Rudina Çupi is an Albanian writer. She was born in 1975 in Durres and she has studied Albanian Language and Literature at the University of Tirana. Her artistic activity includes three poetry books: “Don’t remember me the death”, Shkopsitje (Unbuttoning) and “®”, and several children’s books. She also writes some short prose, which was published in literary magazines or daily newspapers, expected soon to summarize them in a book. Also, she is the author of three teacher’s book for preschool education.
She currently works as an editor in a publishing house.
Title: Të gjitha të drejtat janë të rezervuara (All rights reserved)
Place of publication: Tirana
Year of publication: 2015 (in process)
© all rights reserved to ‘Albas’ publishing house: firstname.lastname@example.org
“Brittleness, but also spiritual strength, whisper, but also yawp, dreams, but also resistance confronting reality. This is shown as well through the words and images she chooses, with fine semantic and stylistic nuances, which fit to the poet’s personality and sensibility.” Edmond Tupja.
First came the discovery!
Man discovered “the parent’s room”
in the cave by the rivers
by these long streams that flow perpetually.
Second came the invention!
The son of man build “the children’s room”
build cities by the roads,
by these long streams where we move perpetually.
Third came the creation!
We, two people, not parents yet, childless,
madehistori in the room without walls,
in the under-nature,
by the bottoms of a umbilical cord,
by this long stream that emits perpetually.
We “civilized” each other through conversations
long like rivers, like roads, like umbilical cords….
At first we peeled our nature,
build soft dams of palate
to halt the flooding of our words;
We trenched canals
to stop our gushing blood,
From this, we learned how to work the mud:
we made flawless pots;
we spin the mud with our hands,
with saliva, like mud nesting of swallows,
engraved our names with the straw
our names and dates in cuneiform,
that resemble broken nerves cords.
We let it dry under the sun.
You were the first to notice that the sky is always adorned by the shine:
the sun by the day, the stars by the night, lightning in by the storm…
It was winter when we learned to light up the fire,
rubbing each other,
and got amazed by flying sparks
getting up high and becoming part of the sky,
we cried, in embrace, by the incantation art of this wonder.
We cried, till we lost our sight.
blindness we explore each other’s faces,
the reality was more beautiful this way
when we discover the taste of salt in our mouths and tongues
and when our tears cooled off the kindled ember,
Peace reigned over us.
This is how our era began.
I like to say: OUR ERA.
Even our time we name by scent.
But … are our senses and words enough to fulfill the love?
I silently prayed that you would not discover the gold.
you wanted to make for me jewellery like the ones in the sky.
But I was affright, that the coldness and shivering
of the ring in my finger when I touch you
would reach our hearts.
So… in hurry I invented the wine
to keep alive our conversation,
firing papers in fireplace, to keep you warm,
playing with your hair
and reading for you the 1001 tales,
singing lullaby to nourish your dreams.
I silently prayed that you would not discover the novel.
because the novel transform as into housekeepers:
you – the writer and me – the reader…
the Novel needs blood, it’s carnivore
(different from the poems – omnivore)…
the novel is
like a door, from which the history comes and goes,
economizes the intimacy portioning it:
the novel it’s not a dance for two.
The extract is translated from the Albanian by Irena Ndreka
*The author use the word “nën = under”, that approximate with word nën(ë) = mother, to implicate the meanings of them: under-nature and mother-nature.