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Nov 2017 · 545
for
for
august is over burnt
from rains and
shadows

the grass is low
only for
the blind cricket
May 2017 · 757
Anathema sit
the air of
your skin is Paradise
fingers all over
my face

your words
push the blood
out of my heart

towards you
May 2016 · 489
The Man Who…
The man who sits at the edge
of the water
shares the bread
(for you and to the birds).
Familiar with the dream far ago.
He can count when
the lime blossoms crumble
(someone passes to some place
and love is the longest point).
Entire.

Then (i look) it is
maestoso.
Mar 2016 · 485
Closed
Some day I will stay at that house
(rather I will be sat) that I dream of
to realize how the air was born. Then,
(now I am sleeping on my wrist)
as never before I will manage without asking
about roads and
I will
pass
on the stretched rope
between
two horizons
the girl
with an umbrella of roses
stops so suddenly
at the nook

the sea and the infinity

she waits
for the morning wind
(to fly off)
love
Sep 2015 · 494
Missolonghi
Missolonghi
In English, the Greek Kalinihita (?a?????ta means Good Night

I won't be by you,
Kalinihita,
the lines of your palm.
I'm too heavy, my girl,
and you - a light one.
Let you pass smoothly
through all the doors
on the shoulders of everybody
let you step.
Like a sound of a love
romance
to pass by.
I'm heavy, heavy, my girl
and my shadow is white.
And you can see
chromatic
and to croon you can
only to the wind.
Where shall I stay
without disturbing.
Your dream.



In English, the Greek Kalinihita (?a?????ta means Good Night
Missolonghi

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Byron
Sep 2015 · 590
The Girl Who Fresh
The girl, who fresh
like a germ among the dark olives,
is waving slightly for hello,
is opening up.
You cannot guess
the color of her delicate garment,
the laughter of the wind touching
her tender skin.

A yellow bee is whirring …

Lending an ear above waters of
your voice
and forgotten
my heart of
an old robber,
I tuck in hollows of my hands –
a drop.

And I am trying
not to shiver.
Sep 2015 · 465
land/земя/земля
land

what shall I tell them

it hurts me
for the ones
and for the others
(for you
and for you
for all of you)
who have land
who have no land
who look for land
red
red
red

what shall I tell them


земя

какво да кажа

какво да им кажа
боли ме
за едните
за другите
(за теб
и теб
за вас)
които имат земя
които нямат земя
които търсят земя
червена
червена
червена

какво да им кажа


земля


что сказать
что им сказать
больно
для одних
для других
(для тебя
и тебя
для вас)
которые имеют землю
которые не имеют землю
которые ищут землю
красная
красная
красная

что им сказать
Jul 2015 · 744
Kalihta
Put your fingers into kalihi,
Kalihta.

There is nothing there.
But it is so beautiful.
Your fingers – kalihi…
A fresco.
It remained of Κνωσσός
in a boundless sea.

And my eyes.

a kind of an oblong goblet of
Late Minoan epoch
Knossos – a great archaeological site in Greece
Jun 2015 · 2.3k
WORLD POETRY YEARBOOK 2014
Please follow the link
https://bogpan.wordpress.com/2015/06/23/world-poetry-yearbook-2014/
Jun 2015 · 407
It is love
This is Love.
Words
(with no caress).
Caress
(with no fingers).

Surely because of that
the worlds dangle on your ears.
Jun 2015 · 433
That One Who
If I call
who of the angels
would hear me.
Whether one of them suddenly
would open up his heart.

The Big Shore
K. White



Like the grass called by the edge
of the scythe,
with a face, fixed into the black soil,
with lungs full of mud
and wind…
When I do not have cry.
Who of the angels
would hear me.
When I am an echo in the mountain
and my strength is a reflection
of some evening snow.
Whether one of them suddenly
would reveal his heart.
For that one who abandoned
his one
for a spring
in the desert.
He gave away his eyes to
the jackals,
and his fingers to the vultures.
And that one who has nothing for
giving away…

He gives away the Heaven.
love
Jun 2015 · 419
Learn about
"Go to the pine if you want to learn about pine"
Matsuo Bashō

How long is falling the autumn
leaf
torn of the too long
summer.
And in the high pines
with their bodies defending
the sky against
the earth
the steel edge of the winter
is breaking in two.
Both you
and me
toss both
the time and
the wind
in pines propped up
back to
back.

