swinging

poem

He swallowed him like clear water— fresh sips— and with them extinguished you. He swallowed him like warm broth— sweet sips— and with them quenched you. He swallowed him like a dry crust— heavy bites— and with them wounded you. He swallowed him like bitter wormwood— sharp sips— and with them saddened you. He swallowed him… And inward, further inward, it grew empty, it grew quiet, it grew slow… He borrowed a sip of air, staggered. And once again took up his cup— bottomless, with a smile…

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

So much has passed— still, it rains. So much has passed— —rivers… So close— still, it rains. So close— —held within… So quietly beneath the drops of rain. So quietly— time flows in, unceasing, weeping. So much has passed and continued through me, sank deep, yet the rain never ceased…

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

Her soul is a fairground: tightrope walkers, clowns, magicians and acts of taming… Her body is a frame: “a halo casting shadow,” walking in the wake of a missed chance… Your fixed gaze will never meet her. Her measure—unerring—leads you there… Her path is straight—yet bends on its own. She follows it without aim, and there will sit and watch: the theatre of words upon an empty stage…

Working literary translation; it does not claim to be a literal or definitive equivalent of the Bulgarian original.

poem

THE WORLD breaks apart— a vessel of clay. The fragments scatter all at once. Souls, within a deep sleep, seek a crossing back to their whole. The larger shards matter, and the grains of sand that hold them fast. Dust motes drift— pale— to embrace Him, the clay vessel, THE WORLD

Working literary translation; it does not claim to be a literal or definitive equivalent of the Bulgarian original.

poem

And I found you, and I left you, without understanding, and I forgot you deep within me. Deep. I never found you. I never left you. And I found no reason to forget you. And I did not ask. Ah, I never asked…!

Working literary translation; it does not claim to be a literal or definitive equivalent of the Bulgarian original.

poem

Silence crumbles within me. Into motes, the days sway. The world turned around me, and I froze, rigid, I stumbled… I breathe in deeply, breathe out slowly, carried away, bodiless. Silence crumbles within me…

Working literary translation; it does not claim to be a literal or definitive equivalent of the Bulgarian original.

poem

Confused in the chaos of my own thoughts— I drift (among the motley crowd) toward the quiet harbours of solitude. I speak with the night— and in the monologue I divide into a thousand seeds that enter me. With words I try to warm them. I dare not, even for a moment, fall silent.

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

You fly forward, intent (a brief impulse), to embrace—captive— the World. Winged by a dream, spellbound by passion, you wander along painful paths. Today you sit silent, mute—eyes closed (no impulse—alas), to rest—drawn inward— within it: the World. Moved by fates, diminished by sorrows, a labyrinth travelled in the rootwork of silence…

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

The true monologue is to discover the words within you—as if tasting every drop of pollen from the stamens of meaning's blossoms, urging you toward a purpose. There is no greater pleasure than the newly awakened rapture of thought before the beauty of form—essence (meaning).

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

You crumbled smiles into a cup. You spilled hidden sighs. And strung drops of silence through the pupil—a fate. You soaked up illusions from cupped hands. You found breath upon the covers. And how precious were the days in which you bequeathed yourself to her?

Working literary translation; it does not claim to be a literal or definitive equivalent of the Bulgarian original.

poem

The wind's sigh— nestled in the breast of a sailor… Crumbs of silence— left as food for the birds… Your time— waiting for a ticket to depart…

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

Love time held still, which you sway through the day— a quiet cradle— it is solitude. Love the elixir—silence— sipped slowly, returning stamens of warmth. Love the pauses in sleep, where the pulse ceases to flow— timelessness calling itself “LET IT BE.” Dream words without a frame. Travel between light and shadow, parted by sunrises and sunsets. Dream through the desert in the mist. Dream—until you dream me into being.

Working literary translation; it does not claim to be a literal or definitive equivalent of the Bulgarian original.

poem

I love You in an impossible way, like fingers spread wide— my thoughts make You mine, frozen in fear— to press You close or let You slip between them. And impossibly— I unravel You with eyes fixed on empty distance. To seize the words— so blind, to spill their colours beside the poems— mute. In an impossible way I love You…

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.

poem

I love you—wordless blue opened into silence. I love you—unceasing, insistent, playful, at the shore—wave against wave. I love you, sorrow made of blue, in the green-blue silt of a river, beautifully reclining, nestled against the bank. And so you are—unforeseeable, and so you are—deaf to the cry, sinking into bitter depths, setting behind a morning made of silence.

Literary translation shaped with attention to imagery and rhythm.