Marin Marinov, born in 1955, is from Kableshkovo, Pomorie, a small town at the Bulgarian Black Sea coast. He graduated from a Technical school in Burgas specializing in Chemistry and from the Pedagogical Institute where he studied Music and Literature. Then he rushed off to sea which continues to be his main occupation to this day. About himself Marin Marinov says: “Burgas is my city, the sea is my bread and my way of living.” He has worked on fishing boats in Sozopol, at dalyans (stationary fishing facilities), and all by himself in a boat. Currently he lives in Kableshkovo, close to the sea. The author’s first poetry collection “Heavy light” was published in Bulgarian in 2000. Until recently there had been almost no publications of his poetry, with the exception of the Bulgarian e-magazine “New Asocial Poetry” and several poetry anthologies. His poetry is associated with marinism and hermeticism. Marin Marinov’s second poetry collection is due to be published soon in Bulgarian – “Eight Measures of Silence”.
Marin Marinov’s poems are translated into English by Margarita Hinova.
Margarita Hinova was born in 1990 in Lovech, Bulgaria, but currently lives and works in Sofia, Bulgaria. She has graduated from a foreign language school in her home town and then pursued language studies further at Sofia University “St. Kliment Ohridski”. Margarita has a BA in English and American Studies and an MA in Language and Culture from the same university. Her job is in the translation industry, however poetry translation is a special passion reserved for leisure and personal gratification.
Excerpt from “Entries from a Ship’s Log”
4
Look at the boat coming out of the river’s mouth, my love,
the bitter sadness of the wind in the swaying of the reeds,
the birds taking off;
the sea engulfs her in its slow rhythm
with the procession of the dolphins,
laden with flowers, garlands and festive torches on the bow and stern.
But this dream is not yours, no, it’s not on your end!
Silver blue, blue, ink blue at the foot of the wave –
not the light
with the birds falling from the pink edges
of the passing cloud, bent by the wind,
and a statue of water dust with the silent eyes of the fog,
so high on the crest: what good were our souls to you? –
the dead tongues were useless in our prayers, but gave another tint of hope to our language;
how much time did we need to catch wind with the mainmast,
only a little more, one pull of the rope, one more rise,
so close to the feet of God.
из “Извадки от един корабен дневник”
4
Виж лодката, която излиза от устието, любов моя,
горчивата тъга на вятъра в полюшването на тръстиките,
бягащите птици;
морето я поема в бавния си ритъм с шествието на делфините,
отрупана с цветя, опънати гирлянди и празничните факли
по носа и на кърмата.
Но този сън не е твоя, не, не е от твоята страна!
Сребристо-синьо, синьо, мастилено в подножието на вълната –
не тази светлина
с падащите птици от розовите краища
на облака, който премина, огънат от вятъра и една статуя
от воден прах, с тихите очи на мъглата, толкова високо
по гребена: защо ти трябваха душите ни? –
мъртвите езици не помагаха в молитвите, но оцветиха езика
с друго упование;
колко време ни трябваше да обърнем грота* по вятъра,
още малко, едно натягане на въжетата само, едно издигане,
така близо до божите нозе!
Excerpt from “Entries from a Ship’s Log”
8
With every change of season in the beginning of the spring
I am gazing with the impatience of a nomad
into the clear line of the horizon –
the congested dark clouds, the snow,
the ominous cantatas of the northern winds are gone –
and I am dreaming of other worlds,
the other sea down south, where slow waves,
green and transparent, are rolling in the shallows
under the midday sun.
The trees this spring again are deep in bloom,
no wonder, it is April,
and their petals are flying over rooftops in some enchanted way.
……………………………………………………………
While we are dreaming and counting time,
and waking full of worry every hour until sunrise,
murky streams are carrying us relentlessly and in the morning
we will have travelled south another mile towards the shore –
some place invisible beyond the slit of the horizon.
And we bow our faces down towards the deck with diligence,
going down, going up, evening out our breath,
helping our little ship with the oars, day after day
in a rhythm without break,
day after day with that withered patience in our eyes.
After the straits the sun lingers more and more
heating up the air and headwinds from the shore are wearing us out.
And some distant music is floating on the milky waves –
so much resembling sunset sadness,
so intimate with that sea
and the birds flying by in the haze
to alleviate our loneliness.
At night we take turns napping in the seats,
dazed with heat, resigned,
and “Morning Star” is drifting with the currents,
with loose sail under the bright constellations.
Sometimes a herd of dolphins breathes out loudly and we’re startled.
They emerge from the depth invisible,
more sleek and black than water in the night –
mythical creatures in the shadowy expanse of sea.
из “Извадки от един корабен дневник”
8
С всяка смяна на сезоните, в началото на пролетта,
аз се взирам с номадско нетърпение
в изчистената линия на хоризонта –
купищата тъмни облаци, снегът,
зловещите кантати на северните ветрове са минало –
и вече си мечтая за други светове,
за другото море на юг, където бавните вълни,
прозрачни и зелени се огъват в плитчините
под обедното слънце.
Дърветата и тази пролет потънаха в цъфтене,
няма как, април е
и цветовете им летят над покривите като омагьосани.
……………………………………………………………
Докато сънуваме, докато броим времето
с тревожното пробуждане на всеки час до изгрева,
мътните течения ни тласкат упорито и на сутринта
ще сме с още миля по на юг, по-близо до брега,
невидим някъде зад прореза на хоризонта.
И ний привеждаме старателно лицата си към палубата,
надолу – нагоре, изравняваме дъха си,
като помагаме на корабчето ни с греблата, дни наред
в непрекъснат ритъм,
дни наред с това отмиращо търпение в очите ни.
След проливите слънцето все повече се застоява,
сгорещява въздуха и от сушата ни мъчат насрещни ветрове.
И една далечна музика се носи по млечните вълни –
така прилична на тъга по залез,
така сближена със това море
и с прелитащите птици в маранята,
за да не бъдем толкова самотни.
Нощем дремваме на смени по седалките,
замаяни от горещините, примирени,
а „Утринна звезда” дрейфа по теченията
с отпуснато платно под ярките съзвездия.
Понякога ни сепва шумното издишване на стада делфини.
Те изскачат от дълбокото невидими,
по-хлъзгави и черни от нощните води –
митични същества в тъмнеещата пустош на морето.
For other contributions by Marin Marinov, please follow the link below:
Poetry in this post: © Marin Marinov
English translation © Margarita Hinova
Published with the permission of Marin Marinov & Margarita Hinova