And the pines recognized us.
Jun 2015 · 512
Aiko, my Aiko
The buffalo is wading deeply
into the mud.
Ripe is the rice.

And white.
There’s almost no wind.
Sun in circles.

Rice is the door,
quietly is rustling at ajaring...
May 2015 · 836
Antique Cycle-2
Hear

Bozhidar Pangelov&Vania; Konstantinova/In Memoriam/

Under the Coat of Arms

In Malta, in the ancient walls
is beating the sea so salty.
Somewhere behind,
distant,
hidden
are shining through southern almonds.
There is no moon.
The light is illuming
herself
in the pearl of your eyes.
Harmonious.
Without gunshots
of the squadrons by Lepanto.
The falcons on the coat of arms fall asleep,
never wanted,
in honor
and dignity.

Vania Konstantinova

Behind the Gates

Behind the gates
of Mdina I hide you,
far of any nemesis,
of foam and stretched sails.
Behind the towers of the castle.
In the most inner yard.
Under the spurts of the cascade,
more precious than silver.
Here they see only
the eyes of the peacocks,
whisked their tails
for cooling.
Keepers of the secret
with their tongues wrested.
And when your brush sculptures
the bracelet around my ankle,
reflected in Venetian mirror
like a trap –
I forget who you are and the sin
with head chopped off,
I forget about the death …



Vania Konstantinova was born, in Sofia. She graduated Classical Ballet in
her native town and in Petersburg as well as Polish Philology in Sofia University and
Jagiellonian University, Krakow. She's co-author of the poetic book Four Cycles (along
with Bozhidar Pangelov). Her collection of short stories Thank You Mister One is published
in autumn of 2008. Death 2015
http://www.public-republic.com/vania-konstantinova
Vania Konstantinova was born, in Sofia. She graduated Classical Ballet in
her native town and in Petersburg as well as Polish Philology in Sofia University and
Jagiellonian University, Krakow. She's co-author of the poetic book Four Cycles (along
with Bozhidar Pangelov). Her collection of short stories Thank You Mister One is published
in autumn of 2008. Death 2015
http://www.public-republic.com/vania-konstantinova
Nov 2014 · 443
winter
will come
will give

salep*
for white heart

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salep
Nov 2014 · 637
garden
fallen tree
in closed water

sunbeam
extract white spell
Jul 2014 · 7.9k
“The Second Genesis”
Two Bulgarian poets entered “The Second Genesis” – Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry – India’2014
Poems of the Bulgarian poets Bozhidar Pangelov and Mira Dushkova are included in the Indian project “The Second Genesis: An Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry”. Bozhidar Pangelov’s poems are: “Time is an Idea” and “…I hear” translated by Vessislava Savova; as for Mira Dushkova’s poems – “Beyond”, “Sozopolis” and “The Girl”, they were translated by Petar Kadiyski.


