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Iliriana Sulkuqi’s Biography
Iliriana Sulkuqi (Fejzullai) was born in the city of Elbasan in 1951. Iliriana Sulkuqi studied at the Armed Forces Academy. Sulkuqi also completed studies in linguistics, literature, and philosophy.
Upon graduating until 1995 Iliriana Sulkuqi was an officer at the Armed Forces Academy. While an officer Sulkuqi was also a journalist for the military press: a time in which Sulkuqi gave her contribution as an editor at the Armed Forces Publishing House. Her latest engagement as a journalist was for “Drita” (The Light) newspaper, a publication of the Albanian Writers Union. Currently, Iliriana Sulkuqi, is a editor of a literary magazine Pelegrin. Since 2004 Iliriana Sulkuqi resides in New York.
Iliriana Sulkuqi began to write at an early age. Sulkuqi has received numerous national and international awards. Her poems have appeared translated in: Italian, Greek, Macedonian, Bulgarian, Rumanian, and English, and have been included in several anthologies published in Albania and elsewhere. 1974 Iliriana is a member of the Albanian Writers Union; since September 30, 2003 a member of the International Federation of Journalists; member of the Albanian- American Academy of Arts and Science (January 5, 2006); member of the Albanian Writers Club Drita.
Published books
-My mother’s eyes are asking for me... (1974)
- What I give the seasons, (1988)
- To be a woman) (1990)
- I will keep on , ( Rozafa Publishing,1996)
-“ I shall to live!” ( Egnatia Publishing, 2000)
- Me murdered Ofelia“– Italian -Albanian (Toena-2000)
-“ For a bit that Eve ate...( Prishtina 2002)
-“We see (hiding) one - other in eyes) ( 2002)
-Seagull over the black seas (Ilar Publishing 2002)
- (Lirics) (Medaur Publishing-2003)
-“Haiku”- co- authors (Egnatia Publishing-2004)
- (…The dead) Asking me the forgiveness (Arbëria Publishing-2004)
- “ Poertries” (Two books in one) ( Snaj Publishing-2007)
Awards
-Third prize for her poetry collection ”Ç’u fala stinëve që ikën” (What I gave the parting seasons), (1988) an award given on the occasion of celebrating the 45 anniversary of Peoples Army of Albania, organized by the Ministry of Defense and the Writers Union;
-First Prize on the competition marking the 45 anniversary of the magazine “Shqiptarja e Re” (The New Albanian Woman) (15.9. 1988)
-Third prize for the bilingual poetry volume “Me murdered the Ofelia! Oiii…Oiii…!” awarded by the Ministry of Arts, Culture and Sports and the Writers Ligue on the occasion of Albanian Poetry Day “Lulet e Veres” (Summer Flowers), May 2001.
-First Prize, for the best love poem, on the Days of Balkan Poetry 2.06. 2002- Korçë
Special award on the Balkan gathering Ditet e Asdrenit Skopje
-First prize for the best poetry during the gathering Pellumbat e Bashtoves (Bashtova’s Doves), awarded by the Durres Branch of the Albanian Writers Ligue, 4 Tetor 2005.
-“Migjeni” Award (2007) by “Kuvendi”, a magazine published in Michigan, U.S.A.
-“Ali Asllani” Award (May 2006) awarded by the Albanian Embassy in Athens and the Albanian Writers Club Drita for Sulkuqi’s poetry volume “ Poems”
I’m blowing up…!
Angry am I
For not inventing
Giant wheels as big as Love
With mighty power
I would have pulled it
To bring America
To my Homeland…
Angry and blowing up am I
For being nowhere,
Neither where I was born,
Nor where I shall die…
For not creating a verse of longing
Though, with the verses I slept outside.
Angry and fed up am I
To whom should I confess,
That departure stands over my head
Nor black, or white the verse remains
An ocean, between of me and the sea…
Angry and blowing up …
That even one hand
Seven generations DNA
Seven times a verse of longing
One signature can’t put down for a syllabus
One signature can’t put down for the grave…
Angry and blowing up…
As in the legend:
“… bought in pieces as bottles …”
Transl. by F. Terziu
Find me a title…
Without the word fire
Without the word ice
Without the word death
Without hunger, without thirst…
Without a waning voice…
Without a single tear,
Without God’s name,
Without my name
Without your name…
Without damp colors
Without soil from the moon
Without a burned sun
Without malice, without revenge,
Without a fairytale word
Without nightly dreams
Without waves or storms
Without the kiss of a breeze
Without a wavelet, without a coast
Without an arrival, without a path…
Find me a title
Without the name of a bird
Without the name of a star
Without the name of a mountain
Without the name of an island
Or ocean…
Without the beating of hearts
Without the inquietude of longing…
Without a golden autumn
Without winter, without frost
Without a pollen season
Without a naked summer.
Find me a title
Without a pentagram
Where notes play
With our souls.
Transl. by F. Terziu
Birch - tree
My lips
Are lost between lips
My fingers
Over a pentagram of ribs
My body
As fist gathered
Birch - tree
Tell me dear
Celibacy how do you keep?
Transl. Bay Aida Dismondy
Should I come tonight, or? …
Should I come tonight,
or tomorrow,
or the day after, at dawn
or with the moon, when waning
or with the sun, at sunset
Should I come tonight,
in the evening,
with the candles in the galaxy,
or with the Morning Star
to which I become Awakening with wakefulness?
Should I come tonight
or tonight
and with the moon, and with the sun
and with the stars in a basket
and with a heart the size of a sky? ...
Should I come tomorrow
or at once,
with a letter that speaks to me in Albanian,
and with God who created me
and with a voice – prelude – in my soul? …
Should I come tonight
or tomorrow,
or with the untouched dreams,
or with the unspoken words,
or later – never, in this century?
Should I come tonight,
or tonight?
or, after my scorched self? …
Transl. by F. Terziu
Do not wipe my tears!
Do not watch my feet
They are wearing patched shoes
Like my life,
Like a forgotten love…
Don’t wipe my tear,
Let it fall
In the wrinkled river,
Where a moon washes
Lured by the stars...
Don’t wake my dream,
I want it to hurt!...
Transl. by F. Terziu
Last letter to Anna Akmatova…
Dear Anna,
Am not sure you read my letter,
World of dreams
In verse was written ...
Silence reigns by your side
Though you promised
From everlasting
A letter to write…
Content must you be
In that world empty of sorrow
Devoid of love…
Tell me sister,
Your eyes still do weep?
Transl. Bay Aida Dismondy
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