Miroslav Penkov QUOTES

1 " At seventy-one you can't expect to hear a story, any story, and take it as it is. At my age a story stirs up a vortex that sucks into its eye more stories, and spits out still more. I must remember what I must. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

2 " Род прехожда и род дохожда - май чух попът да пее, - а земята пребъдва до века. Слънце изгрява, и слънце залязва и бърза към мястото си, дето изгрява. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

3 " Старите завиждат на младите. Живите се боят от умиращите. Но рано или късно всички се събират наедно. "

― Miroslav Penkov , Stork Mountain

4 " – Как искам само пак да съм хлапе. Абе, какво да ти разправям. Ти няма да разбереш.
– Пък аз искам да съм старец – той тихо си поема дъх. – Забелязал съм, дядка, че като приказват старите, младите седят и слушат. А пък децата никой не ги слуша. Аз например, ако бях старец, щях да поговоря с татко. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

5 " България ми липсваше повече отпреди ...
- Дядо - питах го понякога по телефона, - какво ядеш?
- Диня със сирене ...
- Дядо, какво пиеш?
- Айрян.
- Хубав ли е ?
- Най-хубавият.
- Дядо, какво виждаш - ей сега, точно в тоя миг?
- Баира над къщата. Липите са побелели. Вятърът им е обърнал листата. Ще вали.
Знаех, че нарочно ме дразни, че нарочно сипва сол в раните, но все така не спирах да разпитвам. Само за миг да можех да му взема очите, само за миг да можех да му открадна езика - щях да се натъпча с хляб и сирене, да пресуша шест кратунки с кладенчова вода, да се напълня с баири, с поля и реки. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

6 " Не можеш да опознаеш човек, като му бръкнеш в носа. Но ако някой на теб ти бръкне в носа, доста неща разбираш за него. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

7 " It’s yad that propels us, like a motor, onward. Yad is like envy, but it’s not simply that. It’s like spite, rage, anger, but more elegant, more complicated. It’s like pity for someone, regret for something you did or did not do, for a chance you missed, for an opportunity you squandered. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

8 " Автобусът пристигна с изтънчена българска точност - час и половина закъснение. "

― Miroslav Penkov , Stork Mountain

9 " Of course she loved the komita more -- he must have been her sweetheart, her first big love. Most likely, they made plans together, imagined a little house, a pair of children. She wouldn't keep his diary for so many years otherwise. And then, with their love peaking, he was killed. I know that much without yet having read the end. At first she felt betrayed. He'd put some strange ideals, brotherhood and freedom, before his love for her. She hated him for that. But then one morning, almost a year after his death, the postman brought a package with foreign stamps. She read the diary, still hating him. She read it every day. She learned each letter by heart, and with the months her hatred thinned, and in the end his death turned their love ideal, doomed not to die. Yes, that's what I've come to think now. Their love was foolish, childish, sugar-sweet, the kind of love that, if you are lucky to lose it, flares up like a thatched roof but burns as long as you live. While our love...I am her husband, she is my wife. "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

10 " Не, аз не бях дошъл в Клисура, за да продавам земи, за да печеля пари и да изплащам дългове. Не бях дошъл, за да се влюбя и за да ми разбият сърцето; за да подканя едно момиче да среже въжето, за да предпазя щъркеловите ята от гибел или дори за да помогна на един старец да намери покой чрез изповедта си. Не бях дошъл и себе си да намеря. Бях дошъл, за да открия дядо. За да може за пръв път двамата с него да станем едно. "

― Miroslav Penkov , Stork Mountain

11 " Дядо ревнал побеснял. Бесен си хвърлил такето, бесен взел да го тъпче с крак. Колко лета бил изкарал на тоя пуст свят, без да види такава приказна гледка - ято щъркели как се надига с изгрева. И какви ли други хубости щели да останат завинаги скрити? "

― Miroslav Penkov , Stork Mountain

12 " Ей, Господи – каза и схлупи лицето си в шепи. Рамената ѝ се затресоха, само че този път от смях. – Прав си да ми се смееш, американче. Виж ме каква съм каша. Вълчица с вълчи зъби, за християнска кръв жадна. Бягай надалеч от мен, момченце. Кокалите ще ти оглозгам. Сърцето ти ще изям. Бягай, докато още можеш. "

