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poetry anthology
Sad song
Tell me, tell me, poor people,
Who told you to sleep in this cradle of slaves?
The one who cruelly put the savior
The man who was crucified,
Or the man who has been in song for you for many years:
Patience can save your soul? !
Is it him or his agent,
Son of Loyola, brother of Judah,
A true traitor,
Those who predict the new sufferings of the poor,
More reckless Turkish deserters,
The man who betrayed his brother and killed his father!
Is that him? -Tell me. The people are silent!
The fetters made a hoarse and terrible sound,
There is no call for getting rid of the shackles;
People frowned and pointed with their heads.
The mob-a bunch of animals,
A blind man with eyes, wearing a robe and tassels.
People pointed to their bloodstained foreheads and sweated.
Flowing to the tombstone;
The cross is inserted in the living body,
Rust corrodes rotten bones,
This snake devoured people's lives,
Domestic and foreign guests are also wolfing down!
The poor slave endured,
We muddle along without shame or complaint,
From the moment we put on the shackles,
Since people were handcuffed,
We just count the days and trust this beast,
Waiting for freedom to come!
* This poem strongly expresses the poet's hatred for the ruling class and religion. It was first published in Freedom magazine on 1870.
(1) loyola? Ignatius (1491-1556), a Spaniard, was the founder of the Jesuits and one of the main activists of Catholic reactionaries who opposed the Reformation in the 16th century.
(2) a traitor who betrayed Jesus.
Vasily levski was hanged.
Ah, my mother, dear motherland,
Why are you crying so badly and pitifully?
You damn crow,
Whose cry is this?
I know, I know.-Mom,
You cry because you are an unfortunate slave,
Because of your sacred voice, mom,
This is a helpless cry, a cry in the desert.
Cry! I saw: in the suburbs of Sofia,
There is a black gallows,
Is one of your sons, Bulgaria,
Hanging heavily on the gallows.
The crow croaked as if in mourning,
Bad dogs and wolves howl in the fields,
The old people prayed to God devoutly,
Women cry; The children howled.
Singing bad songs in winter,
The wind chased thorns in the wilderness,
Crying because of cold, freezing and despair,
Fill your chest with sadness.
* Vasily levski was a famous leader of Bulgaria's anti-Turkish national liberation movement betrayed and sacrificed by traitors in 1873, and a genius organizer of the secret committee of Bulgarian revolution. Portov's poem commemorating him is the best elegy in Bulgarian literature. Published in the calendar of 1876.
St George's Day
"Go and eat grass,
You peace-loving people!
Why do you want to release animals?
They should only be slaughtered and sheared ... "
-Pushkin
Party, everyone! Old, young,
Let's praise the immortal emperor today!
Today is St. George's Day. Yesterday's sheep
Baa, baa, baa, after the shepherd,
This carefree and stupid emperor,
Like all emperors in the world,
With a beautiful sheep whip,
With a clever sheepdog—
A loyal minister with no wallet and no salary-
Leading the sheep,
As soon as the emperor saw them,
Just say:
"These sheep live happier than my people, which is really enviable!"
The sheep walked along with some lambs.
Go ahead, exhausted by the rough road,
For St. George, the robber of God,
All sheep must lie under the sword when they are young. ...
Are stupid, clumsy, lifeless, rotting dead people,
Do you need to sacrifice? This is what shepherds need,
This is what hungry throats and drunken priests need,
Man is like an emperor.
For his slutty queen,
In order to squeeze and plunder you, people also need you!
You sweat and bleed for them,
Dancing after being beaten!
Look! -Today, the poor and the rich
They were all drunk there—
They sang with the priest, praising God and the emperor. ...
Party, everyone! This is how the sheep followed the shepherd with the dog.
Baa, go ahead.
* This is a satirical poem, with the theme of St George's Day (the day when the dead are sacrificed), exposing the oppression and exploitation of society and satirizing the loyalty and obedience of the people. It was first published in Alarm Clock on 1873.
To mother.
Is that you? Mom, this is a sad song.
Is that you? You cursed me for three years,
Because I became an unfortunate tramp,
Encounter all kinds of things that you hate inside?
I squandered my father's property,
Or did I beat you black and blue,
Let my youth, damn it,
Full of holes, withered and brown? !
Dear companions, nice to meet me.
Because I am very happy with them,
But they don't know I'm old,
My youth has been destroyed by severe frost!
Where will they know?
I have no friends to talk to;
Tell him who I love and what I believe in—
My dreams and thoughts-everything that bothers me.
I only have you, my mother,
You are my love and faith;
But my heart has burned out:
I don't love you as much as before.
