poems by Miryana Basheva

It's so bright that it hurts!

wonderful poems by Miryana Basheva

* * *

Was it for the fast or the express train I waited?

I waited, smoked and got to be a man...

Someone was quietly swearing in the dark

And it was raining profusely.

Between two ocean puddles

like a small archipelago

two semaphores scattered

train after train in hundred directions.

Vladimir Djambov books + Welcomer

In despair and anxiety

A green lantern was burning with me.

Every second I was asked for fire.

By some policeman [militiaman].

An old pickpocket with a sad mug

was hovering over a pile of coats.

It was raining. Over all the lords

and over all the thieves in the world.

And over me. I keep waiting.

From waiting I became a man.

Over the insane black trains

A shower rained.

A furious whistle trickles steam

through its crouched and evil mouth.

It's raining! Over all the stations

And over all men in the world.

AND THE ONES WE HAPPEN TO MEET.

I remember - a short, sudden evening.

I remember in your faint palms

it subsides, as if doomed to death –

my cool good demeanor.

I remember - you're revealing to me

something very important and very simple —

your genius feeling,

That you and I are two distant islands.

I remember, there's no extra time

for us to pretend to be realists.

And ready to fight we accept –

and in seconds there is truth!

..............................

I remember, we say goodbye – at gunpoint.

A day begins. It's romantic.

Others said – very stupid,

You could have not get carried away.

No great deal we separate!

The important thing is tomorrow

we enter other evenings, overcrowded

with impossible and clear proximity!

I'll recognize you even today

with my ingenious sense –

in others – considered accidental,

totally regular meetings.

I've been like this since a little girl –

the happiest one. Aa teeth on edge.

I’ve just delayed your name.

And I never remembered your face.

THE MASTER AND MARGARITA

Fluttering a straitjacket,

fate cheerfully wields the scourge.

There's no Master, no Margarita.

There will be no parable.

There will be a normal moonlighting.

This is a fact and it’s no secret.

A fact: the devil is a moral freak,

And you're just Gretchen.

High madness does not exist.

(There were, they say, crazy zodiac signs...)

And love is an mediocre introduction

to the masterpiece about divorce.

With the post and posture of a rhetorician,

Prose turns itself into a parable.

There is no Master!

Margarita,

do you still love him?

YOU, WE AND I

You

dedicate to me honestly

poems – when I feel sad.

Common anguish, common glory,

Also common - our bill in pub.

I

am your boy, boys!

Yours - in spirit. And in passing.

Do not bristle up in common.

Today the misket [wine] is superb.

You

smile nobly to me

at the insolence - to be yours.

And we exchange - arrogant poems.

Defending ourselves. And intimidating.

We

you and I are real oysters -

Only crushing opens us.

I

however shall go.

Say hello from me to the bar.

I

will catch a taxi in front of VITIZ*.

I'll go all alone...

Say hello from me to your wives!

And in general – wish them health.

*the National Academy of Theatre and Film Arts

THE LAST

Go back, go back to

where they are waiting,

Say that happiness exists.

Vadim Scheffner

I remember the first happiness. The second.

And the tenth... And the last-but-one...

They rushed on at dizzying speeds.

And flew away even more dizzyingly.

I stayed on the road. Run over.

But there was also no way in the turns...

Today, after a stone eternity, I say to myself:

these happinesses... are not mine!

............................................

Here is Mine: in the thorny abyss

it cut down a way for me - a thousand-star.

Wounded, it limped to my lap

and pushed off the dusty desert.

It lifted its paw, healed wrongly,

and set something right in my soul.

And my heart grew solemn,

and my forehead - high and clear.

And my voice prayed unheard:

Do not disappear, my Misfortune!

One Hundred Years of Vanity

After the wild smoke riots

typical of the new life,

I am quietly coming to my senses.

But someone has been killed.

An end (A cross) was put to loves,

which were up to the grave - to the last.

But the graves gape empty (no cross)

and they are even unnamed.

And here are my hatreds,

under a fraternal mound of dust,

mixed up with vices and habits,

which, alas, I have outlived.

They followed me faithfully in my lifetime

and honestly died in battle.

Fare thee well, skulls, reddish

from the murky clay torrents.

Here, somewhere, in my vicinity,

a century of vanity is grassing.

Fare thee well, my dear dead,

reasonably forgotten there.

Love

When no longer you will be

in a form so convenient for love –

they will imprint your black name

on the white solemn afterword...

Below in large print it will read

dozens of indifferent names.

Below them (in smaller font) - also your wife (the ex);

and under her - also the previous ex;

and so on... Seven or eight people

(of the undersigned there at the bottom)

will sit in the club; ne quiet; and smoke.

And they will water the ashes with wine.

And someone who hated you in your lifetime

will swear love to your dust.

While someone who has never seen you

will cry, “How come? I saw him yesterday!”

And some old and devoted co-worker

will hand out black crepe to all...

They will weep and boil wheat at yours.

And

I

alone

will still

be

with you.

I'll be with you!

Among the mysterious whisper

of the doctoral-Latin dialect.

Near the orderly who smokes in a fist

and waits that a new coffin be brought.

For me the wait ended yesterday.

That’s why I hear not and I do not hurt

when the so beloved skull

is pierced with the thickest needles.

That's why I don't see this scalpel,

under which no blood has trickled for a long time,

nor see I this ice-cold plank,

which supposedly is you... Is it you?

It's YOU...

Okay, nothing new.

