Moving house you turn up stuff from the past. You meet your former self. Here are three poems I wrote in the seventies. They reflect my love of Bulgaria and one particular Bulgarian woman:
TO BURGAS
I
You kings of old Bulgaria
cloaked in the knowledge
of treachery
danger in the swirling snows –
the suffocating sun and dust
of armies on the plain
on the march – a throw of the dice;
a kingdom
a knife in the dark;
your foreign queens and jealous lords –
close your eyes in the peace
of sky and sea:
do you see
from the idle fishing boats
bobbing, raise your eyes
as if in vision on a shimmering day
see
Burgas now raise its white towers
from the salt marsh.
II
Burgas never so beautiful
as after a shower:
the tarmac and the concrete
glisten with a metal sheen,
reflecting dissolving
the harshness of the blocks to
a mirage of white towers
clean against the blue sky
the gurgling gutter
three yellow leaves
the whisper of an endless
red bus.
III
Water flows across the way
some day
between Nessebur and Sozopol
you kings of old Bulgaria
in a mosquito second
pause gaze
on the silent heights
of faceless windows in the sky
fortresses of daylight throng
the shore where
your armies disappear.
THIS MONTH’S BLUES
Rain dashes on my window, wind blows round my door
I got no minute to myself to break this aching store.
I lay with my baby all on my lovin’ bed
but the sleeping sickness got me turning my limbs to lead
When the rain falls on Burgas, seems like there ain’t no time
chased by the winds and loving becomes a crime.
Don’t you know it’s mean to travel on a number four bus
Your baby’s upset and she’s going home to face a fuss.
Wind’s blowing in Burgas, blowing the sun away
But when the sun comes back I’m gonna lie with my baby all day.
SONG FOR SOFIA
(after getting marriage documents)
Sofia’s a lady I sing this song for you
To some you’re just Shopski but to you I’ll be true.
Though your gallery is painted in a shade of shocking pink
And your cafes don’t sell coffee and I can’t afford your drink
In the trolleys and the buses you stamp upon my toes
and round your Russian monuments a cold wind blows
But now the sun is shining I’ll shout with all my breath
Sofia, Sofia I’ll love you unto death.
Sofia’s a lady I sing this song for you
though people just sneer Shopski to you I’ll be true
Be true to that office girl who nodded and who smiled
as long awaited documents into my hands she piled
Be true to those old men who just gave a smiling glance
as I burst into the sunlight, kissed the papers, did a dance,
be true to those young girls who handed me a flower
Sofia I love you more and more by the hour
Sofia’s a lady I sing this song for you
And though the lady’s Shopska to you I’ll be true
In this city in the sunlight my happiness is sealed
With hard to find taxation stamps the wounds of love are healed
Though the waitress brought me moussaka when I distinctly ordered soup
Even by the mausoleum I can’t restrain a whoop
From your majestic theatre to your snowy virgin peak
I’m in love with you city. I’m a shopski freak.
