INSPIRED BY THE WIND
netted sun
in a handful of tiny particles
you are creating me
in the non-existing
tears
I am creating
my tears
in the non-existing
having you
-
ВДЪХНОВЕНО ОТ ВЯТЪРА
замрежено слънце
в шепа прашинки
твориш ме
в несъществуващите
сълзи
творя
сълзите си
в несъществуващо
имам те
WE[1]
now only in deep waters we can dress
now the sky is a field of cornflowers
the blue of our eyes
is only a mirrored shining
flow your will into one word
tell it to me
like untimely falling leaves
to walk to the end of my last doubt
among leaves small blue hearts
warmy tiny fishes swimming against the sunset
along the current of the eternal river
only along this river we will recognize ourselves such
the clothes are on the bank
but you would not turn back
now only in deep waters we can dress
-
WE
сега само в дълбоки води можем да се обличаме
сега небето е поле от метличини
синьото на очите ни
е само отблясък
влей волята си в една дума
кажи ми я
като листопад по никое време
да извървя последното си съмнение
сред листа малки сини сърца
топлички рибки плаващи срещу залеза
по течението на вечната река
само по нея ще се познаем такива
дрехите са на брега
но не би се обърнал назад
сега само в дълбоки води можем да се обличаме
I AM SINGING ON THE EDGE
I am singing sharply what is truthful
the truthful again forgets the couplet
the echo sings it
there on the edge
which goes downwards
not to be edge any more
end of a precipice
but to taste the salt of earth
because no one hears it
loudly I listen only to myself
and I trust my own flying
and sing sharp to myself
while the edge
true only to its desire
becomes earth
becomes silent
only I sing?
maybe it is just the way it appears to me
-
ПЕЯ СИ НА РЪБА
фалшиво си пея вярното
вярното пак забравя куплета
ехото го изпява
там на ръба
който се спуска надолу
да не бъде повече ръб
край на пропаст
а да вкуси солта на земята
понеже никой не го чува
на високо аз слушам само себе си
и си вярвам в летенето
и си пея фалшиво
докато ръба
верен единствено на желанието си
става земя
онемява
само аз пея?
навярно само така ми се струва
THE PUNISHMENT?
a slap on the ear
it does not hurt
but I stop hearing
the laughter
(the things behind us)
and that I am running
that I am already running
along the ends of the secret
…
you have slept on it all the time
the one which saves you from feeling cold
but nevertheless throws you to the lions
…
the parentheses of sleep
this rule – for them to surround you
this rule to go to the very edge
and to come back – without fighting – beaten up like a dog
-
a deep well
has bitten
the end of the light
and it is lying at the bottom
under the water
and we do not know how bright it is there
neither how deep
and we cannot hear
the hit of the stone
because of the slap on the ear
-
НАКАЗАНИЕТО?
плесница по ухото
от нея не боли
но спирам да чувам
смеха
(нещата зад нас)
и това че тичам
че вече тичам
по краищата на тайната
...
през цялото време си спал на нея
която те спасява от мръзнене
но все пак те хвърля на лъвовете
....
скобите на съня
това правило - да те обградят
това правило да отидеш до самият край
и да се върнеш - без бой - пребит като куче
-
един дълбок кладенец
е захапал
края на светлината
и тя лежи на дъното
под водата
и ние не знаем колко е светло там
нито колко дълбоко
и не можем да чуем
тупването на камъка
заради плесницата по ухото
TO SLEEP ON YOUR EYES stung on the back by the day
I stand pressing my fingers
stung is a yellow word
it takes a moment
it takes a moment
sounds fast
swells and passes
not from this angle looked at
not by the eyes when they have grown grey
ashes in the glass
and behind the tongue
there is so much more thirst
more barley in the earth
more nuts in the more-nutshell
rise up
rise up from there
do not show off the wall to visibility
and do not write in any way
there where with only black smoke it can be drawn
the foreheads beds of worrisome thoughts
again they wrinkle
again they loosen
accordions
harmonicas of the unaccorded
here you have become boring and causing boredom
only hunger and boredom can be graded
they start fighting
and reconcile
like falling asleep and waking up
on eyes
-
ДА СПИШ ПО ОЧИ
ужилен в гръб от дългия ден
търпя притискам пръсти
ужилване е жълта дума
става за миг
звучи бързо
подува се и минава
не от този ъгъл погледната
не от очите когато са посивели
пепел в чашата
а зад езика
има още толкова много жажда
още ечемик в земята
още ядки в още черупката
ставай
ставай от там
не излагай стената на видимост
и не пиши никак
там където само с черен дим се чертае
челата легла на угрижени мисли
пак се свиват
пак се отпускат
акордеони
хармоники за разстроените
тук сте омръзнали и омръзващи
степенуват се глада и омръзването
сбиват се
и се сдобряват
като заспиване и събуждане
по очи
превод: Николай Тодоров translation by: Nikolay Todorov
///
Bring the man back to his diligence
don't depersonalize
I thought I'm erasing one face
It was only to start with the next following lines
this picture of us that picture of them
we won't understand
nor in the the present nor in the future tense
bring the man back to his diligence
///
filled with pus
consumed by the cold
///
to myself:
and yes you fool
on your behalf
everything
is permanent
///
the black chronicle
is chronic track
path in the low skies
lower ground
low mankind
monsters drawn as flute players
///
avoiding
conserving
presuming
ruined
recovered
clean
stained
loving
amain
///
purple
stain
under
my
nail
tearing open
this itchy heart
again
///
angle
never seen
oval
never filled
///
take me where all cars are sleeping
and all trees are awake
///
She is constantly imagining that she's someone's bad dream.
and now she is not awake
must be the reason why she's not wearing her slippers
and feels cold seeing her nails pale-blue
a delicate and frightening color
And she is constantly feeling guilty for not daring...
