{"id":2753,"date":"2013-05-31T08:26:25","date_gmt":"2013-05-31T07:26:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fjala.info\/?p=2753"},"modified":"2013-05-31T08:26:25","modified_gmt":"2013-05-31T07:26:25","slug":"shqisa-e-gjashte-e-poezise","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fjala.info\/2009-2015\/shqisa-e-gjashte-e-poezise\/","title":{"rendered":"SHQISA E GJASHT\u00cb E POEZIS\u00cb"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\" Ezio Savino<\/strong><\/p>\n

D\u00cbGJIMI<\/strong>
\nN\u00eb \u00e7\u2019kuptim mund t\u00eb themi se poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb d\u00ebgjim? Ignazio Matte-Blanco na kujton se nj\u00eb poet spanjoll i shekullit t\u00eb kaluar, Espronceda, u mundua t\u00eb shkruante n\u00eb vargje ndjenjat q\u00eb p\u00ebrjetuan spektator\u00ebt prej nj\u00eb kali q\u00eb hidhej me vrull t\u00eb hazdisur dhe mihte n\u00eb pluhur. Vargu i par\u00eb, i shpejt\u00eb dhe i rr\u00ebmbyer, ting\u00ebllon k\u00ebshtu:
\n\u201cT\u00eb hidhesh furish\u00ebm me vrull t\u00eb eg\u00ebr\u201d.
\nMbyllja, me rrokje t\u00eb thyera, trok\u00ebllit\u00ebse, shfaq venitjen e potkonjve t\u00eb larg\u00ebt: \u201cE nuk shihet m\u00eb se ku shkon\u201d.<\/p>\n

Nj\u00eb shembull zbavit\u00ebs ky i imitimit d\u00ebgjimor. Por d\u00ebgjimi \u2013 ndoshta m\u00eb i pari nga shqisat njer\u00ebzor\u00eb t\u00eb thirrura n\u00eb mbret\u00ebrin\u00eb e Poezis\u00eb, q\u00eb nga koh\u00ebrat e hershme t\u00eb zanafill\u00ebs deri te rapsod\u00ebt \u2013 na ofron shum\u00eb t\u00eb tep\u00ebr se krijimet poetike gjith\u00eb afsh. Kjo ndodh kur tingulli shnd\u00ebrrohet n\u00eb kujtim, n\u00eb p\u00ebrfytyrim t\u00eb \u00ebmb\u00ebl, n\u00eb z\u00eb t\u00eb dashur q\u00eb f\u00ebshf\u00ebrin si nj\u00eb p\u00eblhur\u00eb e \u00e7muar.<\/p>\n

Gyula Juh\u00e1sz<\/strong>, hungarez (1883-1937), tek poezia \u201cSi ishte\u201d shkruan:
\n\u201cSe si ishte m\u00ebndafshi i z\u00ebrit t\u00eb saj, m\u00eb nuk e di: \/ por kur n\u00eb fusha kthen pranvera \/ e ndjej s\u00ebrish fjal\u00ebn e ngroht\u00eb t\u00eb An\u00ebs \/ q\u00eb ende m\u00eb flet nga nj\u00eb tjet\u00ebr pranver\u00eb \/ pranver\u00eb e larg\u00ebt si qielli\u201d. Oh, kujtimi, n\u00ebp\u00ebrmes shqis\u00ebs s\u00eb d\u00ebgjimit zgjerohet n\u00eb cifla ekzistence drith\u00ebruese, i gjall\u00eb si n\u00eb nj\u00eb dram\u00eb.<\/p>\n

