Ilir Shaqiri
Trëndafilat E Turkeshës
ShqipMarmaraja bojëgjelbër, bojë e çallmës së sulltanit,
Ndrit nën gjunjët e Stambollit, portës plakë të vatanit.
Cipë e trupit tënd të bukur e lëmuar si tespihe
Shket në varkën e përgjumur, feks me naze dashurie.
Ti më thua se për varkat s’bëj dot vjersha unë i ziu,
Sipas teje vargje thurte veç poet Orhan Veliu.
Të përgjigjem se poetin e njoh mirë e ma ka ënda,
Ky për varkat bukur shkruan, unë këndoj ç’ka varka brënda!
Ti zë qesh e thua prapë: “Ka poetë Arnaut-stani”?
Të përgjigjem: “Kish poetë që kur priste jatagani.
Dale dale them me vete tek fshin djersët Hyzmetxhiu,
Vetë Abdyli ish armatë, ish armatë edhe Samiu.
Dhe armatë e tretë e madhe gjeneral poet Naimi,
Që lëshonte nga Stambolli divisione vjershërimi.
Në Stamboll nën jataganin ngrinte këngë e ligjërime
Ky sulltan i poezisë, Naim beu i tokës sime!”
Ndofta, zonjëz të kujtohet arkitekti bash Sinan,
Në Stamboll i ngrenë minaret dy xhamitë e tij me nam.
Deh!turkesha rreth shuplakat, gishti i bardhë nxjerr inxhi,
-“Arnaut shejtan me brirë, qenke tepër shakaxhi”!-
Dhe të tri këto armata nuk i preu dot jatagani,
I mekonte turku vetë, fshehur turqve nga Sulltani.
Dhe armatë e tretë e madhe gjeneral poet Naimi,
Që lëshonte nga Stambolli divisione vjershërimi.
Në Stamboll nën jataganin ngrinte këngë e ligjërime
Ky sulltan i poezisë, Naim beu i tokës sime!”
Ky sulltan i poezisë Naim beu i tokës sime.
Ndrit nën gjunjët e Stambollit, portës plakë të vatanit.
Cipë e trupit tënd të bukur e lëmuar si tespihe
Shket në varkën e përgjumur, feks me naze dashurie.
Ti më thua se për varkat s’bëj dot vjersha unë i ziu,
Sipas teje vargje thurte veç poet Orhan Veliu.
Të përgjigjem se poetin e njoh mirë e ma ka ënda,
Ky për varkat bukur shkruan, unë këndoj ç’ka varka brënda!
Ti zë qesh e thua prapë: “Ka poetë Arnaut-stani”?
Të përgjigjem: “Kish poetë që kur priste jatagani.
Dale dale them me vete tek fshin djersët Hyzmetxhiu,
Vetë Abdyli ish armatë, ish armatë edhe Samiu.
Dhe armatë e tretë e madhe gjeneral poet Naimi,
Që lëshonte nga Stambolli divisione vjershërimi.
Në Stamboll nën jataganin ngrinte këngë e ligjërime
Ky sulltan i poezisë, Naim beu i tokës sime!”
Ndofta, zonjëz të kujtohet arkitekti bash Sinan,
Në Stamboll i ngrenë minaret dy xhamitë e tij me nam.
Deh!turkesha rreth shuplakat, gishti i bardhë nxjerr inxhi,
-“Arnaut shejtan me brirë, qenke tepër shakaxhi”!-
Dhe të tri këto armata nuk i preu dot jatagani,
I mekonte turku vetë, fshehur turqve nga Sulltani.
Dhe armatë e tretë e madhe gjeneral poet Naimi,
Që lëshonte nga Stambolli divisione vjershërimi.
Në Stamboll nën jataganin ngrinte këngë e ligjërime
Ky sulltan i poezisë, Naim beu i tokës sime!”
Ky sulltan i poezisë Naim beu i tokës sime.
Turkish Roses
AnglishtThe sea of Marmara is painted green
Like the color of a Sultan's turban
Lobbing its light and lapping at the knees of Istanbul:
The Aged Gates of Fatherland!
