 |
| Alisa Velaj |
PAYOFF TO BLINDSIGHT
I don't wanna see them bats!
They don't see me either.
IMPAIRED DISCOVERY
Surprised, he told me one midnight
that his moon and mine were not
shining on one and the same fallow lot.
NOCTURNAL PEACE
Give me a cricket's tune,
and I will fill your night with a butterflyish solitude.
IMMORTALITY
Peaceful - the patience of leaves
to have themselves reborn
after every fall.
INCURABLE ANXIETY
The anxiety of nothingness won't fade away
when the owl screeches atop green trees.
FACING FACELESSNESS
So many images of people.
So few people with an image.
I keep on gazing at the tulips of Sylvia Plath.
TOMB[S]TONE
I have forgotten his words,
but not the tone of his voice.
Right there I'd spot his procrastination.
INFERIORITY COMPLEX
He knew himself so well
that his fear of strangers knew no end.
INSPIRATION
The breath around the palm trees
airs the wings of a storm-petrel.
A CONCERTO OF PENITENTS
Sounds, sounds, and more sounds in the air.
What a multitude of penitent voices
in guitar caverns!
WRONG TIMING
He told me he was about to leave,
while homeward roads swarmed with pilgrims.
ILLUSION-FREE
The night bird keeps telling me of a sunflower
in the land of lotusphagus people.
As soon as the day breaks,
I always forget the entire story.
PETTY-HEARTEDNESS
He had led his entire life
sharing the vices of men
locked inside their own shell.
He so badly envied the old beggar,
who daily fed breadcrumbs to the pigeons,
that he hankered to beat him like hell.
A CUCKOO'S GRIN
Every pillow of lilies
holds underneath a song or a verse.
A cuckoo's grin - a requiem onto the air's skin!
REQUIEM FOR THE SUN
In front of a casket,
two individuals holding a grudge.
A requiem for the sun...
THE ART OF TAMING
Pat
the roar
to tame the beast!
DROPLETS OF LIGHT
Droplets of light fallen off dove wings -
the sunflower fields in this forsaken land...
A REFUGEE'S OBSERVATION
You tell me it's a test of fire;
yet, no fire anywhere.
We are on a journey,
no roads, no trees, no sods.
What immense curiosity
on the back of fireflies!
A RITUAL
He’s all the time cracking shells of loneliness.
In the garden, every moment,
I envy the lush growing lilies.
The sun has already set!
IT WAS YOUR ULTIMATE ROLE, HOMUNCULUS!
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Through breezy fingers
Over two guitar strings.
The orchestra begins to heat up
For no good reason...
I don't dance that dance, Homunculus.
Age-wise, I am a perennial leaf,
And my every effort to arrest the air
Is rewarded with phantom flights.
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Through breezy fingers
Over four guitar strings.
Neither should you dance that dance, Homunculus,
A creature contrived as you are, nought born.
One must love way too much to not perish altogether.
Dancers of your like got scythed by a gust of wind
While, in extasy, they were busy cutting hyacinths.
You are the last one of that dynasty, Homunculus!
Incense of smoke
Incense of smoke
Incense of smoke
The guitar vanished in thin air.
Ah, my son, why wouldn't you for once listen to me?!
That was your ultimate role toward perfection,
That was your single role...
You will now show no mercy to hold even walls captive,
Nor will you waver anymore to hold captive your own self,
O storm-petrel of ours, conceived in the mirage of a cage!
NOCTURN
it is like dying
amidst a forest where tweets suffocate
and squirrels go on tip-toe
to not disturb the sounds of winds
like dying is this insane escapade
towards the songs of nowhere
ravens sing of love as well
pigeons whisper and cower inside the blueness
singing singing singing
with a squirrelish fear light at the heels
amidst a forest that suffocates tweets...
THE SAILOR'S HOUSE
(A true Danish story)
This is the land lot,
while the vegetation on it - the surviving mark
of the house that succumbed once the man did.
Every time he headed to and back from the seas,
the Viking descendant left and returned to his shelter,
surrounded on every side by trees as high
as his giant build.
One night, alas, he couldn't make it back,
abandoning his house to total loneliness – first time ever.
All that the following morning witnessed
was a catacomb
of roof and walls and trees fallen flat aground,
and a flock of seagulls paying their last respects
high up in that patch of sky.
