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Edi Shukriu is a poet, playwright, professor and politician (born in 1950 in Prizren, Kosova). She is the first Kosovar woman to publish a book of poetry in the Albanian language. She has a PhD in History sciences and teaches Archaeology and Ancient History at the University of Prishtina. She is the Head of the Kosova Council for Cultural Heritage and Vice-President of the Kosova PEN Center. She has also built a successful career in politics, contributing to the democratic processes and independence of Kosova as Kosova peaceful movement leader, Kosova MP (1992-98; 2002-04); Foreign Affairs Deputy Minister (1992-98), Co-Head of Department of Culture-UNMIK (2000-01) as well as co-founder of the reformist party Democratic Alternative of Kosova (2004). She has been Visiting Scholar at Harvard University (2002), participated at the International Writing Program of the University of Iowa (2005) ect.
Publications: Ancient Kosova, 2004; Kosova antike, 2004; Gra të shquara shqiptare, 2003 (2000); Dardania protourbane, 1996; Historia e Lindjes së lashtë, 1995; Poetry: Përjetësi, 2001; Nënqielli, 1990; Syri i natës, 1985; Legjenda Hasit, 1980; Gjakim, 1978; Sonte zemra ime feston, 1972; Plays: Kësulëkuqja e rrokaqiellit, 1998; Lkeni i Hasit, 1992; Kthimi i Euridikës, 1986
Hammurabi’s Code
Article 226: If a barber cuts out a slave's branding, cut off the barber's hands.
Article 282: If a slave says to his master: “you are not my master,” cut off the slave's ear.
Article 231: If a man kills another man's slave, he must replace it.
Under Article 226
of Hammurabi’s Code
yesterday
they cut off my fingers
because I tried to make
the oppression's brand a thing of the past.
Under Article 282
of Hammurabi’s Code
last night
they mutilated my face
because I tried to bring
the song of birds from the future
into the present.
They killed me at dawn
under Article 231
of the same code
and replaced me, they believe,
with another slave.
Poor bastards, they don’t know it's always me again
with another hundred fingers
with another hundred thousand ears
and
with a single iron will
forged by generations.
(Sonte zemra ime feston/Tonight My Heart Celebrates, Rilindja, Prishtinë, 1972. Translated by Anna Guercio and Tomislav Kuzmanović)
THE FIRE CART
How hard they try to convince us
That the fire cart
Is an imagination
Inside it we put
The fiery Sun
And hold our hands
To get inflamed
(1990, Nënqielli /The Underscy/, Rilindja, Prishtina)
ON THE INTERNATIONAL DAY OF POETRY
Do not look for me
On the International Day of Poetry
My hands are full
By the cat’s richness
Done in the middle of the room.
It was her way
The Day of Poetry to celebrate.
She did as much
As she could
Since her miaow no one understood.
SPRINGHEAD’S BULL
We didn’t go to the Spring’s Meadowy
We never went there
Which is wors,
Either we knew that it was so close to us:
There, it was waiting us
Before entering the old river Drin
And footsteping the Has of the centuries.
We had no knowledge on blessed meadowy
Neither to go there,
To deepen our knowledge /cognition/
Drinking springhead’s water
Maybe the bull will scared us -
Springhead’s Bull,
Most strongest bull of all bulls of the entire sphere,
Mahby the brother of that bull who stays in the centre of the globe –
As the eldery were telling us
Since our ears were resting in wool.
The Bool of Spring’s Meadowy
Still is frightening by muttering.
Maybe any fearless female or male
Could smoth its heart
And got a drop of water -
Just a drop,
To direct our path.
But, we neither achieved to hear on Spring’s Meadowy
Either to know about The Bool
Seating under Grandoak’s shadow
Not to speak going there –
To reach Labyrinth’s centre.
The Pelasgians pledged to us the Bool
As they did in Creet -
Crummy we, it was in front of our nose,
Not seen by sightless us
Since we were not inough grown up
And we were not allowed
To see Spring’s Meadowy
And the Bool waiting there
To recognise ourselves.
Good heavens,
If we could go there before
So strong we could be,
Stronger that we were
Rumbling thrugh the bloody footpaths
Of the Labyrinth of Life.
When the Spring’s Meadowy book starts to be written
Including the power of the Bool
Which guards the ocean of wisdom
I will rest in peace,
I will realy rest in peace.
STAY AWAY IF YOU CAN
As the tumultuous time
Cleans up the sea
And suffocates the shores
Stay away if you can
If the shores
In the mean time
Do not kill you
(2001, Përjetësi /Eternity/, Dukagjini, Peja)
ILLYRIAN BUST
I watch you for days
and nights
your beauty astonishes me
I took you
or
brought you with me
into the embrace of time
Wounded smile
chiseled into marble
Captured look
brings back the suffering
The wheel of fortune keeps spinning
We look into each other’s eyes
you're dressed in marble
I am marble
On your unwrinkled forehead
mine disappear
RESURRECTION
Beat drums of my tribe beat
Made of my skin
Beat louder and louder
Break open the membrane of my soul
And my heart
Maybe this will bring
my resurrection
I want to dance
To the pagan rhythms
Until my heels are bloody
From the sharp edges of the scattered stones
Until my body crashes
Against the walls of a rotten mind
Then
Let them call me an beast
Let the snakes laugh
I don’t give a damn
I want the drums to beat
(1979, Gjakim /Want/, Rilindja, Prishtina)
MEETING AGAIN THE SEE
When you see a sea
Watch it as for a last time
When you watch it again
Sometime
Remember that in meantime
There was a chance
Not to be alive
PALEOANTHROPUS
Kins in the past
Kins in every day life
One pulls back
The other doesn't admit affront
Any time he got up
Something hit him on the head
Yes,
He wouldn't become a Man
If hadn't tried again
(Syri i natës / Night's Eye/, Rilindja, Prishtinë, 1986. Translated by Anna Guercio and Tomislav Kuzmanović)
FROM THE WOMB OF THE EARTH
The re-born pain spills out
From the womb of the earth
Depths clatter crying out
Patience! ... Patience
Patience! Milk drops from the panting beast
Let the blood not spring out of the veins
Let the route remain full of light
To keep away the evil hearts
Patience! The mother's cry echoes sadly
I take an oath to the roots which have given you life
I take an oath to the life of the pure day
I take an oath to the light of the down
Stumbled somewhere
Have patience
Because the night will be long
But the darker the night is
The sharper the brain becomes,
Said the Old Man
The narrower the place is
More room one has,
Said the Old Man
Patience! I take an oath to the lullaby
I take an oath to the good eye
For the route to remain full of light
To keep away the scoundrels
Depths clatter crying out
The patience has the end.
(2001, Përjetësi /Eternity/, Dukagjini, Peja. Translated by Anna Guercio and Tomislav Kuzmanović)
AWAY FROM ONESELF
Between oaks that make shade
In the west light
the symphony of leaves in the eternal silence
A breeze brings out the emotion
Of the solitary peace
Between cornet-bushes and pears
Away from the peeping eyes and curious ears
Away from the sold-out self of civilization
How long does man have to run away
In order to be free, with oneself?
Inside one's head teeth are piercing
Serpents are coiling around one's neck
Birds get larger wings,
Behind each tree a devil is waiting
Legs get fast, out of fear
To run away
Away from oneself towards oneself
(1990, Nënqielli /The Underscy/, Rilindja, Prishtina. Translated by Anna Guercio and Tomislav Kuzmanović)
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