It Signifies Something
This whole snowy silence signifies something.
This whole whisper of smothered sounds
definitely signifies something...
No soul around to lend you a single word—
words that remain just words, anyway.
Velvety sounds, each one building a self in itself.
This snowy silence signifies something,
as long as it doesn't blind any of us.
Images of people abound here, there, everywhere;
will people with an image, though, likely show up?
This spectacle definitely signifies something,
as long as it urges us to see beyond images,
to hear, beyond a smothered sound, the outcry
of all those who left,
being never heard by anyone...
Translated from Albanian by Arben P. Latifi
A Human Hymn to Mrs. Inge
Mrs. Inge, a middle-aged horse trainer,
clad in an outfit the color of flames,
leaves her home adjacent to the oak grove
to feed the horses three times a day.
This ritual has been trotting on for over thirty years,
as inherited from her father and her father's father—
famous horse trainers in Jonserd.
It's February and, in front of Mrs. Inge's house,
a snowy plateau sprawls far into vastness.
Longingly, Mrs. Inge talks to me about the sun,
as if about a distant relative,
who, for no apparent reason, now seldom visits her,
while she complains of snow as an annoying beau,
ever jealous behind the door.
Mrs. Inge has cerulean eyes of a May sky
and hair the color of freshly ripened grain.
She readily helps me, a foreigner, with social networking,
while my twisted ankle holds me hostage indoors.
We live just a holler away from each other.
The only thing distant this Sunday
is a white-maned horse separated from his buddies.
Mrs. Inge opts to make some blueberry tea
and then invites me for a weekend glass of wine.
Thus, her days flow as she watches out the window
the drowsing horses and the woodland across,
whence Mrs. Inge expects the sun to drop by
her home, with walls in flame colors,
like the warm heart chambers,
where her Viking blood
pounds fervently in peace!
Translated from Albanian by Arben P. Latifi