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> Vėzhgime mbi letėrsinė bashkėkohore
Flori Bruqi
Postuar nė: 30.11.2006, 18:35
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Vėzhgime mbi letėrsinė bashkėkohore
Shkruan:Flori Bruqi:

DIN GJOCI-MEHMETI

Letėrsia shqiptare nuk mund tė quhet mė dukuri anėsore nė Jugosllavi, nuk mund tė quhet produkt i njė pakice kombėtare tė humbur diku nė njė cep tė vendit. Shqipja sot pėrbėn realisht gjuhėn e dytė mė tė folur e tė pėrhapur nė federatėn jugosllave (pas serbo-kroatishtes), kurse pjesa shqiptare, me gjithė problemet tė njohjes politike, po fillon dalėngadalė tė bėjė qė ndikimi i saj tė ndjehet nė kulturėn e Jugosllavisė dhe nė letrat evropiane. Ndonėse proza letrare nė shqip ėshtė e vonė dhe drama prej kohėsh ka qenė e dobėt, poezia ka gėzuar kurdoherė njė traditė tė qėndrueshme, si nė Shqipėri, ashtu edhe nė Kosovė. Statistikat e botimeve, gjithashtu e pasqyrojnė kėtė prirje pėr poezinė: nė Tiranė rreth 40 pėr qind e botimeve letrare tė viteve tė fundit kanė qenė nė poezi, nė Prishtinė 80 pėr qind - fakt ky qė nuk mund tė merret me mend nė Perėndimin racional.

Din Mehmeti ėshtė ndėr pėrfaqėsuesit klasikė mė tė mirėnjohur tė poezisė sė sotme nė Kosovė. Ai ka lindur mė 1932 nė fshatin Gjocaj tė Junikut tė Gjakovės dhe ka studiuar pėr gjuhė dhe letėrsi shqipe nė Universitetin e Beogradit. Tani, ai ėshtė mėsues nė shkollėn pedagogjike tė Gjakovės. Edhe pse ka botuar disa proza, kritika letrare dhe njė dramė, ai njihet kryesisht pėr poezinė e tij figurative, e cila ėshtė botuar qė nga viti 1961 nė 12 vėllime. Libri i tij i fundit, njė pėrmbledhje mė njėzetetetė vjersha lirike, mban titullin As nė tokė as nė qiell.

Poezia e Din Mehmetit shquhet pėr ndjeshmėri popullore. Ashtu si dhe Ali Podrimja, i cili ėshtė po nga Gjakova, ai mbėshtetet nė shumė figura, metafora, dhe simbole tė poezisė popullore tė Shqipėrisė sė Veriut pėr tė mbrujtur dhe ndėrtuar lirikat e tij tė trazuara me vizionin stoik tė malėsorėve. Megjithėse ėshtė njė fllad i lehtė romantik qė pėrshkon poezinė e tij, sikundėr e pati cilėsuar dikur kritiku Rexhep Qosja, ky asimilim krijues i folklorit ėshtė i shkrirė fuqishėm me njė rrjedhė realiste, herė-herė ironike, qė buron pjesėrisht nga etika e revoltės nė traditėn e Migjenit (1911-1938) dhe Esad Mekulit (l. 1916). Shqetėsimi poetik i Din Mehmetit, megjithatė, nuk i drejtohet protestės mesianike ose kritikės sociale, por krijimtarisė artistike dhe pėrvojės individuale.

As nė tokė as nė qiell ėshtė e ndarė nė pesė cikle: Trimat e kėngės sime, Bishat e bardha, Kujtesa e letrave, Barka ime mbahu, dhe Kėngė pėr vete. Titulli i ciklit tė katėrt, Barka ime mbahu, ėshtė ndofta simbolik pėr praninė e sotme e letrave shqipe, bile edhe tė shqiptarėve nė Jugosllavi. Ai vjen nga poezia Dialog me liqenin, shkruar nė Strugė buzė Liqenit tė Ohrit nė kufirin jugosllavo-shqiptar, gjatė festės ndėrkombėtare tė poezisė nė Strugė nė gusht 1987.

"Liqeni u nxi
liqeni u ēmend

Barka ime mbahu

Kėtej i ke shkėmbinjtė
e eshtrave
andej ėndrrat e pavdekshme

Barka ime mbahu

Daljen kėrkoje
nė zemrėn tėnde

Kepi i shpresės ėshtė larg

Lulet e gjakut
Do tė arrijnė

Baraka ime mbahu"


botuar nė World Literature Today [Letėrsia Botėrore Sot] 63.2
Pranverė 1989

SYTĖ QĖ SHKREPIN DASHURI



M'janė shkimė dritat e syve tė gjallė
kthinave tė mbrėmjeve luginave tė nxira
e vragėve tė fėtyrės sė shterrur
derdhi pust e fryrė tė shpiertit
nė shtratin ku tė rrita ,o fėmij.
--Eja ,biro,
tė mbledhi rreth stomit tė gjinjėve tė brenjtur,
ti ngrohu brinjėt e kėrrusura
ulrimave tė fėrfėllazave tė mallkuara
eja,bir-o,ta ndijė gjakun duke vluar!...

Eja nė dashurinė e thithmave tė rjepur
se me dhėmbė tė rinjė nė gjakė mi i ke skurruar
e kurr s' tė kam terratuar ballin
me shuplak mallkimi
e kurr s'tė kam shkrumuar jetėn me
me nam e rredhime,
eja bir-o,ta ndijė gjakun duke tė vluar!...

Tė kam pėrkundur buz vatrės
nėn flaken e zbeht tė njė une
e shpesh kamė ikur pėrrenjve
me djepin tand ngarkuar
nė tojt e njė plunge.

Eja,bir-o,ta ndij gjakun duke vluar!...
bregores sime tė lulėzuar
eshtėrat le tė mė kallen nur
pėr tokė e diell
se nė sytė e tu qė shkrepin dashuri
ėshtė gjaku i vatres sė re
duke vluar...

KĖNDO OSE VDIS PA KLITHMĖ

Bėhu i blertė si unė
mė tha bari njė natė
kėndo derisa tė vallzojn yjet
rreth diellit

si fėmijėt rreth zjarrit nė tokė
e pastaj dėgjo oshtimėn
pa fjalė nėr botė

lart do tė mbesin kodrat duarthatė
e gurė breg rrugėve nė mendime ēarė

Kėndo derisa tė pėlcasiėsh
si kripa nė flakė
vajto po tė duash

kosave tė egra s'do tė mundesh t'u ikėsh kurrė
kur ēmenden kohėrat nė furtun...

Bari ma tregoi ėndrrėn e vet:
--majet mė tė larta e hėngrėn qiellin
e zjarrtė

e shteku i rrezeve kėrkon veten nė breg...
e bregu bregun pas bregut nė breg....

I bukur ėshtė vetem zogu nė fluturim
qė me puhin e krahėve tė rreshk

kėndo ose vdis pa klithmė....
PAKEZ NE ENDERR -PAKEZ NE ZHGENDERR


Jam pakez i ndrydhur pakez i cliruar
Duke vrapuar pas emrit
Pakez i zverdhur pakez i frikesuar

Jam pakez i ngrire pakez i shkrire
Duke kenduar per ty
pakez i rrahur pakez i ndjekur jam.

Jam pakez i perbuzur nga Dielli
Kenga jote me ka ndezur
E me ka sterpikur me lot
Pakez i vrare edhe nga ylli jam.

Jam ne enderr pakez zhgenderr
Pakez femije kur fluturojne zogjt

Jam pakez endacak-shtegtimin e kam ne gjak
Duke ecur me ty kalistrok
Pakez i cuditshem kur qelloj rete.

Jam pakez i dyshimte pakez kokeforte
Kur shqelmoj zotrat qe s'dine te ngopen kurre

Pakez dicka neper zjarr dicka neper uje
Dicka qe hyn ne te ardhmen
Per te ikur nga vdekja jam...



ORA

Semaforet klithin
zjarr!...

gozhda dritaret
gjarperinj rruget
nga tufa e zeze
e stineve gjola
sheshet

thirra derisa u bera
peshtyme e ngrire

kur erdhen zjarrfikesit
ora krenare luftonte
me frymen e fundit
neper tym
ora pa akrepa
si femije i cmendur
udhetonte diku jashte kohes



AVULLI I ZI

Bulevardeve te menyres deftore
zjarri e uji luftonin perseri

maskat engjej maskat thike
shkelinin pushtonin cdo pike

ne mesnate salla mbeti e zbrazur
e karriga mbi karrige
fjalet krijonin ide neper shi
plehu u rrigeve avull i zi.


BALADA PER FRAZEN E FRYRE

Nga fraza e fryre
doli hajni i ri i luleve

u zverdhen parullat

biografia e dekoruar
u fsheh
pas karrigave te lakmive

u rrokaten duartrokitjet

ate dite fjalet moren koken ne dore
duke vrapuar ne oshetimat e lumenjeve

dhe shume kohe fishkelluan trenat
para se te hynin ne tunelet e reja

ate dite dielli shkulli ferra
varret nxorren eshtra.

