photo: Ivan Zahariev / edit “Bulgarka”

Georgi Gavrilov's poetry is woven from philosophical insights that go beyond the seeming in the world and fascinating with the exceptional ease inherent only to great poets. Deep, insightful, this poetry notices the invisible miracles and spiritual events in everyday life that one can easily allow to escape from his sight. It is no coincidence that his first book, The Book Boat Logbook (2014), won the grand prize at the National Poetry Contest "More" - a poetry edition that gives him a solid foundation to continue to create and develop himself your.


The poems here are much more recent, and they clearly show the poet's personality, his dedication to words and his personal experience of the world.

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Life melts like snow in the heat
on one big touching palm
it's so quiet when it rains and accumulates
and castles become more castles
and the heart more heart


everything I should not mention
has its expectation
in the echo of the snowy field


life melts like snow
in the heat of a giant palm
and remember - it was raining
it was accumulating and it was quiet


so quiet


how we didn't feel
that something is silent




Zero beats bells
the night is warm
and the girls from the boulevard
have returned
waiting at the crossroads
and they never cross


one dash stops
fifty feet above
without shutting down the engine
one of them turns


I continue my journey
the bells still beat
I carry a cigarette candle in my hand
it is as dark as a naked eye
to a Gentile


around the church a ring of fire


in a few minutes the dash cracks
and bypasses me


the bells are dying
the girl is waiting at the intersection
the world is risen to the old man:




if you've ever traveled by last bus
minus fifteen degrees
in the dim light and the squeak of harmony
without control drunk with a bottle
cheap merlot
in unnamed neighborhoods,
without knowing where you are or where you are going
with the only hope of the next stop
not be the last


if you ate once every few days
dubious Arab food
and every yellow of memory has been mixed up
with that from the lamps
and every white of faith has mixed in
with that of the 24/7 stores


if no one was waiting for you anywhere
and it soothed you with your sadness
if you were there and got off before the last stop,
to save something for next time
if you counted the pennies to give them
the other
if you cut through the coldest piece
from the heart of the city
and fought with random people
attacked random people
if you drank till the morning so you can go again
to go to work


if you were crossing bridges with fear
and you stopped midway over the train tracks
you were breathing in the great air
the big question,
to at least find the wind home in your chest


so you know what i'm talking about
and I don’t have to say
that I knew you that time
in the unseen darkness
dripping from us




we woke up one by one
amidst bottles and sunshine
something was over
and we laughed at the agony,
that we have been through
instead of him


you are taking your life to the extreme
and you hang it over the abyss
love is first conveyed
after love
after her love
until something remains
it doesn't matter the morning with the smell
on bells


we could no longer feel shame
or hope or horror
we were many we were all


we could no longer test
we laughed and no one said a word
it would be a lie
let's talk




is to think for yourself,


when I think of the cloud
I become a cloud
and I think about myself again


I'm so lonely forever,
but already a cloud




closed forever
in existence and language
at home - a grave of days
in a box of Cortasar guitar
like a river in a riverbed
like water in a bottle -
not to spill,
not to splash,
not to understand,
that we don’t have
the form.

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