Yassen Vassilev
 

 

Yassen Vassilev is a young Bulgarian poet who has recently worked with professional translators and poets on the English versions of some of the best poems from his first book. 

His first poetry collection is a continuation of the expressionist tradition of  the early 20th century Bulgarian poet Geo Milev.  But he is also inspired and influenced by Surrealism, Salvador Dali, Jorge Luis Borges, Italo Calvino, T. S. Eliot and by folklore, mythology, alchemy, tarot, mysticism, symoblism, Christianity, Buddhism, Yoga, New Age, quantum mechanics, etc.  In the last six months he  has won eight National awards for both poetry and prose - including the Hermes Books (one of the biggest publishing houses in Bulgaria) award for a first manuscript - which ensured the publication of his book in May 2009.
 
He is currently studying Dramaturgy in NATFA, Sofia and has also staged three poetic performances that mix poetry with music - DELUSIONS (2007), WHEN THE CLOCKS ARE MELTING (2008) & DIRTIFY/WAR X (2009). He has published in all Bulgarian literature magazines and newspapers, both printed and online.
"Amnesia during meditation," "Macaronic Melancholy" and "Ship of Fools" have all been awarded in Bulgarian poetry contests.



WHEN WE ARE DISEMBODIED


It is foretold: - the timespindle will pierce the corporeal universe - :
The abyssal well yawns.
Down.
God.
Is there a God?
God sleeps!
The planet-electrons turn round in whirlpool around the core-sun.
Whose regard has spilled into the black holes of the galaxies?
E=MC˛ - when we are disembodied –
The turtles pass under the weight of the world.
Half-naked in the sand under the pyramids
the tantrics dance triunited on the tops of the trident
- the creator, the guardian and the destroyer –
The secret: quantum, quarks, god…
Paradoxes of time: the rosaries will be scattered again…
- (because we are god) -
when we are disembodied -






TRANSMUTATIONS

when I conceive my ideas
from nothing
when I lay my words
from nothing
when I germ from my text
when I hatch from my work
this is when my name grows
from nothing
this is when in deLIREium
I give away my fruits
I deconstruct my ego
I clone myself
I play theatre of the absurd
I spread seeds seedlings and spores
I destroy the structure of my consciousness
I lock my secrets in towers
I entrench myself in fortresses
I dye my beard blue
I wear the emperor’s new clothes
I hide my name as Rumplestiltskin
I become fish dreaming to be a man
I become man dreaming to be a tree
I strike root deep inside myself
I probe the flesh
I swim in erotica gothica in romance trance I sink
I overcome the circles of years
I make nests and dig hollows
birds soar from my crown
condors cormorants magpies jackdaws ravens and crows
cuckoos owlets woodpeckers and hummers
soar eagle falcon hawk
dolphins elephants and rhinos fly
monologues stretch endlessly
my innumerable branches reach out
finally I myself cut my trunk
roots blood bones skin hair and bark remain
all leaves sad cells and ingenious genes
virtual viruses propagate
I turn into paper
I enter the heads of thousands of strangers
I imprint myself on the empty page
forever
because handwriting carves a sign of your having-been







SHIP OF FOOLS

„Madness is like gravity. All it needs is a little push.”
                                                                             Heath Ledger as the Joker

I had a premonition last night
while watching picasso from the subway
composing pictures
that man will once again turn into mud
last night that it was time
to build a ship of thoughts books and bodies
and to set sail through the wine the sky and the emptiness
outside the bottle the illusions in the reflections of the glass
through the bottleneck and the cork of the primal ocean of the consciousness
after the winged horses cosmic chariots living stones vimanas
after the poltergeists with beards immured vampire brides and the mandalas
after the giant squids the little mermaids and the warriors of the cross
with a needle we will unsew the sky the world will be stripped naked and we will just stand there all in raincoats
and all the dogs and bitches from our childhood will come back
pigs with pipes with coats and ties wet cats in a boat
other fluffy animal children and psychoanalysts carrying their houses on their backs
and houses on chicken legs that have run away from their flying owners
and the slimy trail after
the doors are open : the unnamed emerges on the surface







MACARONIC MELANCHOLY

all roads lead
on sunday wearing one boot
I depart with spoon and fork
tied to the chains of slow food
rome is 7 hills of pasta on a plate
cannelloni
tagliatelle
ravioli
penne
fettucini
lasagna
rigatoni
7 hills of pasta
splattered with blue cheese and blood
with fountains bolognese
with pesto aqueducts
with olive oil rivers
with mozzarella squares
with parmesan buildings
with garlic statues
with ancient forum of prosciutto
with asparagus columns
with tomato colosseum
with spanish steps of ham
with olive domes
of bacon cathedrals
rucola ricotta and ragů
with the vatican hallucinogenic venomous radioactive
mushroom in the center of rome
pasta tentacles crawl down the city roads
I walk the squares past columns and buildings
saint peter the temple of minerva the senate the forum and the pantheon
and spear all the cardinals like capers on the top of my fork
then I crunch loudly all the christian army
I chew bishops fathers popesses popes antichrists
and with a mouth of truth full of pasta
I whisper
this is a philosophy of nutrition
drink wine write bibles
and when there are no bread and circuses
eat rome







