Ksenija Cicvarić, Diva of Traditional Music
By Miloš Radović
The Life and Legacy of Ksenija Cicvarić, Montenegro’s Most Resonant Voice – A Timeless Echo of a Nation’s Soul, Carried Through War, Loss, and Love
In the history of every country there are a few voices that cease to be only voices – they become time, space, feeling. In Montenegro, that is Ksenija Cicvarić.
Born in Podgorica, in a house where lives were measured by ordinary days and ordinary joys, Ksenija carried within her a gift that cannot be taught in school – the gift to touch someone else’s heart with her voice. Her mother, Simone, gentle and devoted, was the first to notice music in the girl’s breathing, in her speech, in her quiet children’s songs. But her father, a strict and patriarchal man, did not allow that voice to be trained, nor did he suspect that this very voice would become the pride of a whole people.
Ksenija Cicvarić’s childhood was marked by wounds far greater than a child’s years. World War II brought losses that would have broken even an adult. During the bombing of Podgorica she lost several members of her family. While she herself, seeking shelter in the caves of the Ribnica and Morača rivers, was injured by a bomb which caused her temporary blindness. An Italian doctor, who happened to be nearby, restored her sight – and perhaps saved the future of Montenegrin music. She lost her father in the whirlwind of war, and she never found his grave.
Thus, from ruins and grief, one of the most beautiful voices of our land began to take shape.
Oj, vesela, veselice,
Vesele ti oči imaš,
Koga god si pogledala,
Svakome si ranu dala.
I mene si pogledala,
I meni si ranu dala.
Oh, joyful one, little joy-bringer,
Your eyes are full of laughter,
Whomever you happened
to glance at,
You left them with a wound.
You glanced at me as well,
And wounded me too.
SOLACE AND CURSE
Ksenija’s voice was recognizable from the very first notes. It wasn’t an ordinary voice-it was a pearl, full of colour, carrying both joy and sorrow, mountain strength and the elegance of the city. When she sang, it felt as though all of Podgorica was singing with her-with its bridges, alleyways, and taverns.
What set Ksenija apart most was her authenticity. She did not sing just to entertain, but to tell a story. Every song, whether it was “Milica jedna u majke” or “Veselica”, was for her a life drama, a miniature stage where love was born and died, where hope was kindled and grief endured.
The audience felt it. Her songs were not just notes – they were a mirror of the people’s soul. People used to say that in her voice one could hear everything: the morning scent of the sea, the fatigue of labourers, the wistful silence of winter evenings. She was a bridge between past and future – a voice that linked old customs with modern city streets.
SONG AND SORROW
Ksenija’s private life was as dramatic as her songs. She married pilot Miloje Cicvarić, with whom she had six children. But fate, as if it could not forgive the gift she bore, dealt her blows that even the strongest heart would find hard to endure. Two days after giving birth to her son Žarko, she lost her six-year-old son Vladimir in a traffic accident in front of their building. That was a wound she carried her whole life, quiet and deep, and her songs became the only way she could turn grief into melody.
Despite everything, she never stopped giving. She was a regular guest on the radio, welcomed with ovations on stages across Yugoslavia, and her performances always had the aura of a celebration. Her voice was so recognizable that even today a single bar is enough for us to know-it is Ksenija.
A SONG AS ETERNITY
Ksenija Cicvarić passed away in 1997, leaving behind a silent void. She did not have medals, she did not have monuments, but she had the most important thing- songs that continue to live.
When her voice is heard today, whether on old records or on the radio, the heart stirs in a way that only true art can evoke. She reminds us that a song is not just a melody, but also a story, a history, and a comfort.
Perhaps many called her simply a “folk singer” back then. But Ksenija was much more than that. She was a symbol. She was a guardian of memories. She was proof that a single voice can carry the weight of an entire nation and that a song can be a home, even when there is none.
And so, when we remember Ksenija Cicvarić, we remember a woman who sang from the soul and for the soul. Her songs remain like living water: to refresh, to console, to remind us that we are not alone in our joys and sorrows.
For Ksenija Cicvarić’s voice is not the voice of the past. It is the voice of eternity.