Kam nje pyetje - kerkese...
Dua te gjej "House Under Surveillance", prej Marin Sorescu, por per dreq eshte zhdukur orej internetit. Nqs i jipet njeriu mundesia ta gjej e ta postoj, ne anglisht ose shqip do t'ja dija per nder.
flm
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mqns nuk po pergjigjet njeri ktu ne lidhje me pyetjen-kerkese, po shkruaj vete nje skice qe kam bere... aty ku e la Elia (apo Barnaba), i Celentanos.
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Sot hengra nje molle - Dialog me krimbin (anglisht)
Sot, amongst many other exciting things hengra nje molle. molla kishte krimb... krimbi nxorri koken nga vrima e tij dhe bertiti ne anglisht:
-you damn human.
-Jesus fucking Christ, - says I, -what are you doing in there little fellow?
-I'm an APPLE-worm, -says he in a rather harsh and sharp tone of voice, -where else would I be, inside an orange?
-I don't know, -says I, - I didn't know you WERE an apple-worm.
-I am inside an apple, ain't I? -says he in the same manner, - what else would I be, an orange-worm?
-well, I don't know, why wouldn't you be, an orange-worm?
-because I am inside an APPLE...
-yes, I grant you that... you are an apple-worm inside an apple, not an orange-worm inside an orange.
-that's correct.
-but what is the difference?
-between APPLES and oranges?
-no, I know THAT difference, what is the difference between an apple-worm and an orange-worm?
-there is a hell-ova'lot of difference... we eat APPLES, and they eat oranges.
-is that it? is that the "lot"?
-that is a "hell-ova'lot"!
-I see.
-no you don't...
-well, I am sorry I ate your apple... I truly wish I had eaten an orange. I will find you a bigger apple that you can fill it with wholes and do everything you want inside it... you can call it, "The Big Apple", you know, like the big city of lights.
-you don't have a clue, do you?
-I don't know... about what?
-you think I am mad, because you ate my APPLE? pfff... you're so full of yourself... you think I can't find my self another APPLE? How do you suppose I found this one, human?
-then why are you mad, APPLE-worm?
-BECAUSE YOU ATE MY WIFE! - he raised his voice as he stiffened his long body.
-WIFE??? shouted I, - I ate your WIFE?
-Yes, you damn human... we were on our honey-moon.
-ohh... what I am to do now, APPLE-worm?
-Maybe you should have thought about that before you bit into somebody else's apple?
-Yes, maybe... but that doesn't help your wife now, does it?, said I with courage.
-Did you chew the APPLE hard?
-I don't know... don't think so.
-There's a chance she may still be alive.
-Really? Oh God, this gets worst and worst...
-aren't you happy she might still be alive... don't you regret what you have done?
-Yes, I do, and I am happy that she may still be alive... but ALIVE? A worm? An APPLE-worm, alive inside me? What I am gonna do?
-It's simple... you must eat apple, and only APPLE, everyday, for the rest of your days.
-what about orange?
-No... NEVER... APPLE-worms hate oranges.
-well... I kinda like oranges too.
-It can't be helped...you must not eat oranges again, only APPLES, and nothing else, APPLE-worms find oranges repulsive.
-I have a better idea... you must go and save her, -said I.
-NOOO.., said he horrified.
-It can’t be helped.., -said I, -you have 48 hours to get her out of there.
-what if I don’t make it?
-well... I know what you hate APPLE-worm, -said I and quickly swallowed the rest of the apple.
Une kerkova goxha ne net dhe nuk e gjeta dot as house under surveillance vec as censored poems si liber, sorry.
Liked a lot kete me mollen
23-dimension, e njejta gje. Del libri ne amazon apo diku tjeter. Vije ne C-Mass list lol.
Ndersa poema permendet si titull, por dhe ne e-library universiteti qe kam akses nuk e gjeta dot.
