Vijon Përulem para vendlindjes sime " Jani Dede

English





“I kneel Before my birthplace” POEMS














I I
I





* Call of memory “epic and
lyric”…


The departure is painful,
but it has its exciting role… when you are forced to leave a place, to abandon
your love, your relationship, the feeling of attachment, of the real story of
the nostalgia level, of the psychological phenomenon begin to move lively… such
an exciting and explosive station is that of the departure from the place
“where your head has fallen” and that the Cajupian feeling is been delivered
with expressively precise paintbrushes and as a result of this “feeling storm”
even if the feelings of people are confined, they find their way out,
forcefully by trying every single way. The man from Zagoria, despite the place
where he had gone, when he had left home forced by the conditions or for a
better life, he returned to his birthplace more laughingly than before, more
caring for the hearth, for the property and everything… Such is the author of
this modest small volume, who “unloaded” his feeling, but he exceeds
expectation, he says: “I kneel before you, my birthplace”… It is an expression which speaks a lot, which expresses a lot
from both sides mind and feelings, but also the birthplace, which is been
powerfully portrayed, and is transformed into a human being, to which it is
alliterated…; epithet, metaphor, expressional stylistic tools are observed,
which make the birthplace breathe and raise it to the heavenly level, to which
they pray, prostate without difficulty by throwing away that characteristic ego
which can be observed when they face other priorities in life… prostration at
the extend that they consider the birthplace as heaven, like a blessing and
spiritual healer god. In this “interesting stacking” people get condoled and
refresh their memory and take in inexhaustible energy for new initiatives… Naturally
in this birthplace are the lands, the houses, joys and sorrows, it is life
itself and afterlife… The postmortem houses (of the after life) and reverent
altar stand on these lands…


The birthplace is observed like an idol, with a
hungry look which calls all the “epic and lyric” memory, a hidden revelation
which is sweetly unfolded and boasts with its territorial and emotional
“relief” … and the man and especially he whose soul sings seeks to enter into
its warm pores...


Kristaq F.
Shabani I.W.A, W.P.S






































2. Why don’t you speak
to the nightingale?





I shall speak in the mother’s tongue,


Like a mountain I shall raise the song,


O you violet of April,


Why don’t
you speak to the nightingale?





At the window sill,


I shall come early at dawn.


A couple of words I shall say:


I shall love you till death …


O you violet of April,


Why don’t you talk to the nightingale?








Mano[1]
is your name,


Raise your head, you o lady,


The way you shall raise the songs,


To sing to the father and mother…


O you violet of April,


Why don’t you talk to the nightingale?





You are beautiful, kittenish,


You charmed me completely,


Thus I began to write,


That I might not suffer in life…





You O violet of April,


With a sweet voice you talk to the nightingale…




















Short lyrics that
shake my soul





4.* Like the
moon over the mountains





Do not lie to me; do not cheat,


I love you the way you are… therefore live fresh…


You are beautiful, kittenish,


Like the moon over the mountains….











5* Till I
pass away





Do not forget that I love you,


Do not let me suffer this way…


I am yours for life, until death.


Do not forget that I love you


I do not want to see you suffer…


Although I am in a foreign place


Every single day I picture your face ….








6* Verses and
flowers to bestow





I am not a poet or a writer,


Nor am I a mourner to mourn;


I am a reasonable man


To everything I put an end once and for all….


For this reason I began to sing,


To bestow you verses and flowers.








7* Take the
pains to say something, please





Ah, my heart cries, seeking condolence,


Take the pains to say something,


That my heart might not suffer…

















8* An
allusion on Money and Man





Desires, great dreams,


Do not evaluate them with money,


Because money comes and leaves,


But you can not find the person you love…








You will
never know what mourning is





Say it’s done,


That I might not feel myself strange …


Before you I bring my oath,


You will never know what mourning is …





14. The
water runs like crystal,


the
heart joins the ocean...





In the house at the stream’s edge,


Roars the mouth of Viroi,


The water runs like crystal,


It is connected with the ocean!...


„“Oh, what a real pearl,“ -


Say boys and girls...


There appears the glare of the eyes,


The moon kisses the star, ...


Love is born of a sudden,


The buds burst to flowers...


The azure sky with care,


Winks,...


Here people dance,


Here the song flares,


What a beauty outside,


What a beauty inside,


The way the heart wants it!...


Water runs like crystal,


The heart joins the ocean...




















15. Honest feelings for the rose


Dedicated to P.Y





Bride-girl with the eyebrows archer like a wreath


Why don’t you speak to me?


You are small, o you dropullite[2]
girl


I came near you, and you left,


This heart that is speaking to you


Loves you for that wishes you health,


The spring’s crown over the head,


Three drops of tears ran over it …


For you sincerity speaks,


Therefore I began to write,


For those curls of yours,


For your green eyes,


I shall make my life like a rose,


My heart trembled


From your architectures.


You o dropullite girl are beautiful,


You have a nightingale’s voice,


Your mouth like a golden box,


Your eyelashes like a curved bridge,


Your thin waist,


You are in my heart…


The stirring feeling astonishes the eye…


The moon met the star…


Where did this love germinate from…


How fast seems Cypress to grow!



