SCARABEUS SACER

he who gives birth to himself
hardly suffers from oedipus complexes
hardly knows electra closely
he crawls like a snake out of the ground
and evil omens thrive around
magicians grow
in the apple of his eye
a boatman tirelessly rowing the sky
brooding stars and hatching ark
the moon opens its eyelid
and the ship sinks into the sun
spanish armada in the clouds
tristan the mad is doomed
geo milev must die
the ego disfigured
somewhere there marches
samuil’s one-eyed army
somewhere there marches
beheaded the last poet
and September Septembers the Scarabeus







MetroPolis

in a city under a glass lid
raw knees rub the rails
print the map of the net
she wolf romulus and remus
synchronicity and constant
neon eyes blink
rails and tunnel through time
metro

tomorrow
yesterday
today
randomness and coincidence
ecumenopolis
heliopolis
metropolis

skyquake
flying chunks of road
solomon’s temple destroyed
nabuchadnezzar and nostradamus
synchronicity and constant
the future remains far behind us
as scheduled in the dungeons
metropolis collapses






(anti)Homer

I don’t want to live forever
in this impossible city
where directions are perverted
the years furiously turn
and everything is incurable
where stairs are inverted
pyramids built upside down
steps lead nowhere
and streets turn in a circle
where yards have no entrances
corridors end in walls
and there are balconies
on which no one ever stood
where doors are made of stone
and windows closed forever
with their nothingness
opening inwards
I don’t want to listen to the voices of the immured
I don’t want to be walled
in this impossible maze
of false rebirth






3001: A SPACE ILIAD


troy comes out of orbit
priests and mirrors officiate
conceiving the new saints
in the last sanctuary of god
where from light years
laws forbidden love
indigo children are born
androids androgynes
and the last parents
pay for the future
stars drop down from the two snakes
andromache and andromeda

laocoon laocoon
we are warned
the borders have been crossed
between painting and poetry
between art and life
between matter and mystery
words become mechanics
art is reloaded





 

END .
                                            the full stop explodes
and disperses
the universe

the snakes close the circle
the mobius strip starts to turn



this text has no title
the title is in the middle
but this text has no middle
this text is free
out of the circle

get down through the ozone hole of the rabbit

down
        down
                   down

where life is
where death is not
where everything is sur and sub
where w h e n
t h e c l o c k s a r e m e l t i n g

down
        down
                 down

with the speed of light
space
free fall
collapse
through words and speech
without capital letters
without punctuation marks
through the dust of the stars
through the dark matter
through the black holes
through the darkness of nothingness
through
molecules
atoms
ions
protons
neutrons
electrons
and
cores

d
o
w
n

down
books are not closed between covers
down
portraits are not imprisoned in frames
down
there are no stages for plays
(where life is a stage when we are the actors)

you disperse into thousand tiny molecules of water
you spin in the spiral
of the deoxyribonucleic acid
that keeps the memory

memento
and get lost in the invisible round corners
of the freed sub and superficial conscious

collective

look at the world through the holes of the cheese
anomalies in the magnetic field
objects have no shadows
I wade in clouds under a rainfall of question marks
corridors hang in the air without buildings
wax faces of hallucinogenic people drip
abducted in nirvana through opium and absinthe
the sand runs out temporis causa
the lotus blossoms – flowers have eyes
stigmas cut through the ancient matter
schisms split the universe
the prime architect has walled himself in a bleeding labyrinthian building
in trance in rapture the shamans beat the drums
with rods hit the glands of the gnosis
and the pulse of the universe echoes hypnotically

these open locked doors
the boatman and the nameless shadows
the moiras without eyes
the conscious sleeps
the sun goes out
the minotaur watches
the night has no exits
the sphinx has no answers

~ dali ~

honey is sweeter than blood
swans mirror themselves in elephants
statues explode fragmented
giraffes are burning
the lobster rings
                                 pick up
who is it                                                                                           
I think                                                    
who are you looking for
                                                       myself
                                                                                          tu fui ego eris

your heart is evil
serve me poached eggs or pouched eggs
in a plate without a plate
everything is one

oh what terrible and beautiful autumn

ion – noah
the hundred-handed write automatically
the titans destroy meanings dogmas and taboos
the aquarium overflows
the flood washes away the letters of the pagan apocrypha
utopia sinks to atlantis
avalon is lost in mists

room 101 engulfs you
on the thirteenth floor all is madness
the cores vibrate before the explosion
beans tarot crystals bullets and candles
the planets in conjunction
the quantum oracle foresees
the cat in the box is neither alive nor dead
smiles hang in the air
the sand runs out temporis causa
the womb is empty
psychosis panic
pan psyche
memento
DNA
25th shot
someone is cut by the window
he will be whole again
w h e n t h e c l o c k s a r e m e l t i n g

amnesia during meditation

(this is the title)

exodus
from the questions without answer

all roads lead to the mouth of truth
go back
end and beginning again
on the chess board
the phoenix burns and is reborn
temporis causa
eros is love thanatos memory
memento
samsara and the circle turns once again
in never-ending creation
god
             is
                         death
                        devil
             is
time
poet is poetry
man is water
immortal
art
freedom
to think
to write
to play
to compose
life
         music
                             will lead you
create                                             
your own             
        universe

this is when the sand will run out

this is when the matter will join the matrix

this is when everything will be one again

this is when

this is when the clocks are melting

8 8 8

memento

brahman brahman brahman

this text is without end and indefinite ∞ ∞ ∞


 



Copyright © 2010 Yassen Vassilev