Sorry.
ok, flm per mundimin. Ne internet nuk ndodhet, eshte zhdukur por mendova se ndonjeri njihte ndonjerin qe njihte ndonjerin kinda thing, edhe une mbaroja pune, e poezia kthehej ne internet. Kjo deshmon edhe how much we rely on the internet for information that we need or want or like.
me pelqen skica jote. as une nuk gjeta poezi te tille nga Sorescu, por ndoshta e ka bibloteka librin e tij? ketej nuk kishte.
just some suggestions:
gets worst and worst=gets worse and worse.
hell-ova'lot = helluva lot.
my self=myself
honey-moon = honeymoon
watch the "I said" instead of "Said I" unless you intentionally reversed it.
wrong, blete. ne shumicen e tyre, pervec helluva lot. por dhe per kete, ke menyra te tjera per ta shkruar. eshte slang! dhe slang ka cdo fshat.
gets worst and worst=gets worse and worse. mund t'i perdoresh te dyja (you can mean them both).
my self=myself, i perdor te dyja, ne njeren duke theksuar dicka me shume se ne tjetren.
said i, eshte forme poetike, dhe forme qe mund te perdoret shume bukur ne letersi.
honey-moon, gjithashtu mund ta perdoresh qellimisht, sidomos, ne kete rast, nese do te lesh hapsire qe te nenkuptosh dicka tjeter, si applemoon, psh.
Poetit nuk i ve dot kufi ne perdorim gjuhe, as ti, as kerrkush tjeter, e perdor fjalen si t'i doje qejfi, shpik fjale te reja... ti si lexuese, je e detyruar ta pranosh, dhe po te duash edhe te protestosh.
sorryyyyyy
)) miqesisht.
gjuhen mund ta perdoresh si te duash ne momentin qe ia arrin ta zoterosh. dhe une si lexuese nuk jam e detyruar te pranoj asgje. si njeri zemermire, jam e detyruar t'ia ve ne dukje autorit "rrudhat" e pakta qe kap syri im. i pranon a i kundershton, pune per te.
slang ka cdo fshat por ne fakt "helluva" eshte pranuar si fjale zyrtare, e eshte futur ne fjalor prandaj ai muhabeti i fshatit do te qendronte vetem nese autori do te vinte nga ai fshat. (ndryshe ngjan pak nje fierak kur mundohet te me mbushe mendjen mua se eshte tirans duke thene tirons)
worst eshte kufiri. nuk ka ku te shkoje me tutje fjala. worst and worst thjesht nuk ka kuptim. ah, nese autori do te shkruante worst and worster, per mua personalisht do te tingellonte si loje e gjetur fjalesh, jo si gabim gramatikor.
honeymoon gjithashtu eshte shkruar keshtu ne fjalorin amerikan. ndoshta ndryshon ne ate britanikun.
per said I, nuk isha shume e sigurt. nese eshte perdorur me qellim, duhet qe tere skica te kete te njejten forme. diku nga fundi me duket se nuk eshte njesoj dhe e zhben efektin poetik te pjeses.
e futa shpaten ne kellef tani. edhe njehere, une diskutoj vetem per ato pjese qe me pelqejne, dhe bej kritika vetem aty ku me mbushet mendja se ka nevoje per permiresim dhe gjithmone miqesisht.
skica me pelqen shume.
uau! mendohu prape.
the last one was intentional. all the rest are poor mistakes, which probably would not have been made if I paid enough attention, but now that I read it again, ther's more.... such as "she may still" instead of "might still", or "what I am gonna do", etc., "it gets worst and worst" is a really bad one... could it get any worst? "helluva lot", that's what I actually had in mind, but didn't know how to write it and made that other one up. The last one was intentional. Thanks anyhow.
Erion, me pelqen se te pelqeu.
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Jam ende ne kerkim te poezise.
Nje skice/tregimth tjeter. Amanet te drejtat e autorit.
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Ylberisti - prej Ll. K.
