A Breath

By

Jeton Kelmendi

Poetry
Jeton Kelmendi Translated by Fredi Proko

Title of the book CHALLENGING THE MEASURING OF WORD

Jeton Kelmendi is an author who, in writing a tri-dimensional poetry, entwines the

modern with the actual and communicates it in an original as well as a traditional way.
The literary critics have valued his verse for its clear, powerful and artistically
accomplished massages. The language of Kelmendi is individual and is quite naturally
conveyed to the readership, as a pleasant and appealing form, due to, perhaps, its
touching complex and figurative concepts. The essence of his poetry is the vertical
narration and the selective subject matter, with which he plays in time and space.

The Albanian poet Jeton Kelmendi was born in Peja in 1978. He attended primary school
and secondary school in his native town, and then he studied at the University of
Prishtina. He is the correspondent of several Albanian (Kosovar and Albanian) media and
cooperates with a number of others abroad. Kelmendi is a quite familiar name to Kosovar
poetry readership since 2000. He is also renowned as a journalist covering political and
cultural issues. Kelmendi’s poetry is translated in several languages and is included in a
number of anthologies. He is a member of several international poets’ clubs and he has
contributed to cultural magazines, especially in English. The essentially poetic thought of
Kelmendi is the subtlety of expression and the care for the word. The themes that
dominate his creations are love and the raw realities of the political situation, quite often
permeated by feelings of disappointment for the current state of affairs.

He is a war veteran of UCK (Kosovar Liberation Army). Kelmendi is currently settled in

Brussels and he is a member of the Professional Journalists Association of Europe.

Tituj të veprave

Shekulli i Premtimeve, 1999 (poezi)

Përtej Heshtjes, 2002 (poezi)
Në qoftë mesditë, 2004 (poezi)
Më fal pak Atdhe, 2005 (poezi)
Ku shkojnë ardhjet 2007 (poezi)
Zonja Fjalë 2007 (dramë)
Koha kure te kete kohe 2009 (poezi)

Ce mult s-au rãrit scrisorile /Sa fortë janë rralluar letrat antologji personale në
Gjuhën Rumune 2007
Erdhe për gjurmë të erës 2008 (poezi)
The work

The century of promises, 1999 (poetry)

Beyond the silence, 2002 (poetry)

If it is noon, 2004 (poetry)

Give me some homeland, 2005 (poetry)

Where are the comings heading to, 2007 (poetry)

Mrs. word 2007 (play)

You followed the footprint of the wind 2008 (poetry)

The time when it has time 2009 (poetry)

Ce mult s-au rãrit scrisorile (how infrequent have the letters become) personal
Anthology of poems in Romanian 2007.

