Be off, swallow

Farewell, for spring has come,
Be off, swallow, on your flight,
From Egypt to other lands,
Searching over hill and plain
Be off to Albania on your flight,
Off to Shkodra, my native town!

Convey my greetings
To the old house where I was born,
And greet the lands around it
Where I spent my early years;
Be off thither on your flight,
And greet my native town!

…

And when you come to Fush’ e Rmajit,
Swallow, stop there and take your rest;
In that land of sorrow are the graves
Of the mother and father who raised me;
Weep in your exquisite voice
And lament them with your song!

For ages I have not been to Albania
To attend those graves;
You, swallow, robed in black,
Weep there on my behalf,
With that exquisite voice of yours
Lament them with your song!

[Shko, dallndrysh?, from the volume Zani i zemr?s, Tirana 1933, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, first published in English in History of Albanian literature, New York 1995, vol. 1, p. 275-275]

Shko, dallndrysh?

Udha e mbar? se erdh pranvera,
Shko, dallndrysh?, tue fluturue,
Prej Misirit, n?dhena tjera,
Fusha e male tue k?rkue;
N?Shqypni shko pra fluturim,
Shkon n? Shkod?r, n?gjytet tim!

Shndet prej meje t? m?i falesh
?saj shpis? vjet?r ku kam le,
Me ato vende rreth t?p?rfalesh
Ku kam shkue koh?n e re;
Atje shko, pra, fluturim,
Fal me shndet gjytetin tim!

Me ato male, me ato kodra,
Me ato prroje rreth t’p?rfalesh
N’ ato fusha q? m’ka Shkodra
T? lulzueme, aty t’ndalesh;
Tue kndue me ambelcim,
Fal me shndet qytetit tim.

T’mujsha dhe un’ me fluturue
Dojsha dhe un’ me u nis? me ty,
Dojsha n’Shkod?r me kalue,
M’ e pa prap at’ vend me sy!
Por… ti shko atje… fluturim
E ti qajma fatin tim.

Dhe kur t?m?rrish n? Fush? t?Rmajit,
Dallndrysh? ulu me pushue;
Kam dy vorre n?at vend vajit,
T?nan?s e t?bab?s qi m?kan? mjerue;
Qaj me za t?p?rmallsh?m shqim
Nji kang? tanden gjith vajtim!

Ka shum? koh? qi s?jam n?Shqypni,
N?ato vorre me vajtue;
Ti, dallndrysh?, veshun n? zi,
Ti aty pra qaj p?r mue,
Me nj?at za t?p?rmallsh?m shqim
Kang?n tande p?r vajtim!

Fragment

…
On the mercy of the merciless
The little beggar survived.
His life ran its course
In dirty streets,
In dark corners,
In cold doorways,
Among fallacious faiths.
But one day, when the world’s pity dried up
He felt in his breast the stab
Of a new pain, which contempt
Fosters in the hearts
Of the poor.
And – though yesterday a little beggar,
He now became something new.
An avenger of the past,
He conceived an imprecation
To pronounce to the world,
His throat strained
To bring out the word
Which his rage had gripped
And smothered on his lips.
Speechless he sat
At the crossroads,
When the wheels of a passing car
Quickly crushed
And… silenced him.

[Fragment, from the volume Vargjet e lira, Tirana: Ismail Mal’ Osmani 1944, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, published in English in Migjeni, Free Verse, Peja: Dukagjini 2001, p. 77]

Autumn on parade

Autumn in nature and autumn in our faces.
The sultry breeze enfeebles, the glowering sun
Oppresses the ailing spirit in our breasts,
Shrivels the life trembling among the twigs of a poplar.
The yellow colours twirl in the final dance,
(A frantic desire of leaves dying one by one).
Our joys, passions, our ultimate desires
Fall and are trampled in the autumn mud.

An oak tree, reflected in the tears of heaven,
Tosses and bleeds in gigantic passion.
«To live! I want to live!» – it fights for breath,
Piercing the storm with cries of grief.

The horizon, drowned in fog, joins in
The lamentation. In prayer dejected fruit trees
Fold imploring branches – but in vain, they know.
Tomorrow they will die… Is there nowhere hope?

The eye is saddened. Saddened, too, the heart
At the hour of death, when silent fall the veins
And from the grave to the highest heavens soar
Despairing cries of long-unheeded pain.

Autumn in nature and autumn in our faces.
Moan, desires, offspring of poverty,
Groan in lamentation, bewail the corpses,
That adorn this autumn among the withered branches.

