TE21 Serbian Moments

Marija Kneževic

Breathing Technique

The Last Station of Translation

We’re given all of time for contemplation. Therefore each of us knows what they want And in several versions at that, Convinced the main thing is to have a Dream. When we mention the empty island, It doesn’t mean we’re panicking, no! Our life’s a perfect meditation. But that cliché attacks us regularly During long cold snaps, Confrontations with our natal nakedness.

The owner of a restaurant in Lion Street Where I stop in since it’s close to Leaf Street where I’m staying, Although too close to stories of camps, Of dead parents and convoys of refugees Some of whom still live right here in Vienna, She asks me have I noticed that today is a distinctly Difficult day. Why how could it be that you haven’t?! Why two of our guests fainted, they were carried out! While one had fallen down dead before the doors Of the restaurant, as I later learn. I haven’t. Here for me it’s unusually Quiet. I come from the land of Urania, as Milankova said, I explain, where people quite regularly totter Every day and for years on end As they walk they hold on to buildings, lined-up cars, For vehicles in motion crush them or just knock them We help each other cross the street and — On we go from there.

We, a terribly easy Target of frigid crazes Due to the wrested illusion Of native soil.

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