trans. Bulgarian Jascha Kessler & Alexander Shurbanov You were dying, fully conscious, having summoned the incredible strength you needed to go calmly, not crying, not moaning, not shuddering — to keep fear away from me. Your hand went softly cold in my hand, and led me gradually beyond to death, so as to introduce me….
If I follow in her tracks she stirs up trouble, and if I rest from the search she rises up in anger. And if on the road for a moment, out of loyalty, I fall on her tracks like dust, like the wind she flees. And if I seek half a kiss, a hundred taunts,…
The moon shines down over the public ferry, Alone, I'm overwhelmed by thoughts of home. Birds roost in the trees round Lake P'eng-li, The moon mounts high up above the boat on the Chien-ch'ang. Dead drunk, old fishermen disperse from the market, In secluded buildings travelling merchants sleep. Where is that flute playing across the…
trans. Bulgarian Jascha Kessler and Alexander Shurbanov It was in the Fall of '56 that I stood where I stand still: they're drilling 20-year old marines in diving. Dolphins leap with the sheer joy of it, keeping time in the sea with them. As for me, I stumble on in grief at the mere thought…
Don't ask how many complaints I have about her black curls. I am so undone because of her that it's beyond telling. Let no one abandon heart and faith in hope of fidelity. I did. Do not ask me how sorry I am. With one gulp of wine which troubles no one I drew…
On the river at Mu-chou, west of the water gate, They raised the oars, hoisted the sail, and we released our embrace. Today, at the sky's shore, I sit deep into the night, Heart-broken and haunted by the memory of leaving Ah Yin.
Standing between good and evil, between the two frozen poles, at last between man and man, and, looking hard, I simply cannot understand how in the world life can make both ends meet.
There are two things you have to worry about about her: she opens up for you and she closes up on you, but you shouldn't worry too much about it because this is the way she is and this is the way you are: You just shouldn't mention her name. She loves you in her…
All withers in the autumn air: wine quickly wears off: Bleak and dismal, it's always like feelings felt at parting. At dusk, I lean on a pillar: I don't go home; My heart breaks at the patter of wind and rain on the green lotus.
Summer 1981 - Digital