Adem Zaplluzha (Kosova)

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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 Kohës' ('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 Durrës, 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 "Revoltë dhe meditim mbi poetikën e Adem Zaplluzhes".He is a member of the Kosovan Writers Society.


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?…


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.


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?

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