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The most villified woman in out neighborhood

 

The most vilified woman in our neighborhood was Eli. 

She was raised in an orphanage.

We all knew, but we hadn’t seen 

Eli circulating nude at home 

without panties at all, 

shameless,  

and ward boys guarded every evening 

on the terrace of the opposite block 

to see Eli without her panties through windows 

with that beautiful thing bared 

and her jutted out breasts as fresh apples.

One day, someone had written on her door,

"Eli, I want to fuck you"

There yelled Camille, Lilly and Jia.

They took rags, swept off and scoured Eli’s door 

Shameful, what the kids would read.

O Lord, what woman they had in their palace 

and they closed within a few hours their husbands. 

And there was a day 

that Eli went abroad forever 

and there sprung a great tranquility.

Finally, the mothers of boys got rid of her

The whore went away, they said, that's it.

On the terrace of the opposite block

remained some small footprints 

and boyish craving waiting for Eli 

to appear naked as before 

with that beautiful and bared thing.

One day we will get on the train

 

One day 

we will get on the train

We will sit silently inside windows 

in drawn faces and aging bodies 

without shoulders 

and will wait whistle arrival at the station and

then detrain out of sight

and move to a place with soft soil

we will find a small house as a body 

and lie down 

and our heads throughout on a pillow of stone, 

with empty pockets.

At that moment will fly over the open roof 

a flock of dreams in colors that we did not apprehend.

We will lengthen our eyesight, 

but we will feel like a weak plant 

with curved body 

that is ready to be surrender to the land.

People who didn't love me

 

Yesterday I raised over the roof a white flag.

I'm in peace with you 

that for a reason you didn’t love me 

and now I love you more.

You came to me coated with masks 

and in front of me you have been naked, 

like little kids 

and I saw you in tight squeeze as far as a hand 

you cried a river with resounding, 

and I kept your pain on the palm of my hand.

You fled coated again with masks 

and I never betrayed you.

O slaves, 

who unwittingly professed me about human nature!

Now you are even with me, 

You damned hypocrites!

I didn’t love my loneliness so much before.

I'm going to sleep

 

I'm going to sleep.

Some peace, please.

I need to sense how the night breathes 

and my soul slips along the stairs 

and my body becomes snippy 

and my knocked to pieces body I put in the bed.

Then I cover my body with two meters sighs.

Poor tired me, 

is gone even this day and didn’t says something to you.

Is gone without a beautiful voice like a joke.

I beg you for some peace, please.

I go to sleep, 

because tomorrow unwillingly 

I will again run up against the gods.

You run away

 

You run away 

and take everything with you. 

All my beauties go up after you 

and leave me a blob of breath 

and some cloudlets on my head gloomily 

some ethereal naps in midday  

that break me off and I can’t hold myself on.

I have three sleepless nights.

You run away and I presume everything 

how many steps away are you now 

from the front door 

and what weather is expecting you there.

I curse myself to be eyeless 

because I had my eye on you 

then it destroyed your peace 

under the mess that I have inside of my head.

 

 

 

 

The nights that bed doesn't fit me in

 

There are some nights 

that bed doesn’t fit me in, 

some sleepless nights with heavy cushions, 

some headachy nights by my thoughts 

and I stare at one ceiling point 

and I vent. 

Then I stand up like crazy, 

I go upstairs 

onto the roof. 

What universal peace! 

So, 

here I feel a wise god of loneliness. 

Near the morning 

I go downstairs carefully, 

barefoot 

with folded arms 

and I go in bed by holding my breath 

because I don’t want to wake you up

I turn off the lights of the eyes,

close the mouth’s doors 

and sleep 

and I don’t let you know 

where I've been all night 

sometimes when the bed didn’t fit me in.

Ardita Jatru is an Albanian poet. She was born in 1972 Tirane, Albania. Her passions include photography, writing, traveling and time with family and friends. Her poems have been published in these magazines: Duane’s PoeTree (USA), Dead Snake (Canada), Poetix (Greece) Poiein (Greece), Maison de la Poesie, Anthology (Belgium), Le capital des most (France), Haemus Review (Romania) and Les Folies- Erotique- (France). She lives with her husband and two daughters in Thessaloniki, Greece . Her poems are translated in English by Laureta Petoshati

Laureta Petoshati is an Albanian poet, prose writer and translator. She attended Faculty of Engineering in University of Tirana for about five years and received a Master Degree in Civil Engineering in 1987. Then she frequented postgraduate courses in foreign languages ​​and worked in Vlora court as official translator. Nowadays she is committed to translations, literature and journalism.  She published her poetry collection Goddess of Heaven in 1996 and her historical novel Return to Ventotene in 2012. She continues to publish her poetry cycles in many national and international newspapers such Albanian American newspaper - "Illyria" in New York, or Knot Magazine,recently has published in WritingRow Assorted the essay Some Reflections about the Poem "Visit" of Zvika Szternfeld.

 

 

As a poet she is a winner of one competition which took place in her hometown Vlora and as a translator she has won two national competitions and some of poems written by Alisa Velaj and translated by Laureta Petoshati are published in Section & Magazine, The Dallas Review and Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine. Other translations of Velaj’s poems will appear in the forthcoming issues of Of/with Journal, Harbinger Asylum ,The Seventh Quarry and Poetry Scotland (UK).