Култура

On March 25, 2002. Velingrad woke up without Georgi Avramov. With such a title came the latest issue of the newspaper "Velingrad Today"...
In other people's houses, the years go by quickly in oblivion of what happened. And were there any mourners for him who loved him now? Certainly yes! Because he left us at the age of 56 - radiant, violent, loving hometown, Motherland. Writing about it now has its reasons. In the game of chance, in the personality of Georgi Avramov fate had woven elements pointing to what peaks the genius of a spirit could reach in life. I have sat down to write because the admiration before, the familiarity with us, the sharing with a locked door, the sadness of death turned it into a burning pain. Announcing all this? Oh, no! That I love him I've only shared with one of his trusted friends who's deeply hidden for over 60 years what's most important to me. After I sent him to the funeral (and there I was so alone!), I sat at home next to my wife and was silent for a long time. She (now ‘up’ with him) put her hand on my shoulder, looking at me anxiously in the eyes dry, completely dry. I took the poetry collection "Splashes from Kleptuza" and read "My Wife's Monologue", I read "Lonely". "God, how similar you are to Gosho," she said quietly. What about me? I'm quiet. Let what I am writing be mixed up. I'm confused by his smile, the erratic ruffles, the unbuttoned jacket and the top button of his shirt, always in a hurry, on the steps - in one. Public decisions were sometimes risky - because of the hospital gave me all the currency of the municipality for equipment. "I love the blue color against the background of gold. How do I know that the patrician flock has flown into my plebeian soul!" At times he was a patrician, sitting in the big chair. I don't know why I remembered a shot from the Peter I movie. But further down? "I live restlessly, I watch with distrust all the rays... I live alone. So many faces and smiles around me, and I'm cold."
Gifted poets haven't written much. But in their meandering contradiction, inevitable in their violent, loving heart, and frolicing blood, the attentive gaze discovers the sure platinum thread: the home-fortress, the tight-knit family, the rugged home tradition. Hence the strength, the volition in his verses, according to Yavorovsky saturated, his radiance. Listen: "We are running out of days like everyone else's - work, anger, chronic lack of money. We write letters to the big son every night, to one... The little son fixes his bike, the daughter laughs with the children in the yard, Mom digs the flowers in the beds - they are always smothered by the grasses, Dad fills a pot for brandy - he wants the world to drink. Ordinary family - three generations of true peace we live in, and contrary to all theories - quiet is our family history". And when Mom was gone, he wrote "Triptych": "Dad told us to wear the white shirts - Mom was going to heaven today." Strong progeny Bulgarian, from Macedonia... So he grew up: "I am unbelieving, but I light candles when I have to swear in something bright."
Behold, out of all this comes the strength of the spirit, left here forever, with a covenant of love, with a crystal patriotism to the integrity of the Motherland: "The horsemen of Asparuh ask me where to pass with the unbridled horses. The blind fighters of Samuel ask me if the White Sea is still white. Prespa Campaigns beat - Vasily Bulgarslayer where is he?". The poem "On the River's Shore" is a collection - of the other two and new poems. I write, but what will one of the talented other poets in our city write about Georgi Avramov?...
From the deep-seated pain I can't help but express myself on the heights at all in our poetry - "Marc Antony's Monologue to Caesar's Corpse" - a unique poem about human ingratitude, cruelty, meanness, injustice, brutal power, deceit, false devotion. "Oh, Light! Whoever forgets for a moment that the world rests on the shoulders of plebeians - loses in the last lot." We know that this happened in our country in the last months-Vartolomeian Nights of 1944...
Not here anymore and not now. Let there be a literary recital for Georgi Avramov - for example on 24 or 25 March 2006. Then, I hope I'm alive, I'll ask to recite "Marc Antony's Monologue"...
Dr. Borislav Andreev