Three Poems by Irma Kurti

 

THE TESTAMENT 

 

 

There is a season of life that I don’t want  

to live: the season of long, deep old age, 

when memories abandon you one by one 

and the body rests, like a rotten tree, inert. 

 

 

A lot of those cold and unfeeling people  

will come close to me, trying to help me. 

There will be some who will make fun of 

me and, behind my back, will laugh heartily. 

 

 

Oh, they will lift me out of the wheelchair  

like a mannequin is moved in the window, 

and they will leave stains on my sluggish  

body. Those will be imprinted in my soul. 

 

 

I don’t want to live that season of descent, 

when no one listens to my heart’s voice. 

Please, throw me into the sea or leave me  

in a forest where birds build their nests. 

 

 

This is a testament: please open it when 

my brain is like an empty glass. 

I am writing fast, while I still can recall 

and talk with memories of the distant past.

 

TIME TO SAY “ENOUGH!” 

 

 

The others seek forgiveness from you. 

What does it cost you? You have given 

it before. Throw an insult, rancour,  

like pebbles at the bottom of a void. 

 

 

They forget your nights full of anguish, 

your soul that complains; not even you  

know that the words of the past haven’t  

vanished but make you suffer even more. 

 

 

They forget that sadness and despair often 

break your heart and you can’t even breathe  

deeply. You search in vain for a refuge, and 

a little bit of serenity and calm. 

 

 

In the end, you still forgive them; you 

don’t see that time has come to pronounce  

“Enough!”, to abandon the fake peace, 

to fall in love with the walls of your house. 

 

 

 

SLAVES 

 

 

We have become slaves of technology: 

in our hands, we clutch cell phones or  

iPads; we’ve forgotten to open our stiff  

lips as the train continues its long trip. 

 

 

We don’t see beyond the window how 

nature extends its green arms, the storms 

of birds flying toward foreign lands, 

or the sleepy sky before sunrise. 

 

 

If someone asks us a question, we all 

stutter—we have forgotten how to talk. 

Our fingers are on the cell phone as on  

a piano. Its deaf sounds pull us away  

from the beauties of everyday life.

IRMA KURTI is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She is a naturalized Italian and lives in Bergamo, Italy. All her books are dedicated to the memory of her beloved parents, Hasan Kurti and Sherife Mezini, who have supported and encouraged every step of her literary path.

Kurti has also won numerous literary prizes and awards in Italy and Italian Switzerland. She was awarded the Universum Donna International Prize IX Edition 2013 for Literature and received a lifetime nomination as an Ambassador of Peace by the University of Peace, Italian Switzerland.

In 2020, she became the honorary president of WikiPoesia, the encyclopedia of poetry.

In 2021, she was awarded the title of Liria (Freedom) by the Italian-Albanian community in Italy. In 2023 she was awarded a Career Award from the Universum Academy Switzerland. She also won the prestigious 2023 Naji Naaman's literary prize for complete work.

Irma Kurti has published 29 books in Albanian, 25 in Italian, 15 in English, and two in French. She has also translated 20 books by different authors, and all of her own books into Italian and English. Her books have been translated and published in 16 countries.