Mom, I've longed for it,
We can see happiness and glory together:
I used to feel strong-I used to be full of hope!
But please be prepared to bury all these hopes!
You're alone, and there's only one poor man left:
Let me throw myself into your warm arms,
Let my young heart, empty soul,
Cry and pity you. ...
Dear brothers and sisters,
I want to hug you sincerely,
Makes my blood vessels stiff,
Let me rot in the grave!
* This poem is one of Porto's early works and the first famous poem written in Odessa. At that time, he was not only oppressed by hard life, but also suffered from the failure to realize his ideal, so he poured out his heart to his mother with grief, hoping to get some comfort. It was first published in Al Qaeda published in Istanbul in 1867.
To brothers.
It hurts, brother
Living among these unreasonable fools:
My soul is aging in the fire,
My heart hurts.
I love my dear motherland,
I strictly abide by its entrustment;
But myself, brother,
But I'm at a loss, because I hate these fools.
Hazy dreams, turbulent thoughts,
Tear the young mind;
Ah, whose hand?
Will soothe my painful heart.
Nobody! Nobody!
This heart knows neither happiness nor freedom;
Only violent beatings,
Respond to the voice of the people!
Dude, I often fall down.
People cry on their miserable graves;
But tell me: In this hateful and lifeless world.
What can I respect?
Nothing, nothing!
You don't answer the sincere and noble call,
Calling on God-People's Cry
And cold!
At the beginning of the revolutionary liberation movement, Potter was attracted by the idea of revolutionary liberation and felt extremely excited. But he was deeply saddened to see that most Bulgarian exiles had not realized the necessity of organizing for the liberation struggle, so he wrote this poem, mocking and attacking those ignorant people who were indifferent to the enslaved motherland and his friends who could understand him. It was first published in Dawn on the Danube published by brera in 1868.
give her
You ask me, why
Night arrival at your home,
How do I jump over the fence,
I want to steal something.
I'm not as old as your husband,
I can't see anything at night;
I have a good partner,
It's a sharp knife around my waist.
It's so dark at night that I can't see my hands.
I got in like a snake:
I listened and watched-everything was asleep,
You are sleeping with your husband, too.
I sat in the garden,
Strong hands clutching a sharp knife:
I said, the knife is coming out,
It will reflect my anger.
I looked into the room and the candle was burning.
You are sleeping-my heart is full.
Strong flames, angry burning,
Anger will suffocate me.
I stared at the candle,
But I didn't find:
The night passed,
Dawn has come.
The nightingale sings diplomatically:
Greet the dawn happily;
A head sticks out of the window.
Smile.
I recognized you immediately,
At this moment, I just suddenly wake up:
"Next time," I said to the nightingale.
Then he jumped over the fence.
That's why I'm in this dark night,
At this terrible moment:
One of us will die—
Either your husband or me!
* At that time, this poem was published only once in the collection of poems and songs edited by Porter 1875.
In the hotel
Pain! Pain! Bring the wine!
I wish I was drunk,
So I can forget all of you.
You idiot who can't tell shame from honor!
Let me forget my hometown,
The lovely home left by my father.
And those who put freedom and fighting spirit
Leave it to our people!
Let me forget my poor family,
Father's grave, mother's cry,-
And those who use noble methods
The man who ate the last bite of bread,-
They rob hungry people;
The despicable rich man robbed the people,
Greedy businessmen rob gold,
Priests lie by worshipping God!
You rob people, you bastard!
You robbed people! Who will interfere with you?
People won't stand up soon:
Because we all have a glass of wine!
We drink and sing those bloody songs,
We grinned at the tyrant;
The hotel is too small for us-
We shouted, "Go to the Balkans!" ①
We shouted, but once we woke up from drunkenness,
I forgot my words and vows,
In front of the sacred victims of the people,
Indifferent, all smiles!
The tyrant acted recklessly,
Defile our homeland:
Murder, hanging, beating, abuse,
Punish the enslaved people!
Ah, fill the bar! I want to drink more! ——
In order to relax my soul,
In order to kill my sober mind,
Make my man's hands soft!
No matter what the enemy is, I still want to drink.
No matter what you patriots do, I still want to drink!
I don't have anything lovely,
What about you? ... you are all idiots!
When Potter was in exile in Romania, he saw that many patriots missed their motherland and people very much, but they just paid lip service and didn't do practical work. He was indignant and saddened by this view of love, so he wrote this poem to express his feelings at that time. It was first published in The Independent on 1873.
(1) refers to people's struggle against slavery in Turkey.
patriot
He is a patriot-he gave his soul.
Science and freedom;
But that's not your soul, brothers,
But the soul of the people!