poems

PAS ARDHJES AFTER THE COMING

And the bard replied

We know the fate

Of epic songs

Through the skull

Of the word

We enter

Together the old neighbourhood

With a knob
Of a word

And we hang it from it

Nostalgia for my gone self

From here to beyond

It will be my day

For out of the word I’ll come

Paris 2007 Paris 2007

PAS NJOHJES ONCE WE GET TO KNOW EACH-OTHER

I, a poet

You a pretty lady

Yet we didn’t connect together

What’s up

Did my chronicle

Undo your dream

Or are you in one of your moods

Talk to me about the fire without smoke

In a moment

Your coffee is waiting for us

And my trembling line

Did you get it

We will go up and down the world

We can do more than you

would think, together

Now, this is something given

End of September 2006 Paris

PIKA ELLIPSIS

It now emerges,

Then disappears

Gets closer

On the one side

And away

On the other

It glints scintillatingly

Keep mum

With your garrulous mouth

Create an inner world

With what you see instead

She’s got a flair for languages

Somehow

It dodges

Yet it stares you

It enters the word

And your peace disturbs

It is something

Quite something

WoluWe Brussels 2006

PËR NJË TË HËNË FOR A MONDAY

Two sounds

Of an early morning

In a room

And

The thoughts that go beyond

The event

If that lady watchful eye

Calls you
Could you possibly

Be quiet

Three elliptical dots

The first hours of Monday

And you can’t span the distance

To her

And if only the text

Written by the hand of Miss Word

Would wake you up

One step closer

You’d feel

How could we stay

Awake

Were we not together

NË VEND TË FJALËS INSTEAD OF THE WORD

Until when? in shadow

The body of your silence

You came in the wake of the wind

Nobody’s queen
Till when these plains

Be plenty of nothingness

Chance wanted us to meet

Yet all went the opposite direction

Till when we are hiding from ourselves

The unknown

A thought flashed

Instead of the word

Audergham, 9th March 2007

PAK HISTORI SOME HISTORY

There came a time

As bewildered as cheerful

No one could tell its white from its black

We could’t find ourself

We could neither see nor meet it

Or did we miss it
We were rationed to everything

Little fear

A bit of boldness

Some sorrow, and joy and so forth

Just a little of everything

It tried to convince us of what freedom means

And so on and so forth

And it devised a devil

Optimism

To keep the things suspended

And store up the time

It dyed us in red and off it went

Alas, whatever did never arrive

That’s what it owes us

June 2000, Peje Kosovo

PËR GOTËN E MERAKUT TO THE GLASS OF YEN

Drink it man

Your glass

The red wine of her

Yen

Drink headily

To the dregs

Don’t let

The drop of

Line

To be written in solitude

Even like this

Sober

You are a wholesome man

Autumn 2006 Paris

ARDHJA JONË NË PERGAMEN OUR FOOTPRINT ON PARCHMENT

One can’t be sure of my dreams

And your waking

Homeland

One can’t trust

Our noise

Your silence

I fear

My morrow

Just as your after tomorrow

SPROVË PËR MATJEN E FJALËS CHALLENGING THE MEASURING OF WORD

Somewhere between dark and light

Someone feels sorry for the word

Opposite the song

That, which destroys everything the dream harbours

Somewhere else

The poet and the anti-word

That he cannot measure the foundation

To the fountain spring

One can still go past thirsty

The combat ground of the unspoken word

Remains barren

And dead silent

Without seeing the scheduled game

KODEKS CODEX

Neither gleaming like the moon

Nor calm like the castle

They say

She has come from afar

The most mysterious enigma

The code is yet to be found

As she grows, her hair grows white

Such a sight

In my line

The only unmatched version

In the winter with thin hair

They speak with the language of anticode

Like Antheus

Prometheus

They speak of

Some love salt

For many would not share it

But today’s writings

Are their seasons

Our winter

Crazy codex

NË ANËN TJETËR ROUND THE CORNER

I expected you joyfully

Yesterday

Hoping to meet you

Somewhere on the other side

of the waking

On the twenty seventh floor

Of the NOID

Tower

I felt like taking a nap

With you

As November was turning

I recalled that

At the turn of the twenty seventh

It was possible

For the world’s most gracious to emerge

The mightest of the word

To cheer
A thousand and one wonders

Have happened

But alas,

The year has turned the corner alone

Again

Prishtina, 27 November 2005

LOJË PLAY

If we can’t sleep together tonight

How am I to refresh myself under your shadow

The times are making haste lately

To either overtake me

Or catch up with you

The sky can’t be reached

The perigee is meaningless without your name on it

Run as much as you want

You can’t play

This game with yellow effects

FRYMA BREATH
Yesterday, I indulged in

Dreaming about you

The most beautiful of all nights

Of the nights of the known worlds

Whenever the dark set off to dream

I wanted to be

Your white clothes

You make the autumn swoon

O, pretty, the fairest of all

The most wordy of words

Are not worth a penny

O, playful

Why don’t you become a breeze

And blow

Towards my sky

PARADOKS PARADOX

Move as much as you want

away from my winter

Antisaga who can’t distinguish my spring

Curiosity thrives at you

