Krasimir Krivcev

Poetry

When the Body Takes Up Robes

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Poetry

I HONOUR ALL THE USELESS THINGS

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Poetry

But Birds Alone Are Born So Light

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Godly Biddings of a Foolish Novelst

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Poetry

I'm Busy Being Vertical

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Poetry

I Honour All The Useless Things

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This Is What a Yard Should Be...

Translated by: Vadim Banev

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Of my words I make no mire.

All in all, it should be simple...

Fireplace for making fire;

spinning wool requires a spindle.

Houses are for comfort first.

Importantly, they keep at bay

storms and blizzards, lightning bursts,

and too the spurts of autumn spray.

And this is how a yard is kept:

above - my private aerial lot,

though tiny – still, it makes me rapt,

right down to me its branches shot.

They'll struggle up and through the dirt,

and bloom to a fruit so truly rife:

in many shapes will passion flirt;

but one name always, ever Life.

I heard some say: You misremember.

Not me! I want to analyse:

each night myself I do dismember,

at dawn the pieces I will tie.

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