The dictator
Eh, Monarch, with a stamped face,
In a cave of illusion and deceit,
A cunning monster for his own homeland!
No guests, no friends and no feelings,
The howl of metamorphoses,
Of a great change for the worst!
Through a woe amplitude
Of a thickhead,
That would only serve to the cruppers!
Symbiosis of the molecular monstrous,
That never loved the sun, just as
Promised the light!
Freedom and the weight of words,
Excused his devilish minds,
Filled with Byzantine emperor’s deeds,
And his folks, siblings and emblems,
Were sent to the guillotine!
The way he came, squatted,
With macbethean perfidious,
Kneeled down with bizarre tricks
With an instinctive hatred,
Of the biological triangle!
Thoughtless and weird,
He came into our lives,
To our blessed land,
As a liberated destroyer!
Where to go to complain?
That he came uninvited
Seated on the monarchy throne,
On a throne that in vain,
Laid the blame at the doors,
Through the horizontal movements,
Due to devilish burden!
The wall of a dictatorship was everywhere,
Among the poorest people, without certain,
That bore the burden of it!
Placed the slogans around the corner
from everywhere,
Carrying on our shoulders, even
on our graves!
Due to the bridge remains, better than
a strange revenge, tit for tat,
That used to rule the human beings,
Living in constant fear
Of receiving the prize
Of his dictatorial sins!
He came from the mountains,
All stolen mind,
Convincing the smartest victims,
That the hell darkness was based on ignorance,
Of the monstrosity in males, with just plain manhood!
And letting them on butchers’ hands, as told in ballads,
Boundless by the time, without years and no mind!
And the sword of his word, which was his Sword of Shame,
Of a nation that’s endured him over the head!
To whom should Padre Zef complain?
Who’s found hanging from a peach tree?
With the upside-down head,
Shivers ran down the man spine,
Tormented himself beyond the cesarean boldness,
And then later they would torture themselves!
All are mortal! – Beloved Padre Zef confessed,
One day, the dictators would run to the end,
All we need to show a little restraint!
Decisions made by the elbows on the table,
Toward strengthening the dictatorial regime
Self-eating itself as the cancer does,
That’s gnawing on the bones,
And sending any of those to hell!
Just because they’d served this dictator,
The dictatorship became powerful,
Behind –the-scenes of the cruelty macabre dream,
And other predictions of the black spider,
Poisoned by deceit, so ever near
the death of desire!
The dictator, yet survived, he didn’t die,
It was a slow death, that turned his mind away,
Left him crawling like a dog, keeping a watchful eye on,
That’s how his evil deeds worked,
More and more of the medieval tragedies,
Not only the graves burned,
But also sepulchers were profaned,
Leaving to alive mortals, that his bones
Wanted to be buried in an upright position!
Surely he should have known,
That Luigi, the most persecuted man in town,
All his life, he’s dreamed of a caravan”,
But he had turned the back on his law,
To welcome him to the place, where Skanderbeg died,
A few years before his soul went into hell!
He knew that the Pantheon still exists
With nonexistence!
Lost in the ozone,
Where he returned to join his children,
And his loved ones!
If ever there was one that tried
To erect the monument of shame
With reptiles that roared
Of a profanity that’s been hypnotized,
By the banality of monotheism!
As well as trusted in the oracle
Without ears and eyes,
The one and only ideal!
The Lilliputians from modern times,
The unnecessary memories of the Ancient Rome,
An ornery old man with an awkward smile,
Never witnessed that storm and other hurricane
With thunderous knocks,
With only one line, monsters of the same kind, typical,
Infighting to take his throne!
Known for his sharp tongued at fateful congresses,
Much against everyone’s, filled with rough lies,
And with Russian and Chinese freaks,
In all types of dictatorial regime around the world,
Before and after, by passing and overtaking the win,
On a tears’ parade,
Of a nation!
We let him to pass away quietly,
Couldn’t pushed him away,
No hurt and no harm, without torturing him,
He didn’t even get a splinter in his foot!
An exhausted nation suffered extremely,
Except how to survive!
And even them, the heirs without morphology,
That’s holding his head on their hands,
That sat either of them on his throne.
As long as we’ll let them be…
Translated from Albanian into English
By Raimonda MOISIU
Diktatori
Monark me fytyrë të patinuar,
Me pabesi shpellash,
Monstër ogurzezë për vendin e tij.
Pa miq, pa shokë, pa ndjenjë.
Metamrofozë e keqe
e një ndryshimi të madh,
amplitudë e ndrydhur
e një koke gjeometrike,
që do u shërbente
vetëm vitheve!
Simbiozë e së keqes molekulare,
Që se deshi diellin, duke
Pohuar dritë.
Liri e fjalë me peshë
I rendonin kokës së tij djallëzore,
Mbushur me perandor bizantin,
Kur mikun, vëllaun dhe emblemat
I dërgonte në gijotinë.
