# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  a lesson in tongues

## Ani

my lover wants me 
to teach him languages 
so i sit him with me by the trees 
and thus begin... 
i will teach you poli linguas 
all the linguas that you thelis, 
thelis like they say in greek
when they want something, 
TH as in "Thighs"
these of mine i wrap around 
your waist just so; 
and E as in "bEd"
this grassy bed we lie in; 
L as in "Labials"
the sounds coming through 
these lips when i speak to you
in tongues, then kiss
you uuhhmmm and uuhmm; 
and I as in "frIction"
what you feel when my hand
crawls your body over
like so and like so and finally
S as in "suSurrous"
when my mouth comes to your ear 
and says, "i lohh it whe you shhh like blu 
hhhussssshhhpurrreessssaabeeeaamm"
Thelis, tell me che tu thelis
and i give, i say. 
but you will have to be silenzioso 
when i ablo, i say, 
and listen soltanto a me, 
that means you have to listen
very attentivement, looking at
my mouth, le mie labbra especially 
and when i tell you, love, 
répéter after moi, 
you will répéter so perfettamente, 
deliciosissimo as you are 
that i will say bravo, 
bravo mon dieu, i would even call you 
by such name, i would, you, god of my words. 
and then i would speak albanian, 
which in albanian is "shqip" 
as in "schkeep" and you would say 
shqip is the mejor lengua, ma belle, 
the most bukur "bookoor" 
beautiful, beautiful
and vuala! it will make
your thoughts grow red, 
redder, like the russian blood, 
krassneei blood and last, il culminacion 
de my teaching sará when i tell you 
to shut up now, non répéter anymore, 
just tell me, in what language 
will you now describe my eyes?

----------


## Sokoli

Ani duhet te jesh tip teper i lezecem.
Keto mendime i ke qare. Shkojne shume sidomos me stinen qe po na rrezon deren perdhe.

----------


## Ani

thanks sokol. po fus dhe ca te tjera te ky rrjesht qe ishin tek ish-forumi... -Ani


As They Lay Nibbling

She wants to touch the waves and then ta da,
lift the water as if it were a napkin
and cool his sweaty face. You creep, 

she says to him, how can you call me icy 
when I can dip my finger in the Antarctic waters, 
melt the snowy pot and boil you up a salty soup? 

Threaten my worlds and grow me nimble, 
she told him once. Can he not feel the wet nimble she leaves 
on his palm after its crossed the netherlands? 

Oh, and when he moves his hand around her belly 
to stop her hunger some late morning, oh yes he feels, 
she feels he feels, it's just that he's so silly, 

he's completely taken now with her hair, his full lips 
are marking her neck just below and behind the ears, 
it's almost as if his tongue slides inside her vein, 

pulsing to the same rebelling rhythm. She likes to 
tease him with bad words, likes to bite his fingers, not off, 
just bite a little like a cat, would you let me, she asks.

His eyes are teary like dew-heavy leaves.
They seem biddable, bid-da-ble, bida bel, bida bull, 
beedabull, you be da bull, she tells him, 

come on, be da bull now! Hahah, she laughs, he laughs 
in her ear, she bites his fingers, he wets her hair with his mouth, 
with wet fingers from her mouth. Their mouths co-nibble.

They are incredibly hot in this shot, arent they? 
You could almost see their breath in fact. 
How would you like to buy this photograph 

for your Lady, Sir? On Valentine. She'll love it, Sir. 
She'll ask you to be da bull for her. 
I swear to you, Sir. Bye This Photo Now. 




A Cat's Lives

He must have been nine years old
when he dipped a cat in gasoline,
set it on fire and watched it run a round of horror. 

The mad cat dance, he called it, come watch
the mad cat dance, he said to his friends
but they ran away from the terrible joy in his eyes

leaving him there alone to watch the cat spin
and hear it cry from its stomach. He buried it afterwards
crying aloud to himself all through the digging.

Later that year, he threw a cat off the tenth floor
just to see if it'd die. He was told cats have nine lives
or nine souls or something like that. 

One day we heard his father beat his mother.
He cut her hair so short that she didn't get out 
of the house for two whole months.

He burnt the hair in front of her
and when she'd start to cry, he'd yell at her,
"Shut up, shut up you skinny cat, it'll grow back." 




Falling

Shes inside this mans house; 
hes not too old but hes over thirty 
years older than her and hes cooked

this bluefish dip which smells like sex.

The TVs on, mute. Theres constant replay
of a tower smoldering, politics, an airplane entering 
another tower straight on, brave, courageous 

kind of like everything you lack when youre driving 
on a highway and youre curious for a moment, 

what if I just drove off the shoulder?
But, you never do. 

There are different wines on the table. 

Would you like some red wine, he asks and she
says, sure, I'll have some, thanks.

The dip youve made is yummy. 
Why thank you, he says, 

I caught the fish myself in Cape Cod

and she has this sudden helpless feeling-- 
shes turning into bait between his teeth. 

O, theyre showing those people falling again
Lets drink to them, he says, 

theyre all here with us anyway.

