"thessaloniki" poems
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.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 7:56 AM UTC
We touched antiquities...
as relics in memories...
in poetically sorrowful times...
gobbling...
Thessaloniki, Kalabaka, Patka, Mykonos, Delos, Santorini climes
Stood whereon Paul preached...
Phillip's Alexander lived to die...
far before Lord Byron romanticized
Ferried blue and white seas...
flapping blues and whites in skies
Prowled upon Holstein grounds...
amongst surreal beings, windmills, cats, drifting sails and olive pounds
Whilst grasping threads of life...
with love's memories...
losing all to time
© 2023 Jim Davis
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 10:58 AM UTC