Nedyalko Yordanov: Bulgaria scored an own goal

Dear friends and enemies, what happened in front of our National Theater tonight it was the height of insolence and lawlessness. None of these organized, ill-educated and wild people have read Bernard Shaw's magnificent play, which is an absolute advertisement for Bulgaria. Hopefully tomorrow they will realize what they have done.

Some of you have written here that I am exposing myself at the end of my life.

Indeed, I am at the end of my life, but let it not sound immodest – I think that the theater is my absolute profession and my life. I have written 31 plays performed in all Bulgarian theaters and all over the world from Tokyo to Brussels, from Kuwait to Saint Petersburg, in the Czech Republic, Romania, Yugoslavia, Ukraine, Belarus, Georgia, Poland, Germany, France, Finland, Hungary, at the moment – in Ankara, Turkey and in 23 theaters in Russia.

As a director, I have 65 theater productions in Sofia, Burgas, Gabrovo, Yambol, Stara Zagora, as well as in St. Petersburg, Russia, and Lodz, Poland.

Do you think I am not looking at the play of the great Bernard Shaw as a professional. I read it twice and I really liked it, even though it was written more than 130 years ago.

I found in it only a glorification of the Bulgarians as soldiers and a huge advertisement for Bulgaria in the face of the six characters of the play: three men and three women in comical, unexpected and complex relationships.

Tonight my one and only Bulgaria scored an own goal. I imagine how this will look to the world.

I wish I could republish my poem about Aleko, who, if he were alive, would not have believed that this could happen so soon after him.

I have always admired this so young and so unhappy Lucky. At a time when the still nascent Bulgarian literature was looking for its appearance, he discovered and reflected the trends in the development of the already free Bulgarian with amazing insight.

Aleko! What a tragic fate... What loneliness... What a cruel finger of fate... Only 34 years old...

ALEKO KONSTANTINOV

Why did he create it... Why did he describe it...

He got excited and to this day he doesn't cry.

And there are more claims... Ego you!

"Bulgar“... And fights in the hairy chest.

Bai Gagno... Are we still like that today?

We are now shaking with foreign fever.

You don't believe it, do you?... One in five left

"Bulgar“... And left his homeland.

But the one who stayed... Steals as he cooks...

And below "Bulgari“... And above "Bulgari“.

Don't come...Don't look... Still the same manners...

How is your bai Gagno making choices today.

My dear... My clean... My sad Aleko.

My sculptural... Looking far... Far...

And a black briefcase next to you on the pavement...

How I want... But I have nothing to tell you.

Forgive me... Every word is superfluous...

At thirty-four... The two bullets...

And you fall... Suddenly... And without understanding

that in that moment you actually die forever.

And I'm looking... It doesn't say if you've fallen in love...

And how is it possible...And how did you lose

and the three sisters, and mother and father...

The lucky one... With happiness so short.

Lucky... You write... It was nice...

From here to Chicago and back...

Back... In my dear homeland...

Where he died... Where he died...