Blagoje Savić
Blagoje Savić (1951) graduated from
Faculty of Philosophy, on the section of Yugoslav Literature, in Pristina,
Serbia. He published many collections of poetry: An Apology to the Aim
(Izvinjenje cilju, 1975), I Speak for the Second Time (Govorim po drugi put,
1978), The same milk (Isto mleko, 1982), Evening in the Plastic Sandal (Vece u
plasticnoj sandal, 1987), Black tail (Crni rep, 1989), Izmornik (Izmornik, 1994),
The Communion in the field (Pricest u polju, 1995), Mezra (Mezra, 1999), The
Singing of the Fourth Day (Pojanje cetvrtog dana, 2004), Removed World
(Pomereni svet, 2005), Lock the Dust (Zakljucaj prah, 2009), Therapy of
Consciousness (Terapija svesti, 2017), Two Airs (Dva vazduha, 2019). He
has received many awards for his work such: Lazar Vuckovic Prize, Golden Badge
of KPZ Serbia, Charter of Sveti knez Lazar for Lifetime Achievement 2015, etc.
His poems were translated in several languages. He lives in Vranje, Serbia.
My Manifest on the Will of the Mind
eternity told me writing is a moment
when
the word begins
you write - because you are not used to keep silent
it looks so there - and you follow the way
life to become leafy and by its glance to make golden
those sparks that belong to you
below every verse the unwillingness of the gods
haven’t realized itself
my verbal reconciliation stays here with it
where the therapy of consciousness
changed its shape
and here the immobile things start the status
of their vulnerability
the
day lasts
at
the marked place of your birth
eyesight shapes you of inside things
we will never be faithful to our first word
Sleep Condition
shadows of what has been done
did not
disappear
think with your heart
religion is not based
on evidence
but on checking
there on the same branch
oblivion is hanged
the fruit is magic the entrance of the gods
kidnapped from human voice
Cioran claims that life does not exist
and
death is a state of sleep
Sleep Condition
shadows of what has been done
did not
disappear
think with your heart
religion is not based
on evidence
but on checking
there on the same branch
oblivion is hanged
the fruit is magic the entrance of the gods
kidnapped from human voice
Cioran claims that life does not exist
that death is a state of sleep
Direction
I am not sure when
the words have disappeared
a mouse jumps over
my shoe in the balcony
and comes to eat
my bread
I can hear distant
church bells
a distant grave
becomes a moor
people can’t
recognize
the one they bury
I put a
caterpillar on my hook
and give it
to a greater
famine
than mine
The
Disappearing Day
the short moment
of life
come again
and all I have
said
in two seconds
has already moved
like a piercing
maturity
after such the
difficult year
we are going to forget the pure sins
the disappearing
day
on the trace of
someone’s voice
sweetened with
skin scent
speaks about our
lust
after death
the shadow is
clearly outlined in
wheat
elongated
Comments
Post a Comment