Prof. Jeton Kelmendi PhD
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JETON KELMENDI
HOW TO REACH YOURSELF
Poetry
Translated in English By:
PETER TASE
WWW.LULU.COM
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author represents and warrants that s/he either owns or has the legal right to publish all material in this book.
“HOW TO REACH YOURSELF”
All Rights Reserved. JETON KELMENDI
Copyright © 2010
Translated in English: PETER TASE
Introduction: Richard Brosio, Ph. D. (Professor Emeritus)
Cover and Interior Design: Piro Tase
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN:
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
WWW.LULU.COM
Author Representative:
PIRO TASE
FOREWORD
I am a prose writer, but admire poetry: the art of rhythmical composition – written or spoken – and that is imaginative, impassioned, and educative.
My interpretation of Kelmendi’s poetry may surprise the reader, and perhaps, the author himself. Although I am not a student of Balkan history, I have always been interested in that part of Europe, for many reasons. The Balkan people have had a very difficult history, in part because of its more powerful neighbors. “Balkanize” means to divide a country, territory, etc. into small quarrelsome ineffectual states. Kelmendi-the-poet understands well the tragic history of this region. His lyrical work is soft and sad. His “how to reach yourself” reminds me of persons who have had to become border-crossers throughout history. Obviously not in a luxury train, airplane, or expensive automobiles. Worst yet, perhaps without the “papers” needed to cross borders!
During the last thirty years the whole world has been radically changed because of what the powerful capitalist “democracies” have done in order to make more profits. Some call it neo-liberalism with a postmodern “outer-skin,” i.e., the culture of the economic changes. The term “ nexus” means connecting, linking, binding, joining, in other words – coming together in many ways. Karl Marx explained that under capitalism, and its form of imperialism, caused what he called the “cash nexus.” Money and wealth became the most important, and perhaps only reason, for powerful people to come together! The people of Illyria and Albania were not able to sit at the seats of the powerful who made the rules. The Western powers freed up the markets allowing entrepreneurs (mostly big capitalist corporations) to stir up as much Schumpeterian “creative destruction” as possible. Milton Friedman’s “shock and awe,” disaster capitalism is a form of making war on countries whose leaders did not want to become part of the Western powers new forms of neo-capitalist-imperialism. I have read and interpreted this book in terms of the context within which we live. I do not claim that Kelmendi would agree!
This poetry represents a person’s difficulty with regard to should he go back to the time when his country was strong and just. Even though this might only be more a wish than a fact. Turning inward, back to a god, a magic past, or where to start in the present? Perhaps to settle for neo-spiritual instead of neo-economics and the politics that might help in the current dispensation? Back to a deity and Mother Teresa both of whom may have disappeared? A return to the blossoming flower of Gonxhe, as a small Calcutta? This is difficult to figure out when the super secular global capitalism does not look to spirituality except in order to sell some/every thing – every day and night through the years.
Fatherland Albania! Kelmendi seems to be similar to other people whose homeland has not done well in the somewhat recent past, but can go further back in history when claims can be made that there was a time in the ancient past when their land-entity was powerful, just, and worthy of praise. He seems to tell his readers that so many Albanians, and other Balkan people, had to go abroad; however, perhaps they will return to a bigger, better and safer homeland. The reader may wonder if it is possible for all of the persons he alludes to can find such a grand homeland, given the wars that have occurred so recently. Old scores to settle within pressure from the western powers forcing this area into global capitalism, makes it difficult to believe that Kelmendi’s dreams and hopes can materialize any time soon! He asks where is the border that cuts through the sadness and joy? He also asks where have they taken my tomorrow, where is the shadow of yesteryear? Our author has the ability to move from tenses: remote, ancient, not too far back, present and future. This may be his strength with regard to what he gives to interested cosmopolitan readers? The lords of the earth today do not want ordinary (complimentary) persons to learn how to connect the links in time and space. They certainly did not like Marx’s attempt to teach people of his time to see the big picture, obviously a collage from smaller – “snapshots.” I admire Kelmendi’s valiant attempt to help us understand better the thoughts and hopes from one poet living and working in a particular country, but demonstrating his worldliness.
Peter Tase has made it possible for us to read an Albanian language book of poetry in English. This allows so many more people a chance to become knowledgeable about places and ideas beyond the English language world.
Bravo Peter!
