5.3.09

Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)

I vetem me cdokend

Mishi mbulon kockat
dhe nje mendje fusim brenda tyre
e nganjehere edhe nje shpirt,
dhe grate vazo thyejne mureve
ndersa burrat
dehen
dhe asnje nuk gjen
tjetrin
por vazhdojne kerkimin
brenda dhe jashte shtreterish
zhgrryre.
mishi mbulon kockat
dhe kerkon
me shume se
mish.
asnje shans i mbetur:
te gjithe ne carkun e
te njejtit fat.

asnje ndonjehere nuk e gjeti
tjetrin.

qyteti zymtesi mbushur
vendi i plehrave mbushur
cmendinat mbushur
spitalet mbushur
varrezat mbushur

asgje tjeter
s'te mbush.

(perktheu nga origjinali: Artan Gjyzel Hasani )



Alone With Everybody

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.


Liria

ai piu vere tere naten
e 28-te, me ate ne mendje.
menyra si ajo ecte, si fliste, si dashuronte,
menyra si ajo i rrefente gjera qe dukeshin te verteta
por qe nuk ishin, dhe ai njihte ngjyrat e
cdo veshjeje te saj
edhe kepucet - i njihte formen dhe harkun
e seciles take
ashtu si edhe kemben formezuar nga ajo.

dhe ajo ishte akoma jashte e kur ai u kthye
edhe ajo do te ish kthyer bashke me kuterbimin e vecante
dhe vertete
ajo u kthye ne 3 te mengjezit
e ndyre si nje dose e perllangur se ngreni
dhe
ai nxorri nje hanxhar
dhe ajo uluriti
pas murit te dhomes mbeshtetur
sidoqofte akoma e bukur
pavaresisht duhmes se dashurise
dhe goten e veres e mbaroi.

ky fustan i verdhe
i preferuari i tij
dhe ajo uluriti perseri

dhe ai rrembeu thiken
dhe zbertheu rrypin
dhe u zhvesh para saj
dhe koqet e tij preu

dhe i mbajti ne duar
si kajsi
dhe i flaku
ne koshin e banjes
dhe ajo vazhdoi ulurimen
ndersa dhoma u perskuq

ZOT...O ZOT
CFARE KE BERE ?

dhe ai qendroi atje me 3 peshqire
mes kofsheve te tij
shkujdesur tashme nese ajo iku apo
qendroi
ne te verdha apo jeshile veshur
apo pa asgje

dhe me njeren dore duke u mbajtur e me tjetren
duke u ngritur ai mbushi nje tjeter gote me vere

(perktheu nga origjinali: Artan Gjyzel Hasani)



Freedom

he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
but were not, and he knew the color of each
of her dresses
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of
each heel
as well as the leg shaped by it.

and she was out again and when he came home,and
she'd come back with that special stink again,
and she did
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning
filthy like a dung eating swine
and
he took out a butchers knife
and she screamed
backing into the rooming house wall
still pretty somehow
in spite of love's reek
and he finished the glass of wine.

that yellow dress
his favorite
and she screamed again.

and he took up the knife
and unhooked his belt
and tore away the cloth before her
and cut off his balls.

and carried them in his hands
like apricots
and flushed them down the
toilet bowl
and she kept screaming
as the room became red

GOD O GOD!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

and he sat there holding 3 towels
between his legs
no caring now whether she left or
stayed
wore yellow or green or
anything at all.

and one hand holding and one hand
lifting he poured
another wine


Rrefim

duke pritur vdekjen
si nje mace
qe pret te hidhet
mbi shtrat

me vjen aq keq per
gruan time

ajo do te shohe
kete trup
te ngrire
te bardhe
do ta shkunde njehere pastaj
ndoshta perseri

"Henk!"

Henku s'do pergjigjet.

nuk eshte vdekja ime qe
me shqeteson, eshte gruaja ime
me nje grumbull asgjeje
lene.

dua ajo ta dije
sidoqofte
qe te gjitha neteve
qe fjeta
prane saj

edhe sherret me te
pavlere
ishin aq
te mrekullueshem

dhe fjalet me te
sikletshme
qe gjithnje druaja
t'i shqiptoja
tashme mund
te thuhen:

te dua!


(pershtati nga origjinali: Artan Gj. Hasani)

Confession


waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed

I am so very sorry for
my wife

she will see this
stiff
white
body
shake it once, then
maybe
again

"Hank!"

Hank won't
answer.

it's not my death that
worries me, it's my wife
left with this
pile of
nothing.

I want to
let her know
though
that all the nights
sleeping
beside her

even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid

and the hard
words
I ever feared to
say
can now be
said:

I love
you.


Mbarim

Ne jemi si trendafilat qe kurre nuk u nguten
te lulezojne kur duhej te lulezonin dhe
kjo eshte sikur
dielli te neveritej
nga te priturit.

(pershtati nga origjinali: Artan Gj. Hasani)


Finish


We are like roses that have never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
waiting


Vertet

nje nga vargjet me te mire te Lorkes
eshte
"agoni...gjithnje...
agoni..."
mendoje kur
vret nje brumbull ose
kur rremben briskun te rruhesh
ose kur zgjohesh ne mengjez
perballe
faqes se
diellit.

(pershtati nga origjinali: Artan Gj. Hasani)


True

one of Lorca's best lines
is,
"agony, always
agony ..."
think of this when you
kill a
cockroach or
pick up a razor to
shave
or awaken in the morning
to
face the
sun.