During the wait that the night prolongs

A wonder happened

I dreamt as if I slept

With her

Freely

Let’s say that it went

To rest solicitously

She spent the summer

Without worries

O, water of her thirst

Wonders landed today

As often happens when uexpected

Unavowed

Their sights set on me

NJË ORË ME TË DHE DY FJALË PËR NESËR AN HOUR WITH HER AND TWO WORDS FOR TOMORROW

Your springs and my summers

Rise and set

Polar journeys

ANOMALI ANOMALY

The word has come down with a cold

This year

And it knows not how to deal

With silence

Silence

Has got a temperature

And it cannot go out

Not as much as to the word

BESIMI FAITH

Took me beyond my potency

Time It knitted my patience

Which had stretched

To the breaking point

My breath generates a silence, which

Makes the morning milder

Whatever

Can we do

To ourselves

Pas For it not to follow us

An arrival sets off

It then is late and just gives up

Here, it dots the i-s

And waits

Doesn’t know when she’s not busy

I lay two stones on the temple

One on top of the other

One for myself and the other for

Her

And the wait carries on

If only

We knew the tricks of the game

We’d grow

Along with our faith

Auderghem 22 February 2007

AMORFE AMORPHOUS

Nothing for all, or all for nothing

Beyond myself

When the word

Gave up its ghost

Why so dear God

The moon of loneliness touched

The enigmaof the Pegasus of light

With your other step tread on

The tomorrow

Neither thirst or hunger

Can trust on water or bread

Anymore

On the plains of a word

Homeland

How many have fed and drunk

Why allow such scavinging, God

We’ve gone nuts

with these nauseating things

Silence is bouncing

In the walls of patience

Today we put off till tomorrow

Why allow all this, God

Of all the things, I am telling you none

You will see when we reach

The other side

MADRIGAL MADRIGAL

Dismiss the angels

From my guest parlour

We enter the darkness

As in a madrigal

Our faces turned

And faced light

We give a soft sigh

We need more bank holidays

To celebrate

Or perhaps

We can have special occasions

Whenever we want them

You and me and dark

Wedding guests, the stars

Twice

You have spoken wisely

And even breath agreed that instant

You come at daytime

And return after twilight

As the route has its own troubles

Secondly

Neither mouth nor soul do forgive

If I don’t spell out

My heart’s song

Speak now o blessed poet

Man

Tell me about the artist

Is your mind rambling

Or I wonder

If they took you beyond yourself

The most secluded silence

Quiet

Cannot guarantee

We tied the feet of roads

Everything is increasing

But something which is reducing

To my sweetheart

The poet and verse

An additional breath

To each dialogue and extra

Comma

Whenever Friday comes

I’ll pray to the sky and God

For our other

Night

E PARA THE FIRST

Even the queen of all wonders

Wonders how long

Will the white dreams linger beyond the river

The vigour of intuition was blunted

By vanity

One never goes to his sweetheart

Without a tad of motive

Or a dash of joy

Even Van Gogh when he didn’t have

Some other sort of solution

He devised one
 I’ve heard people saying

You must watch out for yourself

To protect the others

You can trust love no more than night

Always mysterious

All that is seen in twilight

Is plunged into darkness

My mind rambles away

Beyond my sleep even

No one knows what

there is beyond humanity

Or stillness

E DYTA THE SECOND

The side of her shadow

Got damp

The backbone of lyrics got white

While we’re waiting for twilight’s rites

My father

While I was still a child

Taught me the name of a flower

Which blooms

Just like girls waiting love

Whilst waiting for the barren begging

I called it a day

And turned a new leaf

The eyes and the light hair

Are the light divinities

Which criss-crossed

My dreams

The dreams of the poet

Haven’t seen

A more enraptured dream

E TRETA THE THIRD

Don’t alienate me o tonight’s night

I am not up for dreams

Where is the darkness of waking

In my mind

O sombrero of my thought
Didn’t you manage

To shake off the shadow

Not to worry if there is no room for me

It’s a breeze that doesn’t blow

From me

The storms batter me

Distance only cannot get away from night

Undrunk cup of coffe

Drained glass of raki

I hope you can’t make me drunk

ÇAST PËR ADMIRIM AN ADMIRING MOMENT

It’s not clear to me

Will you speak or be quiet

O lyrical as the magic of Helen

O spectacular game

Improvisation is the next meeting

Or I’ll teach you about

The ribbon

It’s the fault of the waking

Why tomorrow is not today

DRAMË DRAMA

First act

Perhaps

You thought it too much yesterday

How couldn’t you recall

What’s the dividing line between

Sorrow and joy

How can we take a short cut

Of this road

How

Second Act

Perhaps

Tomorrow we will be too few

Come to the fountain of thirst

And wait

All the early arrivals

That, which will never arrive

Fare Is mine

Third Act

And today

Nobody is in time

Buy the ticket for the journey without end

In every station of writing

You’ll find a comma

For you

A question mark

For me

DIMRI I SHKËPUTJES SË MADHE THE WINTER OF THE GREAT PARTING

For Ibrahim Rugova1

I’ve never

Seen you

This quiet

Our golden stone

