Postcards

Tim Lorndale; Eirini Lemos; Meg Pendoley; Lauren Kaufmann; Josh Bryer; Mirela Zaneva; Emma Hirvisalo; Rafael Rodriguez

Postcard: August 30, 1944 (Eight Translations)


translated by Tim Lorndale

Over and out of the Bulgarian landscape, 
canons and their fodder thunder,
Echoing on the hillsides, the sounds ricochet and fall flat.
There are throngs of people, beasts, cars and my own thoughts.
The horse-road neighs as it rears in the distance. 
The sunset, its mane runs along the horizon.
Despite being on the move, constantly, your image is my anchor.
Shining forth from my mind's depths,
Still and silent,
You are like the angel looking on at the destruction
Or, like the bug hiding itself in my mind's hollowed oak.


translated by Eirini Lemos

From Bulgaria rumbling the brutish canon fires
strikes the crags. Hesitates. Falls.
Men and carts and thoughts and beasts pile up 
and block the neighing road rears up; 
the sky runs off its mane billowing behind it. 
In this chaos you remain with me, ignore the movement. 
This is permanent. Deep, beneath in my unconscious 
you are still bright, eternally bright
like a mute angel in awe of death's carnival
or an insect in a rotted trunk, observing its funeral.


translated by Meg Pendoley

Thick, wild cannon fire is rolling from Bulgaria.
It pulses on the mountain ridge, then hesitates and falls;
a pile-up, confusion of carts, thoughts, animals and men,
screaming, the road rears up into sky, mane running.
And you, constant in this body of chaos,
gleaming in the dark of my consciousness, forever still
and mute, like an angel of death, wondering,
or like a beetle burrowed in the rot heart of a tree.


translated by Lauren Kaufmann

The erratic heartbeat rolls like cannon fire from Bulgaria--
pounds the mountains, hesitates, then sighs to silence.
Under a flowing forelock of clouds, the neighing road spooks
at the monstrous pile of carts, animals, men, thoughts.
And amid this chaos, love, only you feel constant,
kindling my core from the darkest comer, the one I cannot reach,
and quiet, like an angel marveling at Lucifer's fall
or a caterpillar weaving a future in the heart of a rotting tree.


translated by Mirela Zaneva

From Bulgaria thick, loud cannon pounding rolls,
resounds on the mountaintop ridges, rebounds, hesitates and falls.
The sky unfurls its wild mane above, but the road below
neighs, bucks, and stops.
A tangled blockage of men, beasts, wagons, and thought.
In this chaos and turbulence, I keep you with me, permanent.
Saved deeply in my mind, you shine. Forever saved, still,
like an angel stunned to silence by death
or like a tiny beetle entombed in dying trees.


translated by Josh Bryer

The Bulgarian barrage, cannon blasts, a
heartbeat slams the mountain, first hesitating then falling
a jamming of man, animals, carts, thoughts
the whinnying road roaring runs the sky's mane
constant in the changing confusion you are in me
deep in my conscious you shine continuously drained
a mute angel wondrous, admiring its destruction
or a bug burying itself in the hole of a dead tree


translated by Emma Hirvisalo

From Bulgaria cannon fire rages and roars
To defy the mountain ridge, then to hesitate and fall.
Below concocts a jumbled jam-of thoughts, beasts, carts and men
On a road that quivers and rears, clouds gallop in the horizon.
Yet you sit so still within me amid this fluid confusion
A blooming silence in the chaos, you ocean
Like a mute angel bedazzled by death's dance,
Or a tree beetle lighting his home in the rotting plant.


translated by  Rafael Rodriguez

Out of Bulgaria, the sound of the cannons is heard;
a spectral roar that spreads through the mountains
and crashes into silence like a flashing whip.
Meanwhile down here, all hasten to the lash:
the roads reverberate with the trampling of hoofs
and the clouds disperse in fretful gallop,
as man, beast, cart and thought all collide into one.
And all the while you remain veiled in my mind
lying still and untouched; close inside, yet
far, and suspended, as a lone candle swaying to a naive breeze.
Somewhere inside me, you are preserved forever in this way,
just like a beetle hibernating in a rotting tree.