Blesok no. 56, September-October, 2007

Without surrealism
Translated by Nataša Papazovska-Levkova

Violeta Tančeva-Zlateva


A speechless house
its mouth wide open with astonishment
its eyes
deprived of the ability to see.
Its brain fuming
because of its great effort
to understand things too big
for its insignificance.
Sunk in the shadow of a multi-storey building,
it looks at the lady who is going out
and wonders
how her magic shoes
don’t touch the ground
and how she can walk
with her head in the clouds
and not cause
an accident?!

Without surrealism

Mom, here you are with sun in your stomach!
Who cares
if the sun is like an amoeba
with an eye in the middle
and if the stomach has jumped
somewhat above the neck.
The artist is entitled
to its own vision of things.
The eyes
are dates not only because of their shape
and the hair is like cable
twisted in space
for better connection with the others.
For some it is a kind of a head dress
for others it’s an expression of elegance
in the same way the earrings are.
Whatever the case may be,
just don’t look for surrealism –
here everything is real.


God! What shall I do
with these mace-like hands
on my thin legs
(I can’t even clean rice with them!)
and this head of mine like pumpkin
that you left on my shoulders
one drunken afternoon!
My shoes got shabby
from searching the key to this silence
and a deep enough hollow
for my tears.
Have pity on ugly me!
In return
I’ll give you the
gold beads from my ears.

Hide and seek

The house on the hill of memories
stands high
above the horizon
and above the clouds.
It escaped
the wind
and the birds.
The chimney is smoking.
Who is peeping behind the windows?

Five minutes

The bird-woman with wind in her hair
waiting for SOMETHING to lift
her sagging wings
is looking around in vain.
Tired of waiting
she doesn’t give in:
makeup on her eyes
rouge on her lips
complete with hanging earrings.
You never know when
her five minutes will come
running along the road
and roll before her feet
like fully ripe pears.

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