bring the man back






bring the man back to his diligence

don't depersonalize

I thought I'm erasing one face
It was only to start with the next following lines
this picture of us that picture of them
 we won't understand
nor in the the present nor in the future tense

bring the man back to his diligence

---





filled with pus
consumed by the cold


to myself:


and yes you fool

on your behalf
everything
is permanent


\\\\\\




the black chronicle
is chronic track 
path in the low skies 
lower ground 
low mankind

monsters drawed as flute players

here I am




avoiding

conserving 

presuming 

ruined

recovered

clean

stained

loving

amain

h.



purple 
stain
under 
my
nail

tearing open
this itchy heart
again

new translation/old and new texts


1.
ВДЪХНОВЕНО ОТ ВЯТЪРА
замрежено слънце
в шепа прашинки
твориш ме
в несъществуващите
сълзи
творя
сълзите си
в несъществуващо
имам те
Април 30, 2006


INSPIRED BY THE WIND

netted sun
in a handful of tiny particles
you are creating me
in the nonexisting
tears
I am creating
my tears
in the nonexisting
having you
April 30th, 2006


WE

сега само в дълбоки води можем да се обличаме
сега небето е поле от метличини
синьото на очите ни
е само отблясък
влей волята си в една дума
кажи ми я
като листопад по никое време
да извървя последното си съмнение
сред листа малки сини сърца
топлички рибки плаващи срещу залеза
по течението на вечната река
само по нея ще се познаем такива
дрехите са на брега
но не би се обърнал назад
сега само в дълбоки води можем да се обличаме
Април 30, 2006

WE[1]

now only in deep waters we can dress
now the sky is a field of cornflowers
the blue of our eyes
is only a mirrored shining
flow your will into one word
tell it to me
like untimely falling leaves
to walk to the end of my last doubt
among leaves small blue hearts
warmy tiny fishes swimming against the sunset
along the current of the eternal river
only along this river we will recognize ourselves such
the clothes are on the bank
but you would not turn back
now only in deep waters we can dress
April 30th, 2006


3.
ПЕЯ СИ НА РЪБА

фалшиво си пея вярното
вярното пак забравя куплета
ехото го изпява
там на ръба
който се спуска надолу
да не бъде повече ръб
край на пропаст
а да вкуси солта на земята
понеже никой не го чува
на високо аз слушам само себе си
и си вярвам в летенето
и си пея фалшиво
докато ръба
верен единствено на желанието си
става земя
онемява
само аз пея?
навярно само така ми се струва
Април 14, 2006

I AM SINGING ON THE EDGE

I am singing sharply what is truthful
the truthful again forgets the couplet
the echo sings it
there on the edge
which goes downwards
not to be edge any more
end of a precipice
but to taste the salt of earth
because no one hears it
loudly I listen only to myself
and I trust my own flying
and sing sharp to myself
while the edge
true only to its desire
becomes earth
becomes silent
only I sing?
maybe it is just the way it appears to me

4.

НАКАЗАНИЕТО?

плесница по ухото
от нея не боли
но спирам да чувам
смеха
(нещата зад нас)
и това че тичам
че вече тичам
по краищата на тайната
...
през цялото време си спал на нея
която те спасява от мръзнене
но все пак те хвърля на лъвовете
....
скобите на съня
това правило - да те обградят
това правило да отидеш до самият край
и да се върнеш - без бой - пребит като куче
-
един дълбок кладенец
е захапал
края на светлината
и тя лежи на дъното
под водата
и ние не знаем колко е светло там
нито колко дълбоко
и не можем да чуем
тупването на камъка
заради плесницата по ухото
May 20th, 2012

THE PUNISHMENT?

a slap on the ear
it does not hurt
but I stop hearing
the laughter
(the things behind us)
and that I am running
that I am already running
along the ends of the secret

you have slept on it all the time
the one which saves you from feeling cold
but nevertheless throws you to the lions

the parentheses of sleep
this rule – for them to surround you
this rule to go to the very edge
and to come back – without fighting – beaten up like a dog
-
a deep well
has bitten
the end of the light
and it is lying at the bottom
under the water
and we do not know how bright it is there
neither how deep
and we cannot hear
the hit of the stone
because of the slap on the ear


5.

