Innovation and the magic of translating

By Nga Kristaq F. Shabani, writer, poet

Head of the writers Association “PEGASI“ with its headquarters in Gjirokastër, Albania

Translating means to undertake a dynamic and well considered task; to transmit with originality and artistic finesse(delicacy), lexical freshness from a language to another and to accomplish an interesting mission: the translated work to shine in all its colors as in the language it originates. But in order to achieve this “outlining“ it is needed an extended and deep knowledge of the language you are translating from as well the striking flowrishment in all the translating “garland“ in order to reach the explosion of the “stright young twigs“ of the translation.

The translator accomplishes naturally and obidiently “this undertaken literary action“, if he projects and designs all the relief of the literary work. Before all, he, who undertakes such an act with many “scenes“, must master the beauty of the words and its sense of clear expression and transmiting emotional sense. The exchange of the universal values demands that the “created products“ from a language to be transmited clearly into the other and the language that plays a leading role in the today’s world. In this aspect the writers’ Association “PEGASI“ Gjirokaster has taken such steps in the field of translation by acomplishing standardized and confirmed translatons has tried to be as loyal as possible to the original literary work.

This undertaking is accomplished mainly from Greek and Italian language, but bold steps, are taken in the process of the translation in the English language, which is one of the main goals of our association. Significant has been the translation from other languages, mainly form English, into Albanian language of many writers and poets distinguished in the World Literature nowadays. We should say that in that direction, in Albania, the tradition of translating the works of the most distinguished writers and poets keeps going continously with a higher standard, where the elite of the skillfull translators continue their translating activity mainly in languages like: English, French, Spanish, Italian, Greek etc.

It has already taken shape a comunity of new and skillfull translators, who have boldly demonstrated their abilities in ther field of translating. Many of these translators have completed their studies abroad in the western countries, being in constant contact with the outer world and possess an extended comprehension towards the“tricks“ of translating. It could be said that there exists a competition in many works, where the  translators compete assuringly and they have brought before the Albanian reader new acknowledgements, substracts, extracts in the literary field. As a result of the great opening of the country after the 1990, in Albania have come many intelectuals with a reputation in te field of letters worlwide, and by becoming familiar with the Albanian Language and Literature, they have given their assistence in consulation for making translations of the highest standard. Successful has been the translation of the Albanian literary works, especially those of the distinguished Albanian writer Ismail Kadare, whose place of origine is the town where the headquarters of Writers’ Association “PEGASI“ are located. We have many potencial translators such as Andon Papleka, Aleksandra Shabani,  Sazan Gjomema, Shaun Thompson, Kosta Gaxhoni, Mirela Dudi,Dritan Kardhashi, Riza Lahi, Alqi.Beqo, Besnik Ismailati, Murat Memallaj, Ligor Shyti, Kristo Ndrico, Alejandra Craules Breton(Meksikw), Vassiliki Kalahani, Zaharula Gaitanaki(Greqi) ELEFTHERIOS PHOTIOU and many others, who dedicate themselves to this magic by giving their contribution in the edition of many competitive works in the translatin sphere. Or periodical newspaper and magazine “PEGASI“ are contributing extensively in the “translation in Albanian“, as well the connections with our counterparts worlwide are a great inspiration and serve this magic art.

The continuance of this process is unhaltable. The positive mania for knowledge is a tangable and continuous phenomenon. It aims at achieving the idea that  the authors of all the countries know their values and simultanously swap it. It creates the exchange of universal values, encouraging and making them speak an understanding “language“.This process has started long time ago and will continue unceasingly.

ENERGJIA ÇLIRON INTELIGJENCË

                 Η ΕΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ  ΑΠΕΛΕΥΘΕΡΩΝΕΙ ΤΗΝ ΔΙΑΝΟΗΣΗ

Morëm këtë nismë për shkëmbim universal vlerash në fushën e madhe të Poetikës                                                                  

Poetët janë të parët që krijojnë vëllazërim, lidhje dhe tregojnë

TË ARDHMEN E MADHE TË ENGJËJVE…

“Sono sicuro che cuesto scambio culturale sara’ proficuo sia per “Pegasi” sia per “Pomezia- Notizie”, ma, in particolare, per tutti noi, perche’ non c’e mezzo migliore, per affratellare i  Popoli, della poezia e della cultura”.

                                 Cordiali saluti

                        Directore  Domenico Defelice, scrittore POMEZIA – NOTIZIA ROMA, ITALI

*  *   *

Έχουμε αναλάβει αυτήν την πρωτοβουλία για ανταλλαγή παγκόσμιων αξιών στο μεγάλο πεδίο της ΠΟΙΗΤΙΚΗΣ

… Οι ποιητές  είναι οι πρώτοι που συνδέουν και αδελφοποιούν και δείχνουν το ΜΕΓΑΛΟ ΜΕΛΛΟΝ ΤΩΝ ΑΓΓΕΛΩΝ.

POMEZIA NOTIZIA

Maggio 2007

Letti per voi

di Maria Antonietta Mòsele

Sono giunte le sillogi poetiche di due Autori albanesi, tradotte in inglese. Esse sono: “Unlucky seeking kismet”

(=“ In cerca di un destino infelice” Editrice Mokra- Tirana, 2007, pagg.32.E1,00) di Petro Dudi, tradotto da Riza Lahi; e “A seat in heavens”(=”Un posto inParadiso nei Cieli”: Marin

Barleti House Editore 2005, page 24) di Kristaq F. Shabani, con la traduzione di Eleftherios Photiu. In primo parla dei tanti problemi che afffliggono chi e’ constretto ad emigrare in

un Paese straniero:crisi di identita’ (Il mio nome e’ dimenticato”) difficolta di inserimento e di adattamento (“gioca con la morte, bravuomo”) nostalgia di

quanto lasciato e di lasciato ed I quante persone care lasciate, insicurezza per il futuro (:sulla tomba, in fuga”). Ho scelto la prima lirica, omonima al titolo: “Poem / Again, I am on paths Unlucky seeking kismet (luck)

