viernes, 15 de enero de 2016

DIMANA IVANOVA [17.905] Poeta de Bulgaria


Dimana Ivanova

Dimana Ivanova. Nació en Varna, Bulgaria República, en 1979. Obtuvo su maestría en filología eslava en la Universidad de Kliment Ochridski en Sofía con un menor en la filología francesa. Ha sido galardonada dos veces con el Grigor Lenkov premiada en Sofía. Sus traducciones han sido publicadas en la revista literaria, Panorama, Homo Bohemicus y una antología de autores checos jóvenes traductores búlgaros (2008). Es también traductora de varios libros del checo y el lenguaje eslovaco. En 2006, comenzó sus estudios de doctorado en Literatura Comparada en la Universidad de Carolina de Praga. También es autora de una serie de estudios críticos publicados en búlgaro, checo, eslovaco y actas de congresos húngaros. Desde 2008, también ha sido autora regular de la Checa www.iliteratura.cz periódico electrónico. y desde el año de 2008 hasta el año de 2013 ha sido miembro del consejo editorial del periódico Balgari en Praga. En el año de 2008, también fue galardonado con una beca para un estudiante de doctorado extranjera en Eslovaquia y comenzó la investigación en la Academia Eslovaca de Ciencias. Su tesis doctoral trata sobre los aspectos comparativos de Checa poesía decadente y se ha defendido con éxito en el año de 2011 en la Universidad Charles de Praga. Es autora del libro de los poemas '"Invitación a un Padre" (Ergo, 2012). Sus poemas han sido traducidos y publicados en Inglés, checo, eslovaco, español, rumano y lenguas macedonios. Ha participado en festivales internacionales de poesía como Ars poetica en Bratislava y Poesía Noches en Curtea de Arges en Rumania. En la actualidad trabaja como profesor de francés, Arte y cultura en alta escuela de idiomas en Eslovaquia y en el consejo editorial del periódico Sanarodnik en Bratislava. Es miembro de la alianza Checa de los periodistas, la alianza Checa de traductores y de la Asociación Checo-Eslovaco de literatura comparada. 



Poesías del libro “Invitación para ser padre” (Dimana Ivanova)


Ven

Ven, entra en mi suave aflicción,
con cola de plata aterciopelada.
Entra en mí como una zorra gris,
entra y pasea por mi piel
como caballito de melena agitada.
Me pregunto ¿por qué cada vez hay este silencio
cuando quiero decirte “Ven”?
¿Por qué esta mudez cuando intento desnudarte?
Por qué este silencio transparente
rodeándome por todas partes, apoderándose de mi tiernamente
Por qué cada vez que abra mis entrañas
Vuelvo vertiéndome hacia mí misma,
Por qué estas entrañas retornan
Hacia sí mismas
Hacia sí mismas
Por qué me vierto como río de piedras
hacia el mundo
de hojitas secas
¿Por qué?
Ven, sal como Luna
en mi carne que sangra oscurecida.
Ven, sé para mí como río
y orilla, y puente hacia el otro Universo.




Cristal

A Lubica Somolayová

Me miré en las aguas de tus ojos
como en un espejo de cristal,
son tan silenciosos y tranquilos,
me cubrieron con el velo del conocimiento –
sarcófago de cristal
donde depositar las cenizas
de mi alma abrasada.




Tu cuarto

A Tereza Riedlbauchová

Tu cuarto es tan grande
Que nos perdimos
En el laberinto de sus libros
El piano está sumergido en el silencio
Para poder oír el sonido
De las campanas de Loreta*
Tu cuarto es una ventana grande
Que da al mundo
Y nosotras dos estamos
Cogidas de las manos
En espera
De que termine la oración
Y las campanadas
Para volar
Por la ventana
Como pájaros azules.


*Las campanas de Loreta son las campanas del templo de Loretta en Praga. El templo fue creado en honor a la Natividad de la Virgen, llamado el Templo de Loreta, o sólo  Loreta, y está situado cerca del Palacio Hardchani. Su construcción fue acabada en 1631 con el apoyo financiero de la condesa Benigna Katerzhina y del arquitecto italiano Giovani Orsini.

Traducción al español : Margarita Todorova



The Butterfly

She is tender
and fragile
as a vase of Czech porcelain
sad and sensitive
spontaneous
she never says the truth
not because she doesn’t want to,
but because she doesn’t know it
she flies without aim
up the ruined Palace of Zichy
hurt butterfly
lost in the melancholy of the city
tired
she continues to fly
without aim.
She is a big colourful butterfly
with small grey blind eyes
which express eroticism and dead.
I am confused,
but I’m raising my hand to catch her.
But she turned into
a big black bat
bit my heart
and spat it out.

Translated from Bulgarian into English by: Katerina Stoykova-Klemer

                                                                                                                    

Пеперудата

Тя е нежна
и чуплива
като ваза от чешки порцелан
тъжна и чувствителна
спонтанна
никога не казва истината
не защото не иска
а защото не я разпознава
кръжи объркано
над съборения Жичи Палац
ранена пеперуда
загубена в меланхолията на града
изморена
продължава да лети
без посоки.
Тя е огромна цветна пеперуда
с малки сиви слепи очи
в които се чете еротика и смърт.
Объркана съм, но радостна
протягам ръка да я уловя.
А тя се превърна в огромен черен прилеп
отхапа сърцето ми
и го изплю.


