Sevdah: The Sad Poetry of Sarajevo
Father, why have white butterflies landed
like dew on my hair?
They drink my tears, they wash my face.
I know they’ve come
To take me away.
The sad poetry of Sevda, the traditional music of Sarajevo, tells of the pain of loss, of grieve, of heart-ache, of the melancholy and the longing for a peaceful death. It comes as no surprise in a city as scarred as the capital of Bosnia and Hercegovina: There are still some craters from mortar attacks in the streets, and bullet holes in the facades of residential buildings. There are cemeteries at every corner it seems, most are Muslim, some Jewish, some are Orthodox, some Catholic, for faith could not stop bullets, neither during the Siege of Sarajevo 1992-1994, neither during the WWII, nor WWI, which began in Sarajevo in 1914.
Yet the Sevdah is much older, a heritage of the Ottoman Empire, which ruled Bosnia from 1463 for more than four centuries. Sevdah is the Bosnian word for Sawda, melancholy in Arab. Sevdalinkas, as the individual songs are called, were traditionally sung in the Arabic modal systems of Hijaz, as are the muezzin’s calls for prayers, which the wind carries through all through the city five times a day. This might be why healing powers are ascribed to the Sevdah.
Zaim Imamovic, a singer as venerated as Carlos Gardel in the world of Tango, or Edith Piaf in France, said before he died in 1994: “Sevdah will be sung after any war.” And of wars, Sarajevo had more than a fair share.
Sarajevo is as captivating and exciting as its history. As a city, Sarajevo is a cultural patchwork, reflected in the closeness of Synagogues, Mosques, Orthodox and Catholic churches. The view from surrounding mountains is breathtaking.
The passion of Sevdah reverberates in the streets that wind up the steep slopes like the Melisma, the entrancing trillers of the songs, twisted like the unevenly tempered notes of the Eastern Mekam scales: unable to be expressed with Western terms.
Friday Night is Sevdah Night at the Monument Jazz Club in the City Center. The trio on the bandstand, a singer, a guitarist and an accordion player, are blurred by blue clouds of smoke billowing above the flowing manes of young women and the short cropped heads of young men. The youth are embracing as they sway to the Sevdalinkas. At times they jump up and dance, unable to hold their passion inside. Older people hold on their bottles of beer or wine glasses as they sit in the dark. They know all the lyrics by heart, and all of them sing along, sometimes louder even than the singer. It is impossible to tell: are they laughing or are they crying as they sing.
She died late on Saturday night.
He died early on Sunday morning.
They were buried beside each other.
Their hands were joined together through the Earth
And in their hands green apples.
Many years later, A green pine tree grows where he lies
A red rose where she lies
And the rose winds around the pine
Like a silk ribbon
Embraces a bunch of fragrant flowers.
A Stroll through History:
Starting in the historic center, one feels carried back into the Ottoman Empire, to Istanbul maybe: The old mosques, the bazar, the shisha cafés, the Old Synagogue. Venturing westwards , one enters the Habsburgian part, and were it not for the steep streets leading up the high surrounding mountains, one might believe oneself in Old Vienna or Prague for its Belle Epoque Buildings and Coffeeshops. Walking further west, along the governmental buildings at what is still called Snipers’ Alley, the socialist flair of Tito Yugoslawia surrounds the plattenbaus like a halo.
Of course, each of these historical epochs was ended by war and bloodshed. In 1878 the Ottomans had to cede Sarajevo to the Austrians, who lost it together with WWI in 1918 to the Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, until Sarajevo became part of the fascist Republic of Croatia. After WWII had ravaged and the communist partisan Tito had united the Yugoslavs, the Balkan War in the 1990ies drove another blood soaked wedge between the cultures.
The intimate, melancholy Sevdah unifies the Bosnians in their sadness. As so often, however, this need for healing and unification has given way to a new and thriving generation of Sevdah singers: