A Bulgarian Trilogy

A Bulgarian Trilogy
by D.C. Quillan Stone , May 2005

Настане вечер - месец изгрее,
звезди обсипят свода небесен;
гора зашуми, вятър повее, -
Балканът пее хайдушка песен!

И самодиви в бяла премена,

чудни, прекрасни, песен поемнат, -

тихо нагазят в трева зелена

и при юнакът дойдат та седнат.

Hristo Botev

7th & 8th stanzas of the poem Hadzhi Dimitar

(ХАДЖИ ДИМИТЪР)

Note:

Rozova Dolina is a region known for its oil-bearing roses…the name means Rose Valley.  The following translated titles are Seven Lakes and Snow in May respectively.  The former is an area in the Rila Mountains while the later refers to the bridal wreaths which grows along avenues in Plovdiv... Thus the following verses as published in my 3rd book Epistola III - Soul Wanderings (Sep 2005).

Rozova Dolina

O Rozova Dolina, to plow your delicate fertility
To trust my head within your verdant Balkan mounds
Braving the Severen Djende, kissing your Botev Vrah
Beneath the nightlight slivers and daystar streams
As I finger-play your jeweled navel of Kazanluk
My phantasmal mind amble from Tutrakan to Petrich…
From Burgas to Sofia I reckon your harvest-passions
Gliding my palms across the moist unfurled petals
Tasting the dew until your opulent geography engulfs
My denuded state, as the rosefinch quavers "Iordanka!"
The last lover's symphony for the final everlasting

O Rozova Dolina, I canter your rows and bleed
Upon your painted toes, a troubadour's soul-washing
And dancer's pathetic lot, an eternal choreography
Your warm blossoms entice dithery fondling hands
Enamored by your lingering extensiveness
I clutch the thorny stems, pricking the flesh, placating
My languishing and desolate soul, while I drink
From the river Striama, anointing my battered crown
With your healing oil, as I prostrate in Karlovo field
Where your radiance burgeons in the Bulgarian sun

Sedemte Ezera

I dream above the elegiac valleys among the seven lakes
Above the fog and smog, above man and his malaises
Above earth’s factories and wars, above the past and future

Below, peace is swept upon the dung-pile of progression
Below, humanity are crunched in calculations of potentates
Below, men search for souls and solace in idioms and bottles

Here, hope transcends understanding, divinely surrendered
Here, gods roam, spirits wander, devils tremble, men aspire
Here, a whisper descends, notions form, imaginations kindle

He maunders the lunatic edge of the pools and precipices
She bathes in the cool clear timelessness and indefatigability
They blur in union, ripen flesh, a callow recondite Lyubov

Here, a rosefinch lights upon a stone, trilling whims and songs
Here, vagaries, passions, and nativities meld into vogue fashion
Here, he and she devour and embrace the nebular tranquility

Maysky Sniag

She strolls the cobbled serpentine course
Beneath the lush cantilevered verdure
The engorging white blossoms, along
The ancient trace, lusts the sun-rapiers
Like a fervid wanting betrothed in May
Snowfall-blooms delicately garment
The hips and bosom of Bunarjik Tepe
As dew drips from leaf to petal to blade
And the fog hangs like scattered wreaths
The muffled clicks of heel-to-toe soften
And tempered the rhythm of her jaunt
Brisk, yet clement, like a skilled ballerina
Her pony-tailed tress scantly pendulums
As the lady ascends the rising pavement

He wakens from a slumberous withdrawal
Grappling the eiderdown that caressed
Her nakedness, her warmth and smell
Lingers in the patch-quilt and cool air
Titillating the poet’s sensory, fettering
The will, while conducting a prurient
Motivation, anticipation, and direction
Envisaging her attenuated sensuousness
In Plovdiv’s crowded Ponedelnik Pazar
He moans and croons to the blaring radio
Washing from a cracked basin, as drops
Daub his dry lips, bethinking of the morn
Till the rise, he drew from her florid cistern
When a rosefinch flitted to the windowsill