Ashtu erdhi, galopthi,
Me pabesi makbethiane,
Me termete të gjunjëzuar,
Me një urrejtje fotosintetizuese,
Të trekendshit biologjik të pamenduar,
Erdhe në jetën tonë,
Në vendin tim të bekuar,
Si një shkatrrimtar i çliruar!
Ku të ankoheshe me këtë ardhje
Të pathirrur,
Hipur mbi fronin monarkik,
Në një karrige, që më kot
U ankohej dyerve,
Me levizje horizontale,
Prej peshës së djallëzive?!
Diktatura e mureve u fut kudo,
Brenda njeriut të mjeruar me pasigurinë
E mbjatjes së peshës së tij ,
Që dukej kudo, në parullat e vëna
Në shpatullat tona, në varret tona,
Në urat e mbetura, për një hakmarrje
Misterioze, të mbajtjes së njeriut
Në frikën e larjeve të mëkateve
Diktatoriale.
Zbriti nga malet me mendjen e vjedhur,
Viktimave të mençme t’u tregonte
Skëterren e ferrit, i mbështetur në injorancën
E përçudnimit të burrave me burrni të njëkolorshme,
Për t’i futur në duar të kasapëve, si në baladat
E kohëve pa numër, pa vite pa kokë.
Shpata e fjalës së tij, të ishte shpata e turpit
Të një kombi, që e duronte mbi krye!
Kuj t’i ankohej At Zefi, që varej nën pjeshkë,
Kokëposhtë me dridhje të qelizave burrnore,
Deri në durimin cezarian nga mjeshtra të tortures,
Që më vonë do torturonin veten.
Të gjithë janë njëlloj të vdekshëm,
Do thontë At Zefi ynë,
Diktaturat kanë një fund në këtë dhe,
N’se ne do kemi durim!
Vendimet e bërrylave e shtynë diktaturën,
Të haj vetën si kanceri, t’u brej kockën
E ti çoj një nga një në skëterrat e ferrit,
Vëtëm pse i bënë fresk diktatorit.
U rrit diktatura në prapaskenat e mizorisë së ëndrrave
Makabre dhe projekteve të merimangës së zezë,
Ushqyer me helmin e fallsitetit,
Deri në vdekjen e shpresës.
Diktatori nuk vdiq, atë e mbyti cofja tëper vonë.
E bëri të zvarritej si qen, t’i shihte si shkojnë
Bëmat e tij, më shumë se në tragjeditë mesjetare
Të djeg’jeve dhe përdhosjes së varreve,
Duke i lënë të vdekshmit e mbetshëm,
Kockave të tij,
T’u bëjnë spostime vertikale!
Sigurisht, e dinte se i përsekutuari Luigj, që
Gjithë jetën ëndërroi një sharabajkë*,
Do t’i kthente shpinën, pas urdhërit që kish ta priste,
Në vendin e vdekjes së Skëndërbeut,
Pak vite para se shpirti t’i shkonte në djall!
E dinte se s’e kishte Panteonin në mosqënie.
Në ozon u kthye për fëmijët e tij, për të dashurit,
Nëse kishte diken të tillë, që përpiqen t’i ngrenë
Përmendoren e turpit me mjaullima zvarranikësh,
Të një profanie hipnotizuese, të një monoteizmi banal
Në besimin e një orakulli pa sy, pa veshë,
Në vetëm një ideal!
Patric liliput në kohët moderne,
Një kujtim i panevojshëm i Romës së vjetër.
Nopran i vrugullt me një buzëqeshje hipokrite
Stuhi e paparë, shkatrrimtare, me rrufe që binin
Veç në një vijë, dalluese, përbindshe në luftën e llojit,
Për karrigen e tij!
Ligjeronte shpata në kongrese fatzishë,
Kundër e kundër gjithkujt, mbushur me rrena shkembore
E me granit rus e kinez, të të gjithë modave të ulta të globit,
para e pas fitoresh parakaluese, në sfiladat e dhimbjes
se një populli!
E lejuam diktatorin të ikte, pa e përzënë
Pa e tortutuar, pa e vrarë, pa i hy ferrë në këmbë.
Një popull i lodhur, i palosur nga vuajtjet,
Veç për të mbijetuar.
Edhe pinjollet pa morfologji,
Që ia mbajten kokën në duar dhe zunë karrigen e tij,
Kemi për t’i lejuar….
*karrocë kuajsh me kabinë
Pjeter JAKU, Poems, Life, Biography and Works,
(The most influential Albanian -American author in exile)
The Writer, Poet, best known Journalist, and Editor -in -Chief of “Kuvendi” Journal, Pjeter Jaku was born in Molla Kuqe, Mirditë, Albania. He is among the most popular and best-known Albanian authors in Albanian letters, poetry, prose, essays, documentary novel and literary journalism. After graduating in Literature & Linguistics from the University “Luigj Gurakuqi”, Shkodra, Albania, author Pjeter Jaku worked in his hometown for several years teaching of language and literature to the senior cycle at the High School Level, in Tale, Lezhe, and years after he was Director of School Board in Rile. In 1993, he was the Chairman of Lezha Book Branch and became the main librarian at “Kuvendi”(Assembly, the Art Library in Lezha.