Fernando Pessoa<\/strong> (1888-1935) portugez, tek \u201cShi i pjerr\u00ebt\u201d, VI, shkruan
\n\u201cDirigjenti l\u00ebviz baket\u00ebn, \/ dhe muzika e l\u00ebshuar, e trisht\u00eb ndalet… \/\/ M\u00eb kujton f\u00ebmij\u00ebrin\u00eb, at\u00eb dit\u00eb \/ kur luaja pran\u00eb murit t\u00eb kopshtit \/ duke hedhur topin, nga nj\u00ebra an\u00eb ishte nj\u00eb qen t\u00eb gjelb\u00ebr dhe n\u00eb an\u00ebn tjet\u00ebr \/ nj\u00eb kal\u00eb boj\u00ebqiell tek vraponte me nj\u00eb jockey t\u00eb verdh\u00eb… \/\/ Muzika vazhdon, dhe ja, n\u00eb f\u00ebmij\u00ebrin\u00eb time \/ papritmas, mes meje dhe maestros, nj\u00eb mur i bardh\u00eb, \/\/ tashm\u00eb b\u00ebr\u00eb qen i gjelb\u00ebr, topi shkon e vjen, \/ kal\u00eb boj\u00ebqiell,tanim\u00eb, me jockey t\u00eb verdh\u00eb… \/\/ I gjith\u00eb teatri \u00ebsht\u00eb kopshti im, f\u00ebmij\u00ebria ime \/ \u00ebsht\u00eb n\u00eb \u00e7do vend dhe topi l\u00ebshon muzik\u00eb, \/ nj\u00eb muzik\u00eb t\u00eb trisht\u00eb dhe t\u00eb mjegullt q\u00eb sh\u00ebtit n\u00eb kopsht…\u201d Vet\u00eb vargu mund t\u00eb ting\u00eblloj\u00eb.<\/p>\n

Mohamed Benn\u00ecs<\/strong> (1948) poet arab, tek \u201cKambanat\u201d, shkruan:
\n\u201cKambanat kumbojn\u00eb n\u00eb dhom\u00ebn e heshtjes sime \/ nj\u00eb tuf\u00eb diejsh \/ endacak\u00eb \/ si un\u00eb \/ fushat \/ rrethojn\u00eb teatrot\/ prej kuptimit t\u00eb jet\u00ebs dhe ekzistenc\u00ebs \/\/ Ishin palma ato kambana \/ pasqyra t\u00eb pikturuara nga nj\u00eb f\u00ebmij\u00eb \/ n\u00eb qet\u00ebsin\u00eb e tij \/ n\u00eb prani \/ t\u00eb val\u00ebve…\u201d.
\nN\u00eb virtuozitetin e fjal\u00ebs poetike, p\u00ebrsoset shkrirja mes tingujve t\u00eb rrokjeve, ritmeve t\u00eb intonacionit dhe kuptimit t\u00eb fjal\u00ebve, n\u00eb nj\u00eb simfoni t\u00eb vetme q\u00eb mahnit.<\/p>\n

Italiani Gabriele D\u2019Annunzio<\/strong> (1863-1939), tek \u201cShiu n\u00eb pyllin me pisha\u201d, shkruan: \u201cD\u00ebgjon? Shiu po bie \/ mbi gjelb\u00ebrimin \/ e vetmuar \/ me nj\u00eb krak\u00ebllim\u00eb q\u00eb vazhdon \/ dhe ndryshon n\u00eb aj\u00ebr \/ sipas deg\u00ebve \/ m\u00eb t\u00eb rralla \/ m\u00eb pak t\u00eb rralla. \/ D\u00ebgjo. I p\u00ebrgjigjet \/ vajtimi k\u00ebng\u00ebs \/ s\u00eb gjinkallave \/ t\u00eb cilat vajtimi jugor \/ nuk i tremb, \/ as qiell\u2019 i hirt\u00eb…\u201d
\nPoeti ia arrin q\u00ebllimit, me triumfin e lir\u00eb dhe t\u00eb pak\u00ebt, kur tingujt \u2013 rrokje q\u00eb mb\u00ebshtjellin kuptimet \u2013 bu\u00e7asin n\u00eb mendje si kumbime t\u00eb t\u00eb v\u00ebrtetave t\u00eb padyshimta, t\u00eb teoremave filozofike t\u00eb \u00e7armatosura n\u00eb shk\u00eblqimin e vet.<\/p>\n

Eugenio Montale<\/strong>, italian, (1896-1981), tek \u201cArsenio\u201d, shkruan:
\n\u201cD\u00ebgjo mes palmave z\u00ebrin e drith\u00ebruar \/ t\u00eb violinave t\u00eb shuara kur rrotullojn\u00eb \/ gj\u00ebmimin me nj\u00eb dridhm\u00eb llamarina \/ e rrahur; shtr\u00ebngata \u00ebsht\u00eb e \u00ebmb\u00ebl kur \/ derdhet me vrull ylli i ver\u00ebs \/ n\u00eb qiellin e kalt\u00ebr dhe t\u00eb paarritsh\u00ebm nat\u00ebn \/ kush e ka radh\u00ebn : n\u00ebse rrufeja e gdhend \/ e punon si nj\u00eb pem\u00eb t\u00eb \u00e7muar \/ ndaj drit\u00ebs q\u00eb skuqet: dhe timpani \/ i cigan\u00ebve \u00ebsht\u00eb gj\u00ebmimi i heshtur…\u201d<\/p>\n