RICHARD A. BROSIO,
Ph.D., University of Michigan
Professor Emeritus, Ball Sate University
Lecturer and Visiting Scholar at
The University of Wisconsin Milwaukee
How To Reach Yourself
Passing through countries
Crossing fields, mountains and seas Everything that The World has As a traveler accompanied by night and day Which are our friends I visit the minutes in my life Until I meet you Hey What are you doing here Every time I enter inside Myself I see you At every cross road From one of your scars From a green light Of mine Your eyes are shining in the sky
My trip Was very long Through these roads In which only I had to step on them I pass them quickly While being oriented With your signs Hey Strange man What time is it What is the date today Do you know the month The year It is a good year When I passed the road named
EGNATIA Two ladies sat on the grass
Were waiting for me One appeared to me Like the sun The other as the moon When I came close to Them again you were The first lady The second Was Love The guidance of eternity We talked for long hours For the things that matter And not for nothingness How much we emptied The creeks of the words Until I thought that This is for sure A magic world And I departed to return again To myself Through those signs guiding myself
Right in the middle of the road Of return I was invited by a mountain fairy As we were nearing Each other I was scared I begged her Not to look at me I am a traveler And I am returning to myself She is soft
And blessed me from the earth And the sky Indeed appeared as a familiar voice Hey miracle
Even here you appeared to me It is late Now I am continuing my trip I may be arriving tomorrow Who
Had the possibility to travel this far I was asking the poet who appeared as I was looking for What I did not know And with the softness of the morning I arrived At the door of the spirit Two rays were waiting for me Hey man We are meeting again You and me and my princess Now I have to accept That you inside myself Are only myself
All this voyage To arrive in yourself Paris, March 28, 2009
Living Beyond Herself
“To have faith means to live... Faith is the only thing that is ours by any means.”
Mother Teresa
Presently has arrived in herself and is living with the Angels
For those many years
From the great past A marvel named Albanica was living beyond herself With two spirits One for God and the other for humanity She was somewhat a blossoming flower- Gonxhe - and a small Calcutta
Was more Albanica and even more light For humanity She prayed and was part of Prayers She prayed and was
Illyricum In prayers Our mother Teresa
In 1978 Peace called upon you Mother, in that year I came into this world Today When I need pride I depart for Kruja, the home of the Kastriots And call upon Gjergj When I need a star From the Universe Walk towards the ridge of the Sun Call upon Rugova. Our Mother Teresa
With your blessing I have fallen and Wake up As a Dardanian The angels living in the sky Smiled and waited Your great disappearance Huge disappearance In all these many years The fatherland is getting ready For another day Called Albanica Continue to pray for humanity For your homeless children For your sacred Soil Named ILLYRIA
Many years went by Since you have been away And other people are coming Beautiful flower, Gonxhe Learned it in Shkrel Kadare Said: “I know a word from the stone” Learned it in Shkrel I have somewhere a palace of dreams And now You may bless the traces of Prekaz And of the city of Gllogjan We can see those anti-dreams in their eyes Our father in the sky Is looking at us with Sympathy Say another word Albanian God Bless Arberia Light a candle Brighten the Fatherland OF Illyria This is the first time Mother you are the light itself
everyone knows this The past is not envied For everyone Only when he can be gone there, like you mother Is a marvelous arrival in the past Even Jesus knew the Albanians But the storm took us away What can you do to the evil fate Neighbors happen to be this way You have lived beyond yourself You have arrived now and
Living with your self forever Together with the angels our future of tomorrow Bring us today Pray for us mother once more because December is scary for me And I don’t know what I am seeing I suspect that Dardanian Spring is delaying its arrival In order to overwhelm the cold of Dardania Dardanika Don’t forget four pieces Separated Mother you are our name shining in the sky
and in the Earth. Brussels, December, 2007 The Days Will Depart One Time
How to say a word to you
My word, soft and so warm Always towards the good
We should speak beautifully Why it is important to our age The opinions that don’t help us Below the hair, over the eyebrows Is appearing a love Under the quietness of the tree shades I hit the veins of thought The days will depart at one point
From the beginning The Beauty Of Beautifulness
To whom other than the girl The beauty fits best In her eyes Love of freedom is flowing What a beautiful girl What a beautiful Verse How lucky is beauty Your Face With Golden Eyes Is Appearing
Today autumn can get full with the night
The moon fell in the window The best