For the authors:
Bozhidar Pangelov was born in the soft month of October in the city of the chestnut trees, Sofia, Bulgaria, where he lives and works. He likes joking that the only authorship which he acknowledges are his three children and the job-hobby in the sphere of the business services. His first book Four Cycles (2005) written entirely with an unknown author but in a complete synchronous on motifs of the Hellenic legends and mythos. The coauthor (Vanja Konstantinova) is an editor of his next book Delta (2005) and she is the woman whom “The Girl Who…” (2008) is dedicated to. His last (so far) book is “The Man Who…” (2009). In June 2013 a bi lingual poetry book A Feather of Fujiama is being published in Amazon.com as a Kindle edition. Some of his poems are translated in Italian, German, Polish, Russian, Chinese and English languages and are published on poetry sites as well as in anthologies and some periodicals all over the world. Bozhidar Pangelov is on of the German project Europe takes Europa ein Gedicht. “Castrop Rauxel ein Gedicht RUHR 2010” and the project “SPRING POETRY RAIN 2012”, Cyprus.
Mira Dushkova (1974) was born in in Veliko Tarnovo, the medieval capital of Bulgaria. She earned a MA degree from the University of Veliko Tarnovo, and later on a PhD in Modern Bulgarian Literature, from Ruse University Angel Kanchev, in 2010, where she is currently teaching literature courses.
Her writing includes poetry, essays, literary criticism and short stories. She has published several poetry books in Bulgarian: “I Try Histories As Clothes“ (1998), „Exercise On The Scarecrow” (2000), „Scents and Sights“ (2004), literary monograph “Semper Idem : Konstantin Konstantinov. Poetics of the late stories“ (2012, 2013) and the story collection „Invisible Things“ (2014).
Her poems have been published in literary editions in Bulgaria, USA, Sweden, Hungary, Croatia, Romania, Turkey and India. Some of her poems and essays have been first prize winners of different Bulgarian contests for literature.
She has attended poetry festivals in Bulgaria, Croatia (Zagreb) and Turkey (Istanbul and Ordu).
She lives in Ruse – Bulgaria.

For the Antology “The Second Genesis”:
In the anthology titled „The Second Genesis“ are published the poems of 150 poets from 57 countries. All poems are in English. The Antology consists of 546 pages. “The Second Genesis” includes authors’ and editors’ biographies and three indexes: of the authors; of the poem titles and an index based on the first verses. It is issued by “A.R.A.W.LII” (Academy of ‘raitɘ(s) And Word Literati) – an academy, which encourages literature and creative writing and realizes cultural connections between India and the other countries. Four times a year ARAWLII publishes in India the international magazine for poetry and creative writing „Prosopisia“. Its Chief Editor and President of A.R.A.W.LII is Prof. Anuraag Sharma. He is also author of Antology’s Introduction.
Participating Countries:
Albania, Argentina, Armenia, Australia, Belgium, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Brazil, Bulgaria, Albania, Great Britain, Germany, Greece, Denmark, Egypt, Estonia, India, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Israel, Spain, Italy, Jordan, Canada, Cyprus, China, Kosovo, Cuba, Macao, Macedonia, Niger, Norway, Pakistan, Palestine, Poland, Puerto Rico, Romania, Russia, Saudi Arabia, USA, Singapore, Syria, Serbia, Taiwan, Tunis, Turkey, Fiji, Philippines, Finland, France, Holland, Croatia, Montenegro, Czech Republic, Chile, Sweden, Switzerland, Scotland, South Africa, Japan
For the editors:
Anuraag Sharma – editor and president of A.R.A.W.LII
Poet, critic, author of short stories, translator and playwrighter, Anuraag has to his credit the following publications: “Kiske Liye?”, “Punarbhava”, “Audhava”, Dimensions of the Angel: A Study of the poetry of Les Murray’s Poetry “Iswaswillbe” – a collection of short stories, “Setu” (“The Bridges”). He has also co-editor the volume of conference papers: ”Caring Cultures: Sharing Imaginations. Some of his recent publications include: “A Trilogy of plays”, “Mehraab” (“The Arch”) – translations of selected poems of four Canberra Poets, “Papa and Other Poems”, “Sau Baras Ka Sitara Eik” – translation of Andrew Parkin’s “A Star of Hundred Years”, “As if a wooden house I am”- translations of Surendra Chaturverdi, “Satish Verma: The Poet” and “Tere Jaane ke Baad Tere Aane as Pehle”. He is also editor-in-chief of two international journals – “Lemuria” and “Prosopisia”. Currently he is working as a Professor in English at Govt. College “Kekri” Ajmer, India.