What sits at the top of your beautiful body is that Eternal Crown;
You're always at work polishing its shiny Pearls.
Row along in a sleepy boat then, feigning love!
Oh poor me! You say - I can't craft the poetry that would make sail for your ship
True, your beauty can only be adorned in the words of Poet Orhan Veli.
I'll have to respond though, for I know the yearnings of that Poet very well
He comes up with such beautiful words;
yet, I can only sing to what they contain inside
Mocking me, you laugh and say:
'Does Albania really have Poets?'
Let me reply:
"They've had poets ever since,
ever since men used the sword to reduce their kind!"
'Wait, wait' I say to myself: Let the servant wipe the tears off his brow
Only Abdyl Frashëri was an Armada;
So was Sami Frashëri, also an Armada
But the Third and the Greatest Armada was
The General of Poets: Naim Frashëri!
From Istanbul, he was launching
a Division of Poetry
In the Istanbul of the Sword,
he sang the song of Right Conduct;
of Law and Order, of Life,
and of Liberty!
Sir Naim! He was the Sultan of Poetry!
And he hailed from my Land!
Lady, maybe you do not recall;
Sinan of Turkey, the Great Architect
Who, in Istanbul raised the Minarets,
And two of his most famous Mosques!
Only the Turkish beat their hearts
with a hand slapping the chest candidly
They say:
"Albanian devil with horns, he is a real jester!"
And these three Armadas, they
could not be cut down by the Sword!
The Turk himself was lamenting, for
The Sultan was keeping all this a secret from the Turks!
But the Third and the Greatest Armada was
The General of Poets: Naim Frashëri!
From Istanbul, he was launching
a Division of Poetry
In the Istanbul of the Sword,
he sang the song of Right Conduct;
of Law and Order, of Life,
and of Liberty!
Sir Naim! He was the Sultan of Poetry!
And he hailed from my Land!
Yeah!
That one, Sir Naim, he was the Sultan of Poetry!
And he hailed from my Land!
Like the color of a Sultan's turban
Lobbing its light and lapping at the knees of Istanbul:
The Aged Gates of Fatherland!
What sits at the top of your beautiful body is that Eternal Crown;
You're always at work polishing its shiny Pearls.
Row along in a sleepy boat then, feigning love!
Oh poor me! You say - I can't craft the poetry that would make sail for your ship
True, your beauty can only be adorned in the words of Poet Orhan Veli.
I'll have to respond though, for I know the yearnings of that Poet very well
He comes up with such beautiful words;
yet, I can only sing to what they contain inside
Mocking me, you laugh and say:
'Does Albania really have Poets?'
Let me reply:
"They've had poets ever since,
ever since men used the sword to reduce their kind!"
'Wait, wait' I say to myself: Let the servant wipe the tears off his brow
Only Abdyl Frashëri was an Armada;
So was Sami Frashëri, also an Armada
But the Third and the Greatest Armada was
The General of Poets: Naim Frashëri!
From Istanbul, he was launching
a Division of Poetry
In the Istanbul of the Sword,
he sang the song of Right Conduct;
of Law and Order, of Life,
and of Liberty!
Sir Naim! He was the Sultan of Poetry!
And he hailed from my Land!
Lady, maybe you do not recall;
Sinan of Turkey, the Great Architect
Who, in Istanbul raised the Minarets,
And two of his most famous Mosques!
Only the Turkish beat their hearts
with a hand slapping the chest candidly
They say:
"Albanian devil with horns, he is a real jester!"
And these three Armadas, they
could not be cut down by the Sword!
The Turk himself was lamenting, for
The Sultan was keeping all this a secret from the Turks!
But the Third and the Greatest Armada was
The General of Poets: Naim Frashëri!
From Istanbul, he was launching
a Division of Poetry
In the Istanbul of the Sword,
he sang the song of Right Conduct;
of Law and Order, of Life,
and of Liberty!
Sir Naim! He was the Sultan of Poetry!
And he hailed from my Land!
Yeah!
That one, Sir Naim, he was the Sultan of Poetry!
And he hailed from my Land!
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