Couldn’t you find another way

To ascend

Onto the other side

At the Hill of Martyrs

You’ll rest

For a long time

Dream

And pray for

Your Dardania

The winter of lonliness marked

On your eyebrows

Everything came with the tear

Infamous year

The day of parting

Black, o black January

O taciturn of the unspoken things

Colossus of word and the world

How did you give up your soul

You passed away

The day which passed to history

High-lander

How weighty your word was

VAKI MARVEL

We lied

In the plain of a word

I and

The azzure eyes

Which haunt me

In good weather

Through rain and sun

We made it

I’ll find some time

For myself

My girl and the verse

Marvel

I bow to you

KODI IM PËR NESËR MY CODE FOR TOMORROW

Where will they have sent

My tomorrow

Where tomorrow’s shadow

At the invisible stone

Appear dreams and illusions

Water and bread for anti-man

Rainfall and fountains do not fancy

Running for us
My autumn has been robbed

Of the sky

I’ve been deprived of

All winter

My today

Can’t take me through tomorrow

Can somebody find

My code

For tomorrow

PURTEKJE SLENDER

If your’re

Pressed for time

Give me

Five minutes

Of your company

And then

Do as you wish

Make an effort

If you would or

We dance the anxious loneliness away

With your five minutes

I can spend

Seasons and years

Winters and summers

Before I transcend

My boundaries

Light and dark

Will rest for a while

In the lips

Will lie lenghtways

Today I ponder on

What must be said

What must be done

PËR VAJZËN FOR THE GIRL

Until the word

Gets lonely

Take some

Of my time

Day and night rustle

For you

My songs

In tune with the ruslting

Of leaves

Please bestow me

Your tender looks

The honey moon

For my honey

For your sake

I’ll play the guitar

And let there not

Germinate or sprout

For you

I’ll get the spring going

ËNDRRA E SAJ HER DREAM

Oh such looks

Of that miss, food of the line

And she left me on the horns of a dilemma

Is she the verse itself

Or the word is the miss

Queen that transmogrifies the meaning

One can see it with a half eye

Her looks are brightened

By my sun

She craves for the voice of my heart

At times the weather is overcast

Yet she loves me just the same

However, verse has got a fever

LETRAT LETTERS

Who do we call tomorrow

Where has the breath taken the letters

The writing

Is becoming shorter and shorter

They have become so sparse

It’s been days

That a blackbird’s

Been waiting to come

And it enshrouds half the sky

Who does the other half belong to

You can see yourself

On your palm

And you wonder

Who do we call tomorrow

DHJETë E DHJETë Në TIRANË TEN PAST TEN IN TIRANA

Tonight Autumn can gorge itself on night

The moon is reflected on the window

The best

Of poetry

Shall I write for you

Tan sweetheart

Tonight

Maybe you fall asleep

Before it strikes

Ten past ten

I play the pipe to verse

There is ample night in the word

And quiet

The time

Overstepped eleven

The sky descended in the lines

Alongside with the sparse stars

Your face appears to me

O golden-eyed
as in the olden times

‘I cast my eyes from a mountain slope’2

ZESHKANES FOR THE BRONZED GIRL

My bronzed one is

My first trip

Even under her shadow

The grass grows lushly

The words with the bronzed one are an anthem

Sung to the journey for love

Her blue eyes stuck at the corner of my eye

They haunt me whenever I rest

The next day

She misses only me

USHTIMA THE PEAL

Pick some of your sky

Off this night

‘Cause our skin needs to be wrapped

I shall never see

The other poles

Without your sky and mine

Being on the top

Hush my dear

I’ll produce the sky from my breath

A bird will I make of my word

For its twittering to wake you up

Tirana 4th April 2005

PAK ME VONË A BIT LATER

She will come

To our favourite spot

For you I will certainly come too

I’ll patiently wait

All goings

All arrivals
That is when I’ll set off

BUKURIA E BUKURIVE THE FAIREST OF ALL

Oh, who better than the maiden

Does beauty match to

From her eyes

But love for freedom streams out

Oh the maiden’s beauty

Oh the verse’s beauty

Lucky is the beauty for them

INSINUATË INSINUATION

If I grow old

And I haven’t written some love lines

A hard-hearted man you call me

They will say he was as tough as stone

If I grow old

And I haven’t sung love songs

In the embers of silence

It’ll mean I’ll burn

Love

Beauty and verse flow together

For you and homeland

NUDO NUDE

With nobody would I swap

The language

With you today, yes I would

One hour

Two

Three

Till I touch the word’s bottom

I’d say everything

Nude

As with my first kiss

You seem icy without

Fiery within

Nude
I wouldn’t swap you with the world

Jeton Kelmendi Translated by Fredi Proko

To the edge of the going

The yet to come is waiting for us

ILLYRIAN

Your body weight

Your air power
The speed slowdown
Are immesurable
There are no limits to your light
Either
There is no measure of your radiance
Or
You are superlative that exceeds all dimensions
I swear to my word’s soul
You’re
A crumb of forgetfuless
Beyond the ear or the eye
For hundreds and thousands of years
You’re
A bright thought
And never
Has anybody ever been able to appraise you
My god given homeland that conferred me my name
Albanian

