Today we learned the sad news that the great writer, Ismail Kadare, has passed away at the age of 88. Although he is physically gone, still, his literary works are timeless and stand the test of time. You can read about Ismail Kadare in this link , while we recall him through 10 exciting poems that only a writer with a brilliant mind and pen could create.
Even when the memory!
Even when my tired memory
Like those midnight trams
Only at the main stations will stop,
I will not forget you.
I will remember
the silent, endless Evening of your eyes,
the drowned Dawn, fallen on my shoulder
Like an unshakeable snow.
The breakup has come
I'm running away from you...
Nothing extraordinary,
Except some night
Someone's fingers will tangle in your hair
With far away my fingers, miles long...
When you called
You woke up the phone from a heavy, black sleep
with your loving voice, which vibrated warmly
. It was winter.
I was sunk
In the motionless armchair beside the solitude.
I approached the windows. It was raining
outside
I looked gratefully at the long telephone wires
They came from afar, without stopping anywhere, straight to you,
From the smell of your hair, from the faithful line of your lips,
Without stopping and without entwining with the seductive rainbows of the road.
you cry
No. Warm raindrops fell from the wires.
A girl
Kissing you without a loved one
in his soul, he wounded you,
his red lips,
like a stealthy killer, went.
Proud that he "put you in the hand"
of all his friends, he told you your name.
Over a glass of beer, they talked about you
in the park on Sundays.
And you alone remained
empty, your eyes remained in the night of whistles
like the deserted square where
a car accident just happened...
Now, when you go on the road of Dibra,
they follow you with their eyes.
Someone elbows a friend,
- do you see so-and-so? it's behind...
And you lower your head, speed up your step
to reach your friend as quickly as possible
repeating the standard words
"Ah, all boys are the same".
Both sitting next to the radio
will silently light a cigarette,
on her shoulder under the words of the news,
I will take a nap for a moment
and it will lead to another
wider, more beautiful, and cloudier road.
Atje ne sfond fabrikash njerzit
nga këmbet s'do t'u vënë re.
Atje tek ecesh në mes turmash,
në një grup djemsh, ndoshta midis,
dikush me brryl do t'i bjer shokut,
-e sheh filanen? ishim miq...
Në parkun që mbuluan fletët
Në parkun q'ë mbuluan fletët
Të dy ne ecim qetësisht,
Pas shijes saj ka shtruar vjeshta
Qilim të verdhë natyrisht.
Dhe ndoshta si një ëndërr e zbehtë
Ju fanit një muzg i vonë
Ky park q'ë kan' mbuluar fletët
Ku pas kaq shekujsh ti po shkon.
Nga vagabondët me cigare
Ti mos u tremb e dashur kot
Imazhin tënd as dinosaurët
Shekuj më parë s'e shtypën dot.
Që ti të vije kaq e bukur
Me këta flokë, me këtë hap
Toka të egrën klimë e zbuti
Dhe akullnajat ktheu mbrapsht.
Dhe s'kish se si të ndodhte ndryshe
Të ndodhte ndryshe s'kish se si.
U desh të zhdukeshin përbindshat
Që te kjo botë të vije ti...
Pa ty
Ti ike udhes së pafundme
Ku zverdhin drurët gjetherënës
Mbi gjokse pellgjesh tani tundet
I arti medalion i hënës.
Lejlekët ikën.
Fill pas teje
Si stof i keq u zbeh blerimi
Dhe ngjajnë toka, pylli, reja,
Me negativin e një filmi.
Tani në fusha shkoj menduar
Ku nis të fryjë erë e ftohtë,
Ku ca mullare të gjysmuar
Duken që larg si Don Kishotë.
Ç'të bëj, po them me vehten time,
Në këtë orë të vonë të muzgut,
Ku qerrja baltave bën shkrime.
Të lashta sa të Gjon Buzukut?
Do të shkoj të ulem permbi pellgjet,
Të pi në gjunjë duke rënë,
Në grykë e di që do të më ngelet
I ftohti medalioni i hënës.
Ti qave
Ti qave dhe më the me zë të ulët
Se unë të trajtoja si prostitutë.
Atëhere lotëve të tu s'ua vura veshin,
Te desha, pa e ditur se të desha.
Një mëngjes të beftë kur u gdhiva
Pa ty dhe bota krejt e zbrazët m'u duk,
Ahere e kuptova ç'kisha humbur,
Ç'kisha fituar kuptova gjithashtu.
Më rrëzëllinte si smerald mërzija,
Dhe lumturia ngrysej si një muzg me re.
Nuk dija kë të zgjidhja nga të dyja
secila m'e bukur se tjetra qe.
Se ish i tillë ky koleksion bizhush
Që dritë e terr lëshonte njëkohësisht,
Që njëqindfish etjen për jetën shtonte,
Por dhe që vdekjen ndillte njëqindfish.
Të huaj jemi
Të huaj jemi ne prej kohësh,
Ç'ish për t'u thënë është thënë,
Si gurët që zënë vend në tokë,
Në jetë vend ne kemi zënë.
Towards each other we have closed
All the roads and paths,
Like two medieval cities
With walls, fences and stacks.
But at night, when the brain is tired,
The gates close quietly,
You find a path and enter inside,
A path that only you know.
Then, as if in the alleys of the park,
I walk among the circovolutions,
I enter carefree dreams,
I admire, I laugh, I wave.
But when the morning is approaching,
you start to worry suddenly,
And silently you go out of
the path, which comes out only for you.
The day comes. Life flows again.
And we both as before
Cold and invincible stand
Like two medieval cities.
crystal
It's been a while since we've seen each other and I feel
how I'm slowly forgetting you,
how your memory is dying in me,
how my hair is dying and everything.
Now I'm looking up and down for
a place to let you go.
A stanza or a note or a brilliant
Where to leave you, to kiss, to go.
If no grave accepts you,
No marble or crystal mortuary,
Shouldn't I dance back to carry you
Half dead, half alive?
I can't find where to throw you
To find a field or a flower bed
Where I gently gather pollen
Everywhere, everywhere to spread you.
Autumn of Tirana
The sky is shapeless, like an idiot's brain,
the pavements are boring, the rain pours down on
a passer-by, an umbrella, the weather roars,
a bicycle takes the turn with speed.
Formless is the sky, like an idiot's thought...
Insufficient time
I don't have time to forget many things
From my mind I take you forever.
For the old tragedies and flashbacks
I will need at least two years.
And perhaps as much for Dante,
For the French land and the beaches as much,
Perhaps the women I'll be sweeping away
When the dusk draws near.
Like the overweight traveler
Before the departing plane in a little while
Still heavily laden
I'll approach the lost grave.
How can I take this burden off my shoulders?
Where do I put this weight, how?
I can't go down there with him
, but I can never leave him up there either.
Thought until the last moment
From old age, from the tragic hostage,
A perhaps incomprehensible sign
I will make you all and I will leave.
