DANIJEL DRAGOJEVIĆ has published more than 20 books of essays, poems and prose.






The Blindmanís Mirror

If I forgot – although not completely – where, in which story or poem
(Denise Levertov?), I read about a moment when a blind man steps out
of the subway and finds himself in the open air, the sun, out in the open,
then lifts his head toward the sky, and begins to breathe more freely, as if
he is about to break into a song – it is probably because I, while reading,
said I know this, Iím the one, and quickly shut and abandoned the book.







Chirping


Several times a day in treetops by my
window gather tens, maybe hundreds
of sparrows, who create an indescribable uproar.
Itís the worst in afternoon hours when dayís
at its end. The chirping, some sort of sound tapestry,
is so dense it seems no thought, desire, project
can get through it. Before this joy, vivacity one grows weary –
the sounds cover him, draw him into a certain environment,
perhaps a center, green, sonorous and airy. And here,
at the beginning, in the middle, at the end of the day,
everywhere it catches me, and I surmise and think:
Hereís the attack, the invasion, Iím screwed.
From hundreds of beaks (connections of throats
and beaks) comes the raid, joyous, winged, unclear,
from some world so close and so far
that the border perhaps does not exist.







In the Book of Knots


In the book of knots Iím reading about a knot which
is made when two or three tails of rats (no one knows when,
how or why) grow together. The words, and the pictures
along with them, immediately turn into a dream, from
a dream into days, becoming everything Iíve ever seen,
heard or touched, as if nothing else ever existed.
Tail, tail, tail, tails. O, the great oneness
of the world – houses, nests, words Iím about
to say, basic algebraic operations,
natural riches. I look once more
at the picture and canít guess which tail –
before it became one big tail – belongs to me,
which head is mine. I move the third
head, third tail, I move the fifth head, fifth tail,
I move all the heads and tails,
I pull on anything, set off in any direction.
Iím smart, wise – Iíve read many
books, I know about the top idea and the sphere,
I can count, count, count, I can fool angels
and wind around a cathedral.
But now I want out of the book
(am closing it), I want back into
a scientific sentence, an empty page,
into a ton of coal, chaos. Iíd fall asleep, die, wake
up, fall asleep, make myself up. It ends here.