The whirlpool has elsewhere forgotten
the direction of time,
has forgotten how to swim,
has transformed the afterlife into
a drowned hurricane.
It has lost its hands,
numbers and dial.
Yet, if the patient takes a sip,
. he will either recover
or sink into dim misery.
the direction of time,
has forgotten how to swim,
has transformed the afterlife into
a drowned hurricane.
It has lost its hands,
numbers and dial.
Yet, if the patient takes a sip,
. he will either recover
or sink into dim misery.
Death is a black crow on the roof
of every revelation,
and after it
both song and freedom
taste bitter.
–Roza Boyanova,
translated from the Bulgarian
by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer
The Season of Delicate Hunger:
Anthology of Contemporary Bulgarian Poetry
(Accents Publishing)
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