Auderghem, February 2007

FOR ENCOURAGEMENT

One day
My day will come
If indeed it’s true that
Every dog has it’s day,
And I will know how to welcome it
Then the soil will be as bountiful in bread
And the spring in water
That it will fill all the gaps
But alas
What are we to do with you
Distrust in tomorrow,
Deplorable is that day
Vienna, summer 2006

MISS WORD AND MR THOUGHT

1.

I’ve spoken rather

Differently
Too triumphantly
Miss
I hope
You take no offence
They are after all
Merely a poet’s words
And you know that it’s permissable
To strip the dressed thoughts
Stark naked
And the bare ones
To dress with suits I fancy
Or
Has it been just as well for you
That I simply tell you I love you
The words everybody tells
To anybody
As a husband to his own wife,
Miss
I beg to differ

2.

Well
Thought is no good without the word
Or the word
Means nothing if mind is not engaged
You are such a dear,
You are Miss word
And I Mr. thought
This is how I’ve always seen it
Myself with you and yourself with me
Even
This love formula
Anywhere
If at all it survived
Modernity

So Miss word, you are attractive

When Mr. thought
Lends you his charm

3.

Come on
Let’s make up ‘cause
Silence
Is anxiously watching
What’s gonna happen with us

Anyway
Miss word
I feel like giving you a kiss
Only one
As I’m not sure how
A second or third may come
Let freedom live unfettered

Let the word

The mind
Speak whatever
They want

I now want
The first kiss

Paris, July 2006

UNDER MEMOY’S SHADE

I’d told you something forgotten

That which can’t be recalled not even tomorrow
Forgetfulness grows ever older
When silence travels
I’m waiting for you
At the sun-dried oak
In que with the verse
Hung on the tip of my longing
Where one normally waits for his sweetheart
I sat down to rest
Till autumn runs out and light wears on
I attempted
To tell you but something.

June, 2004

THE WORD SIDESTEPPED SILENCE

I used to keep silent

Yesterday
In order to speak a bit
I’ve inhaled sorrow’s breath
I’ve always set off
To remote regions
Towards your eyes
To you
To quietly speak to you
To tell you
About you
And me
I’ve endeavoured
To tell you
That you’re
The bread of lines
The water of the word
I for you
The most sung song
Ever
I wanted to keep silent
To scarcely speak
To become a shadow
To prevent the sun’s light
I’ve wanted
To get over
All humanity’s
Mishaps
And I’ve seen
How I could
Find myself
Closer to you
Soon or later
Yesterday
I’ve strived
To enjoy to the fullest

May 2005, Prishtina

MOMENT

Were I to be rain
Tonight
I’d sprinkle a drop
On your face
And such a drop
That rolls down gently
The look in front of you
What are you doing with this moment
I leave again surreptitiously
You better think about the next moment

CADENCE

I recited to myself
The severed threads of the saga
It’s good
To hold them in our hands
Fairminded lady
Who all stays alone,
Repose by the fireplace sometimes.
You’ve never looked like today
In the blink of an eye
A word
Sprouted on the soil of the tongue
And grew up to the sky
And put down roots to the depths of earth
Today looks after tomorrow
Behind us new waters and lands.
A poet’s lines
Together with his solitude
Hello Drin, cold water river
I’ll see you some day
Between your banks.

Brussels 2007-02-27

HER RITES
After all
It’s a fresh start
And there’s no way how you can go in silence
No way leads me to you
Sooner than today
My star set
And the higher I go
The lower does the fog take me
Oh, had I experienced a genuine love
I’d dread nothing
And it’s not a bad thing to dream
Do consider this mate,
A platoon of efforts
A prophetic thought
Whirling
Bring me to you
Doesn’t matter that you are wrapped in your word
Make some room for me
At poetry

Vienna 2006

CHATTING WITH MY BROTHER IN ARMS

Before I have a chat with you

I would like to ask you about the highlands

The torrents which used to rush in the past springs,

How’s been the weather like this year

I far away, and you close by

The word has gone cold

The summer doesn’t feel like staying with us

Where the slate pierced by the drop dwells

Who is singing on the slopes

How early we’ve set out

And we’re not nearly there yet

Brussels, 20 February
THE COMING

They saw her off to here

Due to the great fear of their own self
Day and night
Accompanied her pace
They took with her
All that was to come
From here to the end of the going
A yet to come is waiting for us

