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Tag "Bulgarian poetry"

Lexicography of a Pig

24 January, 2014 от · No comments

Dimiter Kenarov Translated from the Bulgarian by Dimiter Kenarov Photo: Dave Kleinschmidt Neck legs skin stomach liver kidneys heart lard bristle intestines: a dictionary we cut into pieces on the table, chew on its words, clueless about their bloody etymology. The tongue only knows what is sweet, the eye enjoys the shape of the dish, […]


17 January, 2014 от · 2 comments

Sabina Karleva Translated from Bulgarian by Bozhil Hristov Photo: Untitled blue today I confess my contempt of death. you can chain me to the bedside you can give me a golden goblet you can pour salty water into a silver vessel and summon the slaves who gather oranges in the garden to come, to deck […]

Killing black crows

2 December, 2012 от · 1 comment

Milena Valkanova Photo: alicepopkorn Killing black crows Never makes for Lost albino hopes

Under an Alien Name

26 November, 2012 от · No comments

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: scotthudson Many nights in a row he has been coming back to the terrace of my dreams, mounting its crumbling steps – a silent shade like an abandoned house, he seeks his face in the empty eyes of weathered window sills, a bandana of fading colors with a bundle of parched cornflowers […]

The Guitar Untouched

30 January, 2012 от · 2 comments

By Mariana Velichkova Photo: derekGavey To E. The guitar untouched stands in the corner filled with unheard music galaxy of notes The guitar untouched stands in the corner dreaming of soft fingers, a heart without knots The guitar untouched stands in the corner Through the open window pierced with rays of hope

“A Poet Can Do Anything” – An Interview with Bulgarian Writer Toma Markov

18 December, 2011 от · No comments

As a poet, novelist, playwright, journalist and musician, Bulgarian writer Toma Markov needs no introduction. If you haven’t read his latest book – the romance novel “Luizza Hut” – make sure to do it, and if you have – don’t miss his next collection of poems – “ANTI-KURT-COBAINIAN DEEDS” . Photo: Sofia Pavlova Can a […]

The poet

15 May, 2011 от · No comments

Vladimir Levchev Photo: Andesine My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun – . . . . . . . For I have but the power to kill, Without–the power to die— Emily Dickinson Like Medusa I petrify with my fiery eyes lovers, minutes, streets, houses and trees. Like Medusa I turn the mortal into […]


27 March, 2011 от · 1 comment

Sabina Karleva Photo: fdecomite The portable sunrise That’s opening a bitter eye over the most lonesome sea I transferred to the edge of the possible I’m putting my finger deep inside the flower That’s blooming with big and heavy F l e s h y leaves In the reddest desert…

Bon chance

7 October, 2010 от · 2 comments

Bozhana Apostolova Photo: apesara Everywhere turds, turds, turds… It takes time to become manure. Translated from Bulgarian by Valentin Krustev and Donna Martell

Closed Figures

17 September, 2010 от · No comments

Kristin Dimitrova Photo: Pink Sherbet Photography Everywhere nets of people support each other and allow no leaks. The impulse runs in closed figures and looks good, but it isn’t.

Would you like to be my lover?

14 September, 2010 от · No comments

Maria Lipiskova Translation by Ludmila Yordanova Photo: woodleywonderworks To bring bombs to certain places. Slowly. Descending into deep crevices. Slowly. Filling them up with your hands. And exitting. Slowly. Placing words. At certain places. While shielding yours eyes. And walking away. Slowly. To hear the explosions?


11 August, 2010 от · 2 comments

Mariana Velichkova Photo: Niffty.. We are honest and decent reasonable, chaste again frigidly faithful almost sterile burdened by rules and pain

Strange desire

6 August, 2010 от · 3 comments

Dimana Ivanova Translated from Bulgarian to English by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: wili I want to weave you in my hair, pack you in my skin, slip you on my finger, like a wound from a wedding ring.

The Coming One

30 July, 2010 от · No comments

Kristin Dimitrova Photo: mikebaird No, he wasn’t fat or skinny, tall or short, he wasn’t good or evil, but only neutral, like a geometric point – no mass, but how it pierces the sheet.

When You Leave

17 July, 2010 от · No comments

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: bslmmrs When you leave pieces of yourself in the bodies of other women and try desperately to find yourself complete in the words, I see our home like a ghost boat floating against the current of the river; but the boatman is not there and the night is falling I recollect only […]

At Central Station

12 March, 2010 от · No comments

Roumen Leonidov Photo: Stuart Chalmers At Central Station in the center of the snack joint the drunk railwaymen are drinking their twentieth beer… Boys that hang around are hitting on Diddy once again, Diddy, the beauty behind the buffet; time and again they raise their glass trumpets blowing them ardently, then at the cash register […]


25 February, 2010 от · No comments

Roumen Leonidov Photo: Anosmia Because my straitjacket armor was a bit too short they shod me in a pair of knights’ boots, they pulled a helmet over my eyes, my hands they chopped off, just in case. And because it’s only knights I’ve met since then, I rush to handshake them, rush to handshake them, […]

Of Butterflies, of Caterpillars

17 February, 2010 от · No comments

Kerana Angelova Photo: HaPe_Gera Caterpillars wriggle And creep fluffily It’s difficult to believe Their mother is the butterfly With oriental eyes Her wings made of ashes and beams of light Her flight above oval meadows As aslant as the dance of souls Butterflies have such a lot of Sky to fly And What a lot […]

A Screenplay for a Dream

11 February, 2010 от · No comments

Roumen Leonidov From The Night of the Salesman Photo: DerrickT In an empty room a little boy is sitting cross-legged With its back to us. The child is naked, it is obvious he is resting his chin On an elbow, thinking. The square of the floor rises Into a cone, the room turnes into a […]

The Tip of My Tongue

28 January, 2010 от · No comments

Roumen Leonidov Photo: Mira Dimova Every morning I tear away the tip of my tongue so that I can lick so that I can lick and I lick and I lick tranquilly the fishbone of tranquility. Who can keep me from licking I was ordered to lick my lips I was ordered to lick my […]