лудвам. мечтая си само за думички български. за летища. всеки път, когато стъпя на европейска земя, усещам рязката промяна в атмосферата.
и си мечтая. за автобуси и столици. за хора, които разбират всичките ти подтекстове и метафори. за ски, защото може би най-после ще се науча.
за коледа с родителите ми. за L'Europeo.
надявам се Гранта да е хубаво издание и в българския си вариант.
последните ми няколко стихотворения са на английски - професорът в семинара ми по творческо писане не чете български. което всъщност е добре, защото осъзнах, че да пишеш на чужд език не е толкова непостижимо.
казвайте ми някакви неща - следя статистиките и знам, че все още има хора, които четат тук. имам нужда да чувам мнения.
My Ode to Barcelona
The city, wherever you go it will go.
– Kavafy
Here I have never felt either the tenderness
of the mother-tongue or the support
of any tradition other than civil
war, just where for me the past begins.
When I have searched penniless
for her dubious warmth she didn't even look at me.
I fell in love with her when I was young,
but now we know each other too well:
nor can she deceive me
when she comes out, eyes painted with twilight,
nor can I deceive her with a few poems.
If I were to go away, she'd never come with me.
And if I want to be more and more distant
there is no need anyway for me to go. But now and then,
when I least expect it, early some morning,
what terror is it makes me hear the echo
of footsteps where someone is walking away
before me down streets where there is no one.
Joan Margarit
The city, wherever you go it will go.
– Kavafy
Here I have never felt either the tenderness
of the mother-tongue or the support
of any tradition other than civil
war, just where for me the past begins.
When I have searched penniless
for her dubious warmth she didn't even look at me.
I fell in love with her when I was young,
but now we know each other too well:
nor can she deceive me
when she comes out, eyes painted with twilight,
nor can I deceive her with a few poems.
If I were to go away, she'd never come with me.
And if I want to be more and more distant
there is no need anyway for me to go. But now and then,
when I least expect it, early some morning,
what terror is it makes me hear the echo
of footsteps where someone is walking away
before me down streets where there is no one.
Joan Margarit
