Zhivka Ivanova’s “Day and Night” captures the fragility of personal relationships, played out on a social stage, where public pressures, often in the form of family responsibilities, drive lovers apart. What attracts me as a translator is the lucidity of the imagery, the beautiful consistency of detail, leading to a triumphant affirmation of love in isolation. The poet writes, “I saw a beetle, smeared on the pavement and it stayed in my mind for the whole day. In the tranquillity of the evening, the poem was born. I hate clichés and talkativeness and that is the reason why my poems are short, colourful and memorable.”
Like a shiny beetle smeared
on the pavement
the day softly darkens
under footfall of the hours;
your silence
loses its spark—
it doesn’t stab me every time
when my telephone turns
deaf and dumb.
Again the dark slips on
its black overcoat,
but I pin
white solitude in my hair
so I can dance barefoot
across
the well-beaten dance floor
of our love.
Като размазан върху тротоара
лъскав бръмбар,
денят полека изтънява
под стъпките на часовете;
загубва блясък
твоето мълчание—
не ме пробожда всеки път,
щом телефонът ми се прави
на глухоням.
Навлича мракът
черния си фрак,
а аз забождам
бяла самота в косите си
и ще танцувам боса
върху
добре утъпкания дансинг
на любовта ни.