J.J. anëtar i Kryesisë në Partinë e Ylberit, më thoshte duke shfletuar një album familjar:
-Kjo është një fotografi e martesës së prindërve të mi, bardhë e zi. Kanë dalë para shtëpisë, një ndërtesë dykatëshe e lyer në të bardhë, me kangjella të zeza. Sic e sheh, dallohen dy figura: një e bardhë, e nënës, veshur me fustan e vello nusërie; tjetra, e babait, veshur me kostum të zi. Mirëpo, edhe tek figura e babait, e bardha ka vendin e vet në raport me të zezën. Shikojmë nga këmbët tek mesi: këpucët - të bardha, pantallonat - të zeza. Mesi e lart. Kemi një kombinim të së bardhës me të zezën. Xhaketa - e zezë, këmisha - e bardhë, papijon - i zi, me ca pika të bardha (po ta shikosh me kujdes fotografinë). Në xhep të vogël të xhaketës, një shami e bardhë me një pikë të zezë. (Pika nuk dallohet se shamia është e palosur, por nëna më ka thënë se pika ekziston.) Pak më lart. Një fytyrë e bardhë me flokë të zez, sy të zinj mes të bardhëve të vet.
-Edhe dy elemente të tjera: mustaqet e zeza dhe dhëmbët e bardha. Tjetër, vetullat... Lëri vetullat...
-...se do të nxjerrësh sytë, - më doli pa dashje.
-Jo, jo, i përmendëm sytë. Por s'mund t'u hedhësh faj.
-Kujt?
-Paraardhësve tanë. Për shkak të regjimit, njihnin vetëm dy ngjyra: bardhë e zi.
Ndaloi për një cast. Mendova se do të kujtohej për kafenë, për të cilën më kishte ftuar. Por isha gabuar. Ai hapi një album tjetër fotografik dhe filloi të flasë, kësaj radhe me tone ditirambike:
-Shikoni tani ç'ndryshime kolosale! Në këtë fotografi të shkëlqyer jam unë me gruan time! Shikoni ç'përparime në ngjyra! Fillojmë nga sfondi! Një shtëpi me ngjyrë jo të bardhë! Me kangjella jo të zeza! Në qendër – dy figura! Një figurë në ngjyrë jo të bardhë dhe një figurë në ngjyrë jo të zezë! Nuk desha të them që jam unë e gruaja ime! Më tej, fillojmë nga poshtë lart! Këpucët jo të zeza, çorapet jo të bardha! Kostumi jo i zi, këmisha jo e bardhë! Kravata jo e zezë, me ca pika jo të bardha! Fytyra jo e bardhë, flokët jo të zeza! Mustaqet jo të zeza, dhëmbët jo të bardha!
-Laji dhëmbët, miku im! – bëra gafën e dytë.
-Çfarë?
-Hic, hic, - i thashë
-Ku e lamë?
-Ndoshta, te sytë?
-T’i lëmë sytë, s’ngrënë shumë peshë. Rëndësi ka fakti që fotografia është bërë natën! Një natë jo të errët, me hënë jo të bardhë!
-Çudi! Ç’kishte patur hëna? – pyeta.
-Lëre hënën... gabim që e thashë... Duhej të kishim dale fotografi ditën,... me diell.
Tonet ditirambike kishin rënë, megjithatë vazhdoi:
-Për sa i përket figurës së gruas, në fotografi, nuk po të flas, jo për simetri me atë të nënës, por, sepse, kur ajo, gruaja, i’a tregon të birit, përmend ca ngjyra, që unë (ta themi midis nesh) nuk i marr vesh.
-E shoh, - i thashë. – Besoj se ka ardhur koha për kafenë.
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(C) Ll. K. Publikuar sot, 6 Dhjetor, 2008.
Koment i shkurter për një peizazh
Mot i lagësht, me gjëmime.
Diku humbasin
e diku shtohen
elektronet. Qiell i jonizuar.
Shkreptin. Mes dy reve,
vijë e qartë
demarkacioni.
Kohë e lagësht.
Diku humbasin
e diku shtohen
elektronet. Diku marrin emrin
e parave
e diku emrin e pronës.
Kohë e lagësht.
Botë e jonizuar.
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(C) Ll. K.
Malevonia
Nga bie kjo Malevonia?
Herë - imja, herë - e huaj;
herë - e afërt, herë - e largët;
herë - e sotme, herë - e shkuar...
E pakapshme...
si zhivë e derdhur.
(C) Ll. K.
