Maria Getova
Maria Getova, born in 1999 in Ruse, is a Bulgarian poet and culturologist. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Cultural Studies and a master’s degree in Arts and Contemporary Culture from Sofia University.
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In 2023 her debut poetry book entitled ‘Half-Life’ was published. The book received nominations in the debut category for prestigious Bulgarian literary awards such as The Feather (Peroto) and South spring (Yuzhna prolet) awards. Her poetry has been published in various online magazines and platforms for literature and has been translated into English and Spanish.
THE AUTHOR’S VOICE
Поезията е:
система за душевна реанимация.
Какъв е животът на твоята поезия (как се ражда, как порасва, как съзрява, как умира)?
Поезията се ражда едновременно от четенето и от живота, когато интензитета на някое от двете е недостатъчен, сякаш замира, поне при мен е така. Пораства от определени ситуации, емоции, впечатления, усещания, фрази или думи. Съзрява, когато човек има време за самовглъбяване и за изграждане на свят в думите. Умира с липсата на време за съзерцание или анализ, но и при нежелание да бъде слушана, защото да слушаш поезията означава да имаш смелостта да я оставиш да говори.
Изкуството свързано ли е с политиката и проблемите на нашето време? Кои проблеми те гнетят?
За мен изкуството не е утилитарно по функция, не е манифестно. Проблемите обаче присъстват в света и поетът или артистът често е повлиян от тях не по собствен избор, както и обратното, затварянето за тях, също е вид реакция. Поезията изисква определен тип чувствителност и това създава предпоставка значими политически събития да бъдат преработвани чрез нея. Но не е и задължително всеки проблем да бъде представен в поетическа форма, защото понякога нямаме точните думи за събитията, които ни заобикалят. Гнетят ме всички форми на незачитане на човешки права, на които ставаме преки или непреки свидетели.
Какво искаш да остане след думите?
Още думи.
Къде отиват ненаписаните истории?
Остават в подсъзнанието, докато не дойде време да придобият нова форма.
PAPER FEARS
fear of lost pages
from scattering notebooks
fear of burning libraries
fear of the absence of words
fear I’ll lose myself
along with the paper
Translated by Tom Phillips
BREAKING
I shattered my life
I make an effort
to pick pieces up from the floor
I fix old friendships
look for the fault in myself
I don’t know
did my clumsy hands give me away
or the lack of a strong stomach
maybe I wanted
to collapse into composite parts
to gather myself up
to be left without fear
Translated by Tom Phillips
MONOCHROME
There are poems
which I don’t share
in fact, I share with no one
I hide them in myself
like a last refuge
from the movement I can’t stop,
from the loss that’s unavoidable,
from the life that’s unbearable
there are poems
with which I compensate for the colours of life,
erasing it, making it pale, making it
monochrome as my sorrow.
Translated by Tom Phillips
DISTANCING
It begins like a painting
of close friends gathered together
and your absence
the thought that you’re no longer in the same city
even when you’re drinking your tea
in the neighbouring street
and from there
the gossip, the ease of ignorance,
the tree before you
and the approaching autumn
which comes unnoticed
like a friend leaving the room.
Translated by Tom Phillips
WARSAW DUSK
Dusk in Warsaw
the bell tolls and chimes ring
Ujazdów Castle has fallen silent
in the corridors of the gallery of contemporary art
only ghosts roam
I wonder how much Poland dreams of its past
and whether it’s so hospitable because it’s suffered
I wonder how much I should suffer
in order to understand at least a little of this pain
to be even half
such a good person
Translated by Tom Phillips
IN THE NEIGHBOURING ROOM SOUNDS MINOR PIANO
and I am reading the news
international and local
a teenager runs away from home
a man buries his friend on the outskirts of Sofia
world politics have turned
into a dystopia by a bad director
my nearest and dearest
soothe their souls
with suicidal thoughts
in the neighbouring room sounds minor piano
and my heart gives out
and I don’t know how to bring it back
Tranlsated by Tom Phillips
EVERY DAY I WATCHED THEATRE
as if possessed
I toured the stages of the city
I listened to the stories of others
I was lost in the countless variations.
I didn’t realise
the greatest theatre
was playing
in my own house.
The words gathered in my throat,
clogged up the emotional arteries,
alienating.
Everything will be fine, you said,
while I shuttled between ‘A Doll’s House’ and ‘Hedda Gabler’,
between ‘Medea’ and ‘Psychosis’,
between people, places and things.
I only had to look
through the cracks of the illusion
to realise
how long I’ve been playing out
scenes from a marriage.
Theatre’s an easy escape
until one day, in someone’s national theatre,
you see a quiet and resigned Hedda
pointing the barrel at herself
and you say to yourself
“this could have been me, yes,
this could be me too”.
Afterwards you pretend
that you saw nothing,
the show was wonderful, really,
yes, so much restraint in the form,
such finesse,
and again the thought
“yes, that could be me”.
The theatre continues,
you slowly
leave the stage
and choose a new play,
then you jump into it
like someone drowning.
Translated by Tom Phillips
COINCIDENCES BREAK YOU
You’re living out a Greek tragedy
in which fate toys with the heroes
driving them to the wrong shores
to meet with the same people
and block their way.
So every attempt at escape
proves to be useless.
Tragedy is leaning over
the mask begins to change
you wake up
and you see
the face of comedy
staring at you
it says
“isn’t it better like this, really,
isn’t it better like this”.
You begin to laugh hysterically.
Translated by Tom Phillips
What is poetry?
A system for soul revival.
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