Still alive I've kissed you - cold! -

Now at least you're not entirely to blame;

YOU do not know what’s wrong with ME –

and thank God! I even make the cross sign

out of atavism, not that there is a god...

I supposedly kneel, but I'm standing on my toes

to reach you... How tall you are!

And just like many, many times -

SOULIN THE SOUL - I kiss you again...

By force I'm dragged away from your corpse.

And I hear through a fog of ammonia:

"We appreciate your strong feelings.

But here you need nerves of a stoic!

And so we ask you to leave -

the scariest is yet to come...

Go away!

Can you hear!

I am ordering here!

I'm pretty depressed anyway...

Oh, this guy of yours!... He was hopeless.

A Vertebro-basilar accident."

"I, doctor, am all tranquility.

But I can also freak out so

that all your vertebral host

couldn't lift you onto your feet!

We know each other... Don't bother me at all;

Don't scare me with the worst of things.

They've already been through me. So that

do what you still have there to do..."

Is it that the doctor is an old friend

(he's also a little necrophile too) -

but I'm standing next to your head again...

(Like in a Bulgarian feature film.)

And I watch the worst thing happen,

they cut you... under complete silence...

(This is now a Bertolucci film.)

The bone is thin – as of a woman.

(And your skin was like the bones!

And it was always torn to blood,

by your excessive tenderness; by lack

of tenderness. Well, weren't you like that?)

But... The doctors have now opened you!

Now they're stripping the brain stem...

Like the crown

of a huge walnut tree –

I can see

your gray matter!

I see a miracle of which no one

could have foretold me…

From this fragile fabric there grew

an infinite cosmos... Well, it's you!

An infinite cosmos. And infinitely small...

But he has contained every molecule

of both the stars and the crowd of men.

and the roots in the bowels of the earth;

the insanity: "You or we?!" -

with the blood that keeps flowing;

trust in flying saucepans

with the innocent green humanoid;

And this eternal faith - that we’re eternal! -

flared up in love ecstasy

of all alive - or having lived –

and having turned to dust...

And all that jazz.

Where are they now?

Where do they sing –

the worlds faded in storm?

Does the road to the afterlife coincide

with the one that brought us here?

Where are we going? Why? Is it for a long time?

Or is it only for a million plus X

years, then like pigeons

we go back under the old eaves?

Yes!

I see everything that has taken off

along this road: there - here and there...

And it's a pity that my current body

is a bit heavy for this beauty.

I see how we fly!

Ah, there is no way

that the awakened memory can be wrong -

I know these celibate flights

of tiny future souls...

I also see the death:

Like a womb -

we ripen there. Day after day.

And gene after gene,

until in our image and likeness

we will reproduce again!

I see -

violent cell division -

semi-nightmare, semi-poem,

and - our former last breath

merges with our first cry...

Mehr Licht!*

A day has dawned that rarely exists -

incredibly sunny and green...

We two sit with it most intimately -

the day and me. Eh, lucky dog!

We sit like this, almost until dusk falls

and it's time for it to go.

After it with a scream two storks

fly.

And after them, with twice as loud a cry,

some frogs and locusts jump

up to the sky. Sacred simplicity!...

Or maybe they’re just reproducing

their innocent green deities?...

Brutes, creatures, beetles, beasts,

monkeys, fish, spiders, eagles -

one cannot

help but love you!

Man should

but worship you.

O whales slain in the ocean,

O lions hunted down

do you receive your uninvited king

if he reigns with reverence and love?

O seeds and spores omnipresent,

and you, innumerable infusoria,

help him to return forever

from the chaos - to put it back to order!

To be a member of your conspiracy,

to pass all forms of protein

and to reign again on earth,

having again concluded the dizzying circle.

(Well... some kings are fully naked...

as a piece of carved wood...

Well, every frog should know its swamp!

For the unworthy, there is no repeated life.)

And you?

Will there be any, o beloved, for you?

Beloved - and having loved - in love - and falling in love,

and all of you - love... To you, in whose name

my destiny sounds with a bell ringing?

Yes. Yes! ’Cause if you are unworthy

to be absolutely forgiven,

and to be reborn - then - who could be?

Are can there be any worthy ones at all?!?

I'm not saying you were godlike.

I'm not saying you were pious...

On the contrary - I say (with much, much love]

– well, you had bad features...

One good per hundred bad I think –

still again I take both the one and the hundred!

I’ve come to love and accepted even your death

just like any other part of you!

And then... You know better than me...

I will also lie down here - someday.

And then? Can I be conceived

if I don't know that you're already born?

I do believe - you will grow up again!

Out of mud... out of dust... out of bones...

I do believe! I know.

And all the universe will cry out,

"Welcome, Adam!

Cherchez la femme!"

It will be a day that is seldom the case

a hot, but cool summer day…

The beginning day of an eternally sunny climate,

known back in ancient Eden.

And not under an apple-tree, but under a walnut-tree

next to you for the first time - again - I will touch.

And immediately from the crown to the root

there will pass a current into the thirsty soil.

There will crack a thunder. We'll have to hide

one into the other from the devil's rain.

And you, caught in the native elements,

do make me crazy, as many times (before)...

You lie, "But we seem to know each other?

Well, I, have also seen you before..."

Ah, my dear little fossil,

you yourself do not know how truthful you are!

And so on... The old story:

souls smell each other with a thirsty nose

and under the nose of the vigilant walnut-tree

from two bodies we will become one again!

And for now...

Beware – down there, in your

longest winter. And be ready!

Do not forget me. Wait for me! I'll come

in a form

again

fit

for love.

20 March 2023