And not knowing what to dare - the guilt hangs like a wet cloth on her back
in the terrible cold outside, because that's what she puts on her shoulders
or may be the cold outside was dreamed by somebody else?
Or she is the cold in the dream of an innocent, chased man
and she's constantly afraid
have you noticed that word 'constantly'
we know so little about it
it's rarely friendly with us, it's not a word that sits and discuss its daily life with you
However
...So she is constantly afraid of how people will wake up from her as if she's a dream
Waking up relieved for she's no longer their dream
and nothing of what she has caused them never happened
It's like with you
when you do something great and see it
in a little while crushed
under the wheels of a powerful car
spinning slightly as a butterfly
crushing lightly and passing over the great 'deed'
She is imagining all the wrong things,
phone numbers written backwards on her hands..
Falling asleep
with her forehead leaning the payphone
that speaks to her with monotone drone
Monotony is another side of constancy but more accessible and more conversational ...
Monotony is getting along with dreams although they can`t continue forever
There are also known some short forms of monotony which means the same repetitive tone
Some people always speak to us with the same tone ...when they didn't get much of a sleep
or they sound awfully equally when they are hungry
just wonder why they can't hear this unbearable note in their voice
They would change it themselves ... without someone to start speaking to them with a changed timbre
Timbre..of sleep
The timber of other people's sleep...
She was afraid of the mess she creates for them in their sleep
In daytime she is walking incurring heavy woolen conscience, conscience- starched collar, conscience-coat, conscience-linen, conscience-boots, conscience-heavy as scarlet plush
Something observable from afar so they can easily indicate it, point at
This is also a thing that you may not endure In the moments of light...
before a ceremonial shame surrounded by family and parental care and parental negligence, friendly insouciance, friendly intrusiveness - eyesore for all audiences abiding our fears ..
our dreams ...
'What did you dream, my dearie?'
the mother asks her child who wakes up with drowning scream ...
and here it is - the fear to tell is already born
The fear to tell what was there, everything that was, everything you are
This fear will start walking in the winter streets and mocks about the rubber platforms the metal heels or linen scarves, will mock about the rabbit tails of those pretty individuals and their long, but not enough long front legs
///
The first door of the dream
- I'm surrounded by fog ... I don`t know how to divide it
It will slowly go away from me,
and yet
I wouldn't know
if I am haunted
Second door:
Quickly I'm leaving the city
whose eyes are crying
whose hands can not reach
Weather's so quiet but I wish there was wind
to blow her hair and hide her teary eyes
Third door:
I realize your existence
your hand on mine
makes it whiter
We are two completely identical worlds
when we finally see it - we'll be no longer alike
Fourth door:
I'm traveling between white slender trees
I need
I have such need to conceal all whiteness
snuggle up between you trees
and bend
My father
My mother
My older sisters
I'm walking between them
Silence will quench my thirst
I'm understood
Fifth door:
I can see the traces which I haven't left yet
I'm treating the disease before I get ill
I love before falling in love
I am traveling
Sixth door:
I'm filling my breasts with you
Quietude
Nothing superfluous
Your warm breath in a cup of milk
(I want to become one with it)
While the city corrodes
under tons of lactic fog
Seventh door:
I'm losing my sleep
my dream is dissolving over you
I bend
softly kissing your knees
The fog
returns into the body
I didn't know I was free to leave
I didn't know I might be the one
who's chasing it
///
Good luck, small submarine
don't go anywhere
just carry away more often
before their eyes
where nothing happens
you exist there
whole - comprehension
muddling the water
of their understanding
they will see more often the dirt
and not you..
it's needless to say 'Never'
we're shorter than that 'never'
leaders of the shadows
sandmen
dreamers
gluey in that second
and then you slid out of their beds and houses
slid out ..escaping their standpoints, numbers,
dodge from their favourable faces
dodge from your burden
dodge behind the outlines of the cities
slipping out slow wind
slow returning of the ingredients
escaping the hunger, the thirst..
fingers sliding from the cup
broke up with them
broke up with all needs
bye
when you say goodbye
to those who lived with a short slip of unconscious courtesy
those real faces of people you lived behind
and you drunk cyanide with and hided rough gemstones with
divide them!