Then he takes her out in his garden 
and tells her, you have a beautiful jacket on,
touching her sleeve to feel the texture.

Oh, look at the sun setting, 
its gorgeous gold on those leaves, its beautiful,
he sighs.

Gold fire--gold red fire. The only thing closer 
is an explosion, she adds, 

can you imagine being part of its setting?

Here, try this, he says, plucking a pear 
from the pear tree, then later, 
as they keep walking, gives her two cherry 

tomatoes that spurt inside her mouth;

she wishes hed watch her eat them 
but he has to walk on, has to show the other 
guests around. 

There are other guests in his house, 
intelligentsia, but to her theyre smoke
she must move through to get into this mans
eyes and tell him, 

I want to **** you 

in this garden till the sun comes up again
tomorrow and I want to spurt these red tomatoes
on your white beard, on your white hair like

poppies thrown over the snow

and let the world blow itself out of curiosity
or otherwise, I have you

nibbling for my bait deep within me
as we're falling, setting here.

----------


## Ani

Joey ate ants everyday, 
a disorder he developed 
when his mother ran off
sometime in his fourth year. 

Joey picked up ants with two fingers,
looked at them first, 
then looking straight ahead, thoughtlessly 
put them into his mouth. 

He always chose the black, 
quiet, slow-moving ones,
maybe because they were
quiet and slow like him. 

One day Joeys mother returned 
and took Joey out to dinner.
They were sitting quietly at the table, 
and when she finally said, 

Ive missed you!
a black sea of ants began crawling
out of Joeys mouth drowning
the space between them.

----------


## Ani

To love him is a matter
of building brick and gold 
walls, splashing in hot weather,
walking in cold feet.

It is to build a weir
by day and tear it down
by night, speak in silent voices 
from many cages deep.

It is to plant a tree that bends
this way and that and 
though the apples never fall
the ground stays apple full.

It is to pick the black 
fish from white waters
inside his eyes for a new 
purpose under our sun.

It is a matter of telling him
of love and what suffices,
a song I sing to hush 
all his surrounding noises.

----------


## Ani

kto ne fakt jane te gjitha te publikuara ndaj dhe duken si me forme me te rregullt e me te perpunuara se ato qe postoj tek forumi shqip. 

tungjats,
Ani

----------


## liliella

anushe ku jane te publikuara keto. me ka ra mendja me ble dicka qe ka ty si autore. kt sa per kujtim e mbase ndonje dite e shes tek e-bay. te nxjerr dicka ne drite nga kjo miqesi . lol :a :p

----------


## Ani

i see, this has always been your ulterior motive hasn't it? shoqe me interes! pa, pa, pa!! sikur ta dinja! po sikur ta dinja moj ti! :b dang!! mire, mire se do flasim! NE TELEFON!! hahahah!

love,
Ani

----------


## qyfyri

As terse as it can be, the precision of your verse made me achieve a climax.  I seriously felt the warmth of my own unborn children race up the corridors of my penis and knocking at the door of the unbearable light they stormed out as a pack of lunatics ready to take the next challenge.  They died upon first contact with mother nature, god knows what could have been, but the truth is, a climax of this sort was most relieving.  I said danke i kenaqur me veterrjedhjen and left for some right-ish sympathizers meeting.  Theyre in fashion now you know lady?

----------


## Ani

Splatter

When you sit 
 over my legs 
 tickling my belly, 
 youre a crazy old man 
 worshiping my Chi 
 with hands, eyes 
 and chants in a language 
 Ive never heard 
 but understand. 
 Then, when you lock 
 your hands with mine 
 coming down 
 to seize my lips, 
 youre the cataract of vim; 
 your lips splashing 
 on my peripherals 
 overtaking all my portals 
 no longer traveling 
 the outskirts, 
 you're in.



Love On Its Tiptoes

My lover is a Paganini.
His pizzicato plucking 
of loves ripest fruit
sets my heartbeat off the charts
and we feast and we 
kiss and kiss. 
Mi brucci, mi geli,
sei la mia malatia
la mia sanita.
Tamo dolce, tadoro
he swears,
se credi che io brillo
é perche tu mi dai splendore,
Ill build a castle just for you
walls of stars in the rain,
lie with me, lie with me,
let me bathe you
bella-scintillante.
And he plucks,
and he plucks my thoughts
from under my tongue
and if its true the Devil
granted him mastery
over my hearts beating,
Ill kiss the Devil too.



Wars Soliloquy

I have no marrow in my bones. I have dirt instead. 
Chop them open, see for yourself.
Dont be scared when, breathing over them,
you make each grain rise and fall,
fall and roll like earths tectonic plates.
Go tell river, mountain, call God too.
This is unheard of, some mistake for sure,
who ever slouched among the living like this? 

See if they will tell you of the matters here.
I sing, I rise from the ways you fall in me.
People--such cherry blossoms, that live but three days-- 
Ill hold you in my shell, sing lullabies, 
tell you fairytales of flares
while you make your living feasting on ash air.

----------


## Henri

I can't hold it! I can't hold it!!! I caaaaan't!

Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuù!!!!!!