Poem

Again, I am on paths./A voice is calling /It’s the brain’s cupola resounding: /Hi, cladenstine, what’ s the generation that you belong

to? /Where you are coming from, my friend? /Where you are heading to now?… Maybe is a phantom /Maybe is just “the devil” / I know nothing

about it /What is that/ Whispering often and as often/ chaffing: /I don’t appreciate the intestines’ s song /I feel sad by sorrow’ s

song /This traveler’s song shakes me up, but /My soul prefers it extremely /I like my heart to be joyful I like the life to be frolic I/ I like, to…/And this song…

/The song of /Abandoned traveller. Che, nella transposizione italiana, dice: “Poesia Ancora sono sul sentiero. Una voce sta chiamando e’ il fucile che risuona: Ehi, tu , clandestino, di che nazionalita’ sei? Forse sei un fantasma. Forse sei “il diavolo” in persona. Non so proprio cosa stia bisbigliando Non apprezzo il canto di questi cittadini Sono rattristato dal canto del dolore Questo canto di viaggiatore mi sconvolge, ma La mia anima lo preferisce. Mi piace che il mio cuare sia gioiso mi piace che la mia

vita sia ono scherzo Mi piace… E questa canzone… La mia canzone del viaggiatore abbandonato”.

* * Il secondo libriccino e’ dedicato all’ex Presidente degli stati Uniti d’America, Bill Clinton, che, scherzosamente, il Poeta in un primo momento, fa sentire potente come Giove, o in Paradiso come un angelo. Ma poi, sopraggiunta la grande crisi americana, Clinton, viso vecchio, pieno di rughe, e si

preoccupa. Nell’ultima poesia “Blic” c’e’ la ripresa di Clintonparallela alla ripresa degli Stati Uniti – che vorrebbe eseere alla ripresa degli Stati

Unioti- che vorrebbe essere sempre lui il Presidente, ma teme i rivali piu’ giovani.

The map blows out suddenly,/something like smoke rises/ climbing on Heaven’s walls./ The President is looking at his face/ that is recovering./

“What it should be? Was he cracked?!…/Or something mysterious…?”/The Complaint is raising/ Headquarters in Heaven…/

The World plays hide - and – seek with itself./From its womb new creatures are born,…/ Who, among them, will be

IT’ S JOVE of

TOMORROW?…

Che , in italiano, risulta cosi: “Improvvisamente il mappamondo vola via,/ a volte si alza come il fumo/ arrampicandosi sulle pareti

del Paradiso./ Il presidente si guarda il volto che si sta riprendendo. Cos’e’ questa

faccia? E’ stata percossa?!… O e’ qualcosa di misterioso…? Il lamento si imalza fino ai quartieri del Paradiso… Il mondo gioca a nascondino

con se stesso. Dal suo grembo nuove creature sono nate… Chi, fa loro sara’ il GIOVE del Domani?…

English

1.

CURRICULUM VITAE

Personal Information

Name:              KRISTAQ

Father:             FORI

Surname:       SHABANI

Date of birth:   25.06.1949

Place of birth:  Lliar, Zagori, Gjirokastër

Living place:   Gjirokastër (lagjja “18 Shtatori”Pallati 87/4)

Family origin: Intellectual.  Father, Fori, University degree; graduated abroad, in Greece; Grandfather Athanas Shabani, University degree, American, Canadian, Greek citizenship. He lived in Canada and NEW YORK (SHBA) for 60 years.

Profession: Teacher.

Actual position: profesionist writer. Member of the Albanian writers and artists’ Association, honoured member and member of the  International writers Association IWA with headquarters in  Ohio USA, honoured member of the writers and poets’ Association “Xasteron - Zaloni” Athinë, Greece.

Foreign Languages: Perfect knowledge of Greek, Italian; Good knowledge of Russian.

From 1995 in progress he is a journalist of the “Euroelliniki” newspaper.

Education:

High school degree

University degree, faculty of Languages & Literature

The academy of Land Forces (multi-machines), Tiranë

University “Luigj Gurakuqi” Shkodra, Faculty of History & Geography

Several training courses in the literary, publicity and military fields

Literary experience:

Defined by others:

I. Poetic works:

“The pulse of pain”

“Turn around to Pomona”

“A seat in Heavens”

“The Oasis”

“Yellow strips”

“The breathing of the man”

“The Shining Medallion”

“The Trinomial f the Twittering”

“The fifth Season”

“I light the lips of Time”

“The inborned Asthma”

“Eol, I pray to you”

“The Splendour f the Cross”

“I am a note on the Pentagram”

“Elegy of the Angel”

“Are gods mortal”

“The swarthy Girl with a Chingon”

“The Broken Virtue”

“Mortal Epigram and the dancing of the Dream”

“Autumn’s Joy”

“Two Possessives”

II. Prose:

“The Subject of the Fatal” Novel

“The freed Prophet” Sketches & Stories

“The asphyxia of Ruiners”

“The Brides’ Meadow”

“Reflex in the Waterfall” (Self Anthology) 1, 2 for children

“Sara” Novel for children

“Kejda” Novel for children

“ Villas of the Formations”  (The Braid of the Summer)  Novel

“The colored Fainting” Novel

III. Publicistique:

“Vitality”

“The Itenerary of the magic”

“Jorgo Boukas”

“Spiritual connection”

“The magic of the queen Chestnut”

“The reporter”

“The pearl”

“Intellect 2001”

“Intellect 2002”

IV. Comedy

“The yellow worm - spider”

“The rotten night”

V. Literary criticism

“The blue lane” critique, recence, analytics

“The Wind of the Shunning” Analitycs

“The lie with the Ring”  Diagram

“Horoscope based on the Stars of Knowledge” Essay

“ There where the Swallows pay their Homages”

VI. Translations

         1.“The galloping of the blue horse” writen by Panajota Hristopulu Zalone

         2.(Peace.... I am afraid)

VII.  Included in the Anthology “With the flame of creation” Xasteoron – Zalone” Greece.

His creations are included in many literary Anthologies and Almanachs in the world. His poetries, especially those taken from his book “A seat in Heavens” are published in the “Keleno” periodical magazine, “Pensa aqui” Brasil, “Pomecia Notizie” Italy and many other magazines throughout the world. During all this time he has published in the periodical literary press in Albania from the year 1974 in the magazines “Ylli”, “Nentori”, “10 Korriku”, “Shqiptarja e re”, as well in the newspapers “Drita”, “Zeri i rinise”, “Mesuesi”, “Bashkimi”, “Zeri i popullit”, “Pararoja”, “Java” etc.

