Tag Archives: Boris Christov

from/aus: Book of Silence / Buch der Stille

Книга на мълчанието


Какво говори философът?
Не е ли същото, което аз живея –
но без думи?

Навсякъде в небето примки и капани –
богослужебни знаци, псалми и бръмчене.
Навсякъде край нас спасителни камбани…
И ни една душа спасена.

Разхвърляно до хоризонта Време –
да ровим в него и с усърдието на клошари
да го събираме на мънички купчини,
които вятарат безмилостен отвява.

Оставени сме тук обърнати по гръб да драскаме
въпроси по небето и да си отговаряме сами –
докато някой ден Безкраят се смили
и подаде ръка да ни изправи.

Загърната в парцали от мъгли къде отива
сляпата тълпа, която се представя за човечество?…
Следи наоколо от хиляди посоки –
и ни следа от Пътя.



Book of Silence

What does the philosopher say?
Is it not the same as what I am living –
but without words?

Everywhere in the sky snares and wiles –
liturgical signs, psalms and buzzing.
Everywhere beside us, saving bells…
And not a single soul saved.


Time, scattered to the horizon –
to search in it and with the zeal of a vagrant
to gather it up in tiny heaps,
which the wind unmercifully blows away.


We are left here, turned to our backs, to scratch
questions on the sky and to answer them alone,
until one day Eternity deigns to stretch out a hand
and stands us upright.


Wrapped up in shreds of fog, where does the blind
mob go, which passes itself off as humanity?…
All around – tracks from a thousand directions,
but not one track from the Road.



Buch der Stille

Was sagt der philosoph?
Ist es nicht dasselbe, was ich lebe –
nur ohne worte?


Überall am himmel stricke und netze –
liturgische zeichen, psalmen und summen.
Überall um uns herum rettungsglocken…
Und nicht eine einzige seele gerettet.

Die zeit, verstreut am horizont –
in ihr suchend und mit dem eifer der landstreicher
sie in winzigen haufen sammelnd,
die der wind unbarmherzig verweht.

Zurückgelassen sind wir auf dem rücken liegend um
fragen in den himmel zu kratzen und sie uns selbst zu beantworten –
bis eines tages die Unendlichkeit sich unserer erbarmt
und uns die hand nach oben reicht.

Eingehüllt in fetzen aus nebel, wohin geht
der blinde mob, der sich selbst als menschheit ausgibt?…
umgeben von spuren aus tausenden richtungen
aber nicht eine spur vom Weg.


Boris Hristov

from: Boris Hristov: Book of Silence (Kniga za malchanieto), bi-lingual edition Bulgarian-English, transl. by John Hamilton, Riva, Sofia 2014 – Boris Christov: Buch der Stille

German translation: Thomas Hübner

© Boris Hristov and Издателство Riva, 2014.
© Thomas Hübner and mytwostotinki.com, 2014-5. Unauthorized use and/or 
duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Thomas Hübner and mytwostotinki.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.