Irma Kurti (born March 20, 1966 in Tirana) is a well-known Albanian poet and writer. She graduated from the English Department of the University of Tirana in 1988, and has since worked as a teacher of English and journalist for various newspapers, such as “Mësuesi”(The teacher), and “Dita Informacion”(The Day Information), among others.
In September of 1997, she completed a one-year Greek language and culture course at the University of Athens, Greece. She also took numerous courses for specialization in journalism in various locations across Europe and North America.
Kurti began writing poetry at an early age. In 1980, she won first prize in a national contest as part of “Pionieri” magazine’s 35th anniversary. In 1989, she took second prize in a competition organized by Radio-Tirana for young poets on the 45th anniversary of Albania’s liberation. Since then, she has won 38 awards in several international literary contests within Italy and Switzerland. In 2013, she won the IX Edition International Prize Universum Donna (equivalent to Woman of the Year) and the Ambassador of Peace nomination from the University of Peace in Lugano, Switzerland. She was also awarded “The Albanian Poet of the year 2015” prize from the Albanian P.E.N. Center.
Irma Kurti is also well known as the lyrics writer of many famous Albanian songs.
She has published sixteen books in Albanian language and ten in Italian including poetry collections, short stories, and novels. Her books have also been translated into English, French, Spanish and German.
She lives in Bergamo, Italy.
It’s the time of the fading of values,
of the loss of friends one by one,
just like the trees lose their leaves
as the season of autumn arrives.
This is the time of the angry people,
no one knows: with the moon or sun,
of the ones who cannot remain silent,
of those who speak, but say nothing.
Friends are so rare. You find one,
you are suspicious, it seems unreal,
you hold and squeeze it in your palm
as a revelation, just like a rare jewel.
You keep it with anguish and interest,
careful not to drop it from your hands,
but when you slowly open your fingers,
you discover that it is no longer there.
The regret, the affliction invades you,
you realize that you’ve held it tightly,
you condemn yourself, it’s your fault,
unintentionally you have suffocated it.
Perhaps that’s why you lost it,
because you adored that jewel …
This house is not sold
This house cannot be sold, there sleep
and wake up thousands of memories,
like colorless crumbs flicker in the air
the words that we left, all our dreams.
The corridor narrowed from solitude
with the steps of my mother was filled,
the comings and goings of my parents
resonate there as a divine symphony.
In the living room the sofas are rotten,
this one – old and decaying may seem,
but my father often leaned on it,
it keeps his presence even now vivid.
It still felt of the smell of hot coffee
two steps away, in a very small annex,
I don’t compare it with the best aromas
vended everywhere in the shops today.
The huge picture hanging on the wall
representing a big home on an island,
portrays my desire to live somewhere
with all my family, in a better world.
The memoirs give it a great value,
make it dear, not regarding the price,
but for my heart and for my feelings.
It’s not sold, it’s not bought – the house!
The naked doll
It doesn’t seem true: in a few days
the keys of my apartment I’ll have.
As fragmented echoes, the memories
do not leave me alone for a second.
My childhood dream to have a nice
and lovely house wakes me up,
with a large room for all my toys
and windows caressed by the sun.
But I did not even have the toys
except a very little and naked doll,
whom I dressed only in my dreams,
scared in bed it slept with me.
Over the passing of months, years,
the yen approached, then vanished;
it took refuge in my lines and hair,
like this, we both grew old together.
My childhood – that naked doll,
I’ve placed in a corner of a suitcase,
I’ll bring it with me to the new house
covered … with love and affection.