Exclusive: European poetry: Curated by Agron Shele
Adem Zaplluzha (
Kosova)
Adem Zaplluzha, one of the most prolific
Kosovan Albanian poets was born in Prizren in 1943. He completed his primary
and secondary education in his hometown and graduated from the School of
Pedagogy at the University of Pristina. After that he worked as a teacher for a
while in several villages near Prizren and then as a legal translator at the
Kosovan Electricity Corporation after that until the end of his career. He
started writing and publishing literature from his childhood with his first
poem being published in 1957 in the Pionieri literary magazine. At the Kosovan
Electricity Corporation he co-founded the literary club 'Kosovan Poppies' which
later published some of his works most notably in the 'Ngjyra e Koh├лs' ('The
colour of time') anthology. His works were published in a wide variety of
literary and non-literary publications in Kosovo, Albania, Macedonia and
Romania.
In 2013 he was awarded the Lifetime
Achievement Award by the Writers and Artists Club of Durr├лs, Albania. In the
same year the Albanian literary critic Fatmir Minguli published a collection of
critical essays on his body of work in a book entitled "Revolt├л dhe
meditim mbi poetik├лn e Adem Zaplluzhes".He is a member of the Kosovan
Writers Society.
WHAT ARE THESE
EARTHQUAKES?…
Your
steps do not leave any prints,
they
cleared all my memories,
An
old coffin at the graveyards,
discusses
with the pantonime.
Nothing
left to be touched,
the blood’s jellies are raising,
A
yellow morbid shadow,
like
Edgar’s raven is knocking
on
the memory.
Last
night you did not open the gates,
but
you even did not close them,
The
waxy lock was crying
along
with the wind,
a
monotonous barking was heard
beyond
the walls…
Again
the raven’s voice like the night’s voice,
resounds
in my mind,
The
windows are not opened,
long
since the thoughts are locked.
Slowly
and with fear I touch my limbs,
frost
seems to have entered in my soul,
What
are these earthquakes
which
are shaking off the top of my hair?…
ON THE SUNKEN EYE
OF THE CAPE
Last
night, a ship crushed
in
the quay of forgetfulness,
It
threw the anchor of expectation,
In
the depth of the anaemic sea were heard
only
the laments of the shells.
The
soldiers did not return
from
the sunken steamboat,
Hundreds
pairs of shoes and blue envelopes,
swam
on the melancholies of the waves,
From
the cape of sorrow were heard the wails
of
the white mermaids.
The
grieving sea was crying,
like
the bride in the wedding
chamber
the wind screaked,
On
the sunken eye of the cape,
remained
hostage,
The
afflicted tears of the fairies.
WHOSE VOICE IS
HEARD TONIGHT?…
Tonight
I am not alone,
with
my shadow I am doing down to the river,
I
touch the sleepy woods;
I
touch the nests of the blind birds.
Not
a single voice is flying in the space,
even
the birds of the night have left,
Who
cried last night,
that
the dried wood resembled the cuckoo.
No
one is answering;
perhaps
the words are dead,
From
the dun depths of the earth,
are
heard only the calamities of the roots
Like
a bird, the wounded leave is writhing…
Whose
voice is heard tonight,
when
for the first time I am not alone?
Great write
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