Moizur Rehman Khan – co-redactor, project manager, secretary of A.R.A.W.LII
He studied Urdo and Persian Literature in college and later on competed his master degree in English literature from “Dayanand” College, Ajmer, India. He completed his research dissertation under the supervision of Anuraag Sharma on “Major themes in the poetry of Chris Wallas-Crabbe”. He is a creative writer. His poems and articles have been published in various magazines and journals. Currently he is teaching English at DMS, RIE, Ajmer, India.
References for the Antology:
“No middle no end, the poems in The Second Genesis have been speaking to you long before the beginning and will continue without you…don’t worry, its binding has long since unglued, its pages, worn and disheveled, will always be speaking to you, they’ve been compiled this way, to be read out of order, backwards, shelved or scattered in an attic between the coffee and greasy finger stains…The Second Genesis is the history of the Book where you become its words, ink and pulp.”
Craig Czury

“The Second Genesis is at the crossroads of a new poetic becoming. a poetry claiming its second beginning not only for art but the heart pulsating and feeding the entire body. This anthology is a successful fusion of unique, inimitable and polyphonic poetry, a well-organized improvisation with a solid and flexible structure.”

Dalia Staponkute

“The Second Genesis, a compendium of world poetry which is also a poetry of the world, suggests so much a new beginning as it does a recognition of the ongoing creation that continues to animate our collective existence. Our precarious era requires a global affirmation that we are all in this together. Poetry has always said as much, and here it says it again, in the idioms of our time.”
Paul Kane
**
“Visionary and international, The Second Genesis, introduced and edited by Anuraag Sharma, sparkles with poetry of insight, intelligence and feeling and is an indispensable reminder of our human aspirations and experience in the early 21st century. Poets from nearly sixty countries rub shoulders in this ambitious and wide-ranging collection, and their poems resonate and mingle in a multi-layered voice. It is the voice of our humanity.
In his Introduction, Dr. Sharma points to the invaluable importance of poetry in what he calls our destructive Lear era:
Beyond the Lear Century, across the 21st Century lies the island of Prospero and Ariel and Miranda and Ferdinand – the region of faith, hope and innocence, the land of virtue, and all forgiveness sans grievances, sans regrets, sans curses. The doleful shades lead to pastures new.
We must weigh our hopes. The Second Genesis is at hand….”
Diana Sampey
Jul 2013 · 1.4k
Book/A Feather of Fujiyama/
Hello friends! This is my first bilingual book.HAMMER @ ANVIL BOOKS released my book of poems as e-book on AMAZON Kindle: http: //www.amazon.com/A-Feather-of-Fujiyama-ebook/dp/B 00E5XY5PO/ref=sr11? s=digital-text&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1374938945&sr;=1-1
Special thanks to Vessislava Savova (translator) , Mercedes Webb-Pullman (Editor) , Adam Henry Carriere (Editor) , and my daughter Liliya Pangelova (illustrator)
All proceeds from the sale of this collection will go to the Bulgarian Integrated Education Foundation, working to improve the lives of children and youth with special health and educational needs (including mild Down syndrome, autism / autistic spectrum, cerebral palsy, language-speech disorders, and hyperactivity) and their families.}
Thanks for your support everyone! I wish you happiness and good reading.
Bozhidar Pangelov
Jul 2013 · 1.4k
A Feather of Fujiyama
Bozhidar Paneglov is a Bulgarian poet. His debut collection in English, A Feather of Fujiyama, will be released in July 2013 by Hammer & Anvil Books.
http://www.dansemacabreonline.com/#!__dm71-postcard
In this issue of the magazine published three poems.
Jun 2013 · 541
The Voices
I collect eyes. Burnt ones.
Of the last summer.
Arms chopped off.
By a tide of sand.
Reflections of uncollected water.
You, hunter of flowers…
Oh, wharves!
Oh, sea goings!
Winds in the sails of the white ships.
High wings.
The swelter of August swallowed you.

But today it’s September and the oval autumn.
And your voices I hear…
Jun 2013 · 538
Beyond the Thought
The Earth finds support
in some springs.
But you do not pronounce
the words,
when
paths utter into me,
love of sounds splits
and the sacrament on hills
and on leaves roars.
And I summon horizons
with all my tenderness,
blaze and prayer…

Beyond the thought
that brings death.
May 2013 · 689
Wonderful
Tuck the shadows
of the old statues
(they stay quiet when you
speak to them).
And step between the boulders
which the water dragged up
this spring.
One thought almost caught
and it opened up
like a trout in the reef.
The movement inwards.
The movement outwards.
And the children throw
Flowers in the lake.