THE GOING

Take with you all her belongings

They will show her the ways,
All her threads are blown as if in the wind
I wonder why she’s not coming again
Footstep after footstep
As if on top of motion
On her head
Autumns cross over here
How silent is the begging
How the going closes like solitude
Who knows that
The coming and going are ahead

BACKDROP

I’m still waiting, the croud of coming

Is seeing off files of goings
The March morning has dawned
Of our long nights
See you beyond the time

The word symbolic and art of contrasts

Ndue Ukaj, Sweden

Poetry is the most universal form of poetic communication where ideas and figures fulfill
the poetic harmony and intention. They walk side by side and build an Olympus of
perceptions and feelings for the beautiful and the ugly, for the amiable and useful, for the
tragic and happiness. In most beautiful forms the poet, like an oracle inspired creates
perceptions to his own universal perceptions through his language as a poetic specialty.
This universal form of communication of the message of the artistic word, eternity of
ideas, in harmony with the poetic system functionalizes the multifold esthetic and
idealistic forms. Through perceptions and particular world the poet descends the circles
of hell, searches with the sense of the creator through the purgatory constantly aiming for
the road to Paradise, to the eternity where the Poetic Art melts with a series of lecturing
proceedings using numerous tropes and metaphors, symbols and comparisons, contrasts
and paradoxes always in function of realizing a literary catharsis. And, these poetic
characteristics are found in Jeton Kelmendi’s poetry in his collection “Breath” which the
poet is presenting for the English-speaking reader. As Horace said in his “Poetic Art”,
“poets should bring something useful or entertaining, or say amiable and useful things”,
Kelmendi’s poetry mingles in itself original poetic features bringing the amiable and
useful to the reader with a cultivated style and dense language of depicted symbols never
burdening his poetry. His poetry, lyrical discourse, or “an inner mimesis of poetic sound
and images aimed at becoming a thematic modus: (Northrop Frye) in Kelmendi’s poetry
as well. This thematic modus featuring his poetics is built of elaborated figures through
sweet verse of an internal rhythm and impulsive tonality often filled with interjections or
some single letter carrying expression – elements that give his poetry a specific and
original poetic dimension.

