LAKURIQËSI NAKEDNESS

Për bukurí, nuk është për turp
Beautifully, not shamefully

Ëmbëlsisht, rrëmbimthi
Sweetly, impulsively

Ujku, për së lárgu, për së gjáti
Wolf, from afar, lengthwise, slowly

Njëri ndër poetët më të mëdhenj
One of the greatest poets

Njëri ndër më i hutuari dhe më i huaji
One of the most confused, the most other

Mjekëra me e shndritshme në mal
The brightest beard in the forest

Veçse sillej poshtë e lart.
Only wandered up and down.

Më mirë të vdesësh një ditë sesa përditë. Përnatë.
Better to die one day than every day. Every night.

Edhe në fjetsha, mëndjen s'ma vë dot njeri në gjumë
Even if I sleep, no-one will put mind to sleep

Dhjelpra, kur iu dogj bishti, mendoi se gjithë bota kishte marrë zjarrë
When the fox's tail was alight he thought the whole world was burning

Kujtimet më të lodhura.
The tiredest memories.

Gjirokastër, southern Albania

the dictator's library

LODHEM SË FOLURI
I GET TIRED OF TALKING

Sa herë që shpreson shumë, fiton më pak.
Whenever you hope for much you gain little.

Sado që ia shpjegova disa herë, ai nuk e kuptoi mësimin.
Although I explained it to him several times, he didn't understand the lesson.

Duke qenë se ndihej i padëshiruar, shkoi më herët në shtëpi.
Since he felt unwanted, he went home early.

Duke mos ditur ç'të bënte, u ul pranë televizorit.
Not knowing what to do, he sat in front of the TV.

Edhe sikur të isha i lirë, nuk do të shkoja me ta.
Even if I were free, I wouldn't go with them.

Eja tek unë kurdoherë që ndihesh vetëm.
Come to me whenever you feel lonely.

Edhe në qoftë se vonohem pak, më prit se do të vij.
Even if I'm a bit late, wait for me, for I'll come.

Rrafshi është i rrethuar me male të larta.
The plain is encircled by high mountains.

Vetë e vërteta s'është shumë e fuqishme.
The truth, in truth, is not very powerful.

FYTAZI
AT EACH OTHER'S THROATS

Ishte parashikuar ne shekullin e njembedhjete
kurr leku ishte një komoditet i rrallë
që leku do të jetë Perandor
dhe leku veshja e tij e re:
një dordolecë por...
që na bën ne te hidhur,
na numëro,
na numëro... kater, pese
...numëro

më numëro mua midis qenit,
poezinë e barit,
leshtori duket si rjetë mermeri që përpëlitet
shumë njerëz, shumë poema,
shumë shkallë, dhe jo mjaftë mjekra,
shume libra.

(This is an extract from Zana Banci's Albanian translation
of POST-MILLENNIUM MAGGOT.
Click for the entire poem in English.)

PLANET E SOTME
TODAY'S PLANS

Për të shtypur kokën e fluturës
Racking the butterfly's brains

Tani hamë drekë Now we eat lunch
 Pastaj Then

Në më duhesh do të therras
If I need you I'll call you

Po qe se vjen ti vij edhë unë
If you come, I'll go, too

Ditët shkojnë e vijnë
Days come and go

Në kaltërsinë e pyllit
Into the blue of the forest

Nëpër qiellin e zi
Through the black sky

Flutura eshtë nën tryezë
The butterfly is under the table

Nuk kam ngrënë që dje
I haven't eaten since yesterday

Sa herë që vij te ti
Whenever I come to you

Ndihem mirë (përvec...)
I feel good (except...)

Deri nëser Until tomorrow
Vdekje Death

PAQËNDRUESHME

In the world we've turned to misery
beauty is unbearable.

EMIGRIMI
emigration

How much better is it to be hated
as an American
than as an Albanian ?

AFTER THE REVOLUTION
(1994)

Under the terrible dictatorship
we knew we had no freedom
to speak or to publish,
and we thought
we had freedom of thought
and imagination.
We could eat and drink frugally, quietly,
be quietly proud of our frugal lives,
and think ourselves modestly
self-sufficient.
We did with so little for so long
that we thought we could do anything
with nothing.

Today we realise that our imaginations
were stringless kites.
Because of the dictatorship
we are poor and unwrought.
We don't know what to think
in a world of multiple pollutions and corruption
where everything is bought
- even despised asceticism.
We have no faith in our truncated
sneered-at, jeered-at nation.
Those of us who dare to think
think secretly that there is no such thing
as freedom of thought.

There were no tourists before,
but now they come, under the new dispensation,
like old men's dribbles without let or hindrance,
not to admire the unravaged landscape but to pity
and savour our demoralisation.

"Absolute Anarchy,"
the blow-in correspondents trilled.
"No rule of law."
The missionaries and minor Mafia fled
their easy pickings and told lurid tales,
but the Deputy Director of Prisons (himself
a political prisoner for 16 years) said
how proud he felt that Albania was the first
European state with empty gaols.

The correspondents knew not one word
of our ancient and eclectic language,
did not mention that half our little craggy land
was seized by Serbs and Greeks
when the benign Turks pulled out,
said nothing of the coup d'état by Zog,
the Italian annexation and the Greek attempt
to annexe even more.
They said the usual little
about the paranoid dictatorship of Enver
which locked us fast
in aspic, as it were. Top reporters came
to wring their silky hands, and sneer, be shot at,
and leave for somewhere else to be aghast.

MAN'S DIRTY SLATE

Refugees
Yesterday the sodden trudge
Today the paper crayoned black
Tomorrow the burnt
and blackened house

Next week the child will
draw her home
as it was before the burning
With the dog

abandoned of course.

"Culture is war"
"All dogs are heroes"
In man's unremitting conflict
against nature, I too
am a conscript war-criminal.

Albanian dissident poems >>