Anthony Weir
philosopher, poet, painter and photographer
visited South-Western Albania twice
in 1994.
"When
I went to Albania in 1994, 'the poorest country in Europe',
with ethnic divisions and virtually no modern 'infrastructure',
I thought it compared very favourably with Northern Ireland.
The food was edible, for a start (okra, beans, tomatoes, peppers).
Almost every family distilled its own raki, from grapes or plums,
some of it of a quality that any French maker of alcool blanc
would envy. People were very friendly and curious. I was
enthusiastically directed or taken to places that interested
me. I could get by very well with a mixture of Italian, German
and French as well as English and a few words of Albanian -
aided by Albanian goodwill".
From his impressions
of Albania and its people
he wrote these poems.
________
DHE
JETES I AFROHET FUNDI
AND LIFE APPROACHES ITS END
|
Ikë
e ikë
|
On and on |
|
Kënga
e Mukës
|
The
same old tale: |
|
Muri
luan
|
A
wall may give way |
|
Burri
s'luan
|
A
man may not |
|
Bota
vuan.
|
The
world suffers on. |
DERI
VONĖ
TILL LATE
Ndaj tė gdhirė
Towards the dawn
Pa natėn
Without night
Me lajmet
With news
Ato biseduan pėr "pushimet"
They talked about "the holidays"
Kjo dhuratė ėshtė pėr ty
This present is for you
Qė tė zhvillosh
To develop
Me anė tė vetėvrasjes
Through suicide
Nuk
jam as nė toke dhe as nė qiell.
I
am neither on the earth nor in the sky
Percillni kėtė nyje pėr versionin e mikpritjes
Click here for hospitable version.
BÓTA
GABON
THE WORLD MAKES MISTAKES
Sė rishmi
Once again
Sidomos nesėr
Especially tomorrow
Nė vend tė autopsikografisė
In lieu of autopsychography
Pézull
Adrift
Fjala e fundit e botės.
The worlds last word.
Mė shkruaj nė shenjė:
Write to me as a sign:
Gjuha shqipe nuk ėshtė aq e vėshtirė.
Albanian isnt that difficult a language
NDAJFOLJET
ADVERBS
SHKATĖRROJ - I unravel, I destroy
Fatkeqėsisht - Unluckily
Rrėmbimthi - Drivenly
Barkazi - Crawlingly
Fshehtazi - Secretly
Gjerėsisht - Lengthily
Majtazi - On the left
Djathtazi - On the right
Me tė eger - Wildly
Kalimthi - In passing
Dita-ditės - Day by day
Parreshtur - Non-stop
Nga viti nė vit - From year to year
Paqenēe - Undoglike
Ngado - Anywhere
Sado - No matter how
VARG
- VERSE
Urdhėro ?
What can I do for you ?
Krejt:
Everything:
Mė pėlqen jetėshkrim
I like biography
Porosit patjetėr
Order by any means
Shpejt
Quickly
Zarfa
Envelopes
Njė kilo kumbulla
A kilo of plums
Raki, zhvillim
Raki, development
Vetėvrasje
Suicide
Por ska gjė
But it doesnt matter
Vėrtet
Really
LAKURIQĖSI NAKEDNESS
Pėr bukurķ,
nuk ėshtė pėr turp
Beautifully, not shamefully
Ėmbėlsisht,
rrėmbimthi
Sweetly, impulsively
Ujku, pėr
sė lįrgu, pėr sė gjįti
Wolf, from afar, lengthwise, slowly
Njėri ndėr
poetėt mė tė mėdhenj
One of the greatest poets
Njėri mė
i hutuari, dhe mė i huaji nė kėtė botė.
One of the most confused, the most other
Mjekėra
me e shndritshme nė mal
The brightest beard in the forest
Veēse sillej
poshtė e lart.
Only wandered up and down.
Mė mirė
tė vdesėsh njė ditė sesa pėrditė. Pėrnatė.
Better to die one day than every day.Every
night.
Edhe nė fjetsha, mėndjen sma vė dot njeri nė gjumė
Even if I sleep,
no-one will put mind to sleep
Dhjelpra,
kur iu dogj bishti, mendoi se gjithė bota kishte marrė zjarrė
When
the foxs tail was alight he thought the whole world was burning
Kujtimet
mė tė lodhurat.
The tiredest
memories.
Gjirokastėr,
southern Albania photographed by Anthony Weir
ZHVARROSUR
DISINTERRED
in memoriam Enver Hoxha
Rreth e rreth
All around
Varg e varg
In a row
Natė e ditė
Night and day
Fund e krye
Tip to toe
Hundė e buzė
Flat on your face
Poshtė e lart
Up and down
Dimėr e verė
Winter and summer
Nė radhė tė parė
In the first place
Kot mė kot
In vain
Breg mė breg
From hill to hill
Degė mė degė
From branch to branch
Shpat mė shpat
From slope to slope
Shteg mė shteg
From path to path
Shpresė mė shpresė
From hope to hope
Skaj mė skaj
From corner to corner
Javė pėr javė
Every week
Dorė pėr dorė
Hand in hand
Kokė pėr kokė
Head to head
Gju mė gju
Knee to knee
Sy mė sy
Eye to eye
Faqe mė faqe
Cheek to cheek
Gojė mė gojė
Mouth to mouth
Buzė mė buzė
Lip to lip
Fjalė pėr fjalė
Word for word
Dhembje me dhembje
Pain to pain
Gjak pėr gjak
Blood for blood
Sy mė breg
Eye to hill
Kot mė kot
All in vain
PĖSHPĖRĶT
WHISPER
Pėr tė zbuluar
To discover
rastėsisht
by accident
e me te butė
and softly
njė fshatar
a villager
i mermertė:
of marble:
njė shenjė
a sign
mikpritjeje
of hospitality
Sa eshtė ora ?
