Serious Gallbladder More Condition_symptoms

Ali Podrimja

I do not think there are enough words to describe the pain that lies in the poetry of the poet Ali Pedrimja. The call to this native land that always leaves her forever and always "sold", an ancient tale, is a clear mark of a natural anxiety derived from the war of men, "his neighbors," the poet always comes to look at each one, without finding it. The man in love is also led to war: the only state ' livable mind is suffering. Perhaps the poet tries to chase away the shadow of the Tower, seen as a call to freedom, to reach the highest place, and almost reach to fly. In his poetry there is always the metaphor of the tower that cradles the loneliness, the coming and going of thoughts ... to erase the anguish. But nothing is truce: everything is a sign of war and tears.

***




Love It 's time to love,
to have confidence in me when I say: Come on,
to have confidence in you when I say, brave.
But in my time too many traps you set,
many guns filled with your father, your people, a thousand and one dark
pitfalls you warp, where I could get waited. And in a corner
s'abitava,
pesavi my hours every day,
Every day I read Shakespeare in the shadow of the Tower,
not meet you in the arm of hope.
Curami eyes, my love,
Heal me back the sun, the pain!
I'm afraid that I dig my eyes in fear, I fear that
kill me behind my back without the faith.
My love, my hand to cross this water allungami wide
are not foreign, nor are the dead land.
the bottom of the valley watch collection:
the white horse is ours now and forever.
looked me straight in the eye, let the bickering, the words, the injuries.
'll take you from the heart of the Flower peach
kindle the lamp of the tower, will sow the new
land.
When I loved you, bring the love after seven villages
and your collections were strong. When
loved me, brought love to a woman mad
el'ingrata retreated in horror.
E 'in term life, brave, why do not we thought of ourselves.
Time is of love.


***


Epica

For centuries I sold blood
and grew only sold blood. For centuries
I ate alone
conscious of not having enough rice on its own ... Friends,
Kosovo is not my blood that is given.


***


Anxiety

My land is burning, my beloved land,
my furrowed brow, a pine tree ...


I shuffled quickly through your territory with my shadow,
Kosovo, ancient fairy tale! Soon
hast bound feet and hands in horror
suffering and death ...

So, who saved first, myself or birds

rose in?
What about the grandchildren of my song of death?
- Eh, even if m'aveste severed his head, another would grow
me!

My
earth burns in every inch of my body - cursed land ...


***


Over pain

broken branches have fallen from the clouds on your body
sold. Kosovo.

Your penis until the roots are crumbling, and over
screams shatter the pain in my forehead,
with the wings of birds killed by the love of my people
exhausted by thirst.

around your body like a snake is wrapped
for burning the Rocky Mountains,
tie them hand and foot with all of your stories - you do not leave alive
bloodied, without washing the
palm with the palm, leaving in you body and life
floor and no lighting fires ...
are broken branch fell from the clouds on your body
sold the gun death, the gun invisible

... What will be my song of yesterday and the word of my people?

The poplar has run of my house burned down, look where to cut, dissolve
where the flame of the water for you, Kosovo?


***




The beauty stretched out my hand to pluck a flower on the lawn
"Do not do it - my beloved near m'urlò -
- fade away!"

stretched up to reach the white horse - the arrival
dreaming who knows what.
"Do not do it" - again came close. And I cried again
nastalgia. I threw

arm throughout the afflicted - and I think it comes
m'accenda eyes of light.
"Lucky you!" - Someone shouted in a hug
and saw and heard nothing.

Since then, wherever I try my best next.

(Translations of Anila Resul Albanian)

*

Podrimja Ali was born (1942) and raised in Gjakovë. He studied Albanian literature at the University of Pristina, where he currently lives. In 1957 he published his first poem in the magazine Jeta e Re (New Life). Those were years when the Kosovo Serbs living in fear of power, with his city as a major center of unrest. This led the poet to write about this state of total distress in 1960 Hija and tokes (The shadow of the earth). In 1961 he published the anthology of elegiac verses Thirrje (Recall) and then Shamijat and përshëndetjeve (1963 - The scarf of greeting), and Dhimbë Bukura (1967 - Dhimba beautiful), Sampo (1969), Torzo (1971) and so on. to work best Lum, lamps (1982) determined that a change in contemporary poetry in Kosovo.
In the '80s and '90s there were publications of Zari (the nut), në Buzëqeshje kafaz (I smiled in cage) up to two books of prose: the Hapur Burguete (1998 - The prison opened) and Harakiri (1999). His poetry introduced Albanian poetry in the use of free verse, the use of metaphors and symbols, irony, a new way of representing the human world.
His works have been translated into several languages.