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December 18, 2008 by · No comments

Virginia Zaharieva

Photo: [[^Fénix^]]

                              To Sylvia Ch.
You can’t even imagine
how close I am
to your house
to your couch even –
a soft spring moaning under your weight
the weight of all those years
spent together
at the ends of the phone line.

Imagine we forget to hang up
the sounds will be just the same
till someone
out of boredom
hangs himself on our cord

I am your chasm
the rat in the dark you play with
who at early dawn
takes off its thinning skin

Now where
with the suitcases
and the bloody hat-boxes
we’ve long arrived

Jammed down
the hats – wide-brimmed –
on us – waiting for the chauffeur
the one never driving us

How we wish
to show him something
to show him something
staring at the nap of his neck
unshaven the cold glow of his moon-hat
us completely enchanted

We’ll babble
at forty
finding lovers
isn’t so bad
every once in a while
we peep in the saucepan
where under heavy veg
lovers hardly wriggle

You reading to me
the last poem
rocking in Viennese chair
me knitting a glove
to put in the hand
will wave me good-bye
down from Sofia -TjanTzin train

Will you really
while away your life
squatting by a vase
how long can you pretend
not noticing those dragons
not seeing them at all
and green
their furious flight
squatting by a vase

The world isn’t a dog
in the evening
that returns to your door
to get something there
and get carried away if it wants

You might seek
for the dog
across those secretive places
where you’ll give dogs all
you need
and go away with other things

You hoisted the sail onto Nothingness
heavier than any anchor
dipped yourself
in the deepest

I understand
the lack of impetuous movements to you
is a true match
hence your hats
peacefully green
float in the air

at least hand your soul
to a fish
without asking
when is the fish to return

no place one can go
no rare animals in the bars any more
no one to ring their legs either

But I found a book
where it says
there is just the two of us left
thus due is the law
to protect us

I’ve been lying so far
Most brazenly, too

I am already at another station
by other rails
my hair no longer straight
and the switchman
a bit of a nutcase
combs me away

He is getting short of breath
his buttons glow
in the dark
and if I only flick
one of the buttons
he’ll stick out
in all shambly directions
as you are aware

Yet I am trying
to wile
your earrings
into coming over
muffled chiming
hemming in the dusk
your white skin
for it is real dark now
no good lamp-shades
bulbs alone
and high above

A tom-ant
over a bristling hair
of mine

For today
they give you more
of something
and of the same
then still more
there comes a day
of stripping away all
you had
to be given something else
or nothing

in a purse
we rub off easy
sour drops
against vomiting,

the afternoon candy eater
wrappers alone
whirl with the wind

have my ear
scream every time
you feel like clamming up

I gave the phone
to the station-master
washed and ironed
in a naphthalene box
the moths
are terribly keen
on wool words

I’ve really dropped
down your eye-balls
at any cost
I must retrieve

Lest that old beast
our friendship
trudge over
to breathe its last
between us

To the East my face was committed
steamed rice is for jealousy
mother-of-pearl chopsticks
in hand
seed by little seed
harmless like all
that comes into us
what comes out is scary

Put on the finest silks
we’ll be drinking a bloody lot
spilling over the gravy
read Basho and Issa to me
I’ll nip in as ever
A thing or two of my own

Till we transform
to a couple of wrinkly scrolls
with hills
tired horsemen
mounts and seas –
preposterous landscapes
on top of two
way too red seals

To whom did you dump the kids?

                              VEY JUN

Translated from Bulgarian by Georgi Pashov

Categories: Frontpage · poetry


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