Agim VINCA
Agim Vinca (b. 1947) is a leading poetry critic and poet from Veleshta near Struga in Macedonia whose popular lyrical verse is firmly anchored in the soil of his place of birth and of his childhood. He finished school in Struga on Lake Ohrid and studied Albanian language and literature at the University of Prishtina where he taught contemporary literature until expelled in September 1991 by the Serbian military. Vinca is the author of the verse collections Feniksi, Skopje 1972 (The phoenix); Shtegu i mallit, Prishtina 1975 (The path of nostalgia); Në vend të biografisë, Tirana 1977 (In lieu of a biography); Buzëdrinas, Prishtina 1984 (Inhabitant of the lower Drin); Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987 (Patches and dreams); Kohë e keqe për lirikën, Prishtina 1997 (Bad times for poetry); Dri’, Tirana 1999 (Dri’). He has also published noted monographs of criticism, in particular Struktura e poezisë së sotme shqipe (1945-1980), Prishtina 1985 (The structure of contemporary Albanian poetry 1945-1980), Orët e poezisë, Prishtina 1990 (The poetry hours); Alternativa letrare shqiptare, Skopje 1995 (Albanian literary alternative). He teaches literature in Prishtina.
Agim VINCA
Becoming a poet
To be an oasis in the wilderness,
Not to forget there are many who thirst in this world.
To be a lantern in the darkness,
Not to forget there are many blind in this world.
To be a ship in the waves,
Not to forget the forgotten masses are waiting on the banks.
To say pig to the pig and Socrates to Socrates
And drink your part of the poison.
To write an open letter to the Lord
And list all the sins.
To dig your own grave on the highest mountain peak
And turn into a lightning rod.
[Të jesh poet, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 5, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 136]
Biography of the root
Who knows when you were born,
In what age, in what place?
Who knows when you sprouted,
On what hill, in what dale?
No one can measure your age,
In years, in seasons.
The teams,
The experts
Search in vain.
You are like life itself.
Your branches,
Twigs,
Buds grow.
Your trunk thickens like a sauce,
You refine the flavour
Without worrying about theories, origins,
Expertise, diagnoses…
A strong root. Stubborn.
Ancient. Young.
Homeland.
[Biografia e rrënjës, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 7, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 137]
Albanian rhapsodies
Have you been to the source of the Black Drin,
To Saint Naum, in the south?
Have you seen how its waters flow
Like a gentle lyric poem.
Have you been to the source of the White Drin,
To the North Albanian Alps, among the mountain cliffs?
Have you seen how their waters roar
Like epic verse.
Have you been to the source of the Black Drin
To Ohrid, to Struga?
Have you seen how its waters weep
Like a clarinet at twilight.
Have you been to the source of the White Drin
To Radavc near Peja?
Have you seen how its waters quiver
Like the strings of a lute.
Have you seen how our rivers flow
Through the gorges and mountains,
Have you heard their melodies:
Albanian rhapsodies.
[Rapsodi shqiptare, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 12, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 138]
Psalm for Saint Naum
You are too beautiful
To be true
You are too sinful
To be holy
An azure curse
Slumbers in your eyes
How I pity you!
[Psalm për Shën Naumin, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 15, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 139]
Ballad of the dry mountain
There is a mountain in the south
Between two lakes
They call the Dry Mountain
And no one can tell you
How this mountain
Stays dry surrounded by water
Nearby is a meadow
With the startling name
The Meadow of Tears
And no one can tell you
How this mountain
Stays dry near the tears either
There is a mountain in the south
Between two lakes
They call the Dry Mountain
And no one can tell you
Why this mountain
Always thirsts near the water
Dry Mountain
No grass, no trees, no birds
Dead for the living.
Like a human being
Withered from desire.
[Balade për Malin e Thatë, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 16, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 140]
The names
For our children
We have chosen beautiful names,
Good names:
Drilon,
Shkumbin,
Gramoz,
Korab,
Vjosa,
Valbona…
May they flow behind us
Like our rivers,
May they rise above us
Like our mountains.
[Emrat, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 18, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 141]
My dead
First of all my mother died,
Then my sister,
Now recently my father.
I was left motherless,
I was left sisterless,
I was left fatherless.
But we have been reunited
Because I –
Cannot live without them.
I cannot live
Without my dead,
I don’t want to,
I don’t know how.
[Të vdekurit të mi, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 57, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 142]
The hounds of Sodom
First they bite,
Then they bark.
The hounds of Sodom!
A bizarre race.
How can one tell
When they wag their tails
As a sign of friendship;
When they gnash their teeth
As a sign of menace.
First they bite,
Then they bark
(They bite by night,
They bark by day) –
An ancient habit
Of their pedigree.
They treat the living
And the dead the same:
They dig up their bones,
They lick clean their guts.
It’s always the same.
The hounds of Sodom,
A noble race!
[Qentë e Sodomës, from the volume Arna dhe ëndrra, Prishtina 1987, p. 68, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in An elusive eagle soars, anthology of modern Albanian poetry, London: Forest Books 1993, p. 143]