Poetry Of Modern Albanian Literature – OpEd


Violeta Allmuça was born in Bulqiza, Albania.  She earned her Bachelor of Arts in Literature and Albanian Language in the University of Tirana (Albania). Allmuça is a poet, writes in prose, novelist and a staunch advocate of Human Rights and of Women rights.  Violeta is a unique style that has emerged in Albanian literature and has become highly popular in European prose and poetry.  She is indeed the tangible structure of modern metaphors and poetical emotional styles.

Violeta Allmuça

Violeta Allmuça has published the following  books in Albanian Language: “Sytë e natës” poezi (The eyes of night, Poetry), 1994; “Era e pasionit” roman (The Breeze of Passion, Novel), 1995,  Bestseller; “Zonjusha në mjegull” roman (A Lady in a Cloud, Novel), 1998; “Jetoj me zjarrin” poezi (I Live With Fire, Poetry), 2000, “Julia” roman (Julia, novel), 2004; “Dashuria vjen nga jugu” roman (Love Comes from the South, Novel), Bestseller 2010.  Violeta Allmuça is the author of “Vallëzimi i Frymës” a poetry volume that has been published in Albanian and English Languages; (The Dance of Breath, poetry), published in the United States in 2015. She is currently living in Vienna, Austria. The following are three poems written by Violeta Allmuça.


The word was born at the heart just like epic stone

Here and there traces are revealed

Signs are amid the paths of a body

So, I kept the word under my skin.

The day is depending over the arms of lyrics

The night is enlightened and dressed from lightening

A poet is loading his words on a backpack

Unloads them every morning on the world’s doors.

Therefore when the dawn is gone in the kids’ eyes

Their voices gather the earth and sky

Rain is falling and words are wet on the window’s glass

The horns of lightening are shaking the clouds and the sky.

Every time the poet’s instants must be blessed oh man

The word is crowned in a fire and connects two shores

We are birds of memory under the grey capitol

And some squeaking knights of darkness.


I miss a light sparkle to start a fire
I miss my city and the voice of a sublime word
I miss a soul and a divine dream
I miss the face of stones in a blessed land…

I miss the tree of winter that suffers from emptiness
The old Oak and petals over pink rose
The old roof cracked from rain were solitude is soaked
Painted walls with carved names below.

Over the shoulders of a river are missing the sufficient stars
That appear to be waiting to waving across the shore
Muse is attracting me to write although I was not alone
Snow covered with whiteness all of a sudden is lost.

Over the rows of water and of space I listen to your voice
After the dreams I gathered the particles divided piece by piece
I saw the love brightening that was walking on foot
And muse was not escaping, nor leaving me to die…


I was sad because darkness had broken my words

Solitude was looking silently far away the galaxy in dawn

What would I do without a word where I planted the tree of verse

Day, enlighten today this night and roots just like my soul!

Every time I was empty, I called a human breath to come
Words entrusted me, but were suffering from memories of loss
Day was coming very pure with a breath and wind and a few rain drops
Time was separating in the middle just like a sparkling while hitting.

At the deck of a ship I painted with blood your name freedom
Walking through darkness while my time was surveyed
What would I do without you, only to be a guardian of words fleeing
And to empty, while escaping, the verses that were killed before the world

Night gone was an insufficient hope colored in grey
Was hitting time, but then stars begun to scintillate
What would I do without words, without a man, hope nor freedom
I trusted life when stating, that even dreams are flourishing…


Always I have thought that time was coming like a prayer
I kept it in my hands, was descending over the fingers every time
Was staying close to me in a field brightened far away
Was ascending over my shirt and turned into a wind.

Lucky fireflies were brightening the sleepy night
And the river’s water were white butterflies were descending
Darkness had dressed itself in black from the lost dream
Sweating I could not find a place for other days.

Today the time of wind part by part has vanished them completely
The views of thunderstorm surfacing just like in a movie without event
Over our bodies enlightened from an old light bulb
Night was overwhelmed just like magic from surrealistic shadows.

In the morning I kidnapped the dawn and turned off the lit bulb
Time was crawling from the wind and was cleaning my eyes with cold air
All day I fell in love with a heart that I kept in my hands
This is why I kept my soul in rays, to keep it warm.

Peter Tase

Peter Tase is a freelance writer and journalist of International Relations, Latin American and Southern Caucasus current affairs. He is the author of America's first book published on the historical and archeological treasures of the Autonomous Republic of Nakhchivan (Republic of Azerbaijan); has authored and published four books on the Foreign Policy and current economic – political events of the Government of Azerbaijan. Tase has written about International Relations for Eurasia Review Journal since June 2012.

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