toronea
Lia's poetry
my heart sang of you and i wrote down its lullabies. (they are on here, always with me) ||
girl, law student, poet, singer, pansexual, feminist, pacifist, lover of history & books
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Reflexões...
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И сега, щом нощният полъх е разпръснал цветовете на вишните, за мен е трудно да се полюбувам на красотата им.
– Ли Цингджао, Pure Serene Music, пр. от Jiaosheng Wang, @ribena в AO3 и на български от @toronea
And now that the night wind has scattered the plum blossoms, I find it hard to admire their beauty.
– Li Qingzhao, Pure Serene Music, tr. by Jiaosheng Wang, and @ribena on AO3
#li qingzhao#chinese poetry#poetry in translation#bulgarian translation#chinese literature#song dynasty#poetry blog#quotes#love quotes#poets on tumblr#my translation#plum blossom and cherry blossom are the same thing in bulgarian... we differentiate between cherry blossom and japanese cherry blossom#so this was a botanical nightmare#very late spring. love it#ли цингджао#китай#китайска поезия#превод#poetry#my heart sang of you
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And now that the night wind has scattered the plum blossoms, I find it hard to admire their beauty.
– Li Qingzhao, Pure Serene Music, tr. by Jiaosheng Wang, and @ribena on AO3
#li qingzhao#chinese poetry#poetry in translation#chinese literature#song dynasty#poetry blog#this has lived in my mind rent-free for days#just had to upload it on here#quotes#love quotes#poetry
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“Parting” (pre-execution note)
To my wife
Sometimes I'll visit in your sleep
as an unexpected and unwanted guest.
Don't leave me outside on the road -
don't bar the doors.
I will come in quietly. Slowly, I will sit down,
and I will gaze into the dark to see you.
Once I've looked at you for long enough -
I will kiss you, and then leave you.
– Nikola Vaptsarov, tr. by @toronea
#poetry#nikola vaptsarov#spilled ink#my heart sang of you#bulgaria#bulgarian literature#bulgarian poetry#poetry blog#poetry in translation#my translation#eastern europe#european literature#socialist poetry#(this is a love poem but the author is overall socialist#he's one of the greatest)#poets on tumblr#writeblr#20th century poetry#20th century literature#40s poetry#keeping the original punctuation again. have decided to do that when i translate#ngl this one was hard because of the nuanced verbs in the original... they just don't carry the same meaning and tragedy like in bulgarian#yall are barely starting to discover non-english poetry and im here to introduce bulgarian poetry!#1942#никола вапцаров#прощално
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Two lovely eyes. The soul of a child.
Two lovely eyes; – music, – sunshine.
They demand and they promise nothing.
My soul prays,
child,
my soul prays!
Desires and distress
will soon cast upon them
the veil of shame and sin.
The veil of shame and sin
Won't be cast upon them by
desires and distress.
My soul prays,
child,
my soul prays...
They demand and they promise nothing! –
Two lovely eyes. Music, sunshine
in two lovely eyes. The soul of a child...
– Peyo Yavorov, tr. by @toronea, from After the Shadows of the Clouds; “Two lovely eyes”
#poetry#peyo yavorov#bulgaria#bulgarian poetry#bulgarian literature#20th century literature#20th century poetry#poets on tumblr#my translation#european literature#eastern europe#this was hard to translate honestly#i decided to keep the original punctuation even if it makes little sense in english!#the mirrored composition of this poem is famous in bg literature#fun fact: the original text resembles a bird in flight#in english it looks more like a necklace? im open to suggestions#poetry blog#poetry in translation#writeblr#spilled ink#my heart sang of you
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I haven't been posting for a while
this blog was my little project in 2016-7ish, my life became quite dynamic afterwards
I'll be uploading other poems soon, but definitely not all of them like before haha, their quality has changed so much!
I've been translating some Bulgarian poetry into English, but I feel like Tumblr isn't the best place to upload it
I'll be trying to revive this blog as a New Year's resolution for 2022 ✨
Best wishes to everyone still here 💕
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REBLOG IF YOU ARE A WRITER ON TUMBLR
IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT KIND OF WRITER YOU ARE YOU CAN BE WRITING: POEMS, FANFICS, IDK NORMAL FICS, NOVELS, SHORT STORIES, IDK ANYTHING!! JUST REBLOG!!!
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write bad poetry.
wrap your mouth into a cliche. write about icarus, write about roses. write about the flowers in your ribs and the stain of your fingertips and the skin of your knees. write about cigarettes and getting high and kissing the wrong person. and space; write about space over and over in sixty iterations of it, write about star-blood and star-crossed and star-glowing, write about universes and galaxies and gladiators in constellations. write about the space between two people in a small room, write about the space that is too small no matter how big it is, write about the space that is too big no matter how small it is. write yourself a star and eat it, tinfoil-tasting, on the floor of your kitchen, while you regret missing your mother’s cooking. but write it.
write ugly. use too many undercase letters because you’re pretentious. USE ONLY CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE YOU’VE GOT A SCREAM TRAPPED UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS. ,, cut & paste grammar (? who gives a shit ?) ,, r3inv3nt so much u come back 2 l33t speak, dial it down a bit. write in the language of flaubert, then dickens, then the language your father used before he learned english. then write the language of talking to your dog, then write the language of high school essays on books you never finished. utilize the word utilize where it don’t belong. fall in and out of love with contractions. accidentally become bukowski for a hot sec, grow out of it.
