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SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE --for Alexis Levitin, translator
After midnight, free from the drive-time tyranny of time and temperature, news and ads, a voice on the radio reaches listeners in cars and bars, isolated in empty offices and darkened bedrooms.
Is this a faithful translation from the Bulgarian--or, better, "in empty bedrooms and my darkened office,"
Magdalena?
"Empty, I've lost you in my mother tongue" sounds terrible. I need you, need your help. Your accent haunts me now in cars and bars, free from the drive-time tyranny of iambs but distant, as in the hours before midnight a voice on short-wave radio, barely audible, fades out.
On paper in my darkened office my life remains interesting, busy as I work to translate your Bulgarian love poems into print, a paper trail back to your heartland in Slavic Europe while in an empty bedroom, after midnight in the dark night of the soul for those in cars and bars, a voice from the radio drums at my ear, urgent, low, funereal as for a dead parent.
Magdalena,
your Slavic script loves consonants. Our tongues smoothed its rough edges, inserting vowel-sounds where they seemed right, softening the dark bedroom speech I choke on, in translation, between a man and a lost woman.
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