неделя, 15 ноември 2009 г.
Dobri Chintulov
Публикувано от Dream Team в 9:13 0 коментара
Етикети: Literature
Leaders of Bulgarian Nation
Paisii Hilendarski
St Pisii was born in 1722 in Bansko. Although with no education, 23 years old, he went to Hilendar monastery, where he became a priest and podigumen. Two years collecting materials and finishes in history in 1762.
”Slav-Bulgarian History is is a cross-piece which interweaves elements of history, autobiography and journalism. Contains medieval and Renaissance features. Paisii opposes Bulgaria to Greece and Serbia, pointing out its advantages for people to raise their self-esteem.

Публикувано от Dream Team в 9:13 0 коментара
Етикети: Leaders
Ivan Vazov

Probably the best Bulgarian writer!
Vazov was born in the town Sopot in 1850. He was a pupil in Kalofer and a student in The High School in Plovdiv. Reading used to be his hobby and his favoutre authors were Alphonse de Lamartine, Pierre-Jean de Béranger and Victor Hugo. He was studing French. His first book of poetry was ''Пряпорец и гусла''. In 1870 he emigrated to Romania but he came back to Bulgaria a few months later.
The volunteers at Shipka
(August 11, 1877)
What if we still carry shame on our forehead,
Marks of the whip, signs of bondage abhorrent;
What if remembrance of infamous days
Hangs like a cloud over all we survey;
What if in history no place we're allotted,
What if our name be a tragic one, what if
Old Belasitsa and recent Batak
Over our past throw their deep shadows black;
What if men mockingly laugh in our faces,
Pointing to newly lost fetters, to traces
Still on our necks of the ages-long yoke;
What if this freedom was gives our folk?
What of it? We know a recent true story,
A shining new symbol, a symbol of glory,
That proudly within every bosom pulsates
And noble strong feeling within us awakes;
There on a mounting that glows in the distance,
Heaven's blue vault on its broad shoulder lifting,
Rises a famous wild peak with blood on its moss,
A monument huge to a deed that's immortal,
Because a deep memory lives in the Balkans,
Because there's a name that shall live for all time,
As bright as a legend in history it shines,
A new name, its roots to antiquity tracing,
As great ad Thermopylae, all fame embracing,
A same to wipe shame away, with its plain truth
Smashing to smithereens calumny's tooth.
O Shipka!
For three days out youthful battalions
The pass have defended. The high mountain valleys
Re-echo the battle's tumultuous roar.
The onslaught's ferocious! Again the dense hordes
Along the ravine for the twelfth time are crawling
Where warm blood is flowing and bodies are sprawling.
Assault on assault! Swarm on swarm they advance!
Once more at the towering peak Suleiman
is pointing: "Rush forward! Up there are the rayahs!"
Away race the hordes in a rage wild and dire,
A thunderous "Allah" re-echoes afar.
The summit replies with a rousing "Hurrah!",
A hail of fresh bullets and tree trunks and boulders;
Spattered with blood, our battalions boldly
Retaliate, every man in his own way
Striving to be in the front of the fray,
Each, like a hero, death bravely defying,
Determined to leave one more enemy dying.
Cannon are pounding. The Turks with a cry
Rush up the slope where they tumble and die;
Coming like tigers, like sheep they go flying,
Then come once again: the Bulgarians fighting
Like lions are running along the redoubt,
Neither heat, thirst nor toil are they worried about.
The onslaught is fierce, the rebuff no less stout.
For three days they fight but no help is arriving,
And no hope is visible on the horizon,
And no brother eagles come swiftly with aid.
No matter. They'll die, but die true, unafraid -
As died the brave Spartans who stood against Xerxes.
Fresh waves are now rolling up; all are alerted!
A last effort's needed: the moment is grave.
And then does Stoletov, our general brave,
Roar words of great courage: "Young volunteer fighters,
Now crown Bulgaria with laurels of triumph!
The Tsar has entrusted the pass, the whole war,
Himself even, unto these muscles, of yours!"
Thus heartened, our proud and heroic battalions
Courageously meet the next thrust of the rallying
Enemy hordes! O heroic time!
Fresh waves of assailants the cliffs now climb.
Our men have no bullets, with bravery girded,
Their bayonets broken, their breasts ever sturdy,
They're all to a man ready gladly to die
On the ridge which the whole of the world can descry,
To die here like heroes triumphant, victorious .
"The whole of Bulgaria watches, supports us,
The peak is a high one: if we run away,
She'll see us – so better to die here today!"
No weapons are left! What remains is the slaughter!
Each stone is a bomb and each tree-trunk a sword is.
Each object – a blow, and each soul – flame that sears.
From the peak every tree, every stone disappears.
"Grab hold of the bodies!" they hear a voice crying,
At once through the air lifeless corpses are flying,
And over the hordes like black devils they dive
And tumble and roll as if they were alive!
The Turks quake and tremble, not having seen ever
The living and death fight a battle together,
And raise a shrill cry of demoniac rage.
In life and death combat the armies engage.
Our heroes, there standing as steady as boulders,
Meet bayonet steel with steel breasts no less boldly,
And sing as they cast themselves into the fray
When they realize Death shall now snatch them away.
But still our young heroes rebuff, sink and swallow
The hordes that is wave upon wave swiftly follow.
The peak any minute shall ours be no more.
Then suddenly Radetzky arrives with a roar.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And today, every time there's a storm in the mountain,
The summit recall this grim day and, recounting
The story, its echoing glory relays
From valley ti valley, from age unto age!
Публикувано от Dream Team в 3:27 0 коментара
Етикети: Literature
Nikova Vaptsarov
ON PARTING
To My Wife
Sometimes I'll come when you're asleep,
An unexpected visitor.
Don't leave me outside in the street.
Don't bar the door!
I'll enter quietly, softly sit.
And gaze upon you in the dark.
Then when my eyes have gazed their fill,
I'll kiss you and depart
Публикувано от Dream Team в 2:09 0 коментара
Етикети: Literature
събота, 14 ноември 2009 г.
Monuments

The stronghold was built 10 centuries ago on the ruined Roman castle called Bononia. In the past there were big bridges made of rope between the turrsts. The stronghold defended the town Vidin from enemy`s armies. The stronghold was a prison from XIV century untill XIX century. But today Babinite Vidini Kuli are only an attraction for the tourists in Bulgaria.
Публикувано от Dream Team в 14:10 1 коментара
Етикети: Monuments
Perperikon
Публикувано от Dream Team в 13:06 0 коментара
Етикети: Monuments
Movies
It is believed that the first film, created in the world, was “Workers leaving the factory”,which was shot in 1895 . At that time Bulgaria was an economic upswing, so only 20 years later the first Bulgarian film “Balgran is a gallant” (1915) was projected . The film was black and white and silent, and it remained only one or two frames.
Unfortunately, the Bulgarian cinema is not very developed in the coming years because of the country's participation in several consecutive wars. Only after World War II they began to build summer cinemas, and memorable movies were created, some of which remain forever in the minds of Bulgarians. It’s operated mainly in three genres – historical films, comedies and dramas.
After the changes in the Eastern block, Bulgarian movies enter a new crisis and reduce the production of films, but with the becoming of Bulgaria a member of the European Union ,they began to create new modern films.
Публикувано от Dream Team в 11:14 0 коментара
Етикети: Movies and Theatre