Hristo Fotev – the big “little prince” of Bulgarian contemporary poetry


Throughout the history there are individuals who are remembered years, even centuries after their death. Praised, spitting followed or outcasts, they all left their indelible imprint deeply ingrown brand on the living, quivering flesh and thought of the generations after them. People who with their restless spirit and messianic presence, supplanting the boundaries of mainstream life’s of their era and direct it to its peak to peak, which is the aspiration and objective of every living thing. Seamlessly with thundering force, they mold, cut the minds of their contemporaries and their descendants, transferring invisible bridges over all the differences. Largely misunderstood, more or less recognized, they still present – even in his absence – and continue to be what they always were – artists, creators, a strong and solid foundation over which generations after them to build their cases and success. Scaffolding, without which it would not be conceivable our rich, multi cultural – historical heritage, our beautiful and complex as human relationships life.

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My dreamed love

I want that love, from which it hurts every moment, every cell in you. That you deny, but which you cannot escape, no matter how trying. That love pursued you even in dreams and don’t leave even a piece of you to sink into nothingness. Love that throws you into pits, that rise you to the sun, burns your past and casts a ghostly veil of mist on the future, obliging you to be only Here – at the moment where everything merges. The one that you curse of powerlessness to change it and praise in the ecstasy of emotion. Which reveals you’re the darkest and yet the lightest areas of your soul. Without you feel lost and find yourself at the most amazing places. Love that takes your breath away like a fire outside the door that no one can put down. Love for that you can go to the end of the world without thinking about the consequences. Which throws you like a hurricane in life, but you do not even occur to get out of the whirlwind her trembling. Disheveled, rain-wet hair which sits silently next to you, reaching hand to you and you find peace. This love I want. Because I can accept only it.

Author and translator from Bulgarian: ©Borislava Boneva