SWEET AND HONEST (YANG MANIS DAN TULUS) – Poem by MAHAYA BINTI MOHD YASSIN / Translatd into english by Siti Ruaqiyah HASHIM

Poem by MAHAYA BINTI MOHD YASSIN Born in Negeri Sembilan, Malaysia. Holds MA in Literature, a former educator, former President Writers Association of Negeri Sembilan (PEN) 2006-2019. Distinguished Lecturer of Raja Melewar Teacher’s College and other achievements. Mahaya writes poems, short … Continue reading

Recensioni e commenti sul libro “Namste” dell’autrice Juljana Mehmeti pubblicato dalla casa editrice ” Libreria Editrice Urso”

Recensioni e commenti sul libro “Namste” dell’autrice Juljana Mehmeti pubblicato dalla casa editrice ” Libreria Editrice Urso” http://www.libreriaeditriceurso.com/mehmetiJuljana.html?fbclid=IwAR3GLAd0x5hZdo3oqc2odXe22-2JxecyibXOyfcJcJJZPSt49eN9ZF6C3mA   NAMASTÉ Sono, parte dell’universo infinito, una particella lanciata tra i paralleli piegati, di quel mondo vestito di sfumatore di luce affondato … Continue reading

ਕਲਾਕਾਰ / Rishi Pandey

Rishi Pandey     ਕਲਾਕਾਰ ਸੋਸ਼ਲਿਜ਼ਮ ਦੀ ਝਾਂਜਰ ਪਾ ਕੇ ਓੁਹ ਹਰ ਚੌਰਾਹੇ ‘ਤੇ ਹਰ ਨੁੱਕਰ ‘ਤੇ ਨਾਗਰਿਕ ਹੋਂਣ ਦਾ ਮੁਜਰਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਰ ਸਕਦਾ ਓੁਹ ਕਵੀ ਹੈ ਖਿਆਲ਼ਾਂ ਦੀ ਭੱਠੀ ‘ਤੇ ਸ਼ਬਦਾਂ ਦੀ ਉਸਾਰੀ ਕਰਦਾ ਹੈ ਉਹ ਚਿੱਤਰਕਾਰ ਹੈ ਰੰਗਾਂ … Continue reading

BUZË LIMANIT TË SHPRESËS / Poezi nga Dashamir Malo

Godina e restauruar në Limanin e Sarandës, në të cilën prej vitit 1872 – 1877, Naim Frasheri punoi si doganier.

 

BUZË LIMANIT TË SHPRESËS

Ndërsa agimi i puprut ia beh në qytet, 
dhe peshkatarët kthehen prore në liman,
në tavernën “Poseidon” fillikat jam ulur,
dhe përsëris me vete vargun Naimian.

Sakaq njëri syresh vjen e më afrohet,
një kapiten i zoti, i njohur në këtë qytet,
më thotë: Ç’bëre ti për këtë dhe’? Asgjë o mik!
Pa le pastaj, i thua vetes edhe poet!

Pse vjen kështu e drojtur, e nemitur,
kjo e sotme në vendin tënd, në vendin tim?
A do të jetë e nesërmja aq e ndritur,
siç i këndoi me mall rilindasi Naim?

Buzë këtij deti të trazuar,
ç’ përgjigje t’i kthej kapitenit riosh?
Ndodhka të jesh poet mbushur plot me shpresë,
dhe përsëri në këtë vend të ndjehesh bosh!

Kupën e të sotmes e kthej me fund,
tek ky liman ku ish Naimi doganier,
këtu ku i dha udhë vjershërimit shqip,
dhe si qiri mandej për mëmëdhe u ter.

Brigjeve të Kaonisë i nis motivet,
si grigjë kuajsh ranishtes me revan,
nxitoj të bëj ç’ka mundem si poet,
teksa më prin udhën ylli Naimian.

@Dashamir Malo

The princess and the gypsy – Poem by Abdulwahab al-Bayati / Translated by Lateef Shareef Dhmayd (alias: John Henry Smith)

Poem by Abdulwahab al-Bayati

 

The princess and the gypsy

1
I slip into your eyes – you come out of my mouth –
I wake onto your bright face – you sleep in my blood
on the bed of rains of the red tartars’ deserts-
I madly call for you with all the black savage shouts of the world,
and the languages, all the lover’s agony on the bottom of the cities inferno –
the lover, the saint and the martyr- you sleep in my blood- I
slip into your eyes, I faint dead on the bed of
the fire, I lay resting on your chest in the dream-
you sleep in the eyelashes, I madly call for you, on your chest I lay resting, to the crow of the dawn roaster in God’s kingdom, and in the kingdom of magic,
and in its territories I pursue my travelling.

2
On tripping my love
dies at the walls of this flame underlying your eyes,
your silence, your voice, your pale
enchanted face.

3
My love is a fascinating song I inscribe on
Ishtar’s temples
In the first dawn of man, before the third millennium of August
After the deluge, afore the exile in the desert.

4
In the red desert of tartars
From Paris to Sana’
The wagons of happy gypsies were progressing
Conveying me lady and behind the wagons
I suffer thirst and hunger, I gather the gazelle
of the oases sun
the world in words.

5
I madly call for you by name: all names
all idols, all roses of woods all goddesses
all women of the world in the history books in all paintings
all poets’ lovers
Madly, I was beseeching God.

6
I come back from God’s kingdom and the kingdom of magic on the wings of day-I madly call for you with all black savage shouts of the world and the languages, all the earth pain for rains and suns in the winter night of the world cities, madly calling you-and in Beirut-or-Baghdad-or-Paris
for your eyes-for your face-in the poems and stores green facades-on the seas’ shores and woods-for your eyes
for your face in the paintings and drawings
I madly call you-onto your bright face I wake up in midday –I lay resting on your chest-in the regions of your eyes-and in their sky I continue my travel

7
My love is greater than me
Than this world
The poor lovers
named me a king of vision
And a saint of alienation and exile

8
In your name, I was madly praying God.

 

Translated by Lateef Shareef Dhmayd (alias: John Henry Smith)