Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Irma Kurti is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She is a naturalized Italian and lives in Bergamo, Italy. Irma Kurti has won numerous literary prizes and awards in Italy and Italian Switzerland. In 2020, she became the honorary president of WikiPoesia, the encyclopedia of poetry. She is a member of the jury for several literary competitions in Italy. She is also a translator for the Ithaca Foundation in Spain. In 2023 she was awarded a Career Award from the Universum Academy Switzerland. She also won the prestigious 2023 Naji Naaman’s literary prize for complete work.
Irma Kurti has published 27 books in Albanian, 23 in Italian and 15 in English. Her books have been translated and published in 14 countries.
WITHOUT A HOMELAND
What are you looking for on the shore,
shreds of memories or broken shells?
Seagulls to distant lands have flown,
abandoning thus their only love nest.
Just like you, who in a foreign land
tried to build with difficulty a roof.
Although from there, the cold, the rain,
nostalgia, and memories penetrate, too.
Nothing has remained, even that door
you opened in the dream of first love.
It was rusty, now it has been replaced
with a more beautiful and modern one.
You’ve changed also, you’re a sky full
of clouds, hard to recognize yourself—
a sensitive soul, very often deluded;
a sad poetess, left without a homeland.
Taken from “Without a homeland”, Transcendent Zero Press, USA, 2019.
A POEM ON THE WALLS
I would like to write a poem on the
damp and ancient walls of my city,
people always run, time challenges
their steps with such great speed.
I’d like to write some verses, to be
enjoyed while smoking a cigarette,
to be read while sipping coffee,
a line in one’s mind will remain.
A short poem whose every verse
highlights the joy, light, and love,
awakening the people and the cold
city walls from their long slumber.
FALLING STARS
Give me your hand, let’s stop for a second
the crazy and hectic race where we’re lost,
let’s eavesdrop on the peace and our breath,
let’s wake up the magic of the sentiments.
Close to the fireplace let’s call the memories,
nostalgia will descend as dew from the eyes,
passion will shake us from this oblivion,
reaching thus to all the recesses of the heart.
Let’s talk like friends, let’s kiss like lovers,
listen to the messages that the wind brings,
the sparks that shine and switch off in the air
are falling stars from the dark sky of winter.