VIII. Chief of the newspapers “Pegasi” edition of the Writers’ Association “Pegasi” and the magazine “Pegasi” 2007,  newspapers “Intelekt 2001”, “Çilter”(edition of the coordinative council of the civil society of the southern territories); newspapers “Sheperi”, “Lliari”, Labove e Kryqit”, “Nivani”, “Katundishta”, “Zheji”, “Doshnica”, “Falim dhe shpresojme”, si dhe “Reza Prolog” etc.

IX. Kristaq is the iniciator of the “Pegasi” movement for a  transformed Literature and a Universal exchenge of Values”. He has taken part in some national and  International literary activities. Winner of many International prices. Editor of a thousand literary works in Albania in every literary genres, as well motivator of the translation of the Albanian Literature in many foreign languages. Ideator and organisator of the national and international literary activities. “Pegasi” has its baranches in the whole suoth of Albania as well in Athens, Greece, Kosovo and the whole world. In the “Pegasi” newspaper are propagated in Albanian Language and other languages nearly 300 poets from the world from the translators Kosta Gaxhoni, Aleksandra Shabani, Mirela Dudi etc. The 32nd edition of the newspaper “ Pegasi” is translated in seven languages of the world. 

KRISTAQ F. SHABANI

 “A SEAT IN HEAVENS”

                                            Poem

Editor: SAZAN GJOMEMA

 EFTHIMIOS XATZIIOYANOU

LITERARY CONSULTANT: Andrew Geuter

TRANSLATED BY: ARJAN LIGU

ELEFTHERIOS PHOTIOU

This poem was translated from the 1998 Greek edition of the “THAMIRIS” Publishing House, Athens, Greece

 “MARIN BARLETI” Publishing House, TIRANE, Albania,2005

Tel/Fax: 00355 42 40106

C. THE POSING

      “THE ZEUS”

    In re election in the mirror beholds:

    The mirror makes him an angel.

R. THE SURPRISE TAKES THE EYE OUT

    “The president” laughs,

     the mirror is al tered suddenly

     into a world’s map;

     A few wrinkles on the forehead appear

     And by the hand take the concern of growing old.

Y. MORE THAN CRAZY MAP THAT MAKES YOU

     Sullen grows “The President”,…

     A few hollows observes on the face,

     And trembles:

     Some where the owl

         is singing mournfully…

     In the world’s map

       the cones of volcano

       get fire,

      The frontiers quarrel

      The oceans can’t restrain themselves,

      The stars kill

      The Sadams are still keeping seccations of smokes,…

      The Araphats sweat in peace missions,

      The Jeltsins appear and disappear on the Screens,

      From the financial walls the pyramids

                                         are throwing down

      people like wooden dolls.

 P. THE BIG SPOT AND THE BIG ACME

    From the observation spot,

    The whole world is seen in the palm of the hand,

    At the observation spot the world matches are played:

   “REN” –in diplomatic missions,

   “CHECK…” –at power’s crashing

    “MATES”…- are worked out by the analysts

     of the world’s Whitest House…

    “The President” poses,

    Flashes –are lit with the deep thought:

    The screens will have their “menus” full

    The laugh synopsis of a tangle silence,

    Something is going away into the world’s body

    With its wrinkled appearance:

    The high temperature anger

     Homologues like their colorful Ace,

     You are a traveler in that which is overcalled

                                          “POLITICS” 

 Beware your eyes from greediness

   Beware your eyes from blindness

   A sealed paper takes you up or down…

   The applause originates from the man,

   The hand clapping is turn out like a poster

   You remain with no eyes on you, at midday

   The platform lessons the brown brightness: like a portrait…

   Degradation grinds it like wood - grinders do

   And wood-flour…wood –flour…

   Soloists of the song ”The President’s fall”

   Window’s tears paint the Marble…

T. THE SONG-STATE & TRAGEDY- STATE

                                      On World’s -mirror body:

                                States quarrel for the sea.

                                Scold for the name

                                Seton for the share-out

                See red for the growing old

                States look like quarrel some old men…

                Someone called them pet Babies

                Alive Pinocchio with wooden nose

States built walls

                Systems used to turn the hinds,

                Used to caricature the fight

                At murdering of innocent beings,

                What the States have done,

May never anyone do!…

                                                          ☼☼☼☼

People are leaving States

Are running on blue tracks between

Death-State and Life-State;

Are leaving the ruined walls

The torn statues

Trees alone, trunk-cut

Midding faces

Like overflowed rivers

And who doesn’t want

The source of water-drinking

and who doesn’t want

the place, where the dream

is Knitted like a spider net                   

…who?

who killed man’s dream in its childbed,

who expelled him

and then a nosegay of lime-blossom…

or deceptive leaf of laurel,

have covered the Death’s bony head?

…………………………………………….

Kristaq F. Shabani

Jemi kontinent tjetër i pavarur

nga ky që frymëmarrin

Mbretëreshë,

ti linde të qetësosh jo vetëm veten,

por dhe të tjerët dhe të tjerat,

linde të përhapësh një dritë karakteristike

 inkandeshente,

që s’e prodhojnë

sa do të mundohen femrat e tjera,

pasi në shpirtin tënd bleron Letërsia…

Në banojnë

në këtë kontinent,

por jemi kontinent tjetër i pavarur

nga ky që frymëmarrin

dhe sistemi i ndriçimit universal

e gjithçka tjetër

 është përrallor.

 Kemi diellin tonë,

hënën tonë

dhe sistemin tonë matës,

pyjet tona të bleruara

me ëndrra të paimagjinueshme ;

ne s’kemi dete,

por oqeane shpirti,

ndaj përshpirtja ushton

dhe e dëgjojnë vetëm shpirtërorët,

humanët

po u bien kambanave të nderimit

e dëgjojnë të heshtur,

 por emocionalish tempujt qiellorë...

Ne s’kemi nevojë për busulla orientimi,

 ia ndjejmë njeri- tjetrit frymëmarrjen:

dhjetra hostenë me diell dhe me hënë,

ne kemi nevojë për njëri – tjetrin,

 siç kemi nevojë për frymëmarrjen

9.

