Ημέρα: 17 Μαρτίου 2011

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 Festë 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 në 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 në 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 Shqipërisë, from the volume Bagëti e bujqësija, Bucharest 1886. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

O malet’ e Shqipërisë

O malet’ e Shqipërisë e ju o lisat’ e gjatë!
Fushat e gjëra me lule, q’u kam ndër mënt dit’ e natë!
Ju bregore bukuroshe e ju lumenjt’ e kulluar!
Çuka, kodra, brinja, gërxhe dhe pylle të gjelbëruar!
Do të këndonj bagëtinë që mbani ju e ushqeni,
O vendëthit e bekuar, ju mëndjen ma dëfreni.

Ti Shqipëri, më ep nderë, më ep emrin shqipëtar,
Zëmrën ti ma gatove plot me dëshirë dhe me zjarr.
Shqipëri, o mëma ime, ndonëse jam i mërguar,
Dashurinë tënde kurrë zemëra s’e ka harruar.

Kur dëgjon zëthin e s’ëmës qysh e le qengji kopenë,
Blegërin dy a tri herë edhe ikën e merr dhenë,
Edhe në i prefshin udhën njëzet a tridhjetë vetë,
E ta trëmbin, ajy s’kthehet, po shkon në mes si shigjetë,
Ashtu dhe zëmëra ime më le këtu tek jam mua,
Vjen me vrap e me dëshirë aty nër viset e tua.

Tek buron ujët e ftohtë edhe fryn veriu në verë,
Tek mbin lulja me gas shumë dhe me bukuri e m’erë,
Ku i fryn bariu xhurasë, tek kullosin bagëtija,
Ku mërzen cjapi me zile, atje i kam ment e mija.