Verses I will write for you Maybe you are asleep My best lady friend Before you reached
Ten and ten I sing for the verse The word has plenty of night
The clock Passed midnight The sky descended on verses And in the sparseness of the stars Your face is appearing With Golden Eyes Just like in ancient times “From that ridge I threw my eyes to you” Tirana, November, 2004
I Dream About Her Falling Asleep With Me
As much as you want to
Escape from my winter You, antisaga that doesn’t understand my spring In you was growing the curiosity of waiting Which scared the night The sleep did a marvelous thing It dreamed For her sleep with me Freely
Let’s say she departed To be silenced with anxiety Without the smallest Worry Water, took water from her thirst
The events descended on earth Arrived as they were not conceived Suddenly With eyes they brought her towards me Your Distant Dawns
It is not important to me
Never The letters of solitude Your distant dawns In order to arrive in me
Seven days ago You have been taken by good weather
One night Together To spend Without Silence The Eyes Of The Night Are Lightening
Today
Queen
My hand is not arriving in you Neither the eyes do not arrive Neither closer to your city You have something inside me Or I have been embraced by the bad hour The eyes of the night are lightening They turn into white the sky of thought Right above you There is no arrival
In the kingdom of fruitless Night The shade of extended hands does not belong to you Which are today’s evening without a queen. What Do You Want From the Anti Dream
There was a very enigmatic trip
It was taking everything with her The departure and arrival Taking with her the welcome and non welcome And you With many lyrics were dreaming For love Every direction had a road You who did not ruin the desire of the dream What do you want from the anti dream Where yesterday turned into the day before yesterday Tomorrow turns into today You took everything of mine with yourself And threw it away from me Away from you
The emptiness of which I have always been scared
So that it does not get too late Brussels, 15 November 2007
How Quiet Is The Departure
Gather all her items
Because they show her the roads Her threads blow like the wind Just as she is not coming Step by step
Just as she was in the depth of disappearance In her head Are trespassing the autumns How quiet is departure
The past is closed as solitude Who knows whether
In front of us is the arrival or the past Playful Respiration
I have been unquiet last night
Have dreamed about you The most beautiful of all nights
That the human feet can step into Every time that the darkness departed for a dream
I wanted to be The white that covers the body
It ties the two feet of autumn You the beautiful
The most beautiful of the planet The most precious words are worthless Unquietness, Why can't you become more playful Than the respiration To blow towards my sky On The Other Side
With joy waited for you yesterday
I may have been meeting you Somewhere in the other half Of the Anti dream
In the 27th floor Of the NOID Palace I wanted to sleep With you When the whole November disappeared
I remembered that on 27 had been possible To arrive the most beautiful in the world The greatest of the word Has had To speak without speaking One hundred and one events
They have been able to look similar But you see The weather has passed on the Other side Prishtina, November 27, 2005
Keep Your Sky For A Little Time
Take a little from your sky
Of this day Our skin has remained uncovered I don’t think that I will see
The other places Without your sky and mine
To stay over us Rest assured my love
I will bring the sky outside From my breath of lust I will transform the word into a bird
And the birds’ song will wake you up Tirana, April 4, 2005
If The Night Catches The Dream
The night is not Monday
And the blackness touches the circles of the night Spring is tied with a grass string
And is laid down completely In her eyes Unseen from the evil eyes Invited me to go in the other verse
Illegally If the night catches the dream
How can we enter in the endless game It is not Tuesday How To Baptize You
How to baptise you
With a word or with a heart The big clock
Together with you turned the day into white How to baptise you
With a word or with a dream The clock of this day
Is planting gray hair in my head How to baptise you Dilemma
To become the hair, white hair
To throw myself in your neck Or to become the air To breath me in your respiration Or to be the thought To invade your mind What should I be Me And The Word Kissing On The Lips
With the view of the day you attacked in me
With only you I just confronted you In the lap of my age I always wait With my lips I kiss the word on hers We see each other in our eyes My flower The aroma of my taste A day filled with nature Just like your curly hair Like your lips
Like the moon That whitens the night A bulb of the season My flower My Spring For My Thirst, For Her Thirst
Like the creek is flowing my desire for love
Flowing without end Without getting old Someone knows more
For my thirst For her thirst The mountain with the other mountain See each other over the clouds I don’t know why I should get old What to do To flow like a creek And never get old Take With You The Tracks