We are another Continent, independent

than the one we’re  breathing in…

Queen,

you gave birth (to a child) so to become peaceful

not only with yourself

but  to give peace to other men and women,

you gave birth (to a child) to deliver a distinguishing light

a flaming white light-

that other women can’t do

as much as they try

because   in your heart Literature lives

like greenness .. .

We live in this Continent

but we’re another, independent (Continent)

than the one we’re breathing in,

and the system of universal light

and whatever else

is like a tale, a myth (to us).

We have our sun,

our moon,

an dour metric system,

our deep – green forests in

unimaginable dreams

we haven’t got seas…

but oceans of soul!

That’s why this memorial service echoes

and only the spiritual people hear it,

the humanists

that ring the bells of respect

they listen silently…

but in deep emotion do the heavenly temples hear…

We have no need for compasses

we feel each other’s breath:

dozens of whips with the sun and the moon

we have the need for each other……………… 

as we certainly have the need for this breath.

Translated into  English by Vassiliki Kalahani

9. Είμαστε άλλη  Ήπειρος” ανεξάρτητη

                    απ’ αυτήν που ανασαίνουμε

Βασίλισσα,

εσύ γέννησες να ησυχάσεις όχι μόνον τον

                          εαυτόν σου,

αλλά και τους άλλους και τις άλλες,

γέννησες να διαδόσεις ένα φως χαρακτηριστικό, 

                                                   λευκόπυρο,

που δεν μπορούν να κάνουν

όσο κι αν προσπαθήσουν άλλες γυναίκες,

γιατί στην ψυχή σου πρασινίζει η Λογοτεχνία,…

Εμείς κατοικούμε

σε τούτη την Ήπειρο,

είμαστε όμως άλλη, ανεξάρτητη

απ’ αυτή που ανασαίνουμε

και το σύστημα του παγκόσμιου φωτισμού

και ότι άλλο

είναι παραμυθένιο.

Έχουμε τον ήλιο μας

το φεγγάρι μας

και το μετρικό μας σύστημα,

τα δάση μας τα καταπράσινα

σε αφάνταστα όνειρα

εμείς δεν έχουμε θάλασσες,

αλλά ωκεανούς ψυχής,

γι αυτό το μνημόσυνο αντηχεί

και το ακούν μόνο οι πνευματικοί,

οι ανθρωπιστές

που χτυπάνε τις καμπάνες του σεβασμού

ακούν σιωπηλά,

αλλά με συγκίνηση οι ουράνιοι ναοί…

Εμείς δεν έχουμε ανάγκη για πυξίδες,

νιώθουμε ο ένας του άλλου την ανάσα:

δεκάδες  βουκέντρια  με ήλιο και φεγγάρι,

έχουμε ανάγκη ο ένας τον άλλον,

όπως έχουμε ανάγκη την ανάσα.

Μετέφρασε από το πρωτότυπο:

                   Κώστας Γκατζώνης.

THE TALE OF THE “STARS”

“Star’s son

              treats offices to have at home

              famines of ruin system;

taxies are driving to and from

promises flowered frock;

the most pumping shoes,

lunches and suppers a thousand tales inside,

in “Hilton” and driving mad Hotels,

Beach walk

and a coming back to the little Dream House,

                              author:  Auyerinos!…

“Where are you, Flirt?…”

                              “Tale killer of Honesty”.

              the sweet cherries: RO…PO…BU…

              SER…AL…HUN…YU…

You may address at Auyerinos old man:

“Crones” street

“S.O.S square”

              if you like, dropping in the evening

to “XPYΣH EYKAIPIA”(Golden chance)

if you like, sleep on a sofa…

…IN                  

“Blossomed buds”

Nine days lived like lanky aquash’s flowers

Eh,…Beauty is a comma far away from

              Slip’s Station!

                  L. UNCOLOURISM

President the Great has ruth to Beauty.

The Puzzle says

              that Beauty by Beauty was taken

              but… the Parabola has changed:

              “In the spaceship the astronaut,

an ugly helper of him, in a galaxy voyage

loved madly…

When, on Earth he landed

his eyes became drab.

What an epigram that immerses you!…

              With a marble stone round her neck

his sweetheart: fell over

the metal bridge and sank”…”

Closed file mysticism.

A.     THE GRAVITY’S STAIRCASES

The world’s map is “ticklish”

                              Shoutings are frantic

              they grasp in the throat squares:

“Die, you squares!

Just throw out your soul

or, shake from rachitic legs, governments…”

              Taxes are grasping from the neck,

the Manlike ghost asks himself in loneliness:

              “Is it better to be a man…?”

                          ◊◊◊◊

                                      Villas

Like Virgin Marv’s linen ornaments,

somewhere with little flowers,

somewhere with embroideries,

somewhere ultra sweet cuttings,

somewhere are tightening to show the shape,

somewhere they pierce the pane!!!

   The hut is rising its eye

   PY..RA…MI…D…

“Becomes blind,

becomes debased,

scares too much…”.

Sorts out in loneliness a cryptogram!

Lethargy forgets EIFFEL TOWERS…       

The Black takes MUMMY’S shape…

…Pyramidal men

are dancing the Foxtrot in a tulips Bar,

meanwhile a Sharon is stripping herself slowly,

with tangled rut - rocking.

Shares the poison,

the Love’s bee is sucking the nectar

in eyebrows - crowns…

Eyes are vibrating,

are staring the poor eyes.

In a fitted body 50 big crowned tulips

are dancing in an evasive dancing,

comes out of dull apathy

and the applause is piercing through the pores:

“Long live the Gold STAIRCASE!”

B. THE “ARABIC” PHRASE

A beggar shows his maimed leg,

a “Dumb” alien keeps written

on his chest a painful phrase:

“Help me, o you Demos of Money!”…

A blind man with tied eyes plays

the most  trembling melody in the World,

a female creature forebodes the Payment

in the crystal Road…

            I saw the Beggar in the evening

with his intact leg.

The “Dumb” man speaking

dressed up to the nines.

The “Blind” man with his two hot eyes,

the Female creature drawing a lovely pet:

I am reading the reality:

A Arabic phrase!

