Blesok no. 91, July-August, 2013
Poetry


Golden Angels

Marija Doneva



The Ships of Possible Love…


The ships of possible love
Come behind the back of sea-line –
Slowly.
First one will touch the shore
The one who from his heart would throw out
Gathered caresses and hopes,
Wheat – in the salt waters,
And the thick silks – by the waves.
Bare, tormented, unarmed,
With the right to say: “I have
stones, and shadows, and the rain,
Springs, as sweet as kisses,
And the soil of wich the men are made.”




It’s So Easy to Love a Stranger…


It’s so easy to love a stranger.
Who hasn’t dreamed of our shores.
We give him parrots,
Gold and flowers.
We learn his language.
To begin with parts of body.
Then we are talking.
And adopt with rapture
The new religion.
And then?
Old deities
Disturb our sleep.
Upon variable clouds,
Upon tame animals,
Upon rainy afternoons
The time is visible.
The boat that brought him
Is already repaired and waits.
O my promised land,
Let someone else inhabit you.




The Lies Soak Up…


The lies soak up
In the wardrobes, in the thresholds.
The small lies –
In the silver tea-spoons.
They hang over like operatic chandeliers
With countless crystal knifes.
Just a breath of frankness –
And this world would be devastated.
The Revelation and the Apocalypse
Are one and the same book.




Golden Angels…


Golden angels
Upon the boughs,
The light shines through them,
The air is clear,
but I have no one to embrace.




She Is So Reticent…


She is so reticent,
She is like a house,
From which a melody floats,
But no one knows
how many people live in
And the neighbours are never invited.
She is so reticent,
That her cocks don’t crow
But hum;
Her cats run away
to shriek at liberty
In another’s yards.
One white hand
Waters flowers by the window
But nobody’s seen nearly
The ring which gleams.
Isn’t it a drop of water
In geranium’s mossy cupped hands?
She is so reticent,
That the time ever comes in her garden
With a season late.
In her breathe
Forgotten
afternoons,
Quiet nooks, sparrows,
Yellow quinces, splashed by the rain,
And words,
That she will never say.
Thus you will have her -
Yours and hers,
Untrue and chaste.

Translated from Bulgarian by Ludmil Lockanov




Cuckoo Clock


On a little little street
out of a little little window
a little lonely old woman
asks all the passers-by
what time it is.




It Is True…


It is true, I often use:
“warm” and “gentle”, “quiet” and “soft”.
I simply rearrange them,
slightly mixing them together,
but whatever I may say –
it is something of the sort.
That doesn't bother me at all. Even
that suits me perfectly enough.
I have a quiet and soft house,
kindly people, gentle things.
I have someone to hold me.
What else could I need?

Translated from Bulgarian by Lina Bakalova




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