― Miroslav Penkov , Stork Mountain

13 " I thought how much I wanted to be like the river, which had no memory, and how little like the earth, which could never forget. * "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

14 " You'll never live to be as old as me,", he said. "Whatever you think of doing, I've already done it. Wherever you think of going, I've already been and returned. And it was nothing special. "

― Miroslav Penkov , Stork Mountain

15 " When Grandpa learned I was leaving for America to study, he wrote me a goodbye note. “You rotten capitalist pig,” the note read, “have a safe flight. Love, Grandpa.” It was written on a creased red ballot from the 1991 elections, which was a cornerstone in Grandpa’s Communist ballot collection, and it bore the signatures of everybody in the village of Leningrad. I was touched to receive such an honor, so I sat down, took out a one-dollar bill, and wrote Grandpa the following reply: “You communist dupe, thanks for the letter. I’m leaving tomorrow, and when I get there I’ll try to marry an American woman ASAP. I’ll be sure to have lots of American children. Love, your grandson.” * "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

16 " Grandpa, please,” I’d say. “I have to study.” “What you have to do is acquire a taste.” He’d leave me to read but then would barge into my room a minute later with some weak excuse. Had I called him? Did I need help with a difficult passage? “Grandpa, these are children’s books.” “First children’s books, then Lenin’s.” He’d sit at the foot of my bed, and motion me to keep on reading. If I came home from school frightened because a stray dog had chased me down the street, Grandpa would only sigh. Could I imagine Kalitko the shepherd scared of a little dog? If I complained of bullies Grandpa would shake his head. “Imagine Mitko Palauzov whining.” “Mitko Palauzov was killed in a dugout.” “A brave and daring boy indeed,” Grandpa would say, and pinch his nose to stop the inevitable tears. And "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

17 " finally drove Grandpa back to his native village. When my father asked for an explanation, he could not let himself admit the real reason. “I’m tired of looking at walls,” he said instead. “I’m tired of watching the sparrows shit. I need my Balkan slopes, my river. I need to tidy your mother’s grave.” We said nothing on parting. He shook my hand. Without "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

18 " Το δείπνο τέλειωσε, ο ήλιος δύει και, όσο η κόρη μας ετοιμάζει τη Νόρα για ύπνο, εγώ αρπάζω τον Πάβελ από το χέρι και τον οδηγώ έξω. Μερικοί γέροι κουρνιάζουν ακόμα στα παγκάκια κι εγώ λέω : "Πάβκα, είμαι εγώ σαν αυτούς; Σταφιδιασμένος κι άσχημος;"
"Είσαι σαν κι αυτούς", λέει, "αλλά όχι άσχημος".

"Μακάρι να ήμουν ξανά παιδί. Αλλά δεν νομίζω πως καταλαβαίνεις".
"Μακάρι να ήμουν γέρος". Παίρνει μια άηχη ανάσα. "Έχω προσέξει, ντιάντκα [γέρο], πως όταν μιλάνε οι γέροι, οι νέοι ακούνε. Ενώ κανείς δεν ακούει ένα παιδί. Αλλά αν ήμουν γέρος, θα μιλούσα στον μπαμπά μου". "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

19 " I felt estranged, often confused, until gradually, with time, the world around me seeped in through my eyes, ears, tongue. At last the words rose liberated. I was ecstatic, lexicon drunk. I talked so much my roommate eventually quit spending time in our room and returned only after I’d gone to bed. I cornered random professors during their office hours and asked them questions that required long-winded answers. I spoke with strangers on the street, knowing I was being a creep. Such knowledge couldn’t stop me. My ears rang, my tongue swelled up. I went on for months, until one day I understood that nothing I said mattered to those around me. No one knew where I was from, or cared to know. I had nothing to say to this world. I "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories

20 " You must write without waiting for an address. My "

― Miroslav Penkov , East of the West: A Country in Stories