Petar Kanev – We are not what we are

„If I can give any stylistic definitions of my writing in cactus, I think I’ve always been looking for words to pour out of me just as musicians play jazz. I wanted the naivety to be radical, as in one go rejects all the standards of aesthetic blurring of feelings and thoughts. I wanted to show my feelings and thoughts, as they are within me: naked, enthusiastic, childish, naive. I wanted to write with the power of children’s tales and children’s poems, as when I was once 5 years old. The best parts of this improvisation are where I’ve filled it with absurd, difficult-to-understand humor, and ultimate non-sence. What is new at the surreal level of my writing from the era of „New Non-Social Poetry“ is more laconicity and strict descriptions of completely concrete real things that become incomprehensible, imaginary and similar to dreams.”

Petar Kanev



White, white, white …
Someone comes in 4,
and some pigeons
are white,
the same as
And they do not know each other.

A boy was singing that song under my window.
Right now.



I’m not resistant to the red Martian weeds,
nor to Luke Skywalker’s ghost.
In a dream I dreamed:
Rayna Popgeorgieva
takes his black shirt off
and she gives it to me –

The inscription is white.



During their plagiarism
from Disney have missed,
that in the original Bulgarian film
the planet of treasures
everything is sucked into a black hole.
I am an animated lecturer,
just like Boko the Frog.
Doctor Kansky, stuck in time space.
„Now my past is in the future.
Fuck you black sign!
Staying forever
in March 3rd 2014,
the song of Valya Balkanska
fell from Voyager
on an asteroid in the constellation Swan.
A gaggle that the Bulgarians
we have discovered the cosmos!



In two chats at night
„Fly II“ against Spiderman.
The science fiction fan-club groups
are going to throw a toe in a virtual cinema
competing for blue fingers
and yellow grimaces.
Is there such a color?
poisonous pink?
All caught in the net
are drugged by the giant spider.
I have no longer alive friends,
but instead –
of phantom likes
on Facebook.



We are not what we are
Owls – again without money –
Watching the new Twin Peaks series
our watch has stopped
for our anniversary
and I tried to come back
with a century back for you
I lifted the opal ring
before abortion –
everything went wrong
90 years ahead
golden wedding – opal,
but there I was not there,
I fell on the floor of our living room,
did not understand at what time –
of interruptions –
everything is shrinking.
In my heart
collects –
and returns
my grandfather with my great-grandfather,
my dead friends
with my daughter’s friends,
the wedding with our separation,
the first kiss with the first slap,
The torn film slammed
and is projected on the screen
in the movie theater of Vlaikova,
in which I spent my childhood –
And our tape is starting again
– opposite,
i. it will end
– in the beginning.
Last 33 steps
to the top of the crystal mountain
of our love:
Little Hamnett never met Georg Henich
on the tram wheel 20.
In the dead zone B18 the teacher smoked in front of the students.
Sasha and Natasha in the last autumn.
Too many cemeteries for pets.
In the house of sin
of the poet Vasil Paskov
one spider lashes on the icon
A drop of moisture flows from the eye of the Mother of God
drops on a card from the Philippines.
Gypsies row their stalls in front of the gate.
Smells like mold.
It ‘s Christmas.
Caesar is killed
– only with feathers for writing.
In Nostalgia the hero is self-inflicted.
Black star.
that this is a neighborhood
of Mordor.
In Shakespeare’s time Bulgaria was called Illyria.
The Bulgarians are cheerful drunkards
and the Bulgarian woman dresses like a man.
Helena Bonham-Carter plays her.
The Mordorans arrived at the airport,
Their young orcs are at the business center.
Near the park between sunrise and east, Moscow absorbs the sun.
604 goblins are riding from the polygon to the camp.
Locomotive free Turkic people cut Tolstoy’s carcass at North Station.
Zombies are revived by the Jewish cemetery on the outskirts of a modern suburb.
All the elves are crazy, closed at the Liulin TPP.
Cool werewolves descend from Vitosha through the meadows in a ravine valley.
Swan spirits swoop and go to the Council of Europe.
For one leva and sixty cents Curie killed his wife with radiation.
Please do not forget your luggage.
Converted Istanbul gmo-bulbs rip at every corner.
Four bookshop owners are hung on the Lion Bridge.
Sauron’s mouth sings Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
The last dwarfs sink into the center of the volcano.
Getho-dementors suck the life from every light window.
Black horsemen were in a triangle in front of the Azkaban prison.
Hordes head for Lom on the road.
Hope for salvation – minimal,
So that means,
There is hope.
Ah, quiet white Danube!
And is there anyone

Lynch’s Enigma
is a dream in which David is seen
to have coffee with Monica Bellucci.
At the bottom of her glass
I am drowning – Peter Kanev, or Who?
the Doctor.
Comrade Bender will not help me at all.
Waiting for a loan at DSK Bank
I downloaded serial number 101.
101 is the room in which in 1984
MI5 launches the brains of English citizens,
according to Agent Orwell’s novel.
It’s me, Le Claire, okay?
The green octopus. Resistance.
I will not repeat. Listen:
Standing in front of a laptop bought on a project,
funded by Cartel General Electric
and Daimler Chrysler,
in block 101,
in the district of Strelbishte,
me, the sorosoid,
yelling as slaughtered:
Goodbye, Orwell.
Why don’t you fuck the words and poses – you poets,
I do not wish your sutras,
I came here accidentally like shit under the branch „nice“
But I’m not Teresa May, I’m not good,
I’m not a star, I’m not a savior,
I am not an ox lecturer at Ox-ford
I do not want you to like my voice,
I do not want your wallet,
And I only want
Warmth and heaven in the heart,
And space and sun in the soul,
In order to have a place to fly,
In aim to embrace
Our most beloved people
And a purring cat.