I went around the thought and went
Without knowing the exit Silence and the dream never help out Save the memories Take with yourself all your trips Like thoughts Take with yourself the tracks, through which
You came and went away Take that Tuesday night, bring it to me
To judge And the light of the playful moon that turned our hair into grey
Take everything, under the umbrella of my eyes Squeeze them To give them a sign without a name
The ruins of thought are to become a museum of memory Close everything in order not be kidnapped by forgiveness Close everything under yourself, under myself For That Which I Didn’t Say Yesterday
Excuse my
Air of the new season The lyrics of the bird And the word that I wanted to say Please For what I did not say yesterday For tomorrow don’t forget You gathered a little air of highlands
To throw it to the words To remind them of the Spring And of the seasons To make the breathings Blow Memory In Verses
Near the big stone
You will not find me His shade replaces me Over the yellow grass I am not sitting anymore There has remained only the meaning My friend how strong you were You said, it is impossible Without watching once And months passed Seasons Years My friend how strong you were The soft verse, the wild The word has not blood Is not said anymore Altogether what we had together One verse On the top of time that flew by Ulpianë, July 25, 2004
You Taught Me The Beauty Of The Word
(To: Azem Shkreli)
While fading I thought of the past
Which is hurting me now You showed me the Shkrelian Verses
Our fate since the early times The beauty of the verse’s word
You taught me How thin was my view What force did you give me To see you even if I don’t meet you Through the waterfall of verses One Word Grew In The Earth Of The Tongue
I spoke to my self
The broken strings of the legend It is good To keep them in our hands With good thoughts Which always stay alone Relax once in a while near the fireplace You have never been like today
In a blink of an eye One word Grew in the earth of the tongue
And grew until the sky Laid her roots until the darkest areas Today is taking care of tomorrow After
Waters and entire soils One verse of the poet Together with his lightening Farewell said the cold We will meet One day between the hills Brussels, February 27, 2007
Fire On Every Word
My oak of nostalgia you are growing everyday
And I search In the heart of the verses Night, silence Drunk eyes Fire for every word For every verse I search The beauty of light The gathering of the butterflies in warm weather The Autumn’s relaxation full of ashes A white winter in the waterfall of ages To relax once with you and the love Under the shade of branches We Lay Down In The Word’s Field
We lay down
In the field of the word Me and the eyes with the color Of the sky That remain always In front We kept them from the weather Between The rain and the sun
I will have time
For myself For the girl and the verse Words
I pray for you being so marvelous Gather From The Word
From the word
Gather Everything it gives you A little Later Search for something Else Even if it does not give you anything Stay ready To receive it Give a bunch at the present To receive some in return, later Anti word
Know the problem of faceless
When you don’t have anything to say Learn how to be quiet With honor
Never trust
The bed of antiword Today and in the day of floods
Be careful of yourself I have the right to sing lyrics
With your name And the autumn that I knew Your Springs with my Summers
Like the South and the North They rise and fall With the law of the word will speak tomorrow My Word Is Tired
Just because I saw Fall
In the light of your eyes Wanted to ask you
For the night of Prometheus For a little road that will take you
Where the vision begins to set its roots My word is tired
I didn’t even say to you That I am the poet of Autumn Neither that I have slept in verses
I wanted to measure you with the moon My lady friend
When I return in the border of air I will invite you to travel
To cross the roads of Egnatia We have the measures of tomorrow One by one Bierges, Summer, 2006
In The Stony Tower Of Silence
There begins the dreaming silence
Like in the middle of the night the Saturday Sunday and the given word Are waiting to meet with us Everything faded yesterday
Forgiveness fell to someone The lyric of the song Neither the voice of the lute Is heard in the stony tower The weather is
Just like during the greatest winter There the fading season is beginning These are our days The flow of time, a lyrical love A propensity of God The verse cannot be changed Because the word has blood Wild Silences Arrive
Crossed the big stream
I stay like the night in the branch So the end of the dream Would turn white Silences arrive very wild
Twelve dreams for one little eye Black eye In the room When the light came Secretly The phone rang I was half awake
Talk Beyond the word There is remaining a thin timber Memory With such a common language To speak the infinite distances The Times Didn’t Have Time
&nbs
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