Si kuajt, por jo njësoj
Ne Malevoni, kur plaken njerëzit,
i vrasin. Si kuajt.
Por jo njësoj.
Kuajt vriten me plumb;
njerëzit...
- me pension.
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(C) Ll. K.
Duke marr shembull prej Selfmade-Radio:
Short 'short-cuts'
--: There's more to this... something is being kept hidden... somebody up there, high, is involved. It has that feeling about it... she couldn't just have killed herself.
--: When she came in, I wasn't the only one to see her. My friend said she was beautiful too... he said she had a nice behind... and that she came in there often... I think her behind was rather small-ish... but it was her face that captured one's attention.
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--: this is not possible... her death only took place today... how could they have made a film about it, in the very same day?
--: obviously they could... somebody thought they could make a big cashing in by making a cheap feature of the events... at least as obscurely as they are being portrayed... undoubtedly there will be more to come, but everyone who wants to know what happened is flocking in to see this crude version.
--: wait... did you see her? is that supposed to be the maid? as she was speaking she was looking at the wall... she wasn't looking at him... the lines are on the wall... the script is written on the wall... this is indeed crude.
--: get into the set... have a look for yourself at what is written on those walls?
--: Excuse me ma'am... may I?... (said he as he bulged himself into the set... looking at the face of the wall where the old actress had been previously looking at): "the thin man with the thin moustache!" - he read aloud!
--: those were not her lines.
--:strange... there was a picture-postcard of Albania on that wall!
--: Albania?
--: Yes, a place of green trees, white, square buildings and blue waters.
--: what else was there...?
--: there was something even stranger. there was also a photo of her... she was wearing a white dress... did she ever get married?
--: no, she didn't. They were going to, but of course, what happened today at the museum made that impossible.
--: do you think she was killed?
--: no... I don’t know... I think she killed herself... but for reasons unknown... or rather... for reasons which are being kept secret... You said the photo was strange... stranger than the writing on the wall.
--: Yes... indeed stranger. She was in the photo with other people.
--: who were they?
--: I don't know... I didn't look... I know it must have been four or five other people, all dressed for a special occasion... it seemed like a marriage. But what was the strangest thing about it, is that she smiled...
--: she often smiled.
--: No... she wasn't smiling at first. She smiled as I was looking at the photograph... then she stuck her tongue out at me... in a very mischievous way... then she retook a serious pose.
--: it seemed as if... she had the last laugh!
--: that is indeed peculiar.
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--: God... it has been two years already...
--: don’t tell me you have missed it?
--: why...? why shouldn’t I tell you? I have missed it. You wouldn’t understand.
--: What, the place?
--: not only... but I worked here for two years... this museum was my home for two years... I practically lived here... you see that place over there...? Wait... someone has changed things around here a little... oh yes... they have... only slightly... you see those windows over there... the sun used to come in from them, right where I was working... which was this desk right here... someone must have moved it. If I was to come and work here again, I would put it back right where it used to be... I used to be able to tell the time of the day... just by looking at the rays of the sun on my desk. I knew exactly when it was twelve afternoon.
--let’s move from here.
--: yes, let’s... there’s more to this museum than meets the eye.
(they loose on-another... then they find on-another again)
--: where the hell did you go?
--: I saw this girl... I lost myself... her face was so beautiful.
--: I know which one you mean... she often comes here... she has a nice arse too!
--: who is she?
--: ........................... I don’t know... .......................
..............................but I know that she has the most expensive diamond ring I have ever seen.
--: you mean she is married?
--: no... she isn’t. don’t think so... I think her grandmother has given her the ring before she died... I think she’s engaged... I also think it is the ring, her fiancée is after.
(suddenly the two of them find themselves in a very high platform... under a vast... glass ceiling... when the alarms start ringing)
--: did you press something?
--: No...
--: Did you touch anything?
--: No... why are you asking me?
--: you must have pressed or done something... as soon as you came by this window the alarms started ringing.
--: No... I told you, I didn’t press or touched anything.
--: well let’s get out of here... you never know what happens in this place... if something gets stolen and no one is found who-dunnit’, they will hold on to us for being Albanian.
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