Sofia. Spring. The city is awakening. The cotton balls of poplars resemble the long-gone snow. The wind pushes them along the surface of the water. Drops of spring rain transform into concentric circles. The rain gets heavier, and the linden blossoms dance under the raindrops. The melody flows as the wind blows, up and down the streets, among the buildings, in between people.
Let’s chat, as old friends do, about how one chooses which road to walk?
Biliyana Sokurova has just opened her small bookshop “Kittens” in Pavlovo. How does one become a listener, or a publisher, or a follower? Biliyana tells us how she decided to start publish the Bards and she actually likes their poetry. Memories about people, songs, time gone.
A kid is riding its bicycle just in front of the bookshop. Biliyana looks at the kid, then back to the book she’s reading – poems of an old friend.
Where do roads lead us?
To a city we know, or one that we don’t. To people we’ve met or ones that we haven’t.
Visiting Grisha Trifonov and Maria Damyanova`s home where everyone is welcomed – the conversation is a personal one, about the bards, the songs…about what brings them together and what sets them apart. Words occasionally make room for Grisha`s sings, but only to mix again between the lines of this beautiful poetry. The song circles the city.
Streets, flower gardens, we look at the people, the traffic, the windows, and the reflections therein, the sparrows, the pigeons, the seagulls in the center of Sofia. The synagogue, the mosque, the rotunda. The sky.
We walk the streets of Sofia. We meet people we’ve never met. And it rains again nighttime.
How does one start over? What brings people together?
“Tochka BG”- Plamen Sivov, Krasi Parvanov, Todor Yankulov, Zornitsa Popova – are in Chitalishte “G. S. Rakovski”, Lozenets.
Rehearsals, memories, conversations, favorite songs, not sung for so long. They are young, but yet mature. They are together, however different. They share spiritual experience without borders, even in front of strangers. They play their instruments with all their heart.
The summer is progressing. The streets and parks are full of people. The heat in Boris’Garden makes impression to no one any more. Meeting friends.
All cats and dogs of Sofia look sleepy, as does the summer and whole city.
What brings people together?
Summer afternoons while looking forward to a nice evening with friends. In Anatoli Ivanov’s back yard Anatoli plays his favorite harmonicas, banjo and the guitar. Sweet whisper of harmonicas take us back around the city in a search of love. He is one of the first Bulgarian country musicians.
Trams are crowded. We want to look at the faces, because we know that behind the serious, pensive, absent or smiling looks, every face hide an interesting story.
What is that we do for each other? How do generations connect?
The day is just about to end. Margarita Drumeva brought all her guitars with her in the Royal garden behind the Palace. She tells us about her road, her dreams and the children she works with. The first yellow leaf drops off. There is a bitter sweetness in the autumn.
Sunrises. Sunsets, Streets. Buildings. We pass through different neighborhoods.
What is change?
A new beginning with old friends. Milena Ochipalska changes flat. Many friends give a hand. Romeo Tanev is one of them. Careful with the guitar! The minivan travels across Sofia streets in Inlinden area. Then they get to the living room of the new flat, over a glass of wine they chat – two musicians and a young poet…about people and songs, about bards, new friends and old stories. About those who are gone, yet we still feel them close. Romeo turned the lines of the young poet into a beautiful song.
Is finding a teacher harder than learning itself?
Milena Ochipalska walks down the street headed to the little garden in front of “St.George” church, near the Five Corners. She seats on one bench right-side of the church’s entrance. A flock of birds splashes up off the branches of an old sycamore. The bell tolls for the believers. A street dog barks along.
First snow is falling. Towards the end of the little garden, to the right of the entrance, a sentence is carved into the lonely body of the bench: “Burn, burn little flame of Malina Tomova for her friends” and linden tree behind it watches silently the snowflakes as they touch the ground.
Malina Tomova was a wonderful poet, a scriptwriter, a journalist and an independent publisher. This movie is a letter to a beloved friend ... deeply from my heart.