Luljeta Lleshanaku
NEGATIVE SPACE
2.
1968. At the dock, ships arriving from the East
dumped punctured rice bags, mice
and the delirium of the Cultural Revolution.
A couple of men in uniform
cleared out the church
in the middle of the night.
The locals saw the priest in the yard
wearing only his underwear, shivering from the cold.
Their eyes, disillusioned, questioned one another:
“Wasn’t he the one who pardoned our sins?”
Icons burned in front of their eyes,
icons and the holy scriptures.
Witnesses stepped farther back,
as if looking at love letters
nobody dared to claim.
Crosses were plucked from graves.
And from each mouth spilled irreversible promises:
mounds of dirt the rains would smooth down
sooner or later.
Children dragged church bells by the tongue.
(Why didn’t they think of this before?)
Overnight, the dome was demolished, instantly revealing
a myriad of nameless stars that chased the crowd
like flies on a dead horse.
And what could replace Sunday mass now?
Women brought cauldrons into the yard.
Men filled up their pipes; smoke rose
into the air, against gravity’s pull.
Nails in worn-out shoes exposed stigmata
that bled in the wrong places—
a new code of sanctification,
of man, by man.
From: Negative Space
Publisher: New Direction Books, United Kingdom, 2018
NEGATIEVE RUIMTEN
II.
Het is 1968. In de haven laden de schepen die uit het oosten komen
sleetse zakken uit met rijst, muizen
en de waanzin van de Culturele Revolutie.
Een paar mannen in uniform
vielen ’s nachts de kerk binnen.
De omwonenden zagen hoe hun priester
in zijn lange onderbroek rillend van de kou op het kerkhof stond
en ze keken elkaar vragend en ontgoocheld aan:
‘Is hij degene die ons onze zonden vergaf?’
Voor hun ogen brandden de iconen,
de iconen en de heilige boeken.
Alle getuigen weken achteruit;
alsof het liefdesbrieven waren,
waarvan niemand de eigenaar zei te zijn.
De kruisen werden van de graven gerukt. En uit ieders mond
kwamen onomkeerbare geloftes.
Hopen aarde waarvan de contouren vroeg of laat
door de regen zouden verdwijnen.
Kinderen sleepten de klokken aan de klepel mee
(waarom waren ze niet eerder op dat idee gekomen?).
Binnen één nacht was de koepel gesloopt en verschenen ineens
ontelbare naamloze sterren die op de menigte afkwamen
zoals een zwerm vliegen afkomt op een dood paard.
En hoe zou men de zondag doorbrengen nu er geen mis meer was?
De vrouwen zetten ketels op het kerkhof
en de mannen stopten hun pijp.
Tegen de zwaartekracht in steeg de rook op.
Intussen onthulden de spijkers in hun sleetse schoenen stigmata
waaruit op verkeerde plekken
de nieuwe code van heiligverklaring druppelde:
die van de mens door de mens.
HAPËSIRA NEGATIVE
II.
Viti 1968. Në port, anijet që vinin nga lindja
shkarkonin thasë të shpuar me oriz, minj
dhe delirin e Revolucionit Kulturor.
Disa burra me uniformë
në mes të natës bastisën kishën.
Vendasit e panë priftin e tyre
me benevrekë të dridhej prej të ftohtit në oborr
dhe pyetën me sy njëri-tjetrin të zhgënjyer:
“Ky është ai që na ka falur mëkatet?!”
Para syve të tyre u dogjën ikonat,
ikonat dhe librat e shenjtë.
Dëshmitarët u zmbrapsën edhe më;
si të ishin letra dashurie,
askush nuk u doli zot.
Nga varret u shkulën kryqet. Dhe nga gjuha
– betimet e pakthyeshme.
Kodra dheu që shirat do t’i rrafshonin
herët a vonë.
Fëmijët tërhiqnin prej gjuhe kambanat
(si s’u kishte shkuar mendja më parë?!).
Brenda një nate kupola u shemb dhe papritur zbuloi
një morí yjesh pa emër, të cilët iu vunë pas
si mizat pas një kali të ngordhur.
Po e diela e meshës, me se do të mbushej?
Gratë vinin kazanët në oborr
dhe burrat mbushnin llullat.
Kundër gravitetit, tymi ngjitej lart.
Kurse gozhdët në këpucët e grisura zbulonin stigmate
që pikonin në vendet e gabuara
kodin e ri të shenjtërimit
të njeriut, nga njeriu.
From: Negative Space
Publisher: New Direction Books, United Kingdom
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NEGATIVE SPACE
2.
1968. At the dock, ships arriving from the East
dumped punctured rice bags, mice
and the delirium of the Cultural Revolution.
A couple of men in uniform
cleared out the church
in the middle of the night.
The locals saw the priest in the yard
wearing only his underwear, shivering from the cold.
Their eyes, disillusioned, questioned one another:
“Wasn’t he the one who pardoned our sins?”
Icons burned in front of their eyes,
icons and the holy scriptures.
Witnesses stepped farther back,
as if looking at love letters
nobody dared to claim.
Crosses were plucked from graves.
And from each mouth spilled irreversible promises:
mounds of dirt the rains would smooth down
sooner or later.
Children dragged church bells by the tongue.
(Why didn’t they think of this before?)
Overnight, the dome was demolished, instantly revealing
a myriad of nameless stars that chased the crowd
like flies on a dead horse.
And what could replace Sunday mass now?
Women brought cauldrons into the yard.
Men filled up their pipes; smoke rose
into the air, against gravity’s pull.
Nails in worn-out shoes exposed stigmata
that bled in the wrong places—
a new code of sanctification,
of man, by man.
From: Negative Space
Publisher: 2018, New Direction Books, United Kingdom
NEGATIVE SPACE
2.
1968. At the dock, ships arriving from the East
dumped punctured rice bags, mice
and the delirium of the Cultural Revolution.
A couple of men in uniform
cleared out the church
in the middle of the night.
The locals saw the priest in the yard
wearing only his underwear, shivering from the cold.
Their eyes, disillusioned, questioned one another:
“Wasn’t he the one who pardoned our sins?”
Icons burned in front of their eyes,
icons and the holy scriptures.
Witnesses stepped farther back,
as if looking at love letters
nobody dared to claim.
Crosses were plucked from graves.
And from each mouth spilled irreversible promises:
mounds of dirt the rains would smooth down
sooner or later.
Children dragged church bells by the tongue.
(Why didn’t they think of this before?)
Overnight, the dome was demolished, instantly revealing
a myriad of nameless stars that chased the crowd
like flies on a dead horse.
And what could replace Sunday mass now?
Women brought cauldrons into the yard.
Men filled up their pipes; smoke rose
into the air, against gravity’s pull.
Nails in worn-out shoes exposed stigmata
that bled in the wrong places—
a new code of sanctification,
of man, by man.
From: Negative Space
Publisher: 2018, New Direction Books, United Kingdom
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