Poem of Atanas Dalchev in translations Maria Petrova.

Poems Atanas Dalchev in translations Maria Petrova.

Name Maria Petrova ( 1908 - 1979) is well known to lovers of Russian poetry, those who for some reason passed over its verses, refer to the last and fullest of their publication: Maria Petrova, Favorites, M., 1991.
Bulgarian Atanas Dalchev poet (1904 - 1978) we know much less. Meanwhile, it is a wonderful poet, in his own country recognized as a classic. His "Russian" book (Atanas Dalchev, Favorites, MA, 1974) was once rare for a book of translated poetry press - articles and reviews Ozerova, B. Sarnova, P. Grushko noted its high esteem. He wrote sparingly and small print - for reasons both foreign and domestic. He knew how to "domolchatsya to poetry." Poet Atanas Dalchev opened for Bulgarian literature new aesthetic formula. After attempts to clear the Symbolist poetic world of all reality, he is on the way of objective realism and fills the space of things.
After Zhdanovsky report 1946 and the relevant resolution of its "whipping boy" looked for not only our towns and villages, but also " brotherly "countries, Bulgaria was" appointed Akhmatova, "that is the object of ideological elaborations. And "rehabilitation" - Released on a small volume of the book "Poems" (Sofia, 1965) - he had to wait nearly twenty years. And Maria Petrova and Atanas Dalchev living out the translations.
They never saw each other, but they are bound, in the words of Anna Akhmatova, "the souls of freedom high, that the friendship is baptized." Their meeting - the "airways" - occurred when Maria Petrova, at the suggestion of publisher "Fiction", set to transfer Dalchev. It was the latest translation work Maria Petrova, whom she had already finished the seriously ill.


Rain
Someone noisily flings wheat grains on the roof,
Their crazed roosters pecking in a hurry;
Heavily pours the rain, and in the darkness of midnight I hear,
As heavy drops pounding on the edge of the eave.

germinate fallen ears of corn with long,
and among them there are, how evil mushrooms,
Blisters black umbrellas, and clay smeared over
swim in the darkness as if by the will of the black volshby.

sprinkles of rain lukoshek, choicest wheat, complete,
And fight all night long cocks on volatile grain,
And in the morning is the sun, the yellow sunflowers,
With no seeds to peck up for window.


Balcony
He stone, iron - all in a long-time
Structure pradedovskih times,
It was only a doorway laid stone -
from home do not have doors to the balcony.

Only God knows when and by whom built,
was unnecessary, but sultry summer hours
Pichugov flies here quietly,
Drink rain out of his cast-iron vases.

Tramps here under the roof of a square
Hide nights of rain,
A years of separation bleak
accidentally find each other.

Every one of us did not notice,
scattered concern is absorbed.
owners are not aware,
What the wall of their house has a balcony.
1928


Mirror
long years of waiting for you miracle,
And it is before us every hour ...
See - Loader by us
Mirror carries. Look here -
City in the mirror as the world tysyachelitsy:
streets, gates, high arches,
buildings, fences, pedestrians
and flash cars,
As if mad bird ... < br /> Area zybletsya and huddled closely,
roofs and balconies
tilted and is about to disappear
In the glare of the sky, in the bottomless blue ...
Do not be surprised that the weight of worn,
hunched man goes to work.
unprecedented, wonderful world it is
on his shoulder.


Noon
I room in shadows, and frame
my window shines the summer.
air from the heat quivering like a flame.
I see someone a wall in a blaze of light,
I see it as a woman quietly,
singing, wash the window was
And Melody was similar to her - a slender
And the same sweet tired. < br />
Day sleep deeply. Not poveet
The breeze from the heat, there is no rest -
dries the mouth, and my blood is numb,
A box under the hand of a woman
scintillating, quivering radiance of noon,
my room instant comp
wily fugitive lightning flashes.


Poet
Fall minute monotone.
You are not asleep, and hearing your tense -
hear the groans of the old chest
And muttering a distant dream.

car flew along the highway,
Darkness Night intercept ;
lights flashing in the windows threw
Shadow of the road and disappeared, vanished.

