Short Bulgarian Poems

Bulgarian train
sun setting on Sofia
lovers' escapade



posted on March 13, 2021...

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A competition was held in Bulgaria 
to find out which girl's legs were hairier. 
The winning lassie 
beat a huge chimpanzee 
and a wiry old Irish Fox Terrier....

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With sleepless eyes fix the Dawn,
with cracked lips Dew Drink!
Hear how he plays the time's wind,
see evil in you...and kill him!

     translate from bulgarian: the author...

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BROWN BALD BULAGARIAN BUNNY BUMPING BLOWING BURBING BUBBLEGUM
           BOUNCING BONKING ON BLUE BLOOMING BLOSSONING BLOSSOM BEHINED
           BOBBY BOLT BOTTERSON BROTHER BIG BELLY...

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BROWN BALD BULAGARIAN BUNNY BUMPING BLOWING BURBING BUBBLEGUM
           BOUNCING BONKING ON BLUE BLOOMING BLOSSONING BLOSSOM BEHINED
           BOBBY BOLT BOTTERSON BROTHER BIG BELLY...

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Today I bought from the market
a kilo of tomatoes
and a few cucumbers.
Totally 4.80 leva.
She also bought a kilo –
less cucumbers
more tomatoes.
For 4.80 leva.
A sunny day.


Bulgarian monetary unit, approximately - $ 1 is 1.5 leva....

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Winter Morning - Dark, Dull ...
After a bohemian night ...
Dark, stupid - with reluctance to house ...
Odor of lime - 
hallucination, alcohol delirium?!
Well yes - the first floor brews tea.

                translation from Bulgarian: the author...

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As deserted as this wasteland,
Endless, boundless, uninviting,
Where all grass and flowers have withered,
As a notebook with no writing...

 As deserted as this wasteland,
Where the lonely wind is crying,
As if it, on empty pages,
Writes the letters with its sighing....

             Translated from bulgarian by Liz Wales...

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I understand that I will not live with you
between the walls of a family home,
although to you my think 
and my verses are like a moan.

I know that I will not live with you,
but allow me, when he came in the evening,
with the cane slowly to get in
and next to your bed to die!

                translation from Bulgarian: the author...

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At dusk
the leaves are bending.

They are fading away.
The light they are closing.

Under the ground
I won't be.


The original:

??? ???????????

??? ???????????
??????? ?? ?????????.

????????.
?????????? ????????.

??? ??????
???? ?? ????.


The original of the poem is in Bulgarian and has been translated and adapted in English by
Vessislava Savova....

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The temple was refined. 
High. 
With colonnades, folded 
in ivy
and in myrtle. 
With wide gardens
(for healing).
It burns.
For centuries, the shadows
sealed.

But you!
Where are you going
when there’s no tomorrow?
The temple – is always

immovable. 





Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved....

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And swallow are of love
the silky horizons
hit by a wing
of pink flamingo.

And the weeds are with deep
roots,
drawn water
of secret wells.

Careless was the wind,
carried off in hollows
tenderly
all kind of visions of
color.

Now the time is of the sand,
crossed the life-giving river.
And blows only wind from
Sahara. 




*Translator bulgarian-english: Vessislava Savova
rarebird...

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the rain is getting
shorter
an hour more
a second
breath
and someone somewhere
is speaking
like a fire
speaking
exactly
lightly
clearly
similar to a vale
in which you get down
and yet you are high
or a soil
which you do not decay into
when the rain stops
may I manage
something to put down
before scattering
with the fireflies 


Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved....

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how fast we give up
to the thought
and tomorrow shadow
covers us up
but we had set off the place
not existing on the maps
from a shore like a pigeon
we kiss the eyelids of the death
but those ones in the mirror we don’t dare
and drown into our voices
till Marathon is an attack
of a heart
but who will be the messenger
for us

the betrayers 


The book "The Man Who ..." 2009


*Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved....

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The untruths  like a spiderweave entangle me,
they crucify me - a robber near to Jesus.
stands in the air question not asked
and as if I'm a beggar...

I'm begging emotions of the day,
but I do not the gray pink,
on the cross every morning I stand up -
simple, without a theatrical posture.

And I'm nailing my feet myself,
I suffer my victory with pain,
that I stand alone among the curves concepts -
crucified, but I never worship...

  translation from Bulgarian: the author...

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