A THUA PSE TROKET ZEMRA

Kembonat e rrokatura
Therrasin agimet
E koherave te vdekura

Rruget fishkellojne nga pylli
Qe pergjon ofshamat e pranveres
Se merdhire nga dimri

E njeriu s'di c'te beje
Me etjen dhe urine
E dalur vese e rrufeje

Tymi po i del henes
Toka sinjal i kuq ne orbite

E termete te reja ne meshire
E rrekellime guresh mbi gure


A thua, pse troket zemra....


QENTE E DIELLIT

Lakuriqesia kendon
Majave te shemtimit
E syte rrjedhin gaz te huaj

Qente e diellit
Vrapojne kah grykat
Ku as rrezet s'shpetojne.


KONCERT

Te perroi i karramzave gjumashe
Bretkocat ne koncert te madh

Yjet ndezen e fiken
ne ritmin e nje cmendie

Shtepite e vejushat e llastuara
Pergojohen mes veti

E fjalet pa zjarr
Te ftohura te ngrira fjalet

Bretkocat lidhin lumenjt me detet
E pastaj ne balte zhyten prap

Te perroi i dritave te lodhura
Edhe hena ben not neper balte...

Din /GJOCI /MEHMETI /BIOGRAPHY/

Din Mehmeti (b. 1932) is among the best-known classical representatives of contemporary verse in Kosova. He was born in 1932 in the village of Gjocaj i Junikut near Gjakova and studied Albanian language and literature at the University of Belgrade. He later lectured at the teacher training college in Gjakova. Although he has published some prose, literary criticism and a play, he is known primarily for his figurative poetry which has appeared in fifteen volumes between 1961 and 1999.

Mehmeti's verse is one of indigenous sensitivity. He relies on many of the figures, metaphors and symbols of northern Albanian popular verse to imbue and stabilize his restless lyrics with the stoic vision of the mountain tribes. Despite the light breeze of romanticism which wafts through his verse, as critic Rexhep Qosja once put it, this creative assimilation of folklore remains strongly fused with a realist current, at times ironic, which takes its roots in part from the ethics of revolt in the tradition of Migjeni and Esad Mekuli. Mehmeti's poetic restlessness is, nonetheless, not focussed on messianic protest or social criticism but on artistic creativity and individual perfection.

The Investigation
In an ugly investigation
Our names were unveiled, pierced
By seven rusty nails.

Our slaughtered names,
Skeletons slung in a savage museum.

An investigation - a skull,
And others to boot - a pile of bones.

And life goes its blithe way
As do blind shadows o'er a dead landscape,
Trembling existence.

One of us went mad in the smoke,
For he did not know himself one hundred years ago,
For death did not want him, neither then nor now,
No ceremonial keening...

An investigation - a skull,
And others to boot - a pile of bones,
Life trapped in the trenches of hell.

(1969)

Sing or Perish in Silence

Turn as green as I,
Said the grass to me one night.

Sing until the stars begin to dance
'round the sun
Like children 'round an earthly fire,
And then listen to the sighs,
Wordless, 'round the planet.

On high, the hills will remain arid,
And the roadside stones crushed in thought.
Sing until you burst,
Like salt in the flame, weep if you wish,
You will never escape the savage scythes
When the ages go mad in the storm...

The grass told me its dream:
The highest peaks consumed the fiery heavens
And the rays of light seek themselves on the hillsides...

Fair alone is the bird in flight
Who sears you with the flapping of its wings,

Sing or perish in silence...

(1978)

The Light Still Blazes

You are stronger than the five centuries
That have besieged your fortress

You are the crux uniting all resistance -
A place where the bells of war resound

A fire that melts fraternal hatred,
A sun offering its rays to our blood veins

A cradle from which arise
Love and adjuration's lullabies,
Scanderbeg

With you we have slipped even into the atom's heart,
With your sword - flashing across the heavens

With its fiery statement - root of our mother tongue,
On the long road behind the light that still blazes
Over the fortress,
Scanderbeg...


Olympia

The streets of Athens did a brisk business
With the tourists

Homer, where is Penelope?

Brothels enticed travellers
Into the folds of the underworld

The tainted beauties
Played with instincts
And with the shade of bad luck

Homer, where is Penelope?

And letters torn up at the door,
A mournful wail -
Lament of a life sold out...

Homer, where is Penelope?

