Poetry: Mujë Buçpapaj

Mujë Buçpapaj
Poet Mujë Buçpapaj  (pronounced as "moo-yeh boo-ch-pah-pai.") was born in Tropoja, Albania (1962). He graduated from the branch of Albanian Language and Literature, University of Tirana (1986). He is one of the most prominent exponents of contemporary Albanian poetry with the greatest national and international success, respectively published in several foreign languages and honored with several prestigious international awards from Greece to the USA and one of the most prominent managers of culture in the country. Drafter of cultural policies.
He is the organizer and leader of many international conferences held in Tirana on the problems of art, literature and copyright.
He is the author of many study books on literature and poetics, but also of hundreds of journalistic writings, criticisms, essays, studies including those on regional problems, national security as well as on the management of art in market conditions, cultural policies and national strategy. of culture. He is known as one of the strongest public debaters on the problems of the Albanian transition, regional political developments, and democracy as a whole. He is the founder of the newspaper/magazine "Nacional" and its director. He lives, works and creates in Tirana, together with his wife and two daughters.


The old dream of the field
And of the praying candle
Of hope
Marched ahead at dusk
Freeing people from mud
Of their creation
Prayers promises now in books
Like the victory of corn
In planted fields
Girls carrying baskets full of winds
And wild roses
Hidden amidst fields like prophets
O God executing
Sacred promises
Lighten the path
That leads birds
To Northern Alps
Light marching ahead
Over the city of hatred
On the souls of the dead
Rising into the sky
My father far on the crossed shores
Of suffering
Covers the distant field
With scythed grass
That freshness and sweetness of early harvest
The tree of hope
Resurrected from resurrecting
Is born back at its roots
Light marching ahead
O You God
Keeping all Your promises
Give us strength to fire a welcoming Summer


Before dawn lights
The regime of words
Is seeking the name
Of doubters
Those hesitating
The dark scribbles
Of the philosopher
Of the philosophies of the dialectics
We would go to war
Under punishing whims of bullets
And air hot
With passing metal and mortal
And us with thoughts
That thoughtful children
Will wake on
The morrow
As trees of city
I will go to war
With the gloom of the trees
In fall
In the yard
Where mothers watch
Lying skies
Where signs of freedom
Are always promised
In Illyria
Blue and blinding


With flutes
For victories
In books at libraries
Strong are
The privileged living
They’ll carry the flag
To the top of hope
The rest come from God
No land left
In life’s shriven river
Joined to mountain
As evening
The dancing field of light
All that read
And unread
Planted beneath
The two trees
No land left
To call lit
The disappearing and dissipated
Roots of the two trees


Forest from window
In April 
On desk’s map
In Book’s halves
Fallen tree
And rain on window
Two sheets of wind
Constitute the world


What murmurs
When touching leaves
Isn’t rain at all
Rain is a different thing
It’s the sky’s tear
Pouring down
The way the tear of the eye flows
From suffering and longing
The rain we ask from the sky
The rain we dream of
Isn’t rain at all
It’s a crystal tear
Running from the sky
To reach our fields and homes
What touches ears of grain noisily
Driving birds away
Isn’t rain at all
Even birds
Flee suffering
And have longing
For lost homes


The tree fails to embrace the tree
The way man embraces man
It ghosts the under the mountain
The tree fails to smile at the tree
The way man smiles at man
It leafs at the beginning of each spring
The tree fails to lament for the tree
The way man laments for man
It drops the leaves at the end of each autumn
Trees and men
Leafs and ghosts

(Translation by Claude C. FREEMAN III and Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj)

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