Translated from the Bulgarian by Eireene Nealand
The Waterbearer
The waterbearer walked by unnoticed
because no one saw beyond their own water.
In the new era, people lived in aquariums
Protected from one another, and from war
they sold happiness for options on happiness
glad the markets were so successful.
When a person was ready to die, they put
their happiness up on the exchange.
Thus, the frozen paper of the central bank
held its value, and all stayed well within.
The waterbearer walked by unnoticed
because no one saw beyond their own water.
Between aquariums, only the waterbearer
moved, mumbling, “Love for everyone.”
The waterbearer lugged posters that said
this also, “Love everyone.” “Scallywag,”
everyone said. They closed the lids of their
aquariums, not to be bothered by his smell.
And the waterbearer walked by unnoticed
because no one saw beyond their own water.
Boucherie
“But darling, you can trim your wings
weaker is stronger.” You get them
to stumble and when they unfurl
thwack— from a safe height— thwack.
“Doesn’t that look smart? You, clever bird,”
“Here you go. Take the right, here’s the left.
Clip away I’ll hold still.
And don’t worry with black
feathers like mine, no one will notice
the missing wings. Besides, who cares
about the flight of a swallow?
I’d only be building nests
on the windows of strangers.”
In the Mountains
Up here in the mountains
the weather drags on
only the inevitable news
gets this far:
my ex had a son, an old pal down the road
drank himself dead.
Never fear, if I live my whole life here,
where only such news comes, I won’t
miss anything important.
We, Fishermen
In the morning by the river
my childish soul
adds blueberries
to your breakfast;
embarrassed hyenas
sneak up & carry them off.
That’s how it always is: sticks
dam up the river;
the overflow attracts
more hyenas than children.
What’s Bad
I rise at five in pursuit
of the murderess in my bathtub
and find her naked, bubbles up to her chest,
last night those red nails ripped through me…
Wait no, the murderess is me.
Some other woman has died.
I rise and dress, shaking, “ …need to
help the children…”
“Wait… the murderess?”
“No,” I realize it, again, “the children…”
“Your evil wants to come out, darling,”
says the fortuneteller I pay
to interpret my dreams.
“No, Madame, you’ve read it all wrong
My evil isn’t expressed when I dream.
It’s when I sleep through the night,
sleep through the night
when I know about the children
and do nothing to stop
those who kill them like that.”
These five poems are part of Blagovesta Pugyova’s book titled Tomorrow at 10 on the Moon.
Also, read a German poem by Martin Heidegger, translated into English by Eric v.d. Luft, and published in The Antonym.
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