Jeton Kelmendi belongs to the younger generation of the Albanian literature, a generation
that has experienced the most tragic mess in the Balkans and which is today moving
alongside contemporary trends of literature carrying over their should a bitter past which
Kelmendi brings to life through his rich imagination and dynamic poetic discourse.
During this period he has debuted with several very qualitative collections of poetry
highly assessed by both critics and literary public. His collection of poetry “Fryma”
(“Breath”) offers to the poetry-lovers a poetic universe of Albanian literary tradition, a
beautiful set of poetic word, rich in existential themes as its poetic pivot with
multifaceted expressive forms and nuances mingling with other themes and motives. His
poetry communicates with the past, present and future. Above all, it communicates with
the being of literature as one may read in the poetry “A word measuring trial” where
poetry wages its own battle: “Somewhere amidst the light’s darkness/ Someone is
missing the word”. This model of poetic of poetic discourse is articulated by Kelmendi in
his next poem “Our arrival on parchment” where fatherland and poet identify first of all
by a joint call on the insecurity and paradoxes which a misty future brings about as his
country, and the Balkans generally, remain regions of paradoxes and continued stirrings,
horrors that are most of all felt by artists. Therefore the author cries out: “They seem as
dreams and realities/ Water and bread of anti-human” (My tomorrow code). And, this
philosophy of creation remains a poet’s curiosity in order for him to understand “Where
the border crosses/ Between sadness and joy/” (Drama, First Act), for the fact that this
border, poetic by all means, plays an important role in this poetic collection through a
contrast of ideas, figures and poetic symbols in order to transform sadness and joy into
art. And, also for the fact that thus “Lyrics had its shadow bone whitened/ While waiting
for the rites of dust”, and the song beings its powerful life.
Kelmendi’s poetry is characterized by a specific perception of beauty beneath of a sub
layer of perceptions for its numerous categories: the beauty that the art of poetry brings,
for the girl and love, for the country and history, like in the poetry “A Moment”, where
the poet using symbols and comparisons, through concise lines, rhythm, synthesizes the
most beautiful forms of lines: “If I were rain/ Tonight/ I’d accidentally drip/On your
cheek/But/A slow dripping drop/Looking at you straight”. Generally, Kelmendi’s poetic
verse is laconic with emotional and semantic expressivity. Its poetic structure is built over
paradox as a particular feature. Through it the poet preserves the substance of the idea
aimed at the eternity of word with inspiring poetic calls. The dominant poetic discourse
of this collection is deeply lyrical. The typos of themes and motives go around a national
pivot, woman and love, mediation about art, artistic word. The poetic communicates
sadly with history, as for example in the poet “Illyrian”, in the lines: “It surpasses all/For
the sake of the word”, as his country cannot be measured with any form, and the next line
of connotative meaning closes a century-old cry: “My fatherland of God that gave me my
name”. This, above all, for the fact that the poet’s Winter remains a mad codex.
Fatherland topics are formed through forms of pain in the poetry “Morph” with lines:
“Neither thirst nor hunger/ In the plain of a word/ Fatherland/ How many pastured and
drank… How much silence assailed/ Disgust infuriated us for you nostalgia”. One of the
very interesting poems is the one dedicated to Ibrahim Rugova, where the poet sings
passionately to the president’s figure, artist and highlander, the symbol of Albanians for
decades, and model of writer: “Dream on? And pray for Dardania/ A winter of solitude
has fallen… Everything came with the tear? Grand Year/ Day of departure” (Winter of
Big Departure, to Ibrahim Rugova). Kelmendi’s poetry is an associative one. It both
evokes perceptions and creates. The poet walks on with his verse in order to understand
the corners of the world; he is at the edge of paradoxes even when perhaps “an evil hour
has set” (After recognition), and his carries in his soul the power of poetry in order to
challenge and hence bring triumph for the word: “Tell me something about the smokeless
fire/ From now on/ Your coffee awaits us/ And my line of shiver” (After recognition).
More powerfully, this poetic tendency is articulated in his highly values poem “Madam
Word and Mister Thought”, where the poet contemplates about the philosophy of
creation with a modern poetic affinity of transformation of thought from paradox to
contrast and from contrast to an amiable symbol: “I’ve spoken/ Somewhat differently/
Madam/ But I say/ Don’t get me wrong/ After all these are words of a poet”. Kelmendi’s
poetry is consolidated; his verse is free and paradox of thought and contrast of idea
become pinpointing features of the lyric: “A time a day came/ so awkward so happy/ Its
white and back no one knew” (A bit of history). Or, in another interesting poem “For the
amiable glass” where Kelmendi creates outstandingly beautiful lines in a concise style
and realized with emotion and inspiration, creating poetic expressivity that reminds one
of the great poet Omar Khayam and his emblematic lines of wine and love: “Drink it
man/ Your own glass/ The red amiable wine/ Drink it drunkardly/ Bottoms up/ Never
leave/ A drop/ To the verse/ Written lonesomely/ Anyway/ You’re not sober, man”. He
cultivates this same model of speech in a number of other poems, because love, or ‘the
beauty of beauties’, the lass as its personification represents a special topic within the
topes and motives underlying the collection: “Tonight the autumn night may be saturated/
The moon fell over the window/ With her goods/ The verse/ I’ll write for you” (Ten and
Ten in Tirana). This poetic rhythm develops through powerful gradation in his other two
poems, “Whisk” and “Her dream”. Randomly viewed, this collection offers beautiful
poetry, an inspired art, where the reader may find basic components of literature, the
useful and amiable (Horatio), “It is not clear to me/ Whether to speak or keep silent/
Lyrical like the magic of Helen” (A moment for admiration). The reader has in his hand a
book with a beautiful poetic structure, a poetry fed by powerful contrasts permeating him
and his poetic being through stormy and tragic years part of which was the author.
Translated by Avni Spahiu

Romanian Opinions on Albanian Literature

“Bread of the Verse” and “Water of the Word”

Jeton Kelmendi is a good constructor of verse impressing through his ability

to find the symbolic, imagination and metaphor of an authenticity and
fragility which can rarely be found and only in authors gifted with a talent,
where he finds the plain of the word, silence body, word wounds, the
whitewashed bones of the lyric, etc.. His anthology is the shore of exile, self-
exile of every modern man and at last of one’s country in which, although
infrequently, letters continue to arrive. And, together with them, the secret
and magic murmur of poetry.