(Athens 1976)

I Have One Request

I have one request
That will turn a stone into an apple,
An apple into a bird,
When the star learns its name,
It will vanish in a smoke puff.

A tearful request
That will turn the bird into a bullet,
The bullet into a flower,
Grave upon grave
Until a whole hillside sprouts.

It is the sigh of the soul
That burns in song
And is born in its own death.

Let us amass the bones, it says,
And form a tower of love
For the future will demand of us
A lighthouse to face the storm.

(1981)

The Sea on my Tongue

Above the flaming sea,
The thrashings of love,

The stars set over the gulf,
Our hearts flee to the skies.

The sailboats totter drunk on the swells,
Their nets dream of the depths.

And a goldfish will be snared,

And neither east nor west,
Nor pain nor joy,

The cliffs shriek,
The flame implores us,

From the storm, the eye saves
A seagull.

(1981)

Self-Portrait

I am a sky gnawed
By the fog,
A wind tormenting the trees.

I shall not surrender to my fate.

Everything that has befallen,
The birds charred to ashes,
Is mirrored
In my soul.

I shall not surrender to my fate.

I have seen my legend
Dripping blood
And have found my tomb in the sun,
My flaming abyss.

I shall not surrender to my fate.

I am everything which has crumbled,
Only to rise
In forest clearings
Named after bolts of lightning.

Mourning erodes me with its laughter,
Screaming with its song.

I shall not surrender to my fate.

(1984)

Dialogue with the Lake

The lake has grown dark,
The lake has gone mad,

May my bark hold.

On this side are your cliffs
Of bones,
On the other side immortal dreams,

May my bark hold.

Search for the way out
In your heart,

The cape of hope is far,

The blood-red flowers
Will yet arrive,

May my bark hold.


The First Attempt

Love flows
From the eyes of light,

Happiness is deceit,

Tears are to no avail
In front of grace,

With the flight of the bird
Begins the song of rise and fall,

May he who has never sung
Perish at the stake,

The future of the world lies with the one
Who knows how to laugh at the right time.


The Second Attempt

With the impure blood of words
Are polluted fields of light,

The heaving dust permeates history,

The salvation of the world is its resurrection
When a new pain dies where it was born,

Nowhere can we go
But into ourselves and then
Become bolts of lightning.

Bridges we have made of our bones,
Banks of our skulls.

Night of the Poets

When silence envelops all things,
When everyone is asleep,
Do poets awaken
To seethe in their verse,

To squeeze from it
The bitter blood of thought,

Their spirits - a battlefield,

In the fever of words
They perish slowly without a cry.

A Legend

A legend,
A word which never withers,
Is a light pursued by darkness
In the accursed canyons
Which proclaims judgment on its own wisdom.

A legend - it is my people
Seared like a stone burst into flame
And yet green like the buds of first blossoms,
Fled like the ray which slipped into the abyss,
Come like the last soldier with victory on his flag,
Bound in a root enshrouded by earth
Where fear grows mouldy in the marrow of crags,
Dreaming of snowdrifts.

A legend,
A smoky fortress,
Amidst the storms of time,
The meadows of hope,
Advancing through my verse.

Swollen Roads

Swollen roads of a ceremonial square,
They don't even bid each other farewell.

In the rays of the sun
Can be heard
The clang of old swords.

And lament deceives joy,
And death deceives life.

The ghosts of MacBeth,
The wrathful wood,

An unyielding tumult
Is about to set forth.

I have nowhere to go beyond my blood,
I have nowhere to go beyond my tongue.

We will bond to the diameter of the earth,
As a mad dog is chained to its hut...

My Sailboat

Speed o'er the waves, sailboat of mine,
Conquer the sea and vanquish fear.

Sail to the foaming banks
Where wounds are healed.

The sea is as deep as blood's victories.

Pluck the blue from the sky,
Put trowels to these wrinkles,
And, on seagulls' wings,
Make the dawn a nest.

Sailboat of mine, sorrow of my journey,
Orphaned children we are, you and I.

Should we perish somewhere far away,
Only the winds will mourn us.

Speed o'er the waves, heart of fire,
For my life and yours are elusive and blithe...

The Past

Gory revenge wrought in the dark,
Without a song or a cry.

The lust for blood
Turned you to wretched stone
Long before my birth.

May every pierced slab know that name,
Buried in every mother's bosom,
Your calamity,
Black beast...

(1981)


Pergatiti:Flori Bruqi





Autor: Flori Bruqi :: Shkruar me: 30-11-2006 nė orėn 04-55


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