{"id":679,"date":"2014-10-07T19:41:18","date_gmt":"2014-10-07T19:41:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.mytwostotinki.com\/?p=679"},"modified":"2016-05-08T06:37:24","modified_gmt":"2016-05-08T06:37:24","slug":"par-avion","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.mytwostotinki.com\/?p=679","title":{"rendered":"Par Avion"},"content":{"rendered":"

Some time ago I introduced the Bulgarian poet Vladislav Hristov here<\/a> with some examples of his poetic craft. As regular readers of this blog will know already, I take a particular interest in Bulgarian literature and am frequently reviewing books by Bulgarian authors who deserve it to be read also outside their country. In the field of poetry it seems that Bulgaria has an abundance of talents, but the same goes also for the short prose. And with Georgi Gospodinov Bulgaria has now a writer that “plays in the Premier League” of World Literature – when this sporty metaphor is allowed in this context.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Today I want to share a few poems by another poet of the younger generation in Bulgaria: Emanuil A. Vidinski. Like Vladislav Hristov, Vidinski is not only creative as a poet. He writes also prose, has published a novel and is the translator of Gottfried Benn and Paul Celan in Bulgarian language. Together with fellow poets Peter Tchouhov and Ivan Hristov, he founded the band Gologan. Recently he founded another band, Par Avion, together with his colleague Peter Tchouchov.<\/strong><\/p>\n

The samples of his poetry are from the slender booklet Par Avion<\/em> (in Bulgarian language) and give a good idea about his major topics. I let them speak for themselves:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cNO.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

doesn\u2019t cry in public<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t complain<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t sulk at the table<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t talk about herself<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t faint and<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t call 911<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t go to a psychologist<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t cut her veins<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t dramatize herself<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t stop working<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t sink into alcohol<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t give in to desperation<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t fake happiness<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t force laughter<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t keep silent on purpose<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t feel aggression<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t feel pity<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t give up smoking<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t change herself<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t take a vacation<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t hitchhike<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t bear an artificial loneliness<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t surround herself with people<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t start writing poems<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t listen to music differently<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t keep a diary<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t stop reading<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t cease making love<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t lose pleasure<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t give up enjoyment<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t miss out on joy<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t bar her laughter<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t long to abscond<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t run away<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t speak of herself<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t sulk at the table<\/strong>
\n doesn\u2019t complain<\/strong><\/p>\n

just sometimes<\/strong>
\n feels an overwhelming desire<\/strong>
\n to disappear into her palms<\/strong><\/p>\n

(translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer)<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>
\n——————<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\n\u041c\u0430\u043b\u043a\u0430 \u0441\u043c\u044a\u0440\u0442<\/strong>
\n\u043d\u0435 \u043c\u043e\u0433\u0430 \u0434\u0430 \u0441\u0438 \u0441\u043f\u043e\u043c\u043d\u044f \u043c\u0438\u0440\u0438\u0441\u0430 \u0442\u0438<\/strong>
\n\u043f\u0440\u043e\u0441\u0442\u043e \u043d\u0435 \u043c\u043e\u0433\u0430<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\nLittle death<\/strong>
\ncan’t \u00a0remember your scent<\/strong>
\nI just can’t<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\n——————<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\n\u0432\u0438\u043d\u0430\u0433\u0438 \u043a\u043e\u0433\u0430\u0442\u043e \u0446\u044a\u0444\u043d\u0430\u0442 \u043b\u0438\u043f\u0438\u0442\u0435<\/strong>
\n\u0441\u0438 \u043f\u0440\u0438\u043f\u043e\u043c\u043d\u044f\u0442 \u0434\u0435\u0442\u0441\u0442\u0432\u043e\u0442\u043e<\/strong>
\n\u0434\u043e \u043e\u0445\u043b\u0443\u0437\u0435\u043d\u043e\u0442o \u0442\u0438 \u043a\u043e\u043b\u044f\u043d\u043e<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\n\u0442am \u043f\u0440\u043e\u0447\u0435\u0442\u0435<\/strong>
\n\u0442am \u043f\u043e\u0442\u0435\u0447\u0435<\/strong>
\n\u0438 \u043e\u0442\u0442\u043e\u0433\u0430\u0432\u0430 \u043d\u0435 \u0441\u043f\u0440\u044f \u0434\u0430 \u0432\u0430\u043b\u0438<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\nwhenever the linden trees blossom<\/strong>
\nI recall childhood<\/strong>
\ntill your injured knee<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\nthere I read<\/strong>
\nthere I flow<\/strong>
\nand since then it has not stopped to rain<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\n—————–<\/strong>
\nThe following poem sums up in a few lines the collective feeling of probably many people in South-Eastern Europe:<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\n\u0411\u0430\u043b\u043a\u0430\u043d\u0438\u0442\u0435<\/strong>
\n\u0441\u0430 \u0431\u0430\u043b\u043a\u043e\u043d\u044a\u0442 \u043d\u0430 \u0415\u0432\u0440\u043e\u043f\u0430<\/strong>
\n\u041d\u0430 \u043d\u0435\u0433\u043e \u043f\u043e\u043d\u044f\u043a\u043e\u0433\u0430 \u0438\u0437\u043b\u0438\u0437\u0430\u0442<\/strong>
\ne\u0432\u0440\u043e\u043f\u0435\u0439\u0446\u0438\u0442\u0435<\/strong>
\n\u0434\u0430 \u0441\u0435 \u043f\u043e\u0440\u0430\u0434\u0432\u0430\u0442 \u043c\u0430\u043b\u043a\u043e<\/strong>
\n\u043d\u0430 \u0433\u043b\u0435\u0434\u043a\u0430\u0442\u0430<\/strong>
\n\u043f\u0440\u0435\u0434\u0438 \u043e\u0442\u043d\u043e\u0432\u043e \u0434\u0430 \u0432\u043b\u044f\u0437\u0430\u0442<\/strong>
\n\u0432 \u043f\u043e\u0434\u0440\u0435\u0434\u0435\u043d\u0438\u0442\u0435 \u0441\u0438 \u0441\u0442\u0430\u0438<\/strong>
\n\u00a0<\/strong>
\nThe Balkans <\/strong>
\nare the balcony of Europe<\/strong>
\nSometimes step on it<\/strong>
\nthe Europeans<\/strong>
\nto take for a little while pleasure<\/strong>
\nin the view<\/strong>
\nbefore re-entering<\/strong>
\ntheir orderly rooms<\/strong><\/p>\n

(all other translations by Thomas\u00a0H\u00fcbner)<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>The translation “NO.” is taken from the anthology The Season of Delicate Hunger<\/em> that collects 197 poems by 32 contemporary Bulgarian authors. When you want to have an overview about the contemporary poetry in Bulgaria, then this is the book for you.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"season_delicate_hunger_frontcover_md\"<\/a>\"big-Par-avion_EV_web\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Emanuil A. Vidinski: Par Avion, Janet45, Plovdiv 2011<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Season of Delicate Hunger, ed. Katerina Stoykova-Klemer, Accents Publishing, Lexington 2014<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a9 Thomas H\u00fcbner\u00a0and mytwostotinki.com, 2014. Unauthorized use and\/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from this blog\u2019s author and\/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Thomas H\u00fcbner\u00a0and mytwostotinki.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.<\/strong><\/pre>\n
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