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Jeton KELMENDI – Biographie poésie

Traduit en français par Athanase Vantchev de Thracy Paris


Jeton KELMENDI – Biographie

Jeton Kelmendi est un auteur qui propose une poésie tri-dimensionnelle, couplant modernité et actualité, et qui la communique d’une manière à la fois originale et traditionnelle. Des critiques littéraires ont apprécié dans sa poésie un message au caractère claire, puissant et accompli.

Le langage de Kelmendi est personnel et s’offre naturellement au lecteur. Sa forme agréable et attractive tient significativement à ses concepts émouvants figuratifs en même temps que complexes. L’essence de sa poésie est une narration verticale et une sélection rigoureuse des sujets abordés, qui lui permettent des jeux d’espace et de temps.

Le poète albanais Jeton Kelmendi est né à Peja en 1978. Il a suivi sa scolarité, primaire et secondaire, dans sa ville natale, puis il a poursuivi des études supérieures à l’Université de Prishtina. Correspondant de plusieurs média albanais (en Albanie et au Kosovo) , il collabore avec encore d’autres au niveau international.

Kelmendi est un nom familier aux lecteurs kosovars de poésie, depuis 2000.
Il est également connu comme journaliste, spécialisé dans les domaines politique et culturel.

La poésie de Kelmendi a été traduite en plusieurs langues et figure dans de nombreuses anthologies. Membre de plusieurs associations internationales de poètes, il a été publié dans des revues culturelles, surtout en anglais.

Au centre de la pensée poétique de Kelmendi se trouvent la subtilité de l’expression et le soin accordé à la parole. Les thèmes dominants de ses écrits sont l’amour et les réalités crues de la situation politique, qu’imprègne souvent un sentiment de déception devant la conduite des affaires.

Il est un ancien combattant de l’UCK (Armée de Libération Kosovare) . Actuellement, membre de l’Association Européenne des Journalistes Professionnels, Kelmendi réside à Bruxelles.

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Global Food Basket

A mango African open orchard I ate
a wayside the seed carelessly tossed
passing by again I saw a bud in eke
with no tendering as a star crossed
but the rains and the sun nurtured
its nutrients from the mother earth
where on earth can this be captured?
Africa, with its caring warm hearth

where nature’s effervescence is apt
its plentitude is also fruitless implicit
this land of plenty is barren till adapt
to the paradox of wisdom so explicit
but when greed suffocates the greenest
all roads leads to this land of poverty
where greed stunted growth in honest
will be the same to replenish property

Africa will assuage this global hunger
in granaries to feed the world in blunder.

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Songs of Africa

on the rolling mountains
in the sprawling valleys
joyful songs in fountains
flowing down the gulleys

on the high seas and lands
hear the air is full of mirth
as birds wave their hands
adore the land of our birth

the children of Africa sing
with one new joyful voice
good tidings change bring
pageantry your new choice

make joyful sounds Africa
from the lark voices borrow
sad songs are over in Africa
sing no more songs of sorrow

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God is God

God is God
He was made by man
but refuses to be human

God is invisible
He was hidden by man
but is seen everywhere

God is unfathomable
He was made mysterious
but is known to everyone

God is love
He was made a sectarian
but is all encompassing

God is simple
He was made complex
but is always understanding

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Another Big Bang

Another Big Bang
Ode to Big Man
This is to “You” who calls himself human
gave yourself dominion over all things live
even over half part your so called woman
for where equality is devoid strives strive
but if your big bang had wrought you being
what ageless wheel spun the vortex of time
if has no prior essence of a supreme being?

Another Big Bang
Ode to Big human
If a “hu” is added in a matrix to equate man
then let that “hu” be as the unknown factor
in the mysterious simultaneous equation fan
than blows the blades of your timetable vector
that tells the sun to rise daily from the east
but if every design has a creator as you can
what then is the line between man and beast?

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Africa Hosts to Win

Good luck to all the African teams
I can already feel as Africa beams
my wish that an African team wins
Is not like searching in a bag of pins
but as a just reward for Africa’s toil
First ever world cup on African soil

Yes, the trophy goes to the very best
yet the race not to be for the swiftest
who may scorn to underrate the rest
but defeat with gusts is the sweetest

Lift high the flag of Africa’s new hope
with resolve to win enter the contest
calm waters make no sailors to cope
but dexterity comes from its conquest

Juggle balls with selfless team spirit
Have no fear! Within you lie so deep
a fountain of inbuilt courage, inspirit

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The Easy Mentor

Like a flock in need of a shepherd
languishing on vagaries of life
open to attacks of predators
from all flanks a sitting duck
like the rudderless ship in tumult
tossed by the angry waves
wishing for futile serene moor
my people are like a hunting dog
that turns a deaf ear to its owner’s whistle
lost in the wilderness of inhumanity
becomes the haunted by vicissitudes

I am the easy mentor’s hoarse voice
like the tinny squirrel's teeth
that break the riddle of the kernel
come to me, sit down let’s reason
tear stained cheeks suckled sighs
a place in my bosom your recess
as the fearless shepherd boy hunt
with powers from above entrenched

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True Origin of the Ewes

Some say that we come from old Tado
others say ancestral home is Notsie
but our traits point us to old Egypt
while our practices do depict Jews
in dorflefle, trekosi and homtodzo

does what we shroud now tritely aloft
secret dialects we speak in sacred shrines
do explain or not why it sounds Hebrew
on the lips of our stark illiterate priests
or a minority feared, envied this much?

if our open secrets we hide in silence
to explicate the prejudice we feel now
is our incurable idolatory from ages past
stoked the wrath of the Ancient of Days
to estrange us in pillage from the old fold?

what excuse then do we have as curators
to our perplexed progeny in strange lands

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So Missed With It (Si Manqué Avec Cela)

No other way can I say love is felt.
Desired and wished beyond kissing lips.
Or the sucking done you do to my tongue,
And the experience of it so missed.

The smell of your breath before the Sun rises dawn.
Those showers we take together,
With the scrubbing touches and the rubbing...
We ensure goes on and on and on!

The silent thoughts I have of you,
When you are gone and not in view.
No other way can I say love is felt.
It is there for you as true as humidity,
Introduces August to Summer's heat.
And when I think of something,
I crave to appetize to eat!
I think of us in bed performing...
Until we have wet the sheets!

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Le passeur d'eau

Le passeur d'eau, les mains aux rames,
A contre flot, depuis longtemps,
Luttait, un roseau vert entre les dents.

Mais celle hélas! Qui le hélait
Au delà des vagues, là-bas,
Toujours plus loin, par au delà des vagues,
Parmi les brumes reculait.

Les fenêtres, avec leurs yeux,
Et le cadran des tours, sur le rivage
Le regardaient peiner et s'acharner
De tout son corps ployé en deux
Sur les vagues sauvages.

Une rame soudain cassa
Que le courant chassa,
A flots rapides, vers la mer.

Celle là-bas qui le hélait

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