11. I shall give
you my lips willingly…





On Topove[3]
I stood,


Again the slim-waisted girl


With my eyes I accompanied her


And she accompanied me


She invited me at the spring…


“Leave me, lad, leave me in peace,


I shall give you my lips willingly…”





“O you girl, shepherd’s daughter,


When you appear at the camp


With flowers the bottom of your dress,


You are a real star,


I shall take you for life…


My life will be adorned


Lucky is he who would marry you!…”











1. It gives you
breath, it keeps you alive





O you brave Zagoria[4],



Why did you
remain like an orphan?


You have left impressions and memories…


At you I was born, grew up,


Fire and songs I had daily


You are a big region


With springs and meadows,


Over your proud head


Stand forests and mountains.


Dhëmbel[5]
stands before you


Gives you
breath, keeps you alive…


























7. The
seventh crown of flowers








These are the verses of my heart


Written with the fenugreek flower’s aroma


Written with a feather’s tip,


Written with the best aroma…








I prostrate to you my birthplace


And I feel pride in my veins,


I adorn myself in my mind and head


With the wreath made of laurels…













































































10. You o mother who breastfed me





A breeze blows the leaf


The road goes up,


In the ruined house,


My butterfly speaks
deliriously.


Something has happened,


I kissed her and caressed
her forehead,


She woke and she clasped me
to her bosom,


Two drops of tears ran from
her eyes…





I asked her and she told me



She saw her mother in the
dream,


Like a wound in my heart it
stood.


You o mother who breastfed
me,


My lip remain frozen,


I am like a fenugreek
flower,


Who comes and kisses my
eyes.


The nightingale sang its
song


Came to me flying,


Approached me and said,


No jokes with you,


The butterfly changed its
place,


It went to stay with the
nightingale,


Both they began to sing,


They sang for the sun, they
sang for the moon…





12. * **
*


O you mother Gjirokastra,


You are like a star that sheds light to the place,


Upon your shoulders a mountain of songs...


You are a rare beauty,


With cobblestone pavements in rows,


Black stone and white stone;


Covered with a beautiful carpet


To live through centuries...


Nostalgia and great love,


You are grown in troubles...


Wherever I go in the world







[1] Albanian
proper name






[2] A girl
belonging to the Albanian Greek minority.






[3] Mountain
in the region of Zagoria






[4] A
distinguished region in the south of Albania







[5] A
mountain in the region of Zagoria

III.





“Thank
you, may you live long my son!“





Oh, you o mother Eleni!...


To the greek mother





Oh, you o
mother Eleni, what a golden heart you have,


You treated me like a son, I loved you like a son,


Love poured into cataracts


Your affection lessened my nostalgia...





You knew that far, far away,


My poor mother awaited for news


You o mother Eleni watched me in my eye,


Like mother watches her son...





When one day I saw tears in your eyes


I asked you mother Eleni concerned


“Why do you shed tears?...“


“Oh, you son, -you said, I am wounded...“





And you told me your sorrow,


A sorrow, a mother had for her son,


As how the black death,


Had taken your son’s life away...





* * *


Oh, you o mother Eleni, my second mother,


I wiped those tears that flew from your eyes...


And with a mother’s nostalgia you told me hurriedly:


“Thank you, may you long live, my son!“

Jani Dede u lind në fshatin
Topovë të krahinës emërmadhe Zagori të rrethit të Gjirokastrës. Jeta e tij rinore kaloi në vendlindje, të cilën e
deshi dhe e do aq shumë. Këtë e dëshmon edhe libri i tij i parë me titullin domethënës “Përulem para
vendlindjes“ duke dhënë një mesazh të madh, jo vetëm tek bashkëkrahinasit e
tij, por te të gjithë njerëzit për të dashur tokën ku lindin. Është një mesazh
i madh Çajupian, i cili ndriçon me vargjet : “Mëmëdhe quhet toka, ku më ka
rënurë koka...“


Jani thur
vargje të thjeshta, të cilat nuk dalin nga trajta dhe formati “krijimtari
popullore“, pra në këtë kontekst është një bard
që i këndon shpirti lirikisht dhe epikisht.


Nuk pati mundësi shkollimi, paçka nga dëshira
e tij e madhe për t’u shkolluar. Në vitin 1991 ai u nis rrugëve të mërgimit,
në Greqi, ku vijoi 18 vjet... tashmë banon në qytetin e Gjirokastrës...


Me këtë vëllim
tregjuhësh ai vjen me nostalgji, mall, helmim, shpresë... i sinqertë, me dashuri të madhe, me shpirt të
etur për progres...








Jani Dede was born in the village of Topovë in the
distinguished region of Zagori in the district of Gjirokastra. He spent his
youth in his birthplace, which he loved and still loves dearly. This can be
witnessed in his first book entitled “I kneel before my birthplace“ by giving a
great message, not only to his country folks, but to all the people to love the
lace where they are born. It is a great Çajupian message, which illuminates
with the verse lines: “Motherland is called the land, where my head has
fallen...“


Jani creates simple verses, in the form and format of
the „ popular creativity“, thus in this context he is a bard whose soul sings
lyrically and epically.


Despite of his desire for learning, he did not have
the means for schooling. In the year 1991 he went abroad, in Greece, where he
lived for 18 years... actually he lives in the town of Gjirokastra...


With this bilingual volume he brings nostalgia, pain,
hope... honest, with a great love, with his soul eager for progress...