It’s so wonderful!
May 2013 · 445
already
already
my look is calm

a luxurious orange
nail
on
the table

the world is going to turn around in
- a breath
Dec 2012 · 494
to my children
At some unnamed night,
and it will be bright,
I’ll go away.
The door I will never
close
the flowers will keep
fragrance.
My children will have fallen asleep
the most deeply
covered and caressed
and somebody will cant to them again
a cradle song.
It will be light like in a temple
and clear like a voice
in mountains.
Then I’ll leave
forgotten all the words…

A branch in the white snow.
Sep 2011 · 699
***(i am dreaming)
i am dreaming
but someone is laying bricks
around my dream
wells
he is rising houses
drawing roads and people
unfolding some wind
above plane-trees
and above hills rounded

and bridges
to other dreams
Aug 2011 · 917
August
Just that has left.
The dust of words.
The crumbly August.
The tears.
The rose among the leaves.
And my life,

that you didn't read...


Само това остана.
Прахта на думи.
Ронливият август.
Сълзите.
Розата между листите.
И животът ми,

който не прочете. ...


Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Jul 2011 · 943
See
See
They speak at length about the moral.
But I know the pigeon
and its custom
to alight on the shoulders
of the children,
on the palms of enamored,
to sleep
under the roof of Notre Dame.
They speak at length like a wind
in the gutter.
And we are the Sunday bells.

See, the pigeon – dear.
See, the pigeon.


Виж

Говорят дълго за морала.
А аз познавам гълъба
и неговия обичай
да каца на раменете
на децата,
на дланите на влюбените,
да спи
под покрива на Нотр Дам.
Говорят дълго като вятър
във улука.
А ние сме неделните камбани.

Виж, гълъба – мила.
Виж, гълъба.


Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
Jul 2011 · 997
***(refined

at that not (my) Time
I am the one who
I am
and I deny
the atom gods
to the Flower
or to
your hand
refined



*
в това не(мое) Време
аз съм този който
съм
и не признавам
атомните богове
пред Цветето
или пред
твоята ръка
изящна


Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Jul 2011 · 1.5k
Between
and because I am somewhere
between

The East
and
the West
I am going to walk on the little bridge
with outstretched arms

in the underground I see
a girl with orchids
Jul 2011 · 713
Thessaloniki
I won’t come back
in that autumn.
With you too.
The homes with gold are pulsating
on the horizon and the sea
(in Thessaloniki the oranges even
are pulsating)
The sea?
What about it?
Everything about it has been written and
nobody has the words
to split up this what’s in it
(by the sea).
I’m sitting ahead of a long path and
understand.

A man doesn’t setting boats
of paper, but puts back to water.
Water again.

The original:

Тесалоники

Аз няма да се върна
в тази есен.
И с теб.
Пулсират домовете със златото
на хоризонта и морето
(във Тесалоники и портокалите
пулсират).
Морето?
То какво?
За него всичко е написано и
никой няма думите,
за да раздели това, което е във него
(от морето).
Седя пред дългата пътека и
разбирам.

Един човек не пуска корабчета
от хартия, а връща на водата.
Пак вода.

Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
Thessaloniki (Greek: Θεσσαλονίκη, IPA: [θesaloˈnici]), Thessalonica, or Salonica is the second-largest city in Greece and the capital of the region of Macedonia. Its honorific title is Συμпρωτεύουσα (Symprotévousa), literally "co-capital", a reference to its historical status as the Συμβασιλεύουσα (Symvasilévousa) or "co-reigning" city of the Byzantine Empire, alongside Constantinople.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thessaloniki
Jul 2011 · 741
Beyond the Thought
The Earth finds support
in some springs.
But you do not pronounce
the words,
when
paths utter into me,
love of sounds splits
and the sacrament on hills
and on leaves roars.
And I summon horizons
with all my tenderness,
blaze and prayer…

Beyond the thought
that brings death.




