Life in the New: Miodrag Govedarica

Miodrag “Bata” Govedarica is a poet, composer, and singer. He is also a father, grandfather, and widower. He moved to Novi Beograd forty years ago and has lived in an apartment on the fifth floor of Blok 7A ever since.

“I had two sons then. I came here with them and my wife,” he tells of his relocation from the city center to Novi Beograd. “This apartment was small even for a family of four, but we liked it here; we had a nice life and never had a feeling of narrowness.”

Blok 7 and 7A were the first completed residential blocks in Novi Beograd. Together with the neighboring blocks, they make up the area called Paviljoni, which translates to ‘The pavilions,’ consisting of apartment buildings divided by parks, playgrounds, and lush vegetation. 

“It gives me the impression that I live in a part where, how should I say it, there is a lot of greenery, what do you call that? I’m not an expert; I’m a silly musician. I don’t know what those areas of the city with a lot of greenery are called”, he says jokingly. “Truth be told, in the summer, you wake up to the sound of birds chirping.”

Miodrag’s apartment was previously owned by the Serbian Railways, as was the whole building. When he moved in, the National Theatre of Serbia had it for short-term use. A trombonist from the orchestra lived here first, and when he went to Split, Miodrag took over. A soloist in the Belgrade Opera got his old apartment.

“Everything here is the same as it was forty years ago. Benches in the park, trees that have never been cut down like those downtown, and greenery that is exceptionally lush every year. Also, it’s a fifteen-minute walk to the Danube from here, maybe ten, if you go to Zemun. It all connects nicely in urbanistic terms. So yes, I would never leave here unless they took me away.”

The “silly musician” is renowned throughout Serbia, Greece, Russia, and other predominantly Orthodox countries for his spiritual Orthodox Christian music. In the National Theatre of Serbia, he was a permanent employee as a bass singer before retiring. According to Miodrag, one works as a composer for as long as one lives. “Composers don’t have working hours or biological limitations. Some of them died while writing a score. It’s an inner compulsion.”

Despite being retired, the National Theatre wants him back to fill their lack of bass singers. He goes there to see plays in his spare time – “I left my tail there, so I go back to fetch it” – but does not want to work professionally as a singer anymore. “I gave them my youth. I can’t give them my old age, too. It would cut my life short,” he says.

Over the years, he has seen neighborhood children grow up and older people pass away. He has also suffered significant losses himself. Twelve years ago, his youngest son Miloš lost his life. Miodrag describes him as extremely intelligent, daunting, handsome, “wanting to do everything in life.” His wife took the brunt of the loss, and Miodrag maintains that their son’s death was the cause of her passing away a year ago.

“Losing our son affected our health negatively, both my wife’s and mine.” He has three stents. His wife had a pacemaker. Miodrag sits on his wife’s spot, from which she used to watch Turkish soap operas. He prefers the other room, the one with the piano.

“We managed somehow for twelve years. Music keeps me going, and the concerts. Artists are different; we have a shock absorber of sorts. She couldn’t endure it. She suffered until her last day.”

About three months before Miloš’s passing, Miodrag’s oldest son, Milan, had his first child. He calls her ‘Spasenija’ – salvation – “because if she hadn’t been born, I would have died,” referring to the immense pain of his loss. A few years later, Milan’s twin boys were born.

“One is calm and phlegmatic, while the other is a bundle of energy. It’s incredible. Toma is emotional; he thinks about everything, everything irks him. He is always trying to do something important, whereas his brother Jovan is completely unbothered. You could caress him all day, and he would lie there like a little piglet.”

Awards, diplomas, and distinctions cover his study walls. Some more are heaping up on his worktable. What surpasses his professional credentials in terms of decorations are pictures of his grandchildren. They are in every room, a testament to their every year.

“What else would a grandad do but talk about his grandchildren? They are my everything.”

Miodrag is wearing a light-blue gingham shirt with short sleeves, denim jeans, and mule slippers, sockless. He removes his glasses and rests them on the side table, displaying his friendly, brown eyes.

His sharp-wittedness and subtle facetiousness hide beneath a veneer of a stoic and, for the most part, expressionless presence. One must read between the lines to catch his clever humor. He smiles and laughs on two occasions: when he shows the school portraits of his grandchildren and when he is shown a picture of him playing the piano. He laughed because one could see he was playing in slippers.

It’s humbling that he, a prolific composer devoting his life to the arts, namedrops and looks up to greats such as Rachmaninoff, Verdi, Puccini, and Tchaikovsky, must learn to do housework, cook, and take care of the home – his wife’s domain.

“It is like starting a new job and trying to catch up with someone with twenty or thirty years of experience. It just can’t be done. Vacuuming and cleaning dust is fine; I can handle that. But cooking … Food from restaurants and those ready meals from supermarkets aren’t even close to the smell of my own kitchen. You become so used to someone’s way of preparing food, and now that’s gone, too. I miss her the most, but I also miss all those things.”

Prints from Life in the New

View the price list for prints from my ‘Life in the New’ book project here.