Maria Kumanova
Maria Kumanova was born in 1989 in Sofia. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Visual Arts and Advertising and a Master’s degree in Creative Writing from New Bulgarian University. In 2017, she won a manuscript competition for debut authors organized by Ars Publishing House and Scribens, resulting in the publication of her first poetry collection, inclavo (2018).
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She is part of the creative team behind the biographical music books I | Oстава (I | Ostava) (2019) and The Tale of P.I.F. (2021). In 2023, her second poetry book, Tilda, was released and received the distinction of “First Runner-Up to the Laureate” from the jury of the National Literary Award “Binyo Ivanov” for contributions to Bulgarian poetic syntax in the 2023 edition of the award. She is also the recipient of an award from the National Poetry Competition “Dobromir Tonev” for 2024. Her third poetry collection, Blood and Milk, was published in 2025. Her texts have been translated into English and Montenegrin.
THE AUTHOR’S VOICE
Поезията е:
Едно от последните убежища. Пространство за трансформация.
Какъв е животът на твоята поезия (как се ражда, как порасва, как съзрява, как умира)?
Ражда се на игра и смело. Известно време се преструваме, че имаме общо, а после излиза извън мен и живее собствен живот.
Изкуството свързано ли е с политиката и проблемите на нашето време? Кои проблеми те гнетят?
Свързано е, ако не искаме да сме щрауси в пясъка. Тревожат ме местните окопавания и войните по света.
Какво искаш да остане след думите?
Каквото е било и преди тях и нищо повече.
Къде отиват ненаписаните истории?
Там, където отиват и написаните – далеч надолу по течението.
*** of the great human comedies
of the great human comedies
I only want the one with the slits in the sunsets
with the many possibilities for disaster
with the orange that we did not control ourselves
although we were given a guide
I tried to stick to it
to mark the objects from which to collect stamps
a sunset an airplane a comet
several different types of birds
a brass instrument
something checkered
something made of leather
and the first red wine of the season
we filled out this map but the stamps were getting lost
as if with invisible ink
collected one stamp two others disappeared
being aware of this
being well aware of this
we were left chasing birds and sunsets
birds and slits
first tastes and comets
reminiscent of airplanes
birds reminiscent of airplanes
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
ALWAYS AIRWAVES
have you ever watched water turn into air?
and how air becomes water
have you explored the gaps
the oscillations neither here nor there
did you hold the moment
did you dilate it like a pupil
have you pondered on the steam the waves the wings
were you flying in your dream or was it more of a fall
did you trust the air
gave it your courage
did you leave yourself to it
what did you leave to it
disembodiment or more
is it more beautiful or is the water?
air waves or water waves
which ones did you leave to it
I told you I’d leave it to the wind
did I actually tell you
or left it to the wind
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
*** and what will you give me
and what will you give me
it asked when I had uttered
my deepest wishes
and fell silent waiting for me to continue
everyone told me that you just need to
tell the universe your wishes
from then on it
from then on it fulfills them
in its own way a little bit
with a delay sometimes you didn’t imagine it
but it takes care
it takes care of it
that’s why I was surprised
by its bold look when it told me
that it was actually expecting things in return
(why am I sitting at a table with it
I won’t explain)
we sat and inhaled
some soft sea vapor
I sighed
if I have to I will give birth to a child
if I have to I will start to eat squids
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
*** what I wanted to tell you
what I wanted to tell you
actually I should have told the world
to praise the pure yellow tree in front of the entrance
and how grateful I am for the velvet
for Irvine Welsh for the milk in the coffee
for every breath and every point of
alignment for the body carrying me
without rushing along the gentle chicanes of death
for sunsets and sunrises and many colorful leaves
I thought of telling you about insights
and how we are new every next day
and every step on the ground is “I love you”
how we argued with the universe and I asked
is there free will or not
are the moves known in advance
it said – wait. there is
but there is also from the previously dealt
and I asked: am I doing the best
with these cards I was dealt?
reassured me: you are. come on, calm down
and so on we continued
our lightning discussion
and I was already thinking about how to introduce it to you
but I was startled and stopped in time
what I wanted to tell you first
I should have told the world
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
*** if you draw the line
if you draw the line everything is
much more construction than wound
much more filling
the two or three moments in the trap did not justify
the tragedies we made them sing
and squeezed to the end
just two or three hours of panic in
nothing and without control over breathing
but these are easy principles even
tasks we all know how to help
how to extract starting from ourselves
just in case I will here remind
how many buttons does the person across from me have?
how many fingers do you have?
are you sure?
can you count them?
how about backwards?
and can you do it three times ten and
then backwards?
and somewhere around this point the mind says okay
I remember to breathe again I have
a sense and names and myself
sorry for playing like that
you say sorry too
this time I got you
this time
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
THE THINGS I WANTED TO WRITE TO YOU
the things I wanted to write to you are here
that I wanted to write to you are whole
that I wanted to sign to you are sincere
and the clear ends here
they are whole I calm down
here and I remember them where
I pass over my question they are safe
the important thing is that they are many and tender
to catch them then to catch them in spite of all
to pull them to become furious
if I succeed will they be born on their own
will they become mothers to themselves
to remind here: things are alive without a sound
but who exactly is sure
if they fell somewhere who heard them
if they fell nowhere
and I wanted to write to you but they fell apart
into letters in the wind of nothing
if there was a first one we wouldn’t have understood
before and we remained nothing
here are the things I wanted to write
for sure
I took a deep breath I didn’t exhale
I told them: stay still
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
*** one more day is given to me
one more day is given to me
to unfold the lotuses before me
to have my contours blurred by the moon
to borrow from myself
another day a gift
to chase the suns and the timeless
to weave the spider webs and passages from the fog
to cut not with a knife but with paper
for one more day gratitude
for snares and searching
the new paths
the alloy and the opals
for one more day I ask
for rays or fury
breeze or gusts
immaculate green or timidity
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
*** if I knew that this is how scars remain
if I knew that this is how scars remain
I would perhaps caress you more gently
and they would be mine and home and translations
lined side by side on my hand
I would sing a bunch of happy mistakes
in nonexistent languages – a home in the forest
I would search more gently for the mother in myself and white
may the dove be. and the light
and quiet spring be on the edge
to touch it even just
with a collection of angel feathers
so that there is nothing to cut yourself on
when you finally hug me
to know – you do not control the tide
but you can hold the oars
to remember – you do not control the wind
only the sails
Translated by Ninko Kirilov
What is poetry?
One of the last refuges. A space for transformation.
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Kumanova