write things you wish you hadn’t. write stuff so bad you can’t help groaning. write things that end in “a;sljflk jfg h” because they petered out while you were typing. write things that feel childish and use so much rhyme it throws you out of it. write things that feel grown-up and unfamiliar, too formal to function, up-their-own-asses. write things too enigmatic; forget what you wrote them about, but tell yourself it’s for the best. write things too obvious. go through a micro-poetry spell, go through a prose-poetry spell, fish the bottom of the box for x-ray goggles and write about how the cereal felt. write about your cat and the rug and un-deep fake-deep terrible stuff.
write things you really wish you hadn’t. stuff that hurts to read and hurts to look at later, stuff that makes your skin uncomfy and your body crawl. write stuff that looks better at the back of your closet. but stuff you can’t get rid of, really, not ever. stuff that, afterwards, makes you feel heavier. stuff that somehow, impossibly, kinda makes you lighter.
write about stuff you don’t really understand, write about social problems you barely experience, write about slam poetry. write about power outlets, write in the style of internet poets, write frost-length sonnets on how pink her lips are.
write bad. write worse. write bottom-of-the-barrel, and then keep scraping it. keep digging in it. god, how many people are too scared of being bad that they just. never get around to it. that they never even start doing it. what if all they have to say is silly shit about lost love or greek myths or a good kiss. what if they’re bad at it.
be bad at it. do you know how fucking rebellious and wonderful that truly, i mean truly is? and that’s poetry, man. the act of being so vulnerable, you’re willing to completely suck at it. big ideas in small boxes. it takes a long time before you get the packaging to fit.
go write bad poetry. i can’t wait to read it.
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Louis Veray (1820-1891). Moissonneuse endormie, 1855.
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flowers will bloom where there have always been thorns
fragment from ‘l'heure bleu’
l.m.//toronea
#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#spilled words#poetry#love poetry#fragment#words#love poem#poets on tumblr#quotes#ive been inactive lately#sorry#i feel like this is going nowhere#like my life#sigh#love quotes#my heart sang of you
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i.
{αρχαιολογικό μουσείο θεσσαλονίκης}
stone
and marble statues,
everything is cold,
and all the gold
doesn’t glitter anymore
cold pouring rain
outside of the walls
that separate us from the same nature
that has been around when all these exponents lived
ii.
{στοά του αττάλου}
what secrets do they hold?
how many lives have they lived,
how many people have they seen,
how much time have they been
sculptures still in stone,
portraying images, people gone long ago,
or never existed
their creators forgotten in death
no one has known their names in the first place
iii.
{αθήνα}
if you look outside, you see history
in the air, in the soil, in sunrays and all
cities that existed long before anything else,
victory and a goddess
iv.
museums hold history
which once was merely daily life
doesn’t it baffle you to think that rain has poured down
on somebody else before you,
and you are both important and not to history
v.
what a better time to visit museums than rainy days?
museums
l.m.//toronea
#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#spilled words#poetry#poets on tumblr#places#words#places in greece#museums#poetic#lol idk anymore#i hope yall like it#april 2015#it was raining#melancholic#a bit#my heart sang of you
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alexandria
i want to run away
with or without my heavy heart
the windows are gray with dust
i’m still here, i haven’t gone
it echoes in my head,
how you told me
it seems i won’t forget
you don’t know your words broke me
you don’t need to know what happened
i won’t tell you
‘my mind is tangled
between your little flaws’
pacing around,
looking for a sanctuary
i haven’t expected to be this blue
i won’t bear seeing you
there was a wildfire
burning inside me,
melting me from inside
all that’s left is molten pain
i won’t play with fire again
burn the books,
let the paper crumble just like my heart,
and then,
when only ashes meet your eyes,
burn them too
with all my ‘i love you’s
#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poetry#poets on tumblr#love poetry#love poem#spilled words#words#wlw poetry#sapphic poetry#lgbt poetry#my heart sang of you#my heart sang of queue
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With tiny snowflakes in my hair, and the smell of winter in the air, I found myself in an eternal moment.
l.m.//toronea
#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#quotes#words#winter#winter wonderland#december#my month#i love winter#christmasmood#mini poem#i guess#ode to winter#impression#not the best but#first day of snow#my heart sang of you
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i watch the sky at night,
focusing on orion and his belt
his stars keep darkness away from my eyes
and open up my heart
oh, orion, tell me,
how many eyes have you gazed back at,
how many times have you wished you could reach back
how many hearts have you seen breaking,
how many loveless souls wasted time on praying,
how much sorrow have you witnessed
throughout your millennia on the sky
the greatest sorrow is your own
so close to the human mind,
and, yet, so far away from it
it gets lonely up there, doesn’t it?
orion
{constellation}
l.m.//toronea
#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poetry#poets on tumblr#spilled words#orion#talking to the stars#but do they hear#i don't know#oh well#constellation#poetic#excerpt from a book i'll never write#my heart sang of you#my heart sang of queue
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