ДА СПИШ ПО ОЧИ

ужилен в гръб от дългия ден
търпя притискам пръсти
ужилване е жълта дума
става за миг
звучи бързо
подува се и минава
не от този ъгъл погледната
не от очите когато са посивели
пепел в чашата
а зад езика
има още толкова много жажда
още ечемик в земята
още ядки в още черупката
ставай
ставай от там
не излагай стената на видимост
и не пиши никак
там където само с черен дим се чертае
челата легла на угрижени мисли
пак се свиват
пак се отпускат
акордеони
хармоники за разстроените
тук сте омръзнали и омръзващи
степенуват се глада и омръзването
сбиват се
и се сдобряват
като заспиване и събуждане
по очи
Май 22, 2011

TO SLEEP ON YOUR EYES
stung on the back by the day

I stand pressing my fingers
stung is a yellow word
it takes a moment
it takes a moment
sounds fast
swells and passes
not from this angle looked at
not by the eyes when they have grown grey
ashes in the glass
and behind the tongue
there is so much more thirst
more barley in the earth
more nuts in the more-nutshell
rise up
rise up from there
do not show off the wall to visibility
and do not write in any way
there where with only black smoke it can be drawn
the foreheads beds of worrisome thoughts
again they wrinkle
again they loosen
accordions
harmonicas of the unaccorded
here you have become boring and causing boredom
only hunger and boredom can be graded
they start fighting
and reconcile
like falling asleep and waking up
on eyes

May 22nd, 2011

превод: Николай Тодоров translation by: Nikolay Todorov


-



I wanted to stop myself from being serious paranoid crude
walking on toes
keeping myself quiet
swimming where's dry
in a closed circle
in that narrow square
bored
drunk
with soft knees
with a sore throat
having weak wrists
behind a high wall
behind that gray blocks
on the second floor

I thought that I need
someone to laugh at my jokes
someone who kiss the place where I slept
one who sings only to see me dancing

born to tear and sew his own buttons

for one second
none of this above doesn`t matter

when I cringe and I think for myself as for the tiniest thrown stone
as for the worst dream
or the worst choice you've ever made


I don't want to be anything worse than I already am

but I'm bad just enough


now I am the mud
under the nails of one word
under the heaviest
tiniest
stone

r a n d o m


clarity
decided
hysterical
truck


angle
never seen
oval
never filled
built this whole feeling
tall as your step
deep as your voice
and i left

vanishing
the only cause
for not breathing

take me where all cars are sleeping
and all trees are awake

---

She is constantly imagining that she's someone's bad dream.
and now she is not awake
must be the reason why she's not wearing her slippers
and feels cold seeing her nails pale-blue
a delicate and frightening color

And she is constantly feeling guilty for not daring...
And not knowing what to dare - the guilt hangs like a wet cloth on her back
in the terrible cold outside, because that's what she puts on her shoulders
or may be the cold outside was dreamed by somebody else?
Or she is the cold in the dream of an innocent, chased man
and she's constantly afraid
have you noticed that word 'constantly'
we know so little about it
it's rarely friendly with us, it's not a word that sits and discuss its daily life with you
However
...So she is constantly afraid of how people will wake up from her as if she's a dream
Waking up relieved for she's no longer their dream
and nothing of what she has caused them never happened
It's like with you
when you do something great and see it
in a little while crushed
under the wheels of a powerful car
spinning slightly as a butterfly
crushing lightly and passing over the great 'deed'

She is imagining all the wrong things,
phone numbers written backwards on her hands..
Falling asleep
with her forehead leaning the payphone
that speaks to her with monotone drone
Monotony is another side of constancy but more accessible and more conversational ...
Monotony is getting along with dreams although they can`t continue forever
There are also known some short forms of monotony which means the same repetitive tone
Some people always speak to us with the same tone ...when they didn't get much of a sleep
or they sound awfully equally when they are hungry
just wonder why they can't hear this unbearable note in their voice
They would change it themselves ... without someone to start speaking to them with a changed timbre
Timbre..of sleep
The timber of other people's sleep...
She was afraid of the mess she creates for them in their sleep
In daytime she is walking incurring heavy woolen conscience, conscience- starched collar, conscience-coat, conscience-linen, conscience-boots, conscience-heavy as scarlet plush
Something observable from afar so they can easily indicate it, point at
This is also a thing that you may not endure In the moments of light...
before a ceremonial shame surrounded by family and parental care and parental negligence, friendly insouciance, friendly intrusiveness - eyesore for all audiences abiding our fears ..
our dreams ...
'What did you dream, my dearie?'
the mother asks her child who wakes up with drowning scream ...
and here it is - the fear to tell is already born
The fear to tell what was there, everything that was, everything you are
This fear will start walking in the winter streets and mocks about the rubber platforms the metal heels or linen scarves, will mock about the rabbit tails of those pretty individuals and their long, but not enough long front legs

----


brain/brainless from foxe on Vimeo.




