To a Critic

November 20, 2007

These verses – warm drops of blood,
A breath of the laughter of green mountain streams,
Birds of blue threads on a child’s apron,
Sparks of a hit of horse hoofs
over insane physical formulas,
Slaps from the old Bulgarians
on the comfortable cheeks of their grandsons,
Tender messages to my frail successor –
These verses –
Dark and bright like the day and the night,
Simple and complex like the grass and the people, –
These verses
Do not refer to you.

You were taught to be a judge,
Reasonable in the gesture and the calculation –
And, with your eyes fixed on a small bait,
To stumble at your mother’s grave.
No one had ever taught me
How to wake up at nights and ask my eyes:
“What did you see out there?”
“Why is hope black
And death – white?”
“Why they kill the poets,
Either at once, or bit by bit?”
“Why man raises,
After he had fallen?”

Who am I?

I am a somber boy,
Who keeps having faith,
In spite of your cheerful presence.
Moreover –
I take bits of you
Against epidemics.

1964

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2 Responses to “To a Critic”


  1. […] в оригинал read in english Posted in Poésie (francais) […]

  2. stir Says:

    To a Critic

    These verses – warm drops of blood,
    whiff of laughter from green mountain brooks,
    birds of blue threads on a child cloth,
    sparks of clatter of hoofs
    based on madman physical formulas,
    slaps in the face by elder Bulgarians
    on the convenient cheeks of their children,
    affectionate messages to my tender descendant –
    these verses –
    dark and bright like the day and the night,
    simple and knotty like the grass and the people, –
    these verses
    are not for you.

    You are taught to judge,
    wise in gesture and calculations –
    and staring at some minor lure
    to trip over the grave of your mother.
    Nobody ever taught me
    to wake up in the middle of the night and ask my eyes,
    “What did you see beyond?”
    “Why is hope black
    and death – white?”
    “Why are poets killed
    on the spot or bit by bit?”
    “Why does a man rise
    after he has fallen?”

    Who am I?

    I am a sombre boy
    who still has faith
    despite your keen presence.
    What`s more,
    I take you in portions
    against pestilence.

    Ivan Radoev

    1964 y.

    http://hulite.net/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=63966

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