In 1999, Pjeter Jaku emigrated from Albania to America, and he is mentioned as one of the Albanian-American based author in exile, who thinks, writes and his creative writing speaks only in Albanian language. A year or two after emigrating, he founded “Kuvendi” (The Assembly), the best -known and worldwide Albanian Journal, and a monthly Journal. The articles are sent in the standard manuscript formatted book, the most were printed in Albania, to support for economic aid only modestly. Also, other authors’ books have been published, under “Kuvendi”(The assembly) logo, in Lezha and in Tirana InfoBase publishing. The periodical journal enters its 21st year of publishing. Since its conception in 2001, the “Kuvendi” (Assembly) Journal has featured and published the creative work of several Albanian authors over years. As part of a historical journal, history since its establishing a literary culture in America noted as Albanian Literary Days Detroit Michigan, which are organized and operated exclusively by literary agents and editor-in chief -of the “Kuvendi” (Assembly) Journal, Pjeter Jaku. For more than two decades, Albanian Literary Days shine the Albanian culture evolved in two different worlds; America and Albania!
The Albanian Literature Days, Detroit Michigan or noted in other words; A Literary Feast of the Albanian American culture, that over 20 years has been presented the vision, orientation and history – Beautiful and Unique!
The Albanian Literary Days have become a potent symbol of an era, urging a sense of love and humanity, establishing equal dignity and worth of every author, as our culture becomes more culturally diverse, where the physical and human factors converse among the wise building bridges, innovate and realize the opportunity. Among the potential cultural influences on the experience of consciousness, which come in the memory of the poet Pjeter Jaku, -it is the history of Lezha City, in the sense of evoking the active evocation of the strengths, skills, vision, historical and national idealism, developing the values by impressive forces and placing in the wider context, that illustrates the interconnection between;
National and patriotic feeling, and in poems such as the cultural heritage of the poetic tradition, by idealizing the analogous expression; “Kuvendi i Lezhes”, Albania and “Kuvendi”(The assembly) Journal Detroit, Michigan, founded by Pjetër Jaku, in 2001.
Pjetër Jaku’s passion and poetic identity does not come only from cultural heritage of Lezha’s poetic tradition, -noted as the “birthplace of poetry”, but the Poet, Pjeter Jaku belongs to the dreams of the golden age, that the raw material of the soul, – is the Art of Poetry! Pjetër Jaku’poetry is a poetry that brings a special spirit of solitude, exploring a striking phenomenon that has taken place in the entire Albanian society. The Poet Jaku has the flow of his own resurrection river, just as he is on running through a flock just as a cheerleading wave…
The Editions of the Writer, Poet, Journalist and Editor in chief,
Pjetër JAKU
He published his first solo collection of poems in a well- known literary journal, “Drita”(The Light), in 1975. He gathered a collection of poems to honor grandparents and remember the love they gave. The poems were published in later collections in “Nëntori”(The November) Journal and “Zeri i Rinisë”, (The voice of Youth) paper, and free-lance articles in the Post, in well-known newspapers of time, such as “ Bashkimi”, (The Union), “Puna” (The work), and “Zeri i Popullit” (“The People’s voice) “.
Published Works-Books by Pjeter Jaku
-“Harrimi i vetes”-(Self-Forgetfulness) poems, 1994
-“Ankthe”- (Anxiety), poems, 1998
-“Mungese e hirte”, -(The grey of your absence) poems, 2008
-“Te pakten, pak”, (At least, a little..)( poezi 2019
-Shqiptarët në Detroit, Publicistikë -(Albanians in Detroit) Book Publicity, 2006
-Kosovë, 10 ditet e para të Pavarësisë, publicistike, 2008
(Kosovo, the first 10 days of Independence,) Journalism, 2008
-Triologjinë për Fishten, – (Fishta-Trilogy), 2003:
Vlerat letrare në Lahuten e Malësisë-
(The highland Lute and literary values)
-Fjalori Fishtian- Fishta’s Poetic Vocabulary
-Vargje të zgjedhura nga veprat poetike të Fishtës
(The best verses by Fishta selected by Pjeter Jaku)
-11 PYETJE Zef Brozit, 2001-(11 question for Zef Brozi)
-30 vjet me malësoret , Dom Anton Kcires, 2001
(30 years between highlanders) Dom Anton Kcires, 2001
-Memorie te Pashk Kçires, -(Memories of Pashk Kcira), 2001
Prose Writings
-Dalina, roman- Dalina, novel
-Polici me Kuran, roman,- (The police and Qur’an)
Books on publishing process
-Nje liber me poezi të papublikuara,-
-(A volume of unpublished poems)
Vëllim me poezi të zgjedhura
-(Volume one; New and selected poems)
-Përmbledhjen e publicistikes, rreth 500 faqe
(A summary book on journalism), over 500 pages
-Autografe me miqtë- letra etj…
Friends’ autograph collection,- letters etc.
Written and translated from Albanian into English
by Raimonda MOISIU