Y. THE SPROUTED YELLOW

President the Great sees continuously

the world like an adopted daughter,

comes out of the naughty Step Mother’s frame

and pets Yellow Lands,

with Asian Lions can’t help laughing…

The yellow Billion display itself

in the Greatest Wall:

Bowings to the Emperors.

He drinks tea in a fantastic set,

swims in the yellow Yan Ce

“The boat that was built

with water - masts”…

The hieroglyphs perform concert in octaves.

R.    THE THOUGHTFUL EYE

Into the trough of trust

              the hope must be cooked,

but how, what about the paste?…

The most observing spot of the World

it can’t hide the magnificence of Headquarter

with olive leaves;

a waterfall of reliance pours the thoughts

in a peace bed…

Dare you compare Niagara

with this waterfall?

The decision awaits the “thoughtful eye”…

                     SYNOPSIS

…He spoils the throne,

he wants to suffocate

the popular outcry

in its birth bed…

But who can suffocate the out cry?

…President the small

requires to act a great madness.

Poles are sweating…+99^○ C,

jungles are freezing…-99^○ C.

The backside endures beatings

and pricking.

Taxes are dancing on the

Backbone’s dancing - floor.

Dancing - floors became hot until melting;

are growing flowers of stalactites

and stalagmites.

“Antarctica” has its mates!

N. …THE REPENTANT RE - REMEMBRANCE

The map raises the shapes,

the muscles are moving;

The Relief manifests vividly.

In the Geographical Register – offices…

The mind saw its pregnancy!

The morning opens the curtains:

The couple seek the divorce…

The evening is nauseated:

Throws behind the veil,

Variety of kisses are lost

under the multicolored blanket…

SHE: a nurse…HE – Policeman…!

Are playing two roles…

…Not faraway: A car of the latest type

wants to drive uphill and downhill to the path.

Ah, you, minx dream!…

Field - glasses fear…,they turn up - set down.

The fear is ruffled hair…

A kind - hearted snake,

as big as Globe’s perimeter

requires to swallow up the Globe itself.

Like a gentleman

beholds with its green eyes.

”Go away you, o Globe, I’m thriftless for POISON…

S.  BLIC

The map blows out suddenly,

something like smoke rises

climbing on Heaven’s walls.

              The President is looking at his face

              that is recovering.

“What it should be? Was he cracked?!…

              Or something mysterious…?”

              The Complaint is raising

Headquarters in Heaven…

The World plays hide - and - seek

with itself.

From its womb new creatures

                                              are born,…

Who, among them, will be

                              IT’ S JOVE of TOMORROW?…

Christaki F. Shabani

“Elegy of the Angel”

A memorial service to Panagiotis Kalahanis

Poetry

Translated into English by Vassiliki Kalahani

                December 2006

    “PEGASI”  Argyrokastro – Albania

           “MARIN BARLETI” PUBLISHING HOUSE, 2007

LITERARY CONSULTANT: Andrea Geuter

 Translated into English by Vassiliki Kalahani

Correction : Aleksandra Shabani                                            

GRAPHIC ART: Elton Galanxhi

This book was prepared under the care of the LITERARY ASSOCIATION “PEGASI”, GJIROKASTER, ALBANIA

*      *       *

The First poetic view

Maybe I know how to say my feelings

in the way they’re expressed

to cast my eyes and in other places

that I can’t see in this terrestrial globe.

1.The eye-lashes

The angel eye-lashes for the Angel

The pasture of the souls…

Supported

on the eye lashes of the moon

she sheds her tears sweetly,

for the little, golden cap,

the Angelic one for the Angel,

and the rain of senses falls

upon the merry-merry grass

upon the letters that produce sketches,

on the dreaming calyx of a start,

on fruits that are red and bursting with ripeness,

from the season which in anxiousness

the  human desires are to be fulfilled,

for the devilish future,

where all the sun is solemnly dressed

for athletic exercises to run about’

and the blooming comes and bursts out,

from everywhere within and without

the pasture of the souls…

and the thoughts just start to dance

from the blossoming of the flowers…  

2.

The moon

The queen

The nymphs of  mourning

Oh, my Gad, what cries of poetry

that open the masts of boat.

The stop the fury of the waves in the  Aegean Sea!

The moon sends the missionaries, the holy apostles,

to sit upon the aortia  of the heart

of a queen,

to say something about the heart that has left…

the nymphs of mourning escort her

on this reciting of the soul…

Beyond the tall masts

the islands increase their loneliness…

From an un programmed escape

the waves and the beach

ery for  a body that has drowned…

The sun takes off the cloak of light

and wears the one of Respect…

Can a quickened escape be obstructed?

The Oratory of the soul…

Words have left the nymphs!

The nymphs are now speechless

They are frozen and left

in the moulds of an elegy.

3. A song

with a rythm of revival,

a song full of tears,

with tars that incite…

Oh, escape in a hurry,

for a beautiful off – spring

with a tomorrow like a cypress- tree…

You stayed in temple

that plans the revival of the ones,

that have gone away 

with the rhythm of renaissance.

Song with eye- lashes full of tears

with tears that incite…

the ones that have gone away

are in consideration now

and they have left behind them

words full of marble…

It comes and quickly leaves,

leaving a construction in the vastness of the Sky

and the pictures face divided into similarities…

Two words of retuning

drawn in the odium of the Sky.

A miracle it becomes and it takes the form

of the heavenly bow

and with so many colours…

that turn the horizon into pink

and give birth to intellectuals,

suppliers of continuity,

and the steps of Time and the World

 in seasons of originality become productive,

The tear that incites in the open – views of nature,

that  take your mind,

and the sources of life begin from forgotten planets

to discover something at least.

Other universes are presented

in dreams with signs of hieroglyphs.

4. In a golden cry

and an unheard melody.

How does it happen with angels that have left

that have been taken quickly to villas of Gods,

so to turn them back once and a while

among strange human existences

that kiss me like Gods

and sing like the Gods

in such a melodic voice?!…

How are the Gods to us that have left

turned to a body full of tears

in a marble –like recollection

and a head made of marble…

they look so strangely

with eyes so blue like the sea

they leave the “marbles” alone

for roses and carnations of freshness’

the people of the heart see them

as them send them flower- bouquets

                                   full of freshness’

they feel that their love

has never withered,

green it is like hope,

as the endless love of the mother,

only for these distinguishing colours

do they look like fir- trees!