He is very kind to everyone,
You know: it's just for the money,
He's a man.-What should we do?
So even his own soul was betrayed.
He is also a good Christian;
Never forget to worship;
But that's why he went to church,
Because the church is a big business!
He is very kind to everyone,
You know, just for the money,
He's a man.-What should we do?
So even his wife was pawned.
He is also a kind person;
Never abandon the poor;
But, brothers, he didn't feed you,
It's that you supported him with your own labor!
He is very kind to everyone,
You know, just for the money,
He's a man.-What should we do?
So he ate up his own meat.
* This poem satirizes the ugly faces of the wealthy Bulgarians who called themselves "patriots" at that time and their mercenary activities of deceiving the people. It was first published in Alarm Clock on 1873.
step on
Come on, tramp, let's go,
Go home early;
Holo outside your house,
You will pass the dancers.
Children, aunts and girls
Will say to you: "welcome back!" "
Girls-after singing the wedding hymn,
Play games happily.
Someone else took your old lover,
it doesn't matter
You can find other girls:
God is not heartless.
The old mother will come out,
Greet your son warmly,
She would cry and shout:
"I waited until my son came back from abroad!"
She will hug your strong body,
And you will hold her weak body tightly;
You will hear your mother talk about her sadness,
You will hear her simple words.
Listen, but don't cry yet,
Your first lover is engaged to someone else,
Another message is waiting for you-
It's about my dear father and brother!
The Turks killed your father,
Both your brothers were thrown into prison,
In a dark cell
Died of poisoning.
But it's nothing! As long as you live,
Will soon be a father,-
God is kind and merciful,
You must have children.
Look, you are crying! Alas, like women!
Women are born to cry-
Women and evil people:
What about you? You are neither naked nor hungry.
All you have to do is say to the priest in the cassock:
Please forgive me,
Then invite guests to eat and drink,
You will be the same as before!
Marry a beautiful girl,
Or find a rich ugly girl;
Have a bunch of children,
Feed the poor with their blood and sweat.
Only a fool would do that,
I hope to live a good life,
Never ask yourself,
Is it human or animal!
* This poem satirizes selfish and short-sighted people. It was first published in Freedom magazine in 1872.
(1) Bulgarian folk dance, jump into a big circle.
Why am I not ...?
Why am I not a poet,
A poet like Pisurka?
Well, I feel sorry for my grandmother's spindle, too.
Write a hymn!
Why am I not a poet,
Like Sapunov third (2)!
For the bishop's horse.
Enthusiastic eulogy!
But why am I not from Vladivostok?
Write a wonderful script—
Write about frogs, write about mice,
Write about their battle with Emperor Ladan?
Why am I not Vornikov?
A famous prolific writer,
Write a report about our founding emperor.
A lot of prayers?
Why am I not pollice?
Translation Iliad ⑥,
For such a translation,
Let me get beaten?
Why am I not Sloan Bay?
Crying and singing:
"I don't want to sing, I don't want to laugh,
From today on, I will learn to bark like a sheep? ⑦
Why am I not Vazov?
Praise your "faith" and say:
Wolves will become sheep,
Singers have to be like sheep? !
* This poem mocked some writers and sang innocent songs when people were enslaved and oppressed. Among these writers, Vazov and Slaoui Cove are people's writers, but there is also a non-revolutionary mood in their works. It was first published in Alarm Clock on 1873.
(1) Pisurka (1823— 1873), who worked as a teacher in Lomé and founded a reading room and theater; Published several poems without talent.
(2) Sapunov once edited a newspaper in an attempt to "introduce empirical science to the people, and we have every right to say that it is beneficial science".
(3) is the author of two mediocre scripts.
(4) Voynikov (1833-1877), the founder of Bulgarian drama, also wrote poems.
⑤ pollice (1830-1892), a former teacher, translated the Iliad without knowing the Bulgarian literary language.
⑥ The epic of Homer, an ancient Greek poet.
All landowners Potter laughed at Slaoui's elegy "I don't want to sing".
Today, Vazov published my belief in the magazine 1872. This poem shows the mood of waiting for improvement.
think
-Go to San Tenov.
Holy leader! Pastor of the people!
Today, I sing your hymn,
As I said, father,
You shouldn't be a leader, you should be a king.
But as a religious person,
I want to know-we should all know,
Where our pastor was baptized—
Is it a church or a Turkish bathhouse?
Because, father, people in the village are talking about it.
Say you went to Esky? When Sarah went,
People don't know: in the bathhouse,
A piece of wood or a priest.
* This poem mocks the lazy and parasitic life of the priest. It was first published in Alarm Clock on 1873.