Winter

From today my spirit is a recluse,
And banished is all my joy.
Long has it been that snow has lain
Over mountain and over wood.
Snowflakes come drifting one by one
Down upon the deserted village
And, shivering beneath the snow,
Earth slumbers, buried once again.

Slowly my spirit too sinks to the ground
In mourning, falling like a leaf.
Nary a soul is to be heard,
No people, no sign of life.

In such peace and tranquillity
I hear a bird lament,
Letting out a faint sigh,
Frightened to leave this life.

[Dim?r, from the volume Vdekja e nositit, Prishtina: Rilindja 1986, p. 84, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 5]

And when my memory

And when my fading memory,
Like the after-midnight trams,
Stops only at the main stations,
I will not forget you.

I will remember
That quiet evening, endless in your eyes,
The stifled sob upon my shoulder,
Like snow that cannot be brushed off.

The separation came
And I departed, far from you.
Nothing unusual,
But some night
Someone’s fingers will weave themselves into your hair,
My distant fingers, stretching across the miles.

Poetry

How did you find your way to me?
My mother does not know Albanian well,
She writes letters like Aragon, without commas and periods,
My father roamed the seas in his youth,
But you have come,
Walking down the pavement of my quiet city of stone,
And knocked timidly at the door of my three-storey house,
At Number 16.

There are many things I have loved and hated in life,
For many a problem I have been an ‘open city’,
But anyway…
Like a young man returning home late at night,
Exhausted and broken by his nocturnal wanderings,
Here too am I, returning to you,
Worn out after another escapade.

And you,
Not holding my infidelity against me,
Stroke my hair tenderly,
My last stop,
Poetry.

(Yalta 1959)

The child and us

My child,
Your child,
Our child
Has taken its first steps.

My child,
Your child,
Our child
Has learned to run.

My child,
Your child,
Our child
Has arisen and gone.

We have grown old!

[F?mija dhe ne, from the volume Vargje t? p?rfolura, Tirana 1994, p. 27. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Perfection

God… male
In his tear he created the world.
World… female,
In her pain she reached perfection.

[from the volume Vargje t? p?rfolura, Tirana 1994, p. 3. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Monotony

In that same street,
With those same steps,
Under those same trees
We meet,
With the very same expressions
On that most monotonous and
Most genuine of mornings.

Grey hair,
The only change
In the heavy air of time.

[Monotoni, from the volume Fest? me ankthin, Elbasan: Onufri, 1997, p. 45, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Oblivion

I have forgotten how to sing of love
Since that moment when
It betrayed me
With its silence.

[Harrim, from the volume Kurth’ i diellit, Tirana: Skanderbeg Books, 2003, p. 61, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Walls

And if a wall, long and thick,
A high wall
Should rise in front of you….
What would you do?

I would close my eyes, I would crouch
And rest my cheek against it,
I would find peace in its cool serenity.

And if this wall were death…

[Muret, from the volume Ndodhi n? shpirt, Elbasan: Onufri 1995, p. 67, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

My land

This land
Mutilated
With streets and fixed purposes
To expedite its people
Once and for all
Somewhere and nowhere.

For the streets
Here
All end in doubtful crossroads
I am searching for a Land
Which I can have
As my own country.
My land is far away
And
It is there, in that country,
That I will be born.

Somewhere it will exist
This new Land,
Oh earth of mine, though not of earth.
My home awaits me,
Unknown and buried,
There
In the midst of an Empire of Winds.

[Toka ime, from the volume Ndodhi n? shpirt, Elbasan: Onufri 1995, p. 24, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Oh mountains of Albania

Oh mountains of Albania and you, oh trees so lofty,
Broad plains with all your flowers, day and night I contemplate you,
You highlands so exquisite, and you streams and rivers sparkling,
Oh peaks and promontories, and you slopes, cliffs, verdant forests,
Of the herds and flocks I’ll sing out which you hold and which you nourish.
Oh you blessed, sacred places, you inspire and delight me!
You, Albania, give me honour, and you name me as Albanian,
And my heart you have replenished both with ardour and desire.
Albania! Oh my mother! Though in exile I am longing,
My heart has ne’er forgotten all the love you’ve given to me.
When a lambkin from its flock strays and does hear its mother’s bleating,
Once or twice it will give answer and will flee in her direction,
Were others, twenty-thirty fold, to block its path and scare it,
Despite its fright it would return, pass through them like an arrow,
Thus my wretched heart in exile, here in foreign land awaiting,
Hastens back unto that country, swift advancing and in longing.
Where cold spring water bubbles and cool breezes blow in summer,
Where the foliage grows so fairly, where the flowers have such fragrance,
Where the shepherd plays his reed pipe to the grazing of the cattle,
Where the goats, their bells resounding, rest, yes ’tis the land I long for.

…

[excerpt from O Malet’ e Shqip?ris?, from the volume Bag?ti e bujq?sija, Bucharest 1886. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

O malet? e Shqip?ris?

O malet? e Shqip?ris? e ju o lisat? e gjat?!
Fushat e gj?ra me lule, q?u kam nd?r m?nt dit? e nat?!
Ju bregore bukuroshe e ju lumenjt? e kulluar!
?uka, kodra, brinja, g?rxhe dhe pylle t? gjelb?ruar!
Do t? k?ndonj bag?tin? q? mbani ju e ushqeni,
O vend?thit e bekuar, ju m?ndjen ma d?freni.

Ti Shqip?ri, m? ep nder?, m? ep emrin shqip?tar,
Z?mr?n ti ma gatove plot me d?shir? dhe me zjarr.
Shqip?ri, o m?ma ime, ndon?se jam i m?rguar,
Dashurin? t?nde kurr? zem?ra s?e ka harruar.

Kur d?gjon z?thin e s??m?s qysh e le qengji kopen?,
Bleg?rin dy a tri her? edhe ik?n e merr dhen?,
Edhe n? i prefshin udh?n nj?zet a tridhjet? vet?,
E ta tr?mbin, ajy s?kthehet, po shkon n? mes si shigjet?,
Ashtu dhe z?m?ra ime m? le k?tu tek jam mua,
Vjen me vrap e me d?shir? aty n?r viset e tua.

Tek buron uj?t e ftoht? edhe fryn veriu n? ver?,
Tek mbin lulja me gas shum? dhe me bukuri e m?er?,
Ku i fryn bariu xhuras?, tek kullosin bag?tija,
Ku m?rzen cjapi me zile, atje i kam ment e mija.