Copenhagen, fall of 2016
I don't wanna see them bats!
They don't see me either.
IMPAIRED DISCOVERY
Surprised, he told me one midnight
that his moon and mine were not
shining on one and the same fallow lot.
NOCTURNAL PEACE
Give me a cricket's tune,
and I will fill your night with a butterflyish solitude.
IMMORTALITY
Peaceful - the patience of leaves
to have themselves reborn
after every fall.
INCURABLE ANXIETY
The anxiety of nothingness won't fade away
when the owl screeches atop green trees.
FACING FACELESSNESS
So many images of people.
So few people with an image.
I keep on gazing at the tulips of Sylvia Plath.
TOMB[S]TONE
I have forgotten his words,
but not the tone of his voice.
Right there I'd spot his procrastination.
INFERIORITY COMPLEX
He knew himself so well
that his fear of strangers knew no end.
INSPIRATION
The breath around the palm trees
airs the wings of a storm-petrel.
A CONCERTO OF PENITENTS
Sounds, sounds, and more sounds in the air.
What a multitude of penitent voices
in guitar caverns!
WRONG TIMING
He told me he was about to leave,
while homeward roads swarmed with pilgrims.
ILLUSION-FREE
The night bird keeps telling me of a sunflower
in the land of lotusphagus people.
As soon as the day breaks,
I always forget the entire story.
PETTY-HEARTEDNESS
He had led his entire life
sharing the vices of men
locked inside their own shell.
He so badly envied the old beggar,
who daily fed breadcrumbs to the pigeons,
that he hankered to beat him like hell.
A CUCKOO'S GRIN
Every pillow of lilies
holds underneath a song or a verse.
A cuckoo's grin - a requiem onto the air's skin!
REQUIEM FOR THE SUN
In front of a casket,
two individuals holding a grudge.
A requiem for the sun...
THE ART OF TAMING
Pat
the roar
to tame the beast!
DROPLETS OF LIGHT
Droplets of light fallen off dove wings -
the sunflower fields in this forsaken land...
A REFUGEE'S OBSERVATION
You tell me it's a test of fire;
yet, no fire anywhere.
We are on a journey,
no roads, no trees, no sods.
What immense curiosity
on the back of fireflies!
A RITUAL
He’s all the time cracking shells of loneliness.
In the garden, every moment,
I envy the lush growing lilies.
The sun has already set!
IT WAS YOUR ULTIMATE ROLE, HOMUNCULUS!
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Through breezy fingers
Over two guitar strings.
The orchestra begins to heat up
For no good reason...
I don't dance that dance, Homunculus.
Age-wise, I am a perennial leaf,
And my every effort to arrest the air
Is rewarded with phantom flights.
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Incense of fire
Through breezy fingers
Over four guitar strings.
Neither should you dance that dance, Homunculus,
A creature contrived as you are, nought born.
One must love way too much to not perish altogether.
Dancers of your like got scythed by a gust of wind
While, in extasy, they were busy cutting hyacinths.
You are the last one of that dynasty, Homunculus!
Incense of smoke
Incense of smoke
Incense of smoke
The guitar vanished in thin air.
Ah, my son, why wouldn't you for once listen to me?!
That was your ultimate role toward perfection,
That was your single role...
You will now show no mercy to hold even walls captive,
Nor will you waver anymore to hold captive your own self,
O storm-petrel of ours, conceived in the mirage of a cage!
NOCTURN
it is like dying
amidst a forest where tweets suffocate
and squirrels go on tip-toe
to not disturb the sounds of winds
like dying is this insane escapade
towards the songs of nowhere
ravens sing of love as well
pigeons whisper and cower inside the blueness
singing singing singing
with a squirrelish fear light at the heels
amidst a forest that suffocates tweets...
THE SAILOR'S HOUSE
(A true Danish story)
This is the land lot,
while the vegetation on it - the surviving mark
of the house that succumbed once the man did.
Every time he headed to and back from the seas,
the Viking descendant left and returned to his shelter,
surrounded on every side by trees as high
as his giant build.
One night, alas, he couldn't make it back,
abandoning his house to total loneliness – first time ever.
All that the following morning witnessed
was a catacomb
of roof and walls and trees fallen flat aground,
and a flock of seagulls paying their last respects
high up in that patch of sky.
Copenhagen, fall of 2016
Translated from Albanian by Arben P. Latifi
