneath the apple tree, her hind leg bent, merely touched by a truck. Usually, her lean, sienna flanks flashed across the lawn, leapt over fences with fawns. Our apples, old, delicious Jonathans, the deer’s delicacy, too near Berlin Road, I’ll cut the tree down.

Inside, kids oblivious, outside, Charity and I shared an intimate glance of regret, this death a loss of elegance. Charity’s gun snapped three times, a jarring, contradictory violence. In her report, Charity accounted for each bullet.

Rod

A neighbor of sorts – office next door, we shared a wall.

A seemingly amiable fellow who lectured on Respiratory Care,

Rod with the Tennessee drawl and folksy anecdotes,

Who drove a pick-up, donned scuffed cowboy boots,

Who voted Republican every damn election – though he wouldn’t fess up,

Whose schizophrenic grandson caused him to see a few things differently,

Rod, the odious, chauvinist, good-ol’-boy bastard who harassed Robin,

Who made her life a living hell until she quit

(I gave her a pill to calm down. Simply listening and nodding was useless. There’s my regret.),

Rod, who, I am unsure why, I treated decently despite our vast differences, didn’t come to work.

A stroke. I sent a card, asked after him. I heard, “Home, therapy, retirement.” That’s that. Though my neighbor, I didn’t pay him a visit, an appalling indifference.

Why needlessly confront mortality with simple courtesy?

It appears my love is not yet unconditional.

David Sapp, writer and artist, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.

LIFE AND LITERATURE…

Aruz—like a soldier, firm in his stance,

Hijās chase each step, a tireless advance.

In syllabic verse, your fingers may stray,

Yet in haikus, thoughts thread their way…

Each day, your mind races, lost in its track,

Life—a strange script, with scenes thrown back;

Joy—a butterfly, light on its wings,

Grief—like literature, deep sorrow it brings…

Each fleeting moment—a novel so vast,

A film whose script on your forehead is cast.

You—a mere actor, fate-bound and grim,

Each wound—a lesson that seeps deep within…

As you live on, you shall slowly discern

Life’s aruz beats and syllabic turns.

Grand eras revolve, vast and profound,

Dramas and satires, where echoes resound…

Aruz’s pursuit teaches firm resolve,

Syllabic verse finds balance involved.

Should emotions surge, leaving you drained,

Should illness clutch you, weary and pained—

Then read, like blossoms, in wintertime bold,

A haiku’s wisdom, centuries old.

For life, the wise teacher, brief in its say,

May whisper its truths through haikus one day…

Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey.

A Letter to My Favorite Drug

Accustomed to ending the day on a high note

In the most artificial way possible,

Rising up out of my body

Through elevated corporal cravings.

But sometimes you show up and disrupt

My habitual rituals of obituary-courting,

Your sheer presence rendering me euphoric

Before you’ve spoken a single word.

Yes, the freedom to converse through silence

Is a most precious one indeed,

Raising and lowering my blood pressure

With simultaneous tenderness.

Three hours seem like one

Which of course is not enough

To savor the indispensably insignificant details,

The essential nonessentials.

Go to bed later, wake up earlier,

Energized by our low-energy synergy

And wishing I could imbibe your magic potion

Every day of the week.

The Silence In Between

Woke up at 1 AM

To a cacophony of moans

Almost shattering the window

With operatic decibels.

Good for them,

Bad for me

Still barely fresh

From a pre-sleep fantasy.

Calculated their level of closeness

By listening for the silence in between,

The vulnerable moment

When the script turns into improv.

Shower came on quick enough;

Must have been successful

And a little bit stressful

Remembering each other’s names.

Then a sequel session

Shook the walls once more

But I stopped keeping score

Certain it would end with a closed door.

Nearby Farness

Hoodie to the left, hoodie to the right,

Shields against peripheral vision

So that beauty stays a question mark

Instead of a period.

Better to be trusted than loved

Although it’s nice if you can be both,

Blessed with distant proximity

And nearby farness.

Crumbs of conversation

Scattered in an imaginary forest

Where people require other people

To find their way back home.

Some get their kicks on what-if situations,

Taking communion at the Church of Friday Night

In which bartenders consecrate a glass of California wine

While choirs sing “Sweet Caroline” with no-strings-attached ecstasy.

Others brand themselves as stubborn dreamers

Refusing to search for what refuses to approach them

Without considering the possibility

They’re too well-hidden to be found.

Hoodie up above, hoodie down below,

Angels and mortals locked in a staring contest

Destined to continue for eternity

Since they’re both afraid of flashing their eyes.

Showed Promise

Stumbled across the obituary at precisely 12:00,

The usual time for mid-year New Year’s resolutions

As the drunkenness turns to queasiness

And the pleasure starts to sting.

26 and two days counting;

Didn’t even have the glory of 27,

Just a halfway thought-out header

That read, “Showed Promise.”

Showed promise for what exactly?

Capitalistic success?

Perhaps a Wikipedia page

Or picture on a restaurant wall?

Anyhow, it didn’t matter;

Whatever promise was shown had faded

Unless there was an accompanying suicide note

To inspire posthumous adulation.

Wandered to the cemetery the next morning,

Paid respects from a stranger

Which are sometimes sincerer

Than the rehearsed well-wishes of a friend.

Assured him he was more

Than what he had not yet become

And that what he already was

Was all he ever needed to be.

Big Sister

The tiny head had been there for more than an hour

And would likely remain until the train stopped,

Ejecting them both onto a crowded platform

Full of 9-to-5 fighters and 5-to-9 nurturers.

She of course belonged to the latter group,

An invisible angel seen as just another tired face

Accustomed to questions and quests for answers

That even her parents couldn’t fulfill.

Tried to hide the number of times she cried in a day,

Microchipping Kleenex into her eyes

But was frequently met by the sudden surprise

Of an old lady staring sympathetically.

No sympathy was required though,

No hand-me-down advice;

The source of her fragility

Was also the source of her strength.

Which didn’t stop her from doubting

The legitimacy of that tiny head

Gracing her shoulders with trust

She feared she couldn’t live up to.

*PEACE ANTHEM* 

_With breath, tucked back into her mouth,_ 

 _A sister opens her heart to photograph_ 

 _The bullet she holds on the chest_

 _With grief, mixed in her coffee mug,_ 

 _We saw her veins, hemorrhaging._

 _Same as home, carrying weight of dead soldiers_

 _With darkness in our lives,_ 

 _Bandits visit our homes to build us a prison on our minds_ 

 _& with faces we mourn,_ 

 _There are countless people coming_ 

 _To pass through this gate of grief_

 _& With God on our lips,_ 

 _We’ll water the flowers again,_ 

 _With hope, love, a whisper, a plea for peace._

Rahmat A Muhammad is a poet from northern Nigeria.