They leave and ascend to the skies

taking saying farewell to words

the warm words of the soul,

soch as love, remembrance and merriness…

The bells of the great resurrections ring happily

in tears full  of gold

and in a melody  unheard.

The tear  holds the  Moon in its hands’

The group of the devine birds

fly in a strange orbit

where the  melodic twittering

is heard in a new, heavenly form…

The queen embroids thoughts

in an ink bottle,

as if upon a nylon surface

where the colours revive the world

into movements that don’t have any pauses

but create colour reflexes

and words,  speechlessly warm of the heart,

 where the letters are in pain

for the suffering of the union

and again they give a body

like summits that ascend high in the skies,

like a choir

 The most greatest choir of perpetuation!

5.The most magnificent act of revival

is being interpreted

The Wind Aiolos gives a command to the king

to gather the letters

P + A+ N+ A+ J+ O+ T+ I+ S 

in the vastness of the blueness

and every heavenly letter

looks like  a fountain

that continually brings pain,

glory, this present time, angelic feelings’

the flurescence of the iris…

In the vastuess of the skies

queen Vassiliki stays dazzled

with this wonderful returning

in an unforgettable  background

with a very luminous company

that gives the symphony

of an un  known musician

that unexpectedly came

with a very deep talent

that leaves  all the other musicians  behind, speechless

the   most well- known of the times 

stained with invitations, spectacles,

open and closed applauses,

competitions full of victories…

This act is interpreted

as the most magnificent one of resurrection

of a person that was cut off

by a visit to a temple

of adoration and love  towards Devine Resurrection.

6. Queen Vassiliki

looks like Holy Mary

in her hands she holds Panagioti

as Holy Mary held Christ…

Queen Vassiliki

looks more beautiful to me today

from all the queens-nymphs

maybe with courage I soy she’s the most wisest

that interprets the revival

 of the time of the musical pentagram 4/4 … (for quarters)

People, adorers of orphanage:  

 Queen Vassiliki

looks like Holy Mary

in her hands she holds Panagioti

as Holy Mary held Christ…

(Is this a surpass of that symbolization;!)

The birds of God

thrush their beautiful, multi- coloured wings

and the choir of the melody

conquers the vast open Space.

7. High above again

very close to the mother of temples…

The angel comes out of the temple

the day holds the hours in its hands

the hours, bouquets of flowers like a bible

Queen Vassiliki clenches her son in this devine icon

that becomes alive and makes a portrait

and her son lives again

he kisses the queen on her cheeks

like a son grown up in angelic rooms

 he touches her…

She’s surprised…

How do the Gods do this so naturally;

They light up life and logic

they turn off and the Angel courageously

from the  embrace -icon of the mother

and they notify the Skies…

In all the languages of the world

a retrain is repeated:

High and above

very close to the mother of temples…

8.

The tear and the word say:

Panagiotis is coming- in the Morning

to Corinth that’s caressed by the Isthmus!…

The tear says:

“Why didn’t you stay on Earth

you, you beautiful bouquet of flowers?”

The tear says:

“ Should this soul burst out that was so famous?” 

The   tear says:

 “Shouldn’t this mind of birth

mix architecture

so to re-create beauty?”

the tear says:

“Can a mother become silent

with a departure so, sudden and uneasy?”

The tear says:

”To these kind of queens- a name

they most give, a gift

a palm of happiness full of  flowers…

The word says:

“A mother can’ be consolidated

so quickly and in a hurry

let it be for her child

that is  being transformed into an angel…”

The word says:

“Panagiotis is coming- in the Morning

to Corinth that’s caressed by the Isthmus!

Panagiotis is coming

A meal of dreams to Krines…

A nightingale sits on a young shot

where germination finds him again

on the same green circle

with leaves and branches

 Panagiotis is coming –

At night again a dream

for the  hearts that are waiting!”

The place fills with pictures,

concerts, with the voice, the very Sweetest,

of the Terrestrial Globe…

”P-a-n-a-g-I-o-t-i-s!”

A vision that’s leaving again

 a time of changing seasons

queen Vassiliki gathers

poetic nectar

 it remains for the Terrestrial Globe

to see

the signs on the horizon….

What’s happening to the Terrestrial Globe 

that’s swirling around in our dreams?!

9.

We are another Continent, independent

than the one we’re  breathing in…

Queen,

you gave birth (to a child) so to become peaceful

not only with yourself

but  to give peace to other men and women,

you gave birth (to a child) to deliver a distinguishing light

a flaming white light-

that other women can’t do

as much as they try

because   in your heart Literature lives

like greenness .. .

We live in this Continent

but we’re another, independent (Continent)

than the one we’re breathing in,

and the system of universal light

and whatever else

is like a tale, a myth (to us).

We have our sun,

our moon,

an dour metric system,

our deep – green forests in

unimaginable dreams

we haven’t got seas…

but oceans of soul!

That’s why this memorial service echoes

and only the spiritual people hear it,

the humanists

that ring the bells of respect

they listen silently…

but in deep emotion do the heavenly temples hear…

We have no need for compasses

we feel each other’s breath:

dozens of whips with the sun and the moon

we have the need for each other 

as we certainly have the need for this breath.

10.

 A new position for the Great People of the World…

Come, today the soul, itself, is giving a concert

Come, take your positions

in the Second resurrection of Angel!

It isn’t an invention, spread with rose- cream

and underneath the  cream (exists) a puzzling sphynx…

For the first time you will see true Resurrection

 For which we have held hope for so long,

and the  sun that leaves  its rays in a position

that earlier hadn’t been seen by us…

A new position for Great People of the Earth…

Roses and wishes planted

in the vastness of the  sky,

and happiness, exultation,

burst like fire- crackers

oh, they shine…

The  trees don’t expect heat for blooming,

they blossom in the twinkling of the eye

with words of divinity!

We, the people on Earth say it’s a Mystery!

But the people in the Skies are so accustomed to it,

with so much blossoming…

they just call it ‘Blossoming of the Angels’

Come, for today the soul itself is giving a recital!

11.

