Violeta Allmuça, is a renowned Albanian writer, she was born in Dibër, Albania. Studied at the University of Tirana and graduated in 1991. She is a poet, journalist, author and literary critic. Is the author of four novels, two volumes of poetry and a book with essays on Kosovo published in English and Italian in 1999. The poems of Violeta Allmuça are published in various international magazines in Italian and English languages. Her newest book of poetry “Dance of Breath” is published in the United States and is being translated in Spanish. The following is an interview done with this distinguished writer.
NEST. This wide space where I always write has always a new light. Surrounded by books, paintings and the writing table, they all are my greatest spiritual wealth that always appears grandiose. This is my lifelong nest raised upon the art of the word. There I read, Shakespeare, Dante Alighieri, Pablo Neruda, Doris Lessing, Paulo Coelho, Ismail Kadare and other books of my colleagues. Here I welcome the first birds, the freedom of leaves that is gained from an ending winter season; I penetrate in the planet of a naked dawn and darkness of slavery while turning on from inside a light in the walls of items where I write pages of all human books. Inspiration follows me just like spring follows the hummingbirds that return in their old nests and relocate there together with other smaller birds. Poetical conscience of the author turns the dreams into magic. Just like many dreamers I write free verses for life in the age of time. Poets are like prophets who speak in the name of life and love. They are awakened with light and go towards a star that never remains alone, energize the winds, fall in love with tulips and are submerged into an environment equipped with everything that is human. Verses from their voices reach with a force of deep thought inside humans in the great universe of life, where the paradise of peace and love are at the center stage. Therefore with the nuances of words is frightened serenity, pain, suffer, tragedy while writing what a human soul always feels. Every time I am warming up with the charcoal of verses, I look upon the glass of a window or a tree with fruits, I think that the ability of writing is the best luck of mine in this world of words, it is my materiae, passion to love a man since poetry unravels reality from blindness, the defeated from the undefeated, the good from evil, somewhere in there is born the real beauty from a living soul. In an unknown stage I am afraid from a potential strike of words in using them in an inappropriate way so that they neither give nor take, which can turn into a lack of appreciation while forgetting the author and the reader. Literature is a free universe; it becomes tangible just like the world we live in, tangible just like Earth where we are born. Creation remains a triumphant love.
MORNING: In the history of life morning comes clean, empty from the chronicles of the previous day. It remains an example which brings me away from confusion, suffering, forgiveness, in order to remain just like the emissary of an angle of light who counsels me directly to include him in my new day, just as important as any other day, where 24 hours are born again. I beg him with prayers and dignity just like I address myself or others, only when darkness is ruined and the Sun is born which I consider it to be the same as the birth of a child. Every new morning that comes within my world just like the dough has gained its time in order to make bread, makes me to have deep ties with every day, not because I hate the night, her artificial lights or the grey hair of the falling evening. Morning with love makes me feel nature, the content of an earthly painting, the brightness of entertaining rays, the multifaceted human characters, and honesty before sins, the right of questions and the causes of vivacity with a good will of every day. I know that the morning will remain constantly the youngster of time. It is considered as a portion of perfection, a giant that trims darkness where there are intertwined the feelings of renaissance. It has connections with the heart; it becomes part of me, just like a loved one.
DEPARTURES: Ordered by myself I follow the paths of the world. A guard that comes behind me is a shadow. I have asked all the time: why it is behind me? She responded that she is a part of my body’s origin! I have never tried to deal with her curiosity. Meanwhile I am gone! I am always gone with a known longing. I keep this longing always with me. Everybody knows my feelings. I have never hidden this fact even when I am gone at the end of the world. All men of the world allow me to be among themselves. In every instant I am free from every longing. The strings of hope tie me with homeland or my present fatherland. I obey to a fate that I have been looking. I have never ignored this fatherland. Its image has even touched and impressed me. As a result I have deserved it and she has begged me not to be absent from here. This way we have arrived in one another. It seems that we were only one. Finally the mystery of departure was discovered meticulously among ourselves. We could not live alone. When he called me, I had arrived. We discovered weaknesses that appeared during our absence and adverted that it was an inner voice, a true voice which would become the only natural attraction. To the time of departure I would not add a longing from myself. In the midst of our dedication I had listened to its suggestions just like listening advice of my dad as a last word that I would never compare my fatherland with nothing else. My hopes would be extinguished had I not had this marvelous setting of predecessors for which I was eager to use all my life and return into its roots. Many times I am surprised with myself, that I was unable to find all this infinite love that would serve me to have somewhat a heart as large as fatherland. The legend of return was born thousand years ago before the departure and arrivals had happened. Fatherland remained my genuine greatness where I would return as many times as I had departed.
WORD: The word is always my primary choice. I will never be able to separate myself from her! I have fallen in love with her. I always meet with vowels and consonants which in turn have gifted me the thoughts with which I write to people, myself and life. I have never liked the worst words or words that cause pain. So I never open the door and never betray those speeches that I gain from knowing these words. My love for a word remains an impressive aspiration to give it the place that it deserves. A word polishes my brain’s dimensions while testing in me that I will be forever loved if I remain loyal to the use of a right word at a right time because it has made me be part of it.
CHARACTERS. When writing I enter in a different world. I talk with my characters just like I was speaking with humans or about their lives. They know that I love. I have demonstrated my love just like they have demonstrated in me. We could not condemn one another for being genuinely honest. Characters of books had accepted to be part of a human being I thought that their hearts were familiar just like my heart. They made me promise that generosity must be on both sides. So I would be dedicated every time to the created world among us without diverting my attention. I would be living amid imaginations while repeating that I was not wrong when I chose to have them with me all the time. Otherwise I would be engulfed in sadness and sorrow. Therefore I never imagined to be alone and my characters to be left in solitude. When the characters of the book of life emerged, everything seemed to me that they were the envoys who would negotiate among our souls. They always want to do a surprise to me because they know that I love suitable dialogues while sharing with me what had happened among us. On a late night I have heard deep whispers which convinced me that they are not without any soul, because otherwise they would be dead and of course I would become very sad.
CASTLES. Castles are the eyes who unravel history, the beauty of stones, times of knights, Albania’s medieval bards, whispers of walls, voices of shadows. Past centuries dating over 2400 years ago they have taught me deep knowledge from positive desires which enable me to speak on the victories of nobility that make me proud. They kept the grudge only to preserve freedom. This is why castles were built by stones over the mountain ridges so that our heroes would view with their eyes freedom just like something supernatural from life on earth. While connecting the stone with history and personified life just like a holy experience. Perhaps we should escape from such craziness; – a friend of mine was telling me when she does not see me in Tirana, but in Kruje or Berat, Ulqin or Gjirokaster, Prizren or Shkoder. My desire to be inside all of the castles is simply to have a cup of coffee which has become a way for me to be inspired and enjoy a genuine relaxation. When I am inside castles it seems that thoughts are coming freely and allow me to return in this gorgeous reality where appreciation of a nation which never accepted to be enslaved has reigned.
FOR MYSELF: Time has never ignored my passion for writing. Even though it has brought changes, a myriad of feelings of writing, spiritual delight, fragility of silence, meditation, etc. I was able to understand that it was occurring every time, as I was waiting something else. Which in that passionate solitude I will not be missing anything when finding myself at the center of the birth of thought; my thin feelings were overwhelming while gifting me particles of happiness. To me it has never happened to throw away the verses written in a white page. I visited them every day just like a creature with a soul, read them with attention and have often made me to wrestle myself with their strength. So no one else in life has ever won a victory with me.
Translated from Albanian language: Peter M. Tase
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