Robert Elsie

Albanian Literature | Early Authors

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Berat in 1813, by Charles Cockerelle.

Sulejman NAIBI   Mahmudeja, Well-Adorned One In a dream now shattered, ruined, In a dream I fell in love with Mahmudeja, well-adorned one, Wretched me, in my affliction. Yes, this lust and human passion Will a living lad demolish, Mahmudeja Sulejmani Down the lane flits, sparking envy. Well-attired she's like no other In her waistcoat made of velvet, Smiling, charming apparition, What a figure, Mahmudeja! [fragment from Mahmudeja e stolisurë, mid 18th century. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]   Nevruz Down those soft pink cheeks do trickle Drops of sweat like sweet rose-water, Have perhaps carnations swollen On those lips of yours, like rose buds? You from lofty spheres descended Like a houri to this garden, In the shadow of your fairness From the ground have sprung up flowers. And your sleepy, drooping eyelids With a thousand words do whisper, No one e'er will understand them Without passion for your spirit. When I glimpsed you in your beauty With your golden locks, I marvelled, Fell in love there in a twinkling, As if from the grave reviving. I was born a second time there Of my tender, loving mother, Where the sun and moon are rising 'Midst the tombstones and the darkness. From the northlands one fine morning Did you proffer songs and music, Oh, you precious gift from Allah, Wait for me, your faithful lover. With your radiance and ardour And the burning of your glances, I am baffled and bewildered, Like a candle melt and vanish. Winter's passed and spring has blossomed And your grace has turned to beauty, Oh Naibi, how you stammer Now that Ali stands before you. [Nevruzi, mid 18th century. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]   Consumed with Passion What say roses when they see you: Are we fragrant? 'tis the moonlight? The poor nightingale is baffled, Stops the song that it is singing, Like a lad consumed with passion, Does it see you or the roses? For your breast emits their fragrance And your cheeks their hue resemble. Like the hyacinth your hair coils, You've the fairness of this garden, Thus the nightingale's not baffled If he leaves the rose to court you, Sings your red lips, saffron-tasting, Sings your forehead ever shining, Sings your tender, braid-like eyebrows, Radiant eyes and arrow lashes, Sings your fair nape and your shoulders, Sings your limbs all silver shining, Sings your breast and those two cupfuls Which the whole world dares not mention. For the love which you have hidden Like the twilight after darkness, Seeing all these things, Naibi Will not fail to sing your praises. [Bandilli i djegurë, mid 18th century. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]