They ascended to the  wedding atmosphere of the Angels

I saw an outburst of nature

as she kneeled kissed the photon the marble

and the fragrance of flowers

as she felt them from afar

suddenly I was astonished:

the photograph came to life

in bones and flesh,

and it was He, yes only He,

who was taken by the temple.

Now, it seems, he comes in and out of the Temple!

I heard the tick-tack that interpreted

the symphony of the senses

and the queen with her King

that are rejoicing as a couple… 

Has a miracle like this ever happened so greater

in this World:…-

Come, my sweet bride, come up here! –

I’ve come, Panagioti!

And both of them held by the hand,

ascended the wedding atmosphere of the Angels…

And the tear lost its shape…

All the tears are gone…

The second poetic view

E everything has been said

And the letters in all the  languages of the World

Remained in similarity

with appoint of punctuation, and again a comma…

so the cleverness of continuity

will say everything once more…

Argyrokastro, Albania

                                   August- September 2006    

 KRISTAQ F. SHABANI

 Autumn Joy

 A poem

Translated by Shaun Thompson, Spring 2003.

 “FJALËT E QIRIRIT”  PEGASI”,

Gjirokastër, ALBANIA2003  

1.  On the edge of a dream

Winter reluctantly goes away,

Concerned about the appearance,

And birth of a delicate English love,

The eyes quietly opened,

In that interestingly forgetful fog…

2. Signs of Linking

Winter lights up,

It is as the coming of loneliness….

But in the horizon of the stars,

Are revealed the signs of linking…

The kisses do not stay only on the lips,

The kisses wander,

In an explosion of sighs.

The days are numbered,

And weeks,

And months,

And back again.

The epilogue is revealed of a desire,

Beautiful, unforgetful,

The birth of a new creature,

Autumn Joy.

3. Chlorophyll in action

Autumn does not tire,

In the readying of a harvest,

The quality of the tree’s fruit is shown,

As the bud opens,

And now the yellowing of the leaf,

When chlorophyll says farewell to ‘the green’ with kindness,

“Goodbye” it greets the people.

4. Released to the sky

Far away England,

Felt herself ,

Entwined with ancient Albania,

Despite the whims,

Of the grey sky.

The heavenly emissary,

With his brown beard shining,

Now in this completely changed forecast,

With pairs of doves released,

Towards a forever waiting sky,

Brown the colour of the Earth,

Always brings forth sincerity.

5. Pluses

It views as beautiful the emerging star,

Of the earth, heaven, sea, and planet,

The Great Bear who sees himself with eight stars,

The birth in its own sphere equal to the emergence of a wonder.

Out of enthusiasm for this change:

The Continents  + 1

                        + 1  the days of the week

The seasons     + 1

The creative seas are poured out,

The oceans of humanity filled with laughter and joy,

Pleasant flights of birds,

In a clear blue sky.

The first steps are taken forward,

With all types of dolls,

And a playful bear.

6. Apostle’s imagination

What does it mean to become rich        

 in happy laughter?

What does it mean to hear the first sounds         

 of words breaking forth?

(Oh how the new fruit resembles its own)

The golden ribbon is tied together by the Sun’s rays.

What does it mean           

 in an old Balkans,

For an English girl to be born?

Births have only one meaning, whether in English or Albanian.

Her beautiful eyes,

Watched the dreamy gene,

In the days of carrying this new life,

So she awaited Autumn Joy,

As once the virgin Mary had awaited Jesus.

7  The symphony of desire

She wanted the newborn to have her lips,

She wanted to give her the eyes if Adam,

She wanted her to have the mind of the two,

She wanted her to carry the names and titles,

Of her grandfathers and great-grandfathers,

She wanted her to easily cross the Greenwich Meridian.

Let the moon no longer be,

Only half light and half dark,

And may clouds no longer obscure the sky,

Let the stars never be ailing,

May the notes of laughter,

be interpreted only by the day.

These are passages from the symphony:

 “All the seasons melted into one”,

With a script written by the Risen Christ.

The magic of the town,

Rested upon her eyes,

The subtle magic of the stone touched her,

It wrapped itself around this English beauty of Nottingham,

To create the most architectural of dreams,

Ever seen in the time of dreaming.

8.  The Zenith of Emotion

A full moon,

Bright stars,

The poles of the Earth ablaze,

Tropical heat! (Exclamation mark)

“The birth is awaited”

The sun at its zenith,

The heavenly bodies in gladness,

“The birth is awaited”

The day doesn’t hold back the emotions,

The hot winds blow,

The stars squabble,

“The birth is awaited”

The desert receives the gift of blooming,

Open spaces are filled,

with the concert of beautiful birds,

The birth is awaited!

Love reaches its hottest point,

Where the heat itself is crazed,

The frozen seas melt,

The dimensions of man appear,

And eyes look to heaven.

9. Angel-like born

In the architecture of joy,

Happiness is happy in happiness,

And a spreading net of dreams takes over,

The empty spaces of the universe.

Birth is now knocking at the door,

The edges of the horizon become clear,

The old robes are cast aside.

The heavenly emissaries,

come down to earth with this cubic news,

“Autumn Joy is born”

The hurried anxiety of birth,

Overwhelms the eyes and face,

Then comes the smile, and we hear the gurgle of the voice,

This birth somewhat more special than the others.

10.  Heavenly Wandering

To where is Autumn Joy going?

Loaded for a lengthy itinery?

For where does the little English girl place her cute steps,

In a Gjirokastra carpeted with cobbled streets?

This “connector” of tomorrow,

Brings to mind the words of a song,

“We are the Lords of the earth”

Autumn Joy takes her breath ,

From the air of the heavenly town,

And life from this blessed city,

Will winter be able to approach,

Within the hemispheres of time?!

11.  The meeting point

The eyes of the parents look upon “Autumn Joy”,

Dream cast in her heavenly wandering,

I a poet am moved,

I have an appointment with the sun…

Tomorrow I catch the plane to England!

12.   Holy Fragrance

Autumn Joy,

‘Awaits’ ‘Winter’,

But takes away its ability to produce,

Snow, ice, storm, and shadow,

In this so completely broken down world,

Which lies in wait for you at the NINE STATIONS.

She takes away the winteriness of winter,

And leaves it gazing powerless from an open sky,

Even though it be grey.

Winter is enraged by this matter,

As it releases its short lived branches.

13.

