Poems by Alexander Shurbanov 

1.
Dumping The Garbage

this morning,
I line up
behind someone
who rummages in the dumpster.
His head and his arms
are in it up to the shoulders.
I’m looking at his back
dressed in a second-hand jacket
and at his legs – skinny,
raised on tiptoe.
It would be a little awkward
to nudge him aside:
he may have just discovered
what he is looking for.
And my full plastic bag,
bulging with yesterday’s excess,
is heavy in my hand
like the sack of a robber.
 
 
2.
A Little Requiem
For a Nameless Bird
 
Born in a cage
it remained in the cage
through all the seasons of its life.
It was there that it moulted its feathers in spring,
it was there it learned to chirrup,
to sort of sing
as far as it was capable of that.
And so it went on –
until its songs grew quieter,
its hops became less frequent,
and its movements
less agile.
Its little legs stiffened strangely,
and at the end
it tumbled on its back
to the floor of its native cage.
And the cage
didn’t budge.
 
How does its little soul fare now
in freedom’s
vast sky.
 
 
 
3.
I Am At Peace With Trees.
 
After the end of a battle
I come back to them
as to allies,
who will not let me down.
And they invariably greet me with birdsong.
The trees expect nothing from me.
Their love is brotherly,
silent and undemanding.
I don’t recall doing anything
that might deserve it.
 
Translated by Alexander Shurbanov

 
1.
Изхвърляйки боклука
тази сутрин,
чакам на опашка
зад онзи,
който рови в него.
Главата и ръцете му
до раменете са в контейнера.
Пред мене е гърбът му
в яке втора употреба
и краката – тънки,
повдигнати на пръсти.
Неудобно ми е някак
да го изместя –
може би току-що е намерил
каквото търси.
А натъпканият найлон,
издут от вчерашни излишества,
тежи в ръката ми
като торбата на разбойник.
 
 
2.
МАЛЪК РЕКВИЕМ
ЗА ЕДНО БЕЗИМЕННО ПТИЧЕ
 
Роди се в клетка
и остана в клетка
през всичките сезони на живота си.
Там сменяше перцата си напролет,
там се научи да цвърчи,
да пее,
доколкото му беше дадено.
И тъй –
додето песните постихнаха,
подскоците му станаха по-редки,
движенията –
по-неповратливи,
крачетата му странно се вдървиха
и най-накрая
тупна по гърба си
на пода на рождената си клетка.
А клетката
дори не потрепери.
 
Как ли се чувствува сега душичката му
в голямото небе
на свободата?
 
 
3.
С ДЪРВЕТАТА СЪМ В МИР.
Идвам при тях
след всяка битка
като при съюзници,
които няма да ме предадат.
Те ме посрещат неизменно с птици.
От мен не искат нищо.
Обичта им е
братска -
непитаща и мълчалива.
Не помня
да съм я заслужил с нещо.
 

Alexander Shurbanov (Sofia, 1941) has published twelve volumes of poetry and six collections of essays. Books of his poems in translation have been published in the USA, Macedonia, Italy and Spain. Among his own verse translations into Bulgarian are Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Dylan Thomas’s poems, a collection of nursery rhymes, as well as Shakespeare’s mature tragedies. For over four decades Shurbanov has taught English literature at Sofia University and has published both at home and abroad literary critical studies dealing with the English Renaissance. He is the winner of a number of prestigious awards as a writer, translator and scholar.
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