tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-125714492011-12-02T11:18:54.029+01:00Guybrush_ThreepwoodHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.comBlogger441100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-18041397206641053052009-06-10T10:56:00.001+02:002009-06-10T10:59:10.974+02:00L'Examen (version francaise)Adapté par Regis Prat - Interdit de copier! Principe fondamental lorsqu’on reçoit ses feuilles d’examen. Les surveillants ne doivent pas discuter entre eux, ne doivent faire aucun commentaire ou sortir de la salle, et plus généralement, ils doivent s’abstenir de tout comportement susceptible de gêner le bon déroulement de l’examen. La voix du proviseur sonna fort et clair dans le silence Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-80633945631871367892009-06-05T16:26:00.005+02:002009-06-27T08:14:01.861+02:00Rencontre avec un barracudaTraduit par Regis PratC’était durant le lointain été de 1995, nous avions décidé d’aller à la mer, moi et deux de mes collègues de l’université, qui étaient plus connus sous le nom de : « Tête-nue et de Naseau ». Comment avaient-ils reçu ces surnoms est une longue histoire. Ce qui peut avoir une liaison quelconque avec la nôtre, est que le deuxième évitait de nager sur le dos car généralement, Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-56411485856000022402009-05-27T12:43:00.002+02:002009-05-27T18:06:48.531+02:00Le Triton DoréAdapté par Regis Prat Oncle Ivan passait pour un pêcheur passionné parmi ses amis. La semaine dernière il est allé chercher des carpes dans un petit lac où il a ses habitudes. Et il lui est arrivé une aventure pas commune. Le temps s’étirait, les ondes du lac ne faisaient pas trembler le bouchon, quand tout à coup, ce dernier disparut brusquement du regard embué d’Oncle Ivan, en le tirant de sa Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-74233209183777052952008-10-29T07:04:00.001+01:002008-10-29T07:05:40.777+01:00A Day in Constanta<!--[if !mso]> v\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} o\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} w\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} .shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);} <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-30941774392603609142007-01-26T16:42:00.000+01:002007-02-03T06:51:09.122+01:00Une femme accouche dans le métroCeux qui pensent que le métro n’est rien qu’un moyen de transport seront bien choqués d’apprendre que ce week-end un accouchement a eu lieu sur la ligne orange. Pendant que ce drame se déroulait le train n’a jamais ralenti s'arrêtant seulement aux stations sur son trajet.Les personages principaux dans cette histoire sont la québécoise Marie-Pierre Bienvenue et monsieur Xu Wong d’origine chinoise.Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1142661064234899592006-03-18T06:50:00.000+01:002006-04-22T02:44:30.006+02:00The Buoy (English version)The man stood up and looked straight ahead. The sea lay behind the figures of the few men and women who had preferred the early morning beach to a late rise that day. He was aiming for the far buoy, which marked the boundary of the bay, but telling this to his wife was going to be no easy matter. She was afraid that something bad could happen to him if he ventured swimming farther out. The timingHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1139932822867522822006-02-14T16:57:00.000+01:002006-02-14T17:15:06.346+01:00Разходка до Букурещ Наложи ми се да ходя до Румъния. Това би трябвало да е нещо достатъчно тривиално поради непосредствената ни близост с тази държава, а и все пак нали бе построен Мостът на Дружбата да свързва в неразделна дружба братския български и румънски народ. Както се оказа след като поговорих с хора от Русе по ICQ, мостът не може да бъде преминат пеш. Това не беше кой знае каква изненада все пак.Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1139895114064915822006-02-14T06:31:00.000+01:002006-02-17T07:43:26.606+01:00The Teacher (English version) The teacher Ivan Petrov walked into the teachers’ room greeted by the thick and common for this time of year smell of rotting flesh. A rat had died behind the heavy shelves opposite the windows but that came as no surprise for this was the season of the rats. They died there every year and rotted away at leisure from February till May and there was nothing that could be done about it. ThisHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1135601416632952442005-12-26T13:49:00.000+01:002005-12-26T13:50:16.640+01:00C'est la vieHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1135012258724336662005-12-19T18:09:00.000+01:002005-12-19T18:10:58.733+01:00It could be warm at -5Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1132197908092071772005-11-17T04:24:00.000+01:002005-11-17T04:25:08.100+01:00Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1121700112472822792005-07-18T17:21:00.000+02:002005-07-18T17:21:52.496+02:00ШамандуратаМъжът се изправи и погледна пред себе си. Морето се виждаше зад фигурите на малкото мъже и жени, уважили сутрешния плаж.Целта му бе далечната шамандура, която маркираше рамките на залива, само че нямаше да му бъде лесно да каже това на жена си. Тя много се притесняваше, че нещо може да му се случи, ако отиде навътре. Моментът за плуване иначе бе повече от подходящ: нямаше много хора във водата, Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1121326178062133722005-07-14T09:29:00.000+02:002005-07-14T09:29:38.066+02:00StillintheNight Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1121150643201598412005-07-12T08:42:00.000+02:002005-07-12T08:44:03.216+02:00A Banana Dress Colored in TanBy Diyana Ivanova Translated by Hristo Boev Dresses remind me of colors, women and the movies. The banana dress, however, belongs to one dark-complexioned woman. There she was, walking briskly materializing like a gauzy curtain into the street. She was like a child carrying the sea and the sand in her eyes in an impish and somewhat touchy way. Feminine and stunning, she made Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1121149083049390442005-07-12T08:15:00.000+02:002006-02-26T07:34:29.640+01:00The Exam“Copying, of course, is not permitted. The same holds true for any other markings on any of the sheets of paper handed out for the exam. The invigilators are not allowed to speak to each other, make unnecessary comments, leave the exam room or in any other manner inhibit or compromise the exam,” the principal’s voice sounded loud and clear over the deep silence reigning in the crammed teacher’s Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1117601249226894532005-06-01T06:47:00.000+02:002005-06-01T06:47:31.990+02:00SoPeaceful Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1116398258917820442005-05-18T08:37:00.000+02:002005-05-18T08:37:38.933+02:00MyWaterfallPlurality Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115548609212691162005-05-08T12:36:00.000+02:002005-05-08T12:36:49.243+02:00It's so hot to be at the top:) Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115450689557116702005-05-07T09:24:00.000+02:002005-05-07T09:24:49.576+02:00I Love My Car Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115358187280808032005-05-06T07:41:00.000+02:002005-05-06T11:15:54.786+02:00Среща с баракудаНякога в далечната 1995 бяхме решили да отидем на море, аз и двама мои колеги от университета, които още бяха известни като Гологлавия и Голямата Носовка. Как те получиха своите прякори е дълга история.Това, което има някаква връзка с разказа е, че вторият избягваше да плува по гръб, защото спасителите се бъркаха и даваха сигнал за акула, а първият винаги отиваше на море без приятелката си за Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115231121022490242005-05-04T20:24:00.000+02:002005-05-04T20:41:55.393+02:00Pazardgic VersesThe town is always near The fence is always gray The sky’s not always clear To make me wanna stay The night is always foggy The morning’s foggy too We are always groggy And rest is here a taboo Here the thing is marching And that’s what we do We are also starching Everything that starches true The sergeants-major are screaming Their bloody orders, ‘tis trueHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115184505473683442005-05-04T07:28:00.000+02:002005-05-04T07:28:25.490+02:00I Love it Misty at the Top:) Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115184307517732412005-05-04T07:25:00.000+02:002005-05-04T07:25:07.556+02:00The Rhodopies at Their Best Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115098858539510382005-05-03T07:39:00.000+02:002005-05-03T07:44:35.483+02:00Love Lots of things have been said on the subject, especially recently. According to biologists and chemists love is a chemical reaction, which like almost all such reactions, stops when the reacting elements are consumed. Maybe so, there are some things, however, I just don’t want to know. Could it be said then that my daughter, who has the biggest love for me, although she’s barely a year Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1115039585751330962005-05-02T15:11:00.000+02:002005-05-02T15:13:05.766+02:00A Telephone ConversationLet Be be Finale of SeemThe Emperor of Ice-creama one-act playCharacters: George, Petya, Vessela and IvanThe stage is dimly lit to create the impression of night time. There are two rooms at the opposite ends of the stage. There is some distance between them.In the room right stage there is not much. It is a harsh room, very scantily furnished: there is a bed, a desk, and a chair at it. There areHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114977351014000422005-05-01T21:54:00.000+02:002005-05-01T21:55:51.016+02:00Красивата дама, която нямаше милостПревел от английскиХристо БоевLa Belle Dame Sans Merci - John KeatsО какво ли може да те мъчи, рицарю в броняСамотно скитащ сеПапурът е повяхнал в езеротоИ не пеят птици.О какво ли може да те мъчи, рицарю в броняТолкова изпит и посърнал?Хамбарчето на катерицата е пълноИ реколтата прибранаВиждам лилия на челото тиВлажна от мъка и трескава росаА на скулите ти гаснеща розаБърза да повехне тя.СрещнахHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114977077952085982005-05-01T21:50:00.000+02:002005-05-01T21:51:17.956+02:00ЗовПревел от английски Христо БоевThe Call - Rupert Brooke От празнината на съняи мечтанията бавни и вечни отекна тътен в дълбините:аз дойдох защото ме повика.Разбих древните решетки на нощта,предизвиках старото ужасно проклятиеи се втурнах сред редици уплашени звездивнезапно върху вселената!Вечните тишини бяха нарушени;адът се превърна в рай.Какво да ти дам за да повярваш,знак че най-после ние сеHristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114976860840472682005-05-01T21:45:00.000+02:002005-05-01T21:47:40.840+02:00Любовта на мъртвитеПревел от английски Христо БоевDead Men's Love - Rupert Brooke Имаше някога един страшно преуспял поет.Имаше и една жена като слънце.Те бяха мъртви. Само че не го знаеха.Не знаеха, че времето бе свършило за тях.Не знаеха, че неговите песнибяха тишина, а нейните крака и ръце,които бяха служили на любовта толкова добре,прах и мъртво море.И така един ден, както някогас ръце протегнати, те се Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114976625530149282005-05-01T21:41:00.000+02:002005-05-01T21:44:55.696+02:00Не ме подлъгвай с целувка тиПревел от английски Христо БоевNever Try to Trick Me with a Kiss - Sylvia PlathНе се опитвай да ме подлъгваш с целувка тикато казваш ми, че птиците не са отлетели -на това умиращият ще се подиграе и ще го презре.Маскирай с камък там където сърцето трябва да еи нека девици да се надигнат от гроба на Венера -никога не се опитвай да ме подлъгваш с целувка ти.Остави достойният наш доктор да изплаче Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114976101908638862005-05-01T21:32:00.000+02:002005-05-01T21:38:20.596+02:00Не стой на гроба ми и не плачиПревел от английски Христо БоевDon't Stand at My Grave and WeepанонимноНе стой на гроба ми и не плачи.Аз не съм там. Аз не спя.Аз съм хилядите ветрове във бурен впряг.Аз съм нежните искрици в блещукащ сняг.Аз съм слънчевият лъч огрял узрялото зърно.Аз съм есенният дъжд намокрил сухото сено.Когато се събудиш в утринната тишина,aз съм тази забързана припряностна тихи птици издигащи се в кръгов Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114971084596110782005-05-01T20:11:00.000+02:002005-05-01T20:11:24.596+02:00Me& the Sea Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114970802255916592005-05-01T20:06:00.000+02:002005-05-01T20:06:42.260+02:00Some Memories of Days Past As I walk by this girl I try not to think of my rather low opinion of their group. Somehow it seems to me that she’s different but in what way?I smile as I look at her dainty figure in the strange purple leather jacket. We head for the crossroads where the Kamenitsa factory is. I look at the ugly enormous building with half of its windowpanes broken but my spirits don’t sink. I have Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114969405896297522005-05-01T19:42:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:47:25.866+02:00Учителят Учителят Иван Петров влезе в учителската стая приветстван от натрапчивата и обичайна за стаята по това време на годината миризма на разлагаща се плът.Някакъв плъх бе умрял зад тежките секции срещу прозорците, но това не учуди никого тъй като сега бе сезонът на плъховете. Те умираха там всяка година и се разлагаха на спокойствие от февруари до май и нищо не можеше да се направи по въпроса.Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114969150059916392005-05-01T19:38:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:48:44.873+02:00Златният тритонБай Иван, както всички знаем, е запален рибар. Миналата седмица като отишъл на риболов на едно малко язовирче, където имал навика да лови каракуда, му се случило нещо доста необикновено. Риболовът вървял доста вяло и плувката се местела едвам-едвам по вълничките на малкия водоем, когато изведнъж забила надолу и изчезнала от вече леко премрежения му поглед. Бай Иван тутакси се събудил и застанал Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114968748967834662005-05-01T19:30:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:32:28.976+02:00КъсноСлед дълъг и мъчителен трудов живот аз съм вече известен писател на кратка проза. Как станах известен? Наблегнах на гледане на реклами по БТВ – там сексуалните усещания в каква да е реклама просто бликат независимо дали рекламата е за перални, прах за пране, шоколад, салам, дамски превръзки или нещо друго. Моите колеги са гледали всички тези реклами, а и не само те, както разбирам от случайно Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114967297937891572005-05-01T19:06:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:08:17.946+02:00Lazing on a Sunny Afternoon by Diyana Ivanova Translated by Hristo Boev In Memoriam of Granny My head is like a prickly artificial flower – one of those that gather all the dust in a room. My grandmother studied at a Romanian school until the 7th grade. She was born in a village near Dobrich. I bristle up and shake off all the dust.Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114967041262795302005-05-01T19:04:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:04:01.263+02:00Shadows Talking Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114966911887258702005-05-01T19:01:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:01:51.886+02:00Almost Crusified Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114966633405695062005-05-01T18:57:00.000+02:002005-05-01T18:57:13.406+02:00Dia&the Rhodopies Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114963370667677352005-05-01T18:00:00.000+02:002005-05-01T18:02:50.670+02:00Dreams V. RealityTrees fly past, the mountain is coming nearClouds move fast, the mist on the mountaintopIs clearing up. I see this gorge, right below meAs I glide over it and wiggle on the seat.It's so picturesque, I said. It's a dream deferredThat unfolds before me when I travel,A sequence of dreams I like to put on a reelI close my eyes and another picture sets in.Again I glide this time it's seaweeds under Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114962181188987432005-05-01T17:39:00.000+02:002005-05-01T17:43:01.190+02:00A CravingYou are farAnd yet nearYou are farAnd yet dearMany timesI’ve been hurtI’ve been crawlingIn the dirtBut I’ve the eyesFor to seeThe sunYou bring for meIt’s the sunThat’s in youAnd that timeWill not undoIt’s the flowersIn your handAnd the shinglesIn the sandIt’s the skyAnd the treesAnd the gentlenessOf the breezeIt’s everywhereYou treadIt’s the graceOf your headIt’s everythingThat’s in youAnd that Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114961881779890622005-05-01T17:34:00.000+02:002005-05-01T19:52:53.323+02:00Love Like a DoveI was looking for loveI was pining awayWhen love like a dovePerched on my window to stay.I rushed for it thenI opened it wideBut love like a doveFlew off from my side.It was a hard thing to bearThe realization that dawnedThat love was just thereAnd had now gone.I had been clumsyI had been roughLove being so whimsyCould be never enough.Will it ever be comingTo my window to stay?I should be more Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114961281210551012005-05-01T17:27:00.000+02:002006-03-23T20:37:54.503+01:00A Christmas CarolChristmas had certainly come to town. Snow had piled up and covered all houses, shops, trees. Snow was everywhere: under your feet, above your head, before your eyes. Everything was so white and innocent. Ugliness had given way to beauty. One almost imagined Snow White and the seven dwarves would turn up out of the crisp air and come up to you for a chat. The chimneys of houses smoked pleasant Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12571449.post-1114955884767123552005-05-01T15:53:00.000+02:002005-05-01T15:58:04.770+02:00DaddyТатко (Daddy) Sylvia Plath Превел от английски Христо Боев Не струваш, не струвашс тази черна обувкав която като стъпало аз живяхтридесет години, жалка и бялаи едвам дишах и не можех да кихна дори.Татко, трябваше да те убия.Но ти умря преди да успея –мраморно тежък, чувал пълен с Богбяла статуя мъртвешка със сив пръст на кракаголяма колкото тюлен от Фриско.И глава в бурния Атлантик,Hristo Boevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030990633865053862noreply@blogger.com1