ciao bella
/special list with greetings/
it's all about your credulity to steal the smile
and the whole time for smiles of one single person
that you believed you need
good luck little submarine
you stood long enough
anticipation
is
rising
---
Am I not
Result of a vision
Laughter in the mirror
Verse in the dark
Voices
In twilight
Known
And cursed
For the same reasons
Am I not
your girl
always touched
to ensure
your existence
The one you recall
in your
vision
illusion
the first taste of a girl
Am I not
fruit
house of a worm
after you've gone
---
He:
the hardness of the softest sounds
endless line
cardiac
bloody
nervous
an order
his embrace -
fractal
allowed
on the border
of our returning
///
So as to know everything ...She's not asking anything
the secret shall be entered slowly ...
as it has become part of me
I will become part of it
when it moves away - I will proceed
when secret make a move then I will step back
The secret knows this dance
better than us
don't spill the beans
do not say -'that's what I am',
do not say 'I'm going to give you that dream'
because my dreams and yours are not just circulation coins
you will wake up in me while I'm falling asleep in you
and this discrepancy
already cost us a lot
///
I am not leaving the house
The key goes alone
going out for a walk
then unlocks
and tells me
how was it there
where I weren't
the key slept two days
hanged on the neck of a boy
learned many games
now it has stories
at least for a week
I am not leaving the house
the key goes alone
and sometimes it does not return
I'm not giving-away
when jealous
oh no
I don't protrude
when I dream
how I'm gone
and how to get back
I don't know
///
Silence
full of love and irritation of love
desire for power
to overbear and to attain
desire without any purpose
not an empty square but beautiful circle
describes the finger of inspiration
Inspiration dressed in lace
caramel color
color of cream and coffee
banana flakes
placed in a pure hand of a girl
embroidering it's sword right in my heart
my heart is its end
but who could start from the end
permeance
possibility
hope
silk point of a needle
clear glass
gaze
breath
lack of a kiss
and billions of small ways
to wrap in a mist
the bullet-proved desire
///
The Sunday song of those ceased to believe
Men - waving bells are caressing the wind
Women are straining forearms walking stiffly
beneath their skirts - hiding their curses
covert lists of names
names of sons and daughters
future or dead
The priests buried in sleep on the thresholds of their churches
The young boys are gathering on the hills
throwing each other as if they were stones
Little girls are cutting and burying their curls
Half-asleep the night guards are dancing and rattling their keys
And all doors in the city remain open and the lights are crackling
and dead crickets are falling from the dead lamps
The Sunday song inverts the arrows and stops the clocks
flowing and flowing
over drunks and dishonest
making them angels
baptizing them in a holy sweet ignorance
now and forever
///
I am
my own backup plan
my eye
thin and glossy
sheet of paper
mirror sheet
that extracts
your image
from mine
my visibility
your causality
there is a forest
where you will lose me
and that's what happens
to mirrors when traveling
to the forests when traveling
when the forest takes on its way
it's collecting the thoughts
of the lonesome trees
left and cut by the men
you're the one who tells me
'you are your own backup plan'
the memory of the cup
is the memory of a kiss
which I am falling asleep with
and I'm walking behind you
even if you never turn back
and you are walking behind me
when I I think
I am my only companion
and my last backup plan
///
Brave little soldier, the war began in the morning, in bed ...
in combat with dreams
there are thousands awake men
behind their borders
men with strong fears
fears of strong men
rambling behind the closed eyes
Even if you sleep with one eye opened a certain fear can break a trail
and enter your room quietly and steal your cover quietly -
the only cover prescribed to you
The War is in the dreams - do not think there is no blood,
red and shed
It's in the dream
where the blood is learning to roar and to raise
going to heaven
going to blaze
As a matter of fact
Dreams can anticipate events
and determine the dates of upcoming battles
Listen to me, little brave soldier,
I am a dream and I'm telling you this .
I will appear as a dream
thousand times till you understand
that in the difference I'm telling you always the same
about
the border, where they will send you
about
the planets which will fall into disagreement
about
your friends who could
surrender you to the enemy
All of these things is singing the dream
when the dream happen to be like a melody
or if not - it can take your clear mind and speak with a thick female voice
(for everybody to laugh)
During the war the dreams are the astonishing strategists,
the dreams are impeccable then
Little brave soldier,
on the battlefield of sleep
keep your legs fast and your heart slow
Keep yourself from the eyes of the young white girls
Because they are also dreams,
because they shoot you in the back,
because they have targeted you and not the goal is important -
It's you!
You're important
little tin soldier ...
I am the dream - listen to me
///
One and the same are those who are giving us
the horror of chance - and the bliss of chance
those who recognize us in our dead bodies
the same who revive our breath -
are of true compassion - genuine love
love, stronger than the hand of fate,
but rude and careless
like a foreigner in a country with exquisite manners
the one I was grateful to
made me forsake myself
this burden equals - the ease of creating him myself
///
History is a disastrous backwater
we can't remember the names of our sons
Erebus
is darkness
Erebus -
a day brooded in black ink
Erebus -
my name and my eyes
Erebus -
the Ribs of night
Erebus -
oar of that broken boat
floating
on the crest
floating through
twenty three seas
Erebus
and depth [death]
Come and immerse
Copyright © 2023 Elitsa Ganeva All Rights Reserved
