Luljeta Lleshanaku
VERTICAL REALITIES
Waking is an obligation:
three generations open their eyes every morning
inside me.
The first is an old child – my father;
he always chooses his luck and clothes one size too small for him.
Next comes grandfather…In his day, the word ‘diagnosis’ did not exist.
He simply died of misery six months after his wife.
No time was wasted. Above their corpses
rose a factory to make uniforms for dockworkers.
And great-grandfather, if he ever existed,
I don’t even know his name. Here my memory goes on hiatus,
my peasant origins cut like the thick and yellow nails
of field-workers.
Three shadows loom like a forest over me
telling me what to do
and what not to do.
You listened to me say ‘good morning’
but it was either an elephant pounding on a piano
or the seams coming apart in my father’s little jacket.
Indeed, my father, his father, and his father before that
are not trying to change anything
nor do they refuse to change anything; the soap of ephemerality
leaves them feeling fresh and clean.
They only wish to gently touch the world again
through me, the way latex gloves
lovingly touch the evidence
of a crime scene.
From: Child of nature
Publisher: New Direction Books, United States, 2010
VERTICALE REALITEITEN
Continuïteit is in mijn geval geen keuze maar een noodzaak,
omdat er in mij drie generaties tegelijk ontwaken.
De eerste is een oud geworden kind: mijn vader;
hij kiest zijn lot en zijn kleren altijd een maat te klein.
Dan komt mijn grootvader. In zijn tijd was het woord ‘diagnose’ onbekend,
hij stierf gewoon van verdriet, zes maanden na zijn vrouw.
En zonder tijd te verliezen bouwde de gemeente boven hun lichamen
een fabriek waar grof katoenen uniformen werden vervaardigd.
Van mijn overgrootvader, als die ooit heeft bestaan,
ken ik zelfs de naam niet, want hier vertoont mijn herinnering een hiaat
– mijn boerse afkomst, gebroken als nagels die zijn vergeeld en verhoornd
door het werk op het land.
Zij drieën verheffen zich boven mij als de bomen in een bos
en dicteren me wat ik moet doen
en wat ik niet mag.
Je hoorde me net ‘goedemorgen’ zeggen, wat klonk
alsof een olifant met zijn zware poten op een piano stampte
of alsof de naden van mijn vaders jasje openscheurden.
Ze doen geen moeite om iets te veranderen
en ook niets om dat tegen te gaan; ze voelen zich fris en schoongewassen
met de goedkope zeep van tijdelijkheid.
Ze raken de wereld via mij opnieuw aan
alsof ze latex handschoenen aanhebben,
om op de plaats van het misdrijf
bewijs en motief zichtbaar te houden.
REALITETE VERTIKALE
Vazhdimësia, në rastin tim, nuk është zgjedhje, por detyrim,
që kur tre breza zgjohen njëherazi brenda meje.
I pari është një fëmijë i plakur: im atë;
fatin dhe veshjet i zgjedh gjithmonë një numër më të vogël.
Pastaj gjyshi. Në kohën e tij nuk njihej fjala “diagnozë”,
ai thjesht vdiq nga dëshpërimi gjashtë muaj pas së shoqes.
E pa humbur kohë, mbi trupat e tyre,
komuniteti ndërtoi një punishte uniformash prej doku.
E stërgjyshit, nëse ka ekzistuar një i tillë,
unë nuk ia di as emrin, këtu kujtesa pëson hiatus –
prejardhja fshatare e prerë si thonjtë e fortë
e të zverdhur nga puna në arë.
Të tre përkulen si një pyll sipër meje
dhe më diktojnë se çfarë duhet të bëj
e çfarë nuk duhet.
Sapo dëgjove prej meje një të tillë “mirëmëngjes”,
si e dalë prej një elefanti me putra mbi piano
apo prej shqepjeve të xhaketës së tim eti.
Ata nuk po orvaten të ndryshojnë ndonjë gjë
e as të kundërvihen; ndihen të freskët
ashtu të larë me sapunin e lirë të përkohësisë.
Thjesht e riprekin botën përmes meje
si me një palë doreza plastike,
për të ruajtur të pastër shkakun
në vendin e krimit.
From: Child of nature
Publisher: New Direction Books, United States
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VERTICAL REALITIES
Waking is an obligation:
three generations open their eyes every morning
inside me.
The first is an old child – my father;
he always chooses his luck and clothes one size too small for him.
Next comes grandfather…In his day, the word ‘diagnosis’ did not exist.
He simply died of misery six months after his wife.
No time was wasted. Above their corpses
rose a factory to make uniforms for dockworkers.
And great-grandfather, if he ever existed,
I don’t even know his name. Here my memory goes on hiatus,
my peasant origins cut like the thick and yellow nails
of field-workers.
Three shadows loom like a forest over me
telling me what to do
and what not to do.
You listened to me say ‘good morning’
but it was either an elephant pounding on a piano
or the seams coming apart in my father’s little jacket.
Indeed, my father, his father, and his father before that
are not trying to change anything
nor do they refuse to change anything; the soap of ephemerality
leaves them feeling fresh and clean.
They only wish to gently touch the world again
through me, the way latex gloves
lovingly touch the evidence
of a crime scene.
From: Child of nature
Publisher: 2010, New Direction Books, United States
VERTICAL REALITIES
Waking is an obligation:
three generations open their eyes every morning
inside me.
The first is an old child – my father;
he always chooses his luck and clothes one size too small for him.
Next comes grandfather…In his day, the word ‘diagnosis’ did not exist.
He simply died of misery six months after his wife.
No time was wasted. Above their corpses
rose a factory to make uniforms for dockworkers.
And great-grandfather, if he ever existed,
I don’t even know his name. Here my memory goes on hiatus,
my peasant origins cut like the thick and yellow nails
of field-workers.
Three shadows loom like a forest over me
telling me what to do
and what not to do.
You listened to me say ‘good morning’
but it was either an elephant pounding on a piano
or the seams coming apart in my father’s little jacket.
Indeed, my father, his father, and his father before that
are not trying to change anything
nor do they refuse to change anything; the soap of ephemerality
leaves them feeling fresh and clean.
They only wish to gently touch the world again
through me, the way latex gloves
lovingly touch the evidence
of a crime scene.
From: Child of nature
Publisher: 2010, New Direction Books, United States
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