{"id":3755,"date":"2014-07-02T16:00:45","date_gmt":"2014-07-02T16:00:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755"},"modified":"2014-07-03T14:45:30","modified_gmt":"2014-07-03T14:45:30","slug":"three-poems-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755","title":{"rendered":"Three Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

DOG-SITTING<\/strong><\/p>\n

My friend\u2019s little dog in my garden,
\nfor hours fixated on the top of the brick wall,
\nnot at all on the garden itself<\/p>\n

reminds me how, in a besieged city,
\nless and less I noticed the streets and the people,
\nuntil only the invisible fence remained.<\/p>\n

The dogs were, I remember, calmer than us,
\nlooking moderately disappointed, as if wanting
\nto shame without offending, lugging around<\/p>\n

this same restrained sadness,
\nthe one seemingly nothing to do with people
\nand all to do with the state of the world.<\/p>\n

Maybe that\u2019s what saved their necks in the end
\nwhen there was no food left: a gift for mimicry,
\na heart neither full nor empty.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 
\n
\nA LONG HOMECOMING<\/strong><\/p>\n

Twenty two black birds moving together
\nacross the scorched grass like an unknown language
\nin stranger\u2019s mouth, connected by something wholly
\nextraneous, incalculable. What would someone
\nwho understands these things say, is this a dream
\nof distant places you crave meekly, or something
\nthat\u2019s already happened, long ago, and you, again,
\nlooked somewhere else? Remember: that little boy
\nwho, tiptoeing next to seaside binoculars,
\nwhen the eyelids on the other side lift, is still
\nhearing the coin fall through the stiff guts,
\npicturing its pirouetting while it cries click-clack.
\nAnd afterwards recalls forever only the father
\nsaying look,<\/em> look<\/em>, and the lump of green iron
\nsmelling of door handles.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 
\n
\nFRIENDS<\/strong><\/p>\n

Sunday morning, melancholy’s like
\ngoing to a supermarket. A little of this,
\na little of that; nothing could have worked out better,
\nbut everything would be different now…
\nSitting on a concrete wall, children with grown-up’s heads,
\nwaiting for someone to call out their name again,
\nfor a football team, for that unforgetable love…
\nShoulders of angels, foreheads of the future
\nmurderers; antithesis of evil
\nsplashed over the school’s high windows…<\/p>\n

These days, when you run into them,
\nyou don’t know what’s on the outstretched hand:
\nthey are like pears waiting on the table – the taste
\npasses through them when it fancies,
\nor doesn’t arrive at all…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Translated from Bosnian by the author.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

DOG-SITTING My friend\u2019s little dog in my garden, for hours fixated on the top of the brick wall, not at all on the garden itself reminds me how, in a besieged city, less and less I noticed the streets and the people, until only the invisible fence remained. The dogs were, I remember, calmer than […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":97,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[303,306],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nThree Poems - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755\" \/>\n<link rel=\"next\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755&page=2\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Three Poems - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"DOG-SITTING My friend\u2019s little dog in my garden, for hours fixated on the top of the brick wall, not at all on the garden itself reminds me how, in a besieged city, less and less I noticed the streets and the people, until only the invisible fence remained. The dogs were, I remember, calmer than […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2014-07-02T16:00:45+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2014-07-03T14:45:30+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Igor Klikovac\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Igor Klikovac\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"2 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755\",\"name\":\"Three Poems - The Manchester Review\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2014-07-02T16:00:45+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2014-07-03T14:45:30+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#\/schema\/person\/2bfd625408477bc5a2d7f7de84e4b9f8\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=3755\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#website\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/\",\"name\":\"The Manchester Review\",\"description\":\"The Manchester Review\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#\/schema\/person\/2bfd625408477bc5a2d7f7de84e4b9f8\",\"name\":\"Igor Klikovac\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-includes\/images\/blank.gif\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-includes\/images\/blank.gif\",\"caption\":\"Igor Klikovac\"},\"description\":\"Igor Klikovac is a Bosnian poet, living in London since 1993. 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