----------


## Ani

are you cicinka?? 
lulkonja??

lol

----------


## madman

kto ne anglisht nuk i kisha lexuar....
eshte kot te komentosh. flm per ndjenjat qe japin poezite tuaja.

per ty mund te behesha dhe lesbike :)
pax
madman

----------


## Ani

a madman is enough! lol
thanks for reading,
ani

----------


## Albioni

Burrow our tongues
into orange meat.
They meet, a semi-sweet
twist of skin, citrus stung.

Your sex
is the flesh of soft peach.
It melts around my teeth---
pink, juicy flecks.

Stains of blackberries
darkening your hard
nipples, mingling with sweat---
syrupy, wet sherry.

Pomegranate love: a bloody caviar
beautifully caked within our chests.

----------


## Ani

what have you done?
i feel undone!

:-)

gorgeous, delicious poem!
the sounds in it are mahvellous!

ahhhh...

----------


## Albioni

Roses are red....
Violets are blue.....
The shorter the dress....
The better the view.....

and............... 

Where are you?

----------


## Ani

heheh, albo, ja ku jam. paskemi qene 'nsync sot. sot erdha te forumi e te pashe qe me ke thirr. s'kam qene rrotull kto dite te korrikut. vapa na mbyti. fjalet here na shterojne here na burojne po si gjithmone nuk mjaftojne. neser do takoj zyshen e fillores qe me ka dhene arithmetike!! can you believe that?? qe nga 1Maji i Tiranes e drejt e ne Amerike pas gjithe kesaj kohe te takohem me zyshen!! unbeliavable!! I'm psyched!!

te fala lal!
Ani

----------


## Albioni

Ajo kerpurdha poshte emrit si shume e dyshimte me duket, plus qe eshte e shemtuar.  Ka mundesi te besh ndonje ndryshim?

----------


## Ani

Drenched

When I woke up this morning the air outside my window was a languid gray and the trees branches looked moist even though it was not raining yet. Maybe it had already rained and stopped. I could have been sleeping. I didnt get up till much later. I was so comfortable lying there knowing that the gray world would wait for me. It always seems like the world stops when it rains. You wont miss anything too great even if you dont go outside. So I slept for another two hours.

Autumn is almost over. When you look at the edges of a tree from the distance, they look like grape veins. Theyre gray, deleafed. The veins reach upward and I dont know what for. There has to be a slight bending when the wet rain moistens their dry, wind-beaten bodies. There must be some silent noise, some satisfied exclamation, some thanks. A crow is quite clearly visible. He cant hide anymore. Neither can birds even though theyre gray like the branches. 

I look down on my hands. They are dry. Most of the time, my hands are moist with nervous sweat. I have never been able to stop this anomaly. They would shrink at hearing me call it such but to me this constant sweat is such, an anomaly. I live with it. I am always hesitant to shake hands. And only I know how much I want to shake hands and how much I like to touch a face or two. Like last night when he kissed me for the first time, I would have loved to hold his face somehow but I fluttered and left. 

I have always felt an absence of things, of words. It is in this absence that I find their presence to be most significant. It is absence I long for. If I had something then I had it and that would be too common a thing. But what I dont have is what I always think about and what always gives my thoughts a flight. The absence of certain words changes the thread of my thoughts. If I always had the word I wanted then I would be like a fish statue in a fountain by the park constantly spilling out water, unaware of its flow in my mouth because the water would be coming through and out of me in a mechanical way done by some outer means. 
I have not kissed..........

.........that much. I am afraid that a mouth will consume me whole in just a minute. It would completely take me in and I dont know if I could get out or if I did get out I would never be the same. I need this absence, at least for a little while longer. Do you think the trees want rain all the time? They would probably never experience bending and inner exclamations if it werent for the once in a while try. But everyone around me has a fever for presence. I am outnumbered. 

The other day I saw a bunch of birds on the ground, their bellies really fat and I thought they must all be pregnant. Is it their time? I never know their time or the squirrels or anyone elses outside my human ring. I mix them up if anything. But the birds were on the ground and I remembered grandma who used to say that it would rain if you see the birds down on the ground. And sure it did this morning. I dont quite understand how something that is meant to fly would change the weather by changing its behavior. But why should I be surprised? We change the weather around us too when we lay our thoughts out on the table to someone for the first time, we talk and talk and it is like a communion; thoughts which we always kept to ourselves are laid out for this other person to try. The weather changes. The person leans forward and whispers you a story you already know. It is warm and sweet. And you bend inward and you hear the rooms inside you exclaim and you hear the echoes. 

My mother tells me that I used to talk to the leaves on the trees long before I started talking. I wander what I blabbed and if I even noticed the rain on the branches. Can a child see moistures ways? I think I would give up all the views with trees and live by the desert. There would always be a substitute. The absence of trees would make me think of birds and perhaps a crow would come to visit. Sometimes when I walk alone, I know what the earth feels after my weight has moved a few feet away. Sometimes I can literally taste a word somewhere within my palate or between my brain and my nose. The fact that it doesnt come to me means that it exists in its richest, ripest form. I have to be careful with want. Such things only come when youve grown used to their absence.

----------