[Vjeshta n? parakalim, from the volume Vargjet e lira, Tirana: Ismail Mal’ Osmani 1944, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, published in English in Migjeni, Free Verse, Peja: Dukagjini 2001, p. 71]

Suffering

For some time now
I have seen clearly
How from suffering my eyes are growing larger,
The furrows in my face and brow are growing deeper,
And my smile has grown bitter…
…and I have come to realize
That the coming days
Will no longer be constructive ones
Of energy and work, but simply the passing
Of a waning life.

With time, I have come to see
How this treacherous life
Has singed
Each of my senses,
One by one,
Until nothing remains
Of the joy
I once had.

Oh life,
I did not know before
How much I dreaded
Your grip
That strangles
Ruthless.

But helpless now,
I gaze into the mirror and see
How from suffering my eyes are growing larger,
The furrows in my face and brow are growing deeper,
And that soon I will become
A tattered banner,
Worn and torn
In the battles of life.

[Vuejtja, from the volume Vargjet e lira, Tirana: Ismail Mal’ Osmani 1944, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, published in English in Migjeni, Free Verse, Peja: Dukagjini 2001, p. 123]

Song of noble grief

Oh, noble grief of the suffering soul
That into free verse bursts out…
Would you perchance take comfort
In adorning the world with jewels?

Oh, noble grief in free verse,
Which sincerely sounds and resounds,
Will you ever move the feelings of men,
Or wither and die like the autumn leaves?

Oh, song worthy of noble grief…
Never rest! But with your twin,
Lamentation, sing out your suffering,
For time will be your consolation.

[Kanga e dhimb?s krenare, from the volume Vargjet e lira, Tirana: Ismail Mal’ Osmani 1944, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, published in English in Migjeni, Free Verse, Peja: Dukagjini 2001, p. 63]

The Flute

Listen to the flute a-speaking,
Tell the tale of wretched exile,
Weeping for this world of sorrow
Using words of truth to spin it.

Since the day they seized and took me
From my friends and my companions,
Men and women have been weeping
At the echo of my sobbing.

I have rent my breast from beating,
Gaping holes have made within it,
How I’ve wept and have lamented,
Thousand sighs my heart has rendered.

I’m a friend and blithe companion
Both of this world’s happy people
And of all folk sad, embittered,
With them do I make alliance.

Whate’er be the situation,
I can weep and mourn in longing,
At any time and any place will
My heart sigh and be a-moaning.

All the world does listen to me,
Sees though only my appearance,
Of my wishes they know nothing,
Nor the fire that burns within me.

People come and gather ’round me
When I weep and tell of longing,
Yet they do not know my secret,
Thus I find no consolation.

Those abandoned, hearts forsaken,
Of the flute become companions,
Some, its mellow scales a-hearing,
Lose their minds, their wits completely.

Human falsehood and illusion!
The flute’s voice is not mere wind, it
Has the fire of love within it
When that lowly reed is fingered.

When it plays, the heavens brighten,
When it plays, do hearts take courage,
When it plays, the summer blossoms,
When it plays, the soul’s ecstatic.

To the rose it lends its fragrance,
And to beauty adds an aura,
Gives the nightingale its music,
Charm bestows upon the cosmos.

Of that fire to the heavens
Rising, flickering and flaming,
Does it make the sun and stars which
God within his hands is holding.

From that fire, true God Almighty
All the firmament he fashioned,
Sent the spark of life, creating
Humankind after his likeness.

Fire, oh blessed fire a-blazing,
I with you have been united,
Thus am purified and blended.
Never leave me, my beloved!

[Fyelli, from the volume Lulet? e ver?s?, Bucharest 1890. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Oath to the Flag
(The Albanian National Anthem)

Around our flag we are united,
With but one will and one desire,
A sacred oath are now proclaiming
For our salvation to aspire,
May only those avoid the struggle,
Those who are traitors to our laws,
Undaunted is a hero through and through,
He dies a martyr to the cause.

With weapons in our hands a-brandished,
We will defend our fatherland,
Our sacred rights we?ll not relinquish,
The foe has no place in our land,
For God has told the world, proclaiming:
The nations of the earth shall wane,
And yet will live, will thrive Albania.
For her our fight won?t be in vain.

Our flag, our nation?s sacred symbol,
We swear an oath to your fair name,
Defend our country, our Albania,
Protect her honour and her fame,
Our praise goes to those mighty heroes
Who in our nation?s past did fall,
Their memory will be cherished evermore,
In life and death will they live all.

[Asdreni, Betimi mi flamur, 1907, from the volume ?ndrra e lot? (Bucharest: Gutenberg, 1912). Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie. ]

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