E. E. Cummings...

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

Me shqip se kjo me poshte s'ka ku te veje. :D Pastaj, boys will always be boys! and I guess, even more proud after they have read this:


the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a f*uck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

Pse Ezra Pound mendonte se e.e.cummings ishte njeriu me inteligjent ne tere ameriken?!

an introduction "that never was"

On the assumption that my technique is either complicated or original or both, the publishers have politely requested me to write an introduction.
At least my theory of technique, if I have one, is very far from original; nor is it complicated. I can express it in fifteen words by quoting The Eternal Question And Immortal Answer of burlesk,viz. “Would you hit a woman with a child?—No, I’d hit her with a brick.” Like the burlesk comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision whish creates movement.
If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little—somebody who is obsessed by Making. Like all obsessions, the Making obsession has disadvantages; for instance, my only interest in making money would be to make it. Fortunately, however, I should prefer to make almost everything else, including locomotives and roses. It is with roses and locomotives (not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eye of mice and Niagara Falls) that my poems are competing.
They are also competing with each other, with elephants, and with El Greco.
Ineluctable preoccupation with The Verb gives a poet one priceless advantage: whereas nonmakers must content themselves with the merely undeniable fact that two times two is four, he rejoices in a purely irresistible truth (to be found, in abbreviated costume, upon the title page of the present volume). E.E. CUMMINGS

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

I love you.
For your little,startled,thoughtless ways,
For your ponderings,like soft dark birds,
And when you speak ‘tis a sudden sunlight.

I love you.
For your wide child eyes,and fluttering hands,
For the little divinities your wrists,
And the beautiful mysteries your fingers.

I love you.
Does the blossom study her day of life?
Is the butterfly vexed with an hour of soul?
I had rather a rose than live forever.

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

Pak a shumë kështu:

Të dua.
Për të voglat,të gjallat, budallaçkat sjelljet e tua,
Për të heshturat gjykime,si zogj të butë pendëshkruar,
Dhe kur ti flet, je si dielli që papritur shkëlqen.

Të dua.
Për sytë fëmijnorë, për lozonjaret duar,
Për të voglat, hyjnoret kycet e tua,
Dhe misterin e magjishëm të gishtave të tu.

Te dua.
A mendohen petalet për çastet e jetës së tyre?
Shqetësohet flutura nga një orë shpirt?
Më mirë një lule tani se jetën në përjetësi.

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

another one that I love:


yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

and another:

lily has a rose
(i have none)
"don't cry dear violet
you may take mine"

"o how how how
could i ever wear it now
when the boy who gave it to
you is the tallest of the boys"

"he'll give me another
if i let him kiss me twice
but my lover has a brother
who is good and kind to all"

"o no no no
let the roses come and go
for kindness and goodness do
not make a fellow tall"

lily has a rose
no rose i've
and losing's less than winning(but
love is more than love)

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

“sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

lovers go and lovers come
awandering a wondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there’s nobody else alive

(such a sky and such a sun
i never new and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)

not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing

(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)

“sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”

-----------------------------------

pak a shume do te perkthehej keshtu:

“pranverë e lulëzuar është koha
jote është koha ime është koha
jonë se kohë e lulëzuar ësht’ kohë e dashuruar
dhe viva dashuri e dlirë”

(të vegjlit zogj lart
fluturojnë qiellit lundrojnë
me shpirt këndojnë
krahëhapur fushave që gjelberojnë)

të dashuruarit vijnë e shkojnë
vrapojnë lodrojnë
të dy së bashku janë krejt
të ndarë asnje në botë nuk ësht’ më gjallë

të tille qiell të tillë diell
unë kurre s’kam parë, as ti s’ke parë
askush në botë nuk ka shijuar
kaq gjëra që flasin kështu

pema veshur gjetheshumë
shpërthyer kanë plot hijeshi
por shkëlqimi me mijëra fjalë
tregon të vetmen mrekulli

(fshehtaz adhurojnë, ndrojtur
lehtas flatrat çojnë lëshohen lundrojnë
me gaz detit lulëzim
përhere hareshëm zemrat cicërojnë)

“pranverë e lulëzuar është koha
jote është koha ime është koha
jonë se kohë e lulëzuar ësht’ kohë e dashuruar
dhe viva dashuri e dlirë”

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

Jeta është më e vërtetë nga ç’gënjen arsyeja
(më e fshehtë se apo çmenduria ka treguar)
më e thellë se humbja është jeta: më e madhe se gjetja
-por bukuria është më shumë se gjithçka e jetuar

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

the rose
is dying the
lips of an old man murder

the petals
hush
mysteriously
invisible mourners move
with prose faces and sobbing, garments
The symbol of the rose

motionless with grieving feet and
wings
mounts

against the margins of steep song
a stallion sweetness ,the
lips of an old man murder

the petals.

[ash]

Cupke , e vleresoj aftesine tende perkthyese!

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

perkthimi yt:

(të vegjlit zogj lart
fluturojnë qiellit lundrojnë
me shpirt këndojnë
krahëhapur fushave që gjelberojnë)

A mund ta perkthejme me pak perifrazim poetik keshtu strofen e meposhteme? (pavaresisht se origjinali nuk ka rima gjithsesi)


zogj te gezueshem
fluturuar lundrimesh
kengen shpirtplote
flaterojne lulezimesh...


pra duke i futur me shume germen (bashketingelloren ) L qe e ben me te brishte vargun

:)