Оттатък мисълта

Земята намира опора
във извори.
Но ти не произнасяй
думите,
когато
в мен мълвят пътеки,
любов от звукове се сплита
и тайнството на хълми,
и на листа бучи.
И хоризонти призовавам
с цялата си нежност,
пламък и молитва…

Оттатък мисълта,
която носи смърт.



Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Sometimes
the night is soft.

A dream of children.
They say: "An Angel has touched them"

I'm sitting and looking at you. I don't count
the daily stones.
I forget about those
who in the morning
with brushes sharpen
the teeth - white ones
(they're looking for death).
I forgot about those
who in the morning
with soap wash
the hands - the white ones
(they're looking for death).
I forgot about those
who in the morning
with ink recurve
the eyes - the serene ones.
(they're looking for death).

Oh, my daughter!
The night is soft.

The original:

Седя и те гледам

Понякога
нощта е мека.

Сън на деца.
Казват: „ Докоснал ги Ангел”

Седя и те гледам. Не броя
дневните камъни.
Забравям за тези,
които в утрото
със четки изострят
зъбите –белите
( те търсят смърт).
Забравям за тези,
които в утрото
със сапуни умиват
ръцете – нощните
( те търсят смърт).
Забравям за тези,
които в утрото
със тушове извиват
очите – ясните
( те търсят смърт).

О, дъще моя!
Мека е нощта.

*Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
Jun 2011 · 687
Silence
and on that day of sun
the leaves of the chestnut
like arms are shielding
by
the gleeds
and I am seeing through the dream
like through some mirrors
the garden with boats
cranes
and
tones
far steps of the see
and beauty
that is killing me



Тишина


и в този ден на слънце
листите на кестена
като ръце закрилят
от
жарта
и виждам през съня
като през огледала
градината със лодки
жерави
и звуци
далечни стъпки на морето
и красота
която ме
убива



Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Jun 2011 · 647
No matter
Long are the streets
and go somewhere
not like your
fingers
tenderly
in my hand

and no matter it rains
no matter it does.

Out of the black ground they grow –
ghostly windy
fibers
and the birds – wavers
in baskets they plait them
like Venice
gondolas.

And in them we’ll get on.

In channels
of white pigeons
we’ll sail away
when golden bells
their chime
sow

And we will simply settle
The World…"
Jun 2011 · 880
Good morning
The Americans are the children of the world
with “Why?”
Children, forgotten the tales.
Forgotten
Hans Chr Andersen and
„The Nightingale”.
How shall I explain to you, oh, emperors,
the tears,
the white roses,
the morn.
How?

Добро утро

Американците са децата на света
със „ Защо?”
Деца, забравили приказките.
Забравили
Ханс Кр.Андерсен и
„Славеят”.
Как да ви обясня,о, императори,
сълзите,
белите рози,
утрото.
Как?



Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Jun 2011 · 1.2k
Protest (retrospective)
“Miss Corde was reading Plutarch by night the books then used to be taken seriously”
Zbigniew Herbert

(Adam Lux – Meditations)

Miss (or already, why not, Missis)
is reading.
So did she before getting married. The revolution of 1960s All is Love is over.
She used to sleep in tents. Why not?
The freedom has to be defended.
Drums, fires, the screams:
“Down with! Who doesn’t jump is.”
Rumble behind the walls. Marat is. Alive? Death? Used to live?
The time is traveling. The crown’s refined hat.
The hair short. With all the colors.
“In a dress like a blue rock.”
Obelisk? Yes! of passing from
necessity to
necessity (for survival).
Mrs. Corde, is reading. The Game of …
She’s dreaming. “All is love”.
The day is the most usual.

Charlotte?
She administrated justice.
The falling stars are glowing.

