Antonina Georgieva
Antonina Georgieva was born in Sofia. She graduated Graphic Design and Illustration at New Bulgarian University and Book Arts at the National Academy of Arts. She works professionally in graphic design and book art. She has been awarded prizes in the Veselin Hanchev National Youth Poetry Competition, the More National Literary Competition, the Dobromir Tonev National Poetry Competition, and others.
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Her poems have been published in the anthology of contemporary Bulgarian poetry Zona (published by Scribens), as well as in various print and online literary media. One of her stories is included in About Books and Reading, published by Colibri. Salt is her debut book of poetry, which in 2024 won the debut award in the Hristo Fotev National Poetry Competition and was nominated in the Debut category of the Peroto Literary Awards. That same year, Antonina was awarded a certificate for her work at the Biennial of Illustration for the artistic design of Salt.
THE AUTHOR’S VOICE
Поезията е:
това, което прави света по-поносим.
Какъв е животът на твоята поезия (как се ражда, как порасва, как съзрява, как умира)?
Появата на стихотворенията ми е тясно свързана с визуалното, много често думите ми са предизвикани случайно от някакъв образ или спомен, било то реален или въображаем. Редактирам поне няколко пъти, харесва ми и работата с редактор, така съзрява поезията. Но обикновено ми отнема повече време преди да споделя с някого, освен с най-близките; стихотворенията си за книга събирах цели осем години. Пиша рядко и се старая да съм искрена.
Изкуството свързано ли е с политиката и проблемите на нашето време? Кои проблеми те гнетят?
Има място за изкуство с политическо и социално послание, както и за такова без, но в никакъв случай не трябва да бъде самоцелно. Аз самата много рядко пиша текстове на такива теми, въпреки че мировата скръб ми е добре позната и проблемите на света дълбоко ме тревожат. Не смятам, че мълчанието на артиста по определена тема е съучастие в проблема. Когато някой се съмнява, което намирам за здравословно, или не е сигурен какво точно иска да изрази, мълчанието дори е по-добрият избор. Ако пък смята, че има какво да каже и е важно да го направи, нека се случи през изкуството, това е чудесно.
Какво искаш да остане след думите?
Светът е счупен, но все пак красив. Наша задача е да поправим каквото можем, а когато не можем, да предложим утеха. Това искам да остане след думите – утеха и убежище.
Къде отиват ненаписаните истории?
Вярвам, че всяка история, споделена с поне един човек, написана или ненаписана, намира своето място.
Memory
It needs to flash only for a moment
for me to wish to wear it again.
Just like the shiny earring
you gave me once
and we wondered for a long time
what metal it was made of,
but we were sure – it tasted bitter.
I wear it less and less often and for shorter periods of time.
I’m afraid
that if it stays on my ear too long,
my body will realize
that there is nothing noble
in the gilding of memory,
and it will not be able
to heal the thought
that with you we are just ordinary.
Translated by Gergana Galabova
The Wardrobe
1.
The fear of the sting, the blood –
the old dress I stopped wearing.
2.
The idea that something dangerous is waiting for me in the dark
is now outdated.
3.
Looking down or backward –
uncomfortable clothing,
but with a little tailoring and forgiveness,
attached to beauty and distraction,
it’s not so bad.
4.
The thought of my death
is of an unpleasent coarse material,
so I wear it rarely
5.
The fear of someones death
is tight around my neck —
a favourite scarf, a gift from a loved one.
I don’t take it off, it clutches, every season.
Translated by Gergana Galabova
Interior indecisiveness
In the green room
where my headache
has settled in the corners,
confusion
is strung on the cornice
and prevents the sunrise
from engulfing me,
you say —
the purple of the curtains
is too tender
for my words,
I say —
what an ugly interior
when will we come back,
say to myself —
aesthetics is in the corner
where your eyelashes grow,
and the mirror
is the wrong company
on mornings like this.
Translated by Gergana Galabova
Morning
The crippled world dawns
Ryszard Krynicki
Sometimes I dream
of my mother’s cookie jar
full of soft pincushions
with pins stuck in them
staring straight at me
nodding their heads in approval
as if I were the sun,
and they were small, shiny
metal sunflowers,
shedding their bitter seeds
if I dared to pluck them.
The world pricks me in my sleep.
Good morning, new wounds.
Translated by Gergana Galabova
The Tyranny of Summer
A snake strips its skin by the front door
and enters the house unnoticed.
A bird can be heard somewhere
and again I fail to catch sight of it,
but I recognize its sharp cry,
much like my own anxiety.
The sparrow that fell into the yard from the canopy
looks tired,
as if sleeping after its short flight,
and the ripe fig by the window
taps on the glass, unaware
that this winter it will fall ill
and will no longer bear fruit.
The moles in the garden peek out,
but no one understands,
we are busy jumping into the river.
On the opposite bank, the poplars await us—
warriors in the ranks of the sun,
built for battling the cool wind.
I am the river stone in your pocket,
which you take with you
and will forget in some closet
when summer ends.
Translated by Gergana Galabova
Sinemorets
In the evening, we ride the Ferris wheel,
ever smaller we are ever higher
A little more, a little more night and we’re there,
we spin around and the air gets heavy again.
A little more, a little more, a sudden wind
and I can’t hear what you’re saying,
but I know you’re walking behind me.
Be careful not to fall,
can you hear the song of the cicadas,
drink water, remember to breathe.
I don’t look down the slope,
so I don’t see something beautiful
that I will later forget.
Here, I see the river and I sadden —
I will watch it, but I will not enter.
I rarely swim in fresh water,
I don’t go with the flow without a map,
even though I know it’s useful.
I keep telling myself that the sea is dangerous,
but salt is a habit of the eye,
it’s not so harmful in small quantities
and you don’t have to swim out right away.
That night we walked in the field along the trails
that led nowhere,
but always brought us out into the light.
Translated by Gergana Galabova
What is poetry?
what makes the world more bearable.
СВЪРЗАНИ АВТОРИ
Georgieva