Thursday, November 30, 2006


As for the raindrops waterfalling across the area of the window, I try and think of poetical expressions that would aptly describe them.
It’s as if the sand on the beach across the distance has been partially transported to the nightly-lit glass and made to stick on it, scattering around with reluctant dynamism.
This is poetry at its worst, so let’s move on.
I guess I might just write myself to sleep. An activity which has proven effective in the past, worthy of future honours and appraisals, in need of popularity and practice among the people.
A dark, mysterious sea is looking up from the distant horizon but it is all the same, even beyond the horizon, the sea continues for miles on.
Why should I be interested in it when the window which is merely a meter from me is far richer and has more to offer at present?
Raindrops construct elaborate labyrinths of loops across the window pane and the brilliant red glow from the streetlamps paints them and gives them even more character.
Likewise though, they may be beautiful, uniquely structured and charged with energy but the substance is to be found only if we simultaneously perceive them along with the vast, remote landscape on the horizon and build a ‘hologram’ of late-night conceptualizing; if we read between the lines, in other words.
Take these two seemingly separate views and you have a whole new story to tell because of the newly-acquired, comparative perspective.
Our eyes stretch on the horizon as far as it can take us. Fair enough.
But it is pointless when we have missed out on what the close-by view has to offer us.
It is then that this perceptive equilibrium is achieved and we start to look at the world in 3-D.
Sometimes it is necessary to avoid the extremity of the very distant or the very nearby and settle the score in between.

A Bulgarian song of an eponymous title is presented below, translated by me:

Alarm clocks, smog and taxies
Pointlessly, we waste time…it flies.
Pointlessly, past sin is pressing upon us
Hands full of gifts…scarce ones

With hands incised by metal and stone
Give away what you have…on time
Give away success, give away scorn
That’s your sign. Endless. Dateless.

Don’t wait for explained days
It’s wasteful
Stoop over the tenderness
Don’t breathe it away

Love streets, stars, ideas
Love a woman and be with her
But don’t shine too bright a colour
For tenderness is what’s softly killing us

But never mind, never mind….

Kalin Donkov


At 30 November 2006 at 21:47 , Blogger Edgewalker said...


I was passing by random blogs looking for people with the same interests as myself so I can read their blog and I saw yours. You do a lot of writing and that's awesome. Also, I noticed that you translated a Bulgarian poem. I was in Bulgaria for a few weeks. Did you live there or anything? Feel free to drop by my blog and comment on anything. It's mostly me writing opinions and random stuff.

Peace out


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