In the camp of day,

the heavenly breath is blowing,

“Autumn Joy” is transformed into a tropic of the Heavens.

2.

CURRICULUM VITAE

Personal Information

Name:            PETRO

Father:             

Surname:       DUDI

Date of birth:   1946

Place of birth:  Qestorat, Lunxhëri Gjirokastër

Living place:   Tirana (Rruiga ”Qemal Stafa “Pallati 19/2

Family origin: Intellectual

Profession:

Actual position: profesionist writer. Member of the Albanian writers and artists’ Association,

Vice president  and of the Writers and Poets’ Association “Pegasi”Gjirokastër, Albania.

Foreign Languages: Perfect knowledge of Russian.

Education:

High school degree

University degree, faculty of Languages & Literature

The academy of Land Forces (multi-machines), Tiranë .

Several training courses in the literary, publicity and military fields

Literary experience:

Other works of the autor

“The path to the hearts”   poetries

“Light”                              poetris

“The sky astonished”        poetris

“The human beings don’t know,

how to think better”         poem

“To grow up my Albania”  poem

“The future is baby”           poetris

“Love mystery intrigue”    poetris

“Argiro Princess”            libretto

“Peregrination in the mist” neoroman

“The lust’s island”        selected stories

“The  myth’s wane – politic” philosophic work

“Poetic anthology”             in English

“Aerodrome’s symphony”    artistic journalisim

“Aphorisms”

“Kol Tivari”         jewels

“Unusual”            rubaiya

“Living stone”     selected poetris

“Unlucky seeking kismet”  poem in English.

Email: petrodudi@yahoo.com

Published in the “Keleno” periodical magazine, “Pensa a Qui” Brasil, “Pomezia Notizie” Italy and many other magazines throughout the world. During all this time he has published in the periodical literary press in Albania from the year 1974 in the magazines “Ylli”, “Nentori”, “10 Korriku”, “Shqiptarja e re”, as well in the newspapers “Drita”, “Zeri i rinise”, “Mesuesi”, “Bashkimi”, “Zeri i popullit”, “Pararoja”, “Java” etc.

 Chief of the newspapers “Pegasi” edition of the Writers’ Association “Pegasi” and the magazine “Pegasi” 2007.

Petro Dudi

1. Breathing rock (shkemb I gjalle)

This course

                     like the ancient one -

          MASSACRE OF THE SHARKS,

This tongue of man

                               how bitterly it bites;

This shadow of dusk -

                               cries, the barking of dogs,

This heart of man

                               how much it darkens.

O cruel dream,

                               human mess,

Generation after generation

                               you did not cease listlessness, mourning;

                               you did not cease defamation,

                               rancor,

                                          abuse,

                                                   vengeance.

O fate of the world,

O my fate,

What is this humiliation?

Why all this punishment?

Suffering corrodes the dream,

 robbery spoils the hope,

Crime steals the sun,

betrayal – the ideal,

Hatred smudges the sky,

calamity blackens the home,

Desecration pollutes the soul,

the dead mourns the living.

I look for justice,

deception sets a trap,

Darkness overtakes today

even more than yesterday.

I seek grace,

 everywhere everything appears deformed,

A hissing candle,

I cry where are you?

Where are you fate of the world,

You my fate?

Like the Scops owl,

I hoot entreatingly.

To the Money ruler

 all villains

 dedicate each-others’ lives;

They think they  wear the golden necklace,

While on their throats

they fasten the noose.

O fate of the world,

O You, my fate,

What is all this fright?

What is all this ugliness?

Crowds – fans

staring at the THRONEhorse,

“The best” is chosen

  and he becomes more evil than the evil.

All the time the tragicomedy 

                is played

At every moment

                love,

                justice,

                equality

               are deformed.

The cursed,

                o God,

                who blessed them?

O fate of the world, 

O my fate,

Isn’t there an opportunity?

Isn’t there a star?

Struggling I searched

        among the clouds and the lighting bolts,

The spirit of the generous people

          was my guide.

For a moment I rejoiced

   by a whisper of the DAWN,

Because this old wound

                 has a cure.

The spirit of the generous people 

   will guide my JOURNEY,

In this life,

   there is ANOTHER LIFE.

That is why I remained a missionary

          of the dawns, innocent.

That is why I remained with the spirit like a sea

          and the hope like a gull,

I remained a warrior

         and a singer in the storm,

That is why I remained phantasmal

I remained

           A BREATHING ROCK.                                                                  

3. Pain (dhimbje)

In the shadow a silhouette,

An attempted assassin

                              without a pistol,

Tracks the passers-by of the night,

To kill the others’ honor,

To kill her own honor.

The night whispers:

Spy

Whore,

Harlot

Concubine

Wanton

Hetaera

Drab

Prostitute,…

Too many synonyms.

The whole portrait:

Pain.

3.

MIRELA DUDI (KOBLARA) Las Vegas, SHBA

Curriculum vitae

Personal Information:

Surname:                 DUDI (KOBLARA)

Name:                      MIRELA

Birth date:               27.O7.1972

Birthplace:              Fier

Address:           Lagjja “18 Shtatori”, Pallati 66, Gjirokaster, Albania

Cell:                       (355) 693282314

E-mail:                      mirela-dudi2007@hotmail.com

Education:        Diploma: Language & Literature,  University “Eqrem Çabej”, Gjirokaster, Albania

Profession: Teacher (Secondary Education). Focus in literature 

Extra-curricular positions: Co-director and secretary for Pegasi, the literary association of southern Albania. Honorary member of Xasteron, a literary association of Greece, based in Athens. Member of the Albanian Writers’ League, Tirana.

Prizes and Awards:

Xasteron Award: first prize for poetry for foreigners in Aegean competition. Athens, 2006

Special member award for exemplary participation, Pegasi, Gjirokaster, 2005.  

Published Works:

1. “Kllocka Nilë, Murroja dhe Pushëverdhi.” ,shtëpia botuese “Jonalda”,  Berat. 2002. A fable.

2.  “Clearing My Sky”, a collection of poems in English).  Marin Barleti,  Tirana. 2003

3. and translation by Zaharulla Gaitanaki in Greek (2005

4.“Epopeja e minjve të fushës.” A fable in Albanian. “Marin Barleti”, Tirana.