Florentin Popescu (Buchurest) Romania

Some time ago, the Romanian readers were surprised to meet with another true
poet – from the many, valued and interesting, original and beautiful poets of
Kosova – a blessed yonder which beyond the known historical injustices proves
to be a literary space continuing its affirmation an imposing itself increasingly
in the universal concert of the lyrical world. The name of this poet is Jeton
Kelmendi, and his volume, translated into Romanian by Baki Ymeri, carries a
title which is not only suggestive but also burdened with a sentimental and
symbolic: How rarely we receive letters.

Jeton Kelmendi had his debut at the age of 21, in 1999, with his volume,
Century of Promises, meaning that the poet allows us understand that, at least
through his title of the book, had a mature and entirely conscientious vision of
the meaning of the bard and a disturbed century in which he was destined to
live. By the way, it should be pointed out that Jeton Kelmendi has proven to be
extremely inspired by the fact of his later volumes with potentially ‘polemical’
and inciting titles such as: Beyond Silence (2002), If it were Midday (2004)
Give me Little Fatherland (2005), Where do Arrivals Go (2007), Lady Word
(2007), and How Seldom They Come (2007).
The volume that gives us an opportunity to express our thoughts and
impressions on paper is an anthology of selected anthological values from his
entire work carries a title bearing a modern figure on loan from the poet’s most
inspired poems. We say this not by accident at this Bucharest presentation that
this is indeed an inspired title as it in fact holds in itself an entire lyrical
universe. That is a universe that individualizes the author giving shape to an
incomparable personality both in the Kosovar and European poetry.

By risking the possibility of having to ask for an excuse if we point out an

already known truth – that man is his poetry, and that poetry is the man
himself, we are saying that Jeton Kelmendi expresses himself directly,
sincerely, and without the tam/tams in the torments of the literary figure which
would otherwise betray him at once. Jeton Kelmendi is in fact distinguished
with his entire being in the agitated times which we all experience – a poet of
love and the pen, of contemplation against the passing of time and human
condition. And, if we can summarize in a single word all of his creativity we do
not know which would be the best suited: Simplicity, Sincerity, Secrecy,
Whisper, Testimony? We do not know as the author has something of all of
that.

The author’s wish is to communicate to the others something of his own world
filled with golden spirit. A simple testimony made for his love from which
gurgles a generalizing value, like in the poem “Word surpassing silence”:
‘Yesterday I learnt/ how to keep silent/ Speak little/ I am full of sadness breath/
Through tired eyelashes/ Of you eyes/ I’ve walked towards you long ago/ To
speak in silence/ Tell your story/ And mine/ And I thought/ To tell you/ That
you are/ The bread of verses/ Water of words/ I am for you/ The most sought
for song/ An old-living!’. We see here some kind of an abruption of
perspective, the poet pronouncing in the finale a most suitable imagery as a
most suggestive comparison of feeling in the sound of an “old-time” melody
wrapped up on its perfume and nostalgia.

In this sense, contemplation and longing mingle with the condition of “waiting”
and melancholy of the moment in which if the ‘roads lead to exile’ one could
hardly find anyone. Someone stuck between darkness and light ‘suffering from
the word’ against an unexpressed, dreamed song felt and much awaited. We do
not know how the poet presented himself in his first volumes as we had no way
of knowing, but here he comes out as an inspired bard and fine ‘constructor’ of
verse impressive through his ability to know how to find the symbol,
imagination and metaphor of an originality and softness which we meet but
rarely and only in talented authors, where he finds his word’s field, body of
silence, word’s wounds, whitewashed bones of lyrics…

“How rarely letters come”, the poet says. And, by this we understand, in fact,
the anxiety to see a 20th century man ranking amidst the tides of life as a loyal
soldier of humanity, estranged by sincere sensitivity, experiences and beautiful
sentiments, but also by a quiet and romantic past from which every one of us
maintain a piece in our own selves. To these – and not only to these – Jeton
Kelmendi consecrates a good part of poems and also to his love viewed as
some kind of an exile from the sadness and follies of the modern world – a very
interesting fact (in Romanian: fapt foarte interesant), and which cannot pass
unnoticed by the reader as a lover of poetry sharing, without doubt, the guilt
with the poet.

Jeton Kelmendi’s anthology appears to us rather as a ‘color stain’ in the lyrical

context practiced today in the world. It is the bank of exile, self-exile of every
modern man and in the same time the place in which, although rarely, letters
still arrive. And, with them comes the secret and enchanting murmur of
poyetry. (Bucharest, April 30th, 2008).