it's my brain in a plastic bag
it's my spoon
in a dirty empty cup
it's this mouth
my mouth
and the words you threw
and the way you shut it
It was a moment
that could last forever
if we weren't so short
if we weren't so different
if we weren't so us

it's my brain in a plastic bag
kids playing with it under the sun
elder playing with it after sunset
it's my brain over there
OVER THERE

speaking over your shoulder
sparkling over the past 24 years
sparkling
in spite of the white plastic bag

7

The first door of the dream

- I'm surrounded by fog ... I don`t know how to divide it

It will slowly go away from me, and yet
I wouldn't know
if I am haunted


Second door of the dream:

Quickly I'm leaving the city
whose eyes are crying
whose hands can not reach
Weather's so quiet but I wish there was wind
to blow her hair and hide her teary eyes


Third door of the dream:

I realize your existence
your hand on mine
makes it whiter

We are two completely identical worlds
when we finally see it - we'll be no longer alike


Fourth door of the dream:

I'm traveling between white slender trees

I need
I have such need to conceal all whiteness
snuggle up between you trees
and bend

My father 
My mother
My older sisters
I'm walking between them
Silence quenched me
I'm understood


Fifth door of the dream:

I can see the traces which I haven't left yet

I'm treating the disease before I get ill

I love before falling in love

I am traveling


Sixth Door of the dream:

I'm filling my breasts with you
Quietude
Nothing superfluous

Your warm breath in a cup of milk
(I want to become one with it)
While the city corrodes
under tons of lactic fog


Seventh gate of the dream:

 I'm losing my sleep
my dream is dissolving over you
I bend 
softly kissing your knees

The fog
returns into the body
I didn't know I was free to leave

I didn't know I might be the one
who's chasing it

-

good luck, small submarine
don't go anywhere
just carry away more often
before their eyes
where nothing happens
you exist there
whole - comprehension
muddling the water
of their understanding
they will see more often the dirt
and not you..

it's needless to say 'Never'
we're shorter than that 'never'
leaders of the shadows
sandmen
dreamers

gluey in that second
and then you slid out of their beds and houses
slid out ..escaping their standpoints, numbers,
dodge from their favourable faces
dodge from your burden
dodge behind the outlines of the cities
slipping out slow wind
slow returning of the ingredients

escaping the hunger, the thirst..
fingers sliding from the cup
broke up with them
broke up with all needs

bye
when you say goodbye
to those who lived with a short slip of unconscious courtesy
those real faces of people you lived behind
and you drunk cyanide with and hided rough gemstones with
divide them!
ciao bella
/special list with greetings/

it's all about your credulity to steal the smile
and the whole time for smiles of one single person
that you believed you need

good luck little submarine
you stood long enough

anticipation
is
rising

..


Am I not
Result of a vision
Laughter in the mirror
Verse in the dark
Voices
In twilight
Known
And cursed
For the same reasons

Am I not
your girl
always touched
to ensure
your existence
The one who reached
your
vision
illusion
the first taste of a girl

Am I not
fruit
house of a worm
after your leaving

he:
the hardness of the soft sounds
endless line
cardiac
bloody
nervous
an order

his embrace -
fractal
allowed
on the border
of our returning

<<<>>>

so as to know everything ...she's not asking anything

the secret shall be entered slowly ...
as it has become part of me
I will become part of it
when it moves away - I will proceed
when secret make a move then I will step back
The secret knows this dance
better than us


don't spill the beans
do not say -'that's what I am',
do not say 'I'm going to give you that dream'
because my dreams and yours are not just circulation coins
you will wake up in me while I'm falling asleep in you
and this discrepancy
already cost us a lot

---
I am not leaving the house
The key goes alone
going out for a walk
then unlocks
and tells me
how was it there
where I weren't

the key slept two days
hanged on the neck of a boy
learned many games
now it has stories
at least for a week

I am not leaving the house
the key goes alone
and sometimes it does not return

I'm not giving-away
when jealous
oh no
I don't protrude

when I dream
how I'm gone
and how to get back
I don't know

0



I couldn't lose you
I could only slow you down

_______

silence
full of love and irritation of love
desire for power
to overbear and to attaint
desire without any purpose

not an empty square but beautiful circle
describes the finger of inspiration
Inspiration dressed in lace
 caramel color
 color of cream and coffee
banana flakes
placed in a pure hand of a girl

embroidering it's sword right in my heart
my heart is its end
but who could start from the end

permeance

possibility

hope

silk point of a needle
clear glass
gaze
breath

lack of a kiss

and billions of small ways
to wrap in a mist
the bullet-proved desire