The original:

Протест (ретроспективно)

„Госпожица Корде нощем четяла Плутарх
книгите тогава били вземани насериозно“
Збигнев Херберт

( Адам Люкс-Размишления)


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

Госпожица ( или вече , защо не, госпожа) чете.
Така е чела и преди да се омъжи. Минала е
революцията на 60 -те. “ Всичко е любов“
Спала е в палатките. Защо пък не?
Свободата трябва да се брани.
Барабани, пожари, виковете:
“ Долу! Кой не скача е“
Тътен зад стените. Марат е. Жив? Мъртъв? Живял?
Пътува времето. Короната е фина шапка.
Косата къса. С всички цветове.
„С рокля като синя скала.“
Обелиск? Да! на преминаване от необходимостта в
необходимост( за преживяване).
Госпожа Корде, чете. Играта на…
Мечтае. “ Всичко е любов“.
Денят е най-обикновен.

Шарлот?
Въздаде справедливост.
Звездите падащи сияят.
Democratic changes in Bulgaria started after the Berlin Wall in 1989. Jean Paul Marat, a prominent French Revolution. Charlotte Conde is his murderer.
Jun 2011 · 1.8k
***(and if you and I are)


and if you and I are
roses
so how much are
the words
mumbled
in the breaking
most tender of the day
and this world is perfect
like a seashell
left by someone
on a desert shore
http://mediabg.eu/Critics_B_Pangelov.html
Jun 2011 · 859
to wait for you to come
i love you
and i want you to be here
what will the Tuareg do
without the desert
that furrows
behind a dark burnous
his thigh – his
pinched by the caresses
of the vulture
what will he do
without the fragrance of the date palm
even of one of them
grain for growing

a Lightning split the sand

just opened up like rain in my handfuls
and like a vestige of tomorrow’s wind
in my eyes
stared at somewhere
after the reflection of the olives
in the oranges of South
with my breath
forgotten
in the caves under water
like the sea drum
of the ancient Old man
who lost his heart

of sorrow die only the waves of the sand
with the white sea foam
a scream of a seagull
a moan of the boat
i stay deep
like the sea orchid
among the yellow radiance

to wait for you to come


да те дочакам

обичам теб
и искам да си тук
какво ще прави туарегът
без пустинята
която не бразди
зад тъмен бурнус
бедрото му - неговото
изпито от ласките
на лешояда
какво ще прави
без уханието на фурмите
дори на едната
зърно за поникване

Светкавица разцепи пясъка

просто разтвори се като дъжд в шепите ми
и като отсенка на утрешен вятър
в очите ми
загледана някъде
зад проблясъка на маслините
във портокалите южни
с дъха ми
забравен
в пещерите подводни
подобно морският тъпан
на древния Старец
който изгуби сърцето си

от мъка умират само вълните на пясъка
с бялата пяна
крясък на чайка
на лодката стон
оставам дълбоко
като орхидеята морска
сред жълто сияние

да те дочакам



Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Jun 2011 · 724
Jordan
Paul Celan dedicated to

Jordan

It flows, the river flows
and spills...
I won't, I won't
enter,
girl,
with hair of sea.
I won't
enter,
girl,
with a face of moons.
Today the green people
enter there
and raise
their hands
heavy.
My heart is
carved into
sand.
Sand.

Bury it.

The original:

Йордан

Тече, тече реката
и се разлива...
Няма, няма да
вляза,
момиче,
с коси от море.
Няма да
вляза,
момиче,
с лице от луни.
Днес там влизат
зелените хора
и вдигат
ръцете си,
тежки.
Сърцето ми е
вдълбано
в пясък.
Пясък.

Зарови го.

Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
Jun 2011 · 868
***(to hold your hands)
my friend JP  , thanks for the wonderful dialogue

to hold your hands
it does not matter
to look at your eyes
it does not matter
long feathers destroy the horizon
(children burn in light)
oh, captain! my captain!
the dead poets breath
in the roots of
primrose


*(да държа ръцете ти)

да държа ръцете ти
няма значение
да гледам в очите ти
няма значение
дълги пера рушат хоризонта
(децата изгарят в светлина)
о, капитане! мой капитане!
мъртвите поети дишат
в корените на
иглика


Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Jun 2011 · 875
Life Is Splendid
Life Is Splendid

Out of this word was born
time – rainbows of clouds
or of fern.
And laughter or sadness rings –
shining mornings or dusk
of the peaks so high.
The life repeats itself
inevitable and like a death, -
after the pyre – dust,
and then a flower.
And how many others
will speak to the stars,
with blazing hands will look for
some signs. And we, dear,
will be the splashes
of that sea boundless,
that always
loves.

