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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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