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


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