Find the Author (and grade the translator)

haven’t done one of these in a while so i thought i’d give a shot to this one. read it, skewer it, and find the author if you can. if you do, you get a beer from me. 🙂 if you don’t, you get your own beer. in a wine glass.

I sit beneath the pines in this summer garden café

alone, a glass of wine in my hand. A waiter

silently serves the customers, still sparse

in this early dusk. The just-lit bulbs

inside half-broken globes scattered in the corners of the dancing platform

look half dead, like all lights do

just before the night settles in

Still, it is beautiful

A strange beauty that you would never get

Not like the beauty you’re used to see in your postcards.

Maybe it was better that you didn’t show up tonight.

I just know you wouldn’t have liked these bare-naked hills

Steep and made of clay, nor this green sea with its

Erratic shallows and small, crooked waves

You’d get bored. You would understand nothing

From the quick sharp hand signs of that mute boy

at the last table, who still explains things

the same way humans did a thousand years ago,

while the sun set the same way, behind the pine trees

over those small graying hills

permeating the same sky.

You wouldn’t have liked these slow melodies;

Old songs

That you can neither sing or dance.

There are no dancers here.

Instead, from table to table, people

Call each other by name, eat broiled fish,

And drink wine on big beer glasses.

Everything here would be strange to you.

You wouldn’t have loved these big, sad forks

Of aluminum, you wouldn’t even know how

to laugh with that hole that looks like a tiny spider

asleep on the worn table cloth.

You would have been a stranger. No one would have believed

In the beauty of your hips and the fluidity of your limbs.

You would have been a useless beauty. They could have never

Imagined you asleep in a rumpled bed

In the middle of summer, or even hauling on your shoulder the

Heavy arm of a man, as he tried to explain something to you

With his crude gestures

At night, while walking home drunk from the pub.

Better that you didn’t come.

I get it now

As the sun sets and the moon shines silently over the dead black sea

I set the bottom of the empty cup on the table

pondering this.


5 thoughts on “Find the Author (and grade the translator)

  1. this is PF and his brilliant poetry of 1980 about a place called Currilat. and you get një dhjetë me yll. ok, profesori nuk është qualified, po kush do të pyesi ty se kush ta dha dhjetën, hë?

  2. Yes! yes! yes! I love beer these days! : )

    Për mua është përkthim i mirë, sepse më krijoi të njejtën ndjesi si origjinali, gjë që më bëri ta gjeja dhe se çfarë ishte. Tani me ty nuk zihem dot si me ca e ca, jo kjo fjala kështu, jo ajo fjala ashtu; jo se s’ma ka qejfi, po nuk mundem në anglisht. : ) Vetëm pub më nxori pak nga gjendja e krijuar; ndoshta bar do shkonte më mirë?

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