This fast light in motion
your room, and with it
All that waited embodiment,
Everything you silent for so many days.

Mig the only one .. In a night silent
light lit, and you all night ready to reap the crop

thought deaf and monitor the germination of words.

And a wanderer, in a way that tired
And wander back home already struggling,
shine from afar gave
light in your window.
1934


The Artist and the wind
Ivan Simeonov
artist wanted to paint the wind
and painted leaves that were flying in dismay
from the branches fall,
if fire raging fire.
He wanted to paint the wind
and draw, how, glittering, flowing grass in a meadow.
artist wanted to paint the wind
And he saw always that draws others.

Evening
Brad one on the streets, where evening
Nadrdyano-red tiles roofs
same rdyano red burns.
And looking at the sunset, I remember:
now and over the Naples he rdeet,
and shine windows of upper floors,
Burning glare reflecting,
And the Bay of Naples
lighter wave, moved by the wind,
And zyblyutsya as the meadow grass,
and returned lowing herd
In blustery port in the evening steamers .
On the waterfront mixed crowd
blessing accompanies this
The last day spent carelessly,
But in the crowd now I really do not.

sunset now burning and over Paris.
There are locked Luxembourg Gardens.
Trumpet sounds hard and passionately,
And though its appeal prolonged
Descends darkness in the white alley.
crowd of children for watchman is
and listen in silence, with a rapture
commanding song copper,
And everyone wanted to be closer to the magic
break trumpeter.
Of the carved gates, open wide ,
Issued people have fun and noisy,
But they crowd me now I do not.

Why can not we both
Being here and there, always and everywhere where
seething life powerfully, and the expanse?
We compelling die,
everyday are dying, disappearing
there and here - from anywhere,
While not sginem finally.
1930


Snow
On the steep slope roofs in their cramped railroad
And on the asphalt boulevards in urban
'll do whether at least one snow heaven,
Like an angel without sin, quiet
And Luchezar? Hardly! .. Noxious fumes
reigns over the city all year, all his life.
Here and in the winter, probably. Will be black,
Here are unknown, and snow angels.
He if and fly down from heaven, silent,
then only for a period marked by a minute:
Here, police officers and prostitutes
downtrodden, he perish
sooty smoke, that knocks the pipes in the morning ...

It was only in the gardens, it remains white, -
Where kids play.
1929


Prayer
lived or not I live? Uzhel continue
Even this remain a secret?
O Lord, to perish, do not let me
Until the beginning of life to die!

Notice from the complex and simple
will incorporate the blessed simplicity,
To pennies past and those
With a light heart that I would be handed out to the poor.

Let me once again found the joy that would,
As dawn world fresh and your call,
and happy would be like a child,
With snowflakes from the sky catches his mouth.

And I beg you for a miracle -
teach me the words simple,
that, from all indistinguishable,
lived I would like all people in the world.
1927


meeting at the station
Al. Muratov
Get off at the station, an obscure,
another train I was waiting,
and gloom of night in the wilderness surrounding
were coming close to me.

So quiet it was! Wind weak
to me from the darkness told,
As it echoed toads
I just crunched the pump.

In the darkness of thought about much.
I was not with eternity symbol, -
She is a wretched wasteland
shall I be announced range,

was at a remote junction
And in the smoky darkness of the abyss
threw bunches constellations
His mighty beauty.

All shine it torn out,
But the blood in an instant as soon as he
first time I felt a cold
ISN deathly hollows

And I whispered breathlessly:
«On an eternity as you give me stranger!
I'm in the emptiness of your ism,
I'm with her do not svyknus ever.

In thee from all eternity is not warmed up,
I istoskuyus of warmth;
All that is mine - only here on this
A little sinful earth.

Only here sad, I'm not seeing.
Because of me in this hour
Only here do not sleep, sitting under a lamp,
Let the windows of the fire was extinguished.

Sorry, constellations edge severe,
I postignul their beauty,
But light windows native
I prefer all the luminaries ».
1962


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