Half a boat

For the first time in my life
I am not feeling at home here.
For the first time in my life
Prague is so sad with grief.
I am walking on the streets,
far away from my desires     
to hug you
and kiss you.
To melt you!
I am walking.
And in my sadness I am gazing at the white screen
of the twilight, where this night
is projected a film from my youth.
And suddenly – you become small,
so small,
with your eyes blue,
with your hands white.
Your eyes are bluer than the sea in my childhood,
whiter than sea flagpoles.
You become my husband,
half a boat,
and you are mournfully swimming
in my pupil.
You, Marian Polkoráb,
you landed
in the eyes of my Slovak sea!

Translated from Bulgarian into English by: Dimana Ivanova



Половин кораб

За пръв път
не се чувствам у дома си тук.
За пръв път
Прага е толкова тъжна от скръб.
Вървя по улиците,
чужди на желанията ми
да те прегърна и
да те целуна.
Да те стопя!
Вървя.
И тъжно гледам към екрана светъл
на залеза, където тази вечер
се прожектира филм от младостта ми.
И изведнъж ти ставаш малък,
толкоз малък,
със сините очи,
с ръцете бели.
По-сини от морето в мойто детство,
по-бели и от мачти параходни.
Ти ставаш мой съпруг,
половина кораб,
и тъжно плуваш
в моята зеница.
Ти, Мариян Полкораб,
намерил пристан
в очите на морето ми словашко!


                          
The Girls with Short Skirts
                                 
The girls with short skirts
loiter around the Tesco stores.
The girls with nice arms
lazily push empty carts.
Girls, girls, girls,
falling-apart
silicone dolls –
jellied,
with cakelike lips,
with bodies whiter than feta,
at the beginning of the 21st century
rich gentlemen dine with you.
And your tables are so empty! ...
Why do you look at me, sadder than Malvina,
with eyes pretty, gentle and blue?
Why are your carts empty? ...
You, prostitutes, companions and mistresses,
the economic crisis lulled you,
uprooted, yanked out and robbed
the feeble dreams from your wings,
distressed, dismantled and crashed
the labor of your phosphor destinies.

Translated from Bulgarian into English by: Katerina Stoykova-Klemer



МОМИЧЕТАТА С КЪСИТЕ ПОЛИЧКИ

Момичетата с късите полички
се развяват из магазините „Теско”.
Момичетата с хубави ръчички
лениво бутат празните колички.
Момичета, момичета, момичета,
разпадащи се
кукли силиконови –
желирани,
със устни като кейк,
и със тела, по-бели от едам,
в началото на 21-ви Век,
вечерят с вас богати господа.
А вашата трапеза тъй е празна!...
Защо ме гледате, по-тъжни от Малвини,
с очи красиви, ласкави и сини?
Защо са празни вашите колички?...
Вий, проститутки, компаньонки и метреси,
икономическата криза ви унесе,
изкорени, изтръгна и ограби
крилцата от надеждите ви слаби,
покруси, демонтира, и разби
труда на фосфорни ви съдби.



“And I saw a New sky and a New land, which were governed by truth!”
“Revelation” by Ioan Bogoslov

She called from America
and said:
“I conceived my child alone!”
From the air,
still wet in space,
caught by the ocean’s breath,
the wind through which you sent me
kisses,
songs,
angels,
and birds!
Letters, like alchemical globes,
into which stares
our love!
Come to me!
Come back immediately!
The child needs a father!…

And I set off to you, like Sisyphus,
I climb
along the umbilical nerves,
with arms open like a crucifixion,
I balance on the rope of the Equator,
hung between Europe and America,
the laundry of fragrant, white clouds,
like brand-new baby clothes,
with blankets of azure and passion!
I crawl with sorrow, heavy as a backpack,
and a backpack, like a hump, full
of towels, shirts, diapers and books –
I, the turtle, hunched by Eros
from all unfulfilled desires,
I crawl towards you, a girl from America,
as if towards the New land
of our eternity!

Translated from Bulgarian by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer



Strange desire


I want to weave you in my hair,
pack you in my skin,
slip you on my finger,
like a wound from a wedding ring.
I’d like Vltava to dry up
or utterly exhaust its waters
under the boat of our desires,
and night time colorful dreams to predict
the landscapes of each of our futures.
I’d like to dress you in my colors
like a leaf in Muha’s palette,
and my lips each night to draw
on the papyrus of your beautiful body
well-tempered scores
from Dvořák’s music notebook.
I want to see you bowing
in the onslaught of melancholy,
in your short, ribbed skirt
from the rails of London Bridge.
Wind me in your hugs
as in a hammock there is no getting out of!…
I’d like to see how the sky dances
above our loving swing.

Translated from Bulgarian to English by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer







No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario en la entrada