Life is splendid!
And if ever you don’t see
Exodus,
dig in the soil like a fruit
worm
and lift the stone of yourself
heavier,
to find a word
harder than Maya.

And if you ever demand for more,
dig the sky.

The original:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yErXJvOudY&feature;=playerembedded
Jun 2011 · 831
Arriva
We do not know each other.
The fog is carving the ghostly
silhouettes of houses, people
and hopes.
And like a sound the hand is –
a semitone of the scream
of seagulls “Arriva … Arriva”
Nothing is coming.
Nothing has come.
I am trying to breathe –
in a time beyond.
In the gardens of the cascades
before the dawn and after the rain.
We do not know each other.
You’ve melted in the sun,
a sun in the fog
and you’ve never been here.
The paper remembers some passed
sounds come from the outer
world – Arriva.

In our eyes we are burning.
Jun 2011 · 1.2k
Salamis*
Deep in the ocean,
where the sun
doesn’t reach
and the galleys
of Salamis sleep,
the fish-moons
pass
on tip-toe.

In yellow
the time is shining,
forged
to the oars
of once passed
foam
in flags
dreamers of eternity.

But it happens to me
(at unsaid hour)
in the moon garden
of the sea
to meet the chained ones.

*Salamis - an island in Aegean Sea by which in October, 480 BC the Greek Navy defeats the Persian one and turns the course of action of the Second Greco-Persian War in favor of Greece.

The original:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chBzZJIPC-Q
Jun 2011 · 766
*** (the years pass)
The years pass – wings –
the valleys grow
and the picks lose the silhouette clear.
Who’s hitting furiously the horses young,
the sky who has there lit?
Not me! Not me!
Me and you, sat on a short shore
along the path, sunk in myrtles
and we’re looking at the love,
in that endless mirror.
And somewhere young girls
are singing a refrain in low voice
and giant woods are losing root.

Horses are tearing in sulphur and volcanoes.
Inside of me – the sea is murmuring.
© bogpan
--------
original:

*(минават годините)

Минават годините - крила -
нарастват долините
и върховете губят силуета ясен.
Кой удря яростно конете млади,
небето кой е там запалил?
Не аз! Не аз!
Със теб сме седнали на нисък бряг
покрай пътеката, потънала във мирти
и гледаме във любовта,
в това безкрайно огледало.
А нейде младите момичета
припяват с нисък глас
и дървеса гигантски губят корен.

Коне препускат в сяра и вулкани.
Във мен - шуми морето.

*Translator bulgarian-english: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
Jun 2011 · 758
Flags
Leave these ships with the big
white sails that hardly are wobbling.
Leave this cry of the gulls full of
alarming
longing – let the lungs swallow the wind
coming.
Leave the eyes, let them travel beyond
the horizons –
falling leaves.
And find that angle of the time – of
love
when “here and there doesn’t
matter”
and that grief which hollows out the air
becomes the jump,
becomes wing beat,
the water deep in the tank,
the entire while of moving unmovable.
Flags!

T.C. Elliot

original

http://vbox7.com/play:b2927115
Jun 2011 · 648
Time Is an Idea
Time is an idea of the over-ripe mind
The sky bent dries the earth
Did you achieve anything more than

Pain

Wreath for the eyes

Rumble

Ghostly reflection left of
“Us”
Jun 2011 · 791
***(Can you)

Can you
exchange
your life
for some dream?
A crystal flower …
a snowy pick.
A coal
remains from the flame
dew – from dew.
And if your home
is cracking
by the creeping
roses
so eternal is
the Wailing Wall.

The original:

*
Ти можеш ли
да размениш
живота си
за някоя мечта?
Кристално цвете ...
снежен връх.
От пламъка остава
въглен,
от роса – роса.
И ако домът ти се
пропуква
от пълзящите червени
рози,
то вечна е
Стената на плача.



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