What time is it ?
Pikėrisht ?
exactly ?
Pėr tė kthyer ndė dhet.
To return to the earth.
LODHEM
SË FOLURI
I GET TIRED OF TALKING
Sa herë që
shpreson shumë, fiton më pak.
Whenever you hope for much you gain little.
Sado që ia shpjegova
disa herë, ai nuk e kuptoi mësimin.
Although I explained it to him several times, he didn't understand
the lesson.
Duke qenë se ndihej
i padëshiruar, shkoi më herët në shtëpi.
Since he felt unwanted, he went home early.
Duke mos ditur ç'të
bënte, u ul pranë televizorit.
Not knowing what to do, he sat in front of the TV.
Eja tek unë kurdoherë
që ndihesh vetëm.
Come to me whenever you feel lonely.
Edhe në qoftë
se vonohem pak, më prit se do të vij.
Even if I'm a bit late, wait for me, for I'll come.
Edhe sikur të
isha i lirë, nuk do të shkoja me ta.
Even if I were free, I wouldn't go with them.
Rrafshi është
i rrethuar me male të larta.
The plain is surrounded by the high mountains.
Vetë e vërteta
s'është shumë e fuqishme.
The truth, in truth, is not very powerful.
PLANET E SOTME
TODAYS PLANS
Pėr tė shtypur
kokėn e fluturės
To rack the butterfly's brains
Tani hamė
drekė Now we eat lunch
Pastaj Then
Nese mė
duhesh do tė therras
If I need you Ill call you
Po qe se
vjen ti vij edhė unė
If you come, Ill go, too
Ditėt
shkojnė e vijnė
Days come and
go
Nė kaltėrsinė
e pyllit
Into the blue
of the forest
Nėpėr qiellin
e zi
Through the
black sky
Flutura
eshtė nėn tryezė
The butterfly
is under the table
Nuk kam
ngrėnė qė dje
I havent eaten
since yesterday
Sa herė
qė vij te ti
Whenever I come
to you
Ndihem mirė
(pėrvec
)
I feel good
(except
)
Deri nėser
Until tomorrow
Vdekje Death
PAQĖNDRUESHME
In the
world we've turned to misery
beauty is unbearable.
EMIGRATION
How much
better is it to be hated
as an American
than as an Albanian ?
AFTER THE REVOLUTION
(1994)
Under the
terrible dictatorship
we knew we had no freedom
to speak or to publish,
and we thought
we had freedom of thought
and imagination.
We could eat and drink frugally, quietly,
be quietly proud of our frugal lives,
and think ourselves modestly
self-sufficient.
We did with so little for so long
that we thought we could do anything
with nothing.
Today we
realise that our imaginations
were stringless kites.
Because of the dictatorship
we are poor and unwrought.
We don't know what to think
in a world of multiple pollutions and corruption
where everything is bought
- even despised asceticism.
We have no faith in our truncated
sneered-at, jeered-at nation.
Those of us who dare to think
think secretly that there is no such thing
as freedom of thought.
There were
no tourists before,
but now they come, under the new dispensation,
like old men's dribbles without let or hindrance,
not to admire the unravaged landscape but to pity
and savour our demoralisation.
SHQIPĖRI ABSOLUTE
Absolute
Eagledom, March 1997
"Absolute
Anarchy,"
the blow-in
correspondents trilled.
"No rule of law."
The missionaries
and minor Mafia fled
their easy pickings and told lurid tales,
but the Deputy Director of Prisons (himself
a political prisoner for 16 years) said
how proud he felt that Albania was the first
European state with empty goals.
The correspondents
knew not one word
of our ancient and eclectic language,
did not mention that half our little craggy land
was seized by Serbs and Greeks
when the benign Turks pulled out,
said nothing of the coup d'état by Zog,
the Italian annexation and the Greek attempt
to annexe even more.
They said the usual little
about the paranoid dictatorship of Enver
which locked us fast
in aspic, as it were. Top reporters came
to wring their silky hands, and sneer, be shot at,
and leave for somewhere else to be aghast.
MAN'S DIRTY SLATE
Yesterday
the sodden trudge
Today the paper crayoned black
Tomorrow the burnt
and blackened house
Next week the child will
draw her home
as it was before the burning
With the dog
abandoned
of course.
"Culture
is war"
"All dogs
are heroes"
In man's unremitting conflict
against nature, I too
am a conscript war-criminal.
Click
for more poems
from
POST-MILLENNIUM
MAGGOT
by
ANTHONY
WEIR
_________
click here to see
Albanian donkeys
Anthony
Weir's website
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