Last three steps
to the top of the crystal mountain
of our love:

There is no truth
without tears and kiss.
There is no freedom
without righteousness.
There is no love without freedom.
The world is gathering.
At the point of contention.
And there again and again we will be babies

and puppies

and again.





As long as your life is a moment –
it is eternity,
since it is eternity – it is a moment –
There was once a boy who was still barefoot.
And his mother and his father raised his hands from him.
They left him to his grandmother and his grandfather.
It was a very crying one.
Because his girlfriend was a crow.
Once upon a time a boy,
made of mud to which he changed his head.
Was that the beginning of the fairy tale?
When they made me in the Rhodope mud
my mother and my father gathered.
My mother abandoned me to write a dissertation –
I started with the dissertation.
I swallowed them all.
My father took me to Sunny Beach,
where we ate sudjuk in the frigate.
I started with sudjuk.
I swallowed them all.
Together with cigarettes.
My cousin choked with an olive in Rila Mountain.
He just collapsed in a coma in my hands.
I ate the jar with the olives.
I swallowed the coma.
I looked at Rila – there was no mountain anymore.
My belly was huge.

Shortly before the Olympics in Moscow
they took me to school.
I ate the director,
but the classroom took off.
I learned to read with the Three Musketeers.
I swallowed the book. I blew the musketeers.
They say I’ve had comrades. And enemies.
I ate the enemies.
But even from the Central Committee
of the Bulgarian Communist Party,
they could not save the comrades.
They were still in my belly,
when in 1985 I fell in love with a classmate
during the potatoes cooking lesson.
I ate my first love with potatoes.
I swallowed it whole.
And I’m alone again – and all is tears and pain,
and I am again where I am rising from the south.

I do not believe anybody because no one believes,
Just near to me the loneliness is covered with a newspaper
She, the naked ghost, the dream radio,
light waves, TV, refrigerator, moon
I, a grumpy head in a shirt of a fairy,
like a white, long-lived wave,
throwing a bright-red shrimp in the sand,
like a red blood-stained tear
me – warm, healthy, closed, ice clam,
served in the sauce from eternity, mustard and instant –
at her table – an appetizer juicy-vicious
and a preface first – to the terrible, wild SCREAM-

I got on my 17th birthday
Loneliness among gifts.
I ate it with pain.
I swallowed it’s white silence.
I ate human rights. We did not wait for democracy to come,
but I laughed at the commune. With heroin.
I swallowed them together with the national theater, one with the mausoleum
and the garden.
Together with the Rosa pastry shop and the parfait
I swallowed all my friends.
All to one.
I still have their swords in my stomach.
I ate my marriage.
Then we went to church
and with wine I swallowed my faith.
After the temple
They invited me to work in the Bavarian Ministry.
I swallowed Maria Theresa and Munich’s grave with a knuckle.
But the ministers were terrible in taste.
After Cape Emine and Irakli
I ate all squares with young people in Sofia.
At Bulgarian Academy of Sciences I started with my doctorate,
and colleagues were more delicious with banitsa-pies.
I’ve also been to several universities.
On a diet.
In Paris in 2006
The Eiffel Tower I ate it for my children.
The Latin Quarter was well with quiche lorraine.
And with London for breakfast
and Istanbul for more delight, I did it faster.
On the way back, I crunch a few airplanes.
I did a great career in 2009.
It was well cooked – and I can not forget it.
In 2010 I was already huge.
I also ate General Borisov.
After I stood up in Bulgaria,
I think they offered me to eat a blue planet.
But the oligarchic bastards of the ten families,
With all their reptiles and lemurs
had already spilled all its resources.
I experienced some climate change,
So I tasted the United States and the Russian Federation.
But their ecosystems were poisonous and destroyed.
Putin, Trump and the United Emirates
Could be also in the geo-menu, but only in combination
with China and Brazil.
The Milky Way is delicious in moonless nights,
but only with kisses.
They gave me a future and I ate it.
I went home and my home was deserted.
I swallowed the refrigerator, I searched for what to eat,
but yesterday I had swallowed already all our furniture.
I let go of my computer, but I could not bear it, and I swallowed it at once.
Facefearbook wrote that they had discovered in CERN
how Golem has eaten even parallel universes.
That’s the way it was – I ate them all with a few sunrises.
After my time I ate the timelessness.
I looked around and saw only empty space.
I ate it, and I ate the darkness after it,
I ate the nothing and the nothing after the nothing
And I ate all the nowhere.
I was still hungry, but I ate my hunger.
In the future I have nothing left to eat.
Is that my end?
I look at the point where the sea and the sky merge.
And I go there – and I keep walking and walking
and I can not reach it.
Please, please,
let Golem go inside the horizon.
Give the hungry souls the impossible!

The Moon Donkey flew off.

With the tears of my eyes I kiss the Moonians.


New Asocial Poetry