Georgi Slavov – Deadman’s victory

The wisdom crumbles in the falling rays of our shadows. We see the setting of a thousand suns as the love flies aways in the sky that gets smaller. We become foreign to ourselves in the newest translations of Georgi Slavov. 

 

*

Му love – a dove
Always I run
She flies away

 

*

From the bottom of the well
The skies get smaller

Rain
Overflows the silence
Over the hills

Hysteria and dances
No music and hymns

Only a hollow that
I pour into

From the bottom of the well
The sky

It shrinks

Even it

Even I

 

*

I suspect someone

Let your ships around me
When I must catch the wind

Point it to your sails
In my palms, skin

I cling

Surround me with boats
Sails

And I
Unable

to give you
The wind

 

*
Wisdom of deadman’s victory

My magic in the mud it hides
My empire is a plow in the ground
Your hand another hand
It crumbles
More than other hands
More than yours
In the night, I built
Victory
Over you I stand
Warm, you in my shadow
From the falling rays

I feel the summer
somewhere in october

 

*
Forbidden is the fruit of taste

In the ashtrays of time
Two battle for the sun
The wretched hands of
The overwhelmed fatigue
From plastic is my saving ground
The fifth rider, horseless, arrives
Seeking the second to face
Who remains in the words of the shades
The setting of a thousand suns together

 

*
That in which you believe
You
No prayer will forgive
No prayer here
For the arms of a man
In different ways rethrown
The other hand
Forward to the brightened pendulum

And let the nights lack sleep

Over
And the arrows hit
Then
Nothing
I am content
Enough for me

And let the night lack sleep

 

*

Stay no more
The chimneys have betrayed me
I grew with them
Your air, they blow afar

 

*
I have grown to love my meadows
At the stars that walk my foreign lands
owned now and forever by the scarred and holy
I rest my head to wave goodbye
The cold river
How I yearned for such marvel
and the splendor taken from my arms
Аll but a farewell
to my star
now walking known
and I
Forever left to wander
foreign to myself

 

New Asocial Poetry magazine

Comments

comments