SHIKIMI<\/strong>
\nLetra \u00ebsht\u00eb p\u00eblhura. Fjal\u00ebt shp\u00ebrndahen si ngjyruesit. Teknika poetike \u00ebsht\u00eb penelata e pikturuar dhe e but\u00eb, nj\u00eblloj si tek danezi Inger Christensen (1935):
\n\u201cNgjiten \/ fluturat e planetit \/ si pigment nga nxeht\u00ebsia e tok\u00ebs, \/ vishnje, ok\u00ebr, flori dhe e verdh\u00eb, \/ trazuar plot me element\u00eb kimik\u00eb. \/\/ \u00cbsht\u00eb kjo rrahje krah\u00ebsh nj\u00eb grumbull \/ grimash drite n\u00eb nj\u00eb mirazh? \/ Vjen nga f\u00ebmij\u00ebria kjo ver\u00eb e \u00ebnd\u00ebrruar \/ e pastr\u00ebr si n\u00ebn nj\u00eb rrez\u00eb t\u00eb n\u00ebnshtruar? \/\/ Jo, \u00ebsht\u00eb engj\u00eblli i drit\u00ebs q\u00eb ngjyros \/ veten si Apolloni, \/ si flutur \/ flutur nate dhe sfinks…\u201d.
\nPor mund t\u00eb jet\u00eb fundi i akuarelit, q\u00eb mpreh shikimin n\u00eb detajet imcake.<\/p>\n

Japonezi Sakutaro Hagiwara<\/strong>, (1886-1942): \u201cTreni i nat\u00ebs\u201d :
\n\u201cDrita e mehur para agimit l\u00eb t\u00eb akullta \/ gjurm\u00ebt e gishtit mbi xhamin e dritares. \/ Edhe pse faqja e malit po zbardhohet \/ n\u00eb qiellin, e heshtur si m\u00ebrkur, \/ n\u00ebse udh\u00ebtar\u00ebt nuk zgjohen nga gjumi \/ m\u00ebrzi t\u00eb d\u00ebgjosh vet\u00ebm psher\u00ebtim\u00ebn e lodhur t\u00eb drit\u00ebs elektrike!\u201d<\/p>\n

NUHATJA<\/strong>
\nPrej shekujsh qarkullon mendimi se poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb magji. Kjo nuk \u00ebsht\u00eb thjesht nj\u00eb shprehje. Magji \u00ebsht\u00eb fuqia e veprimit mbi realitetin, n\u00eb m\u00ebnyr\u00eb dhe koh\u00eb p\u00ebrball\u00eb t\u00eb cilave arsyeja, p\u00ebrvoja, shqisa e shenjt\u00eb jep e merr me kok\u00ebfort\u00ebsi. Poet\u00ebt e lasht\u00eb \u2013 Orfeu, Muzeu, Tamiri \u2013 me formula dhe akorde \u00e7rr\u00ebnjosnin lisa, i v\u00ebrtisnin ata n\u00eb shtjella marram\u00ebnd\u00ebse, ndillnin tigra dhe ujq\u00ebr n\u00eb festa t\u00eb shtruara poezie q\u00eb i b\u00ebjn\u00eb p\u00ebr t\u00eb qeshur me sarkaz\u00ebm konformist\u00ebt. Poeti muzikant, e hapte harp\u00ebn n\u00eb intonacione t\u00eb panjohura, dhe d\u00ebrrasat e pish\u00ebs lotonin vetiu – n\u00eb bashe dhe trupa anijesh me emra dragonjsh dhe balenash, q\u00eb m\u00eb pas shp\u00ebtojn\u00eb bor\u00ebrat dhe dallg\u00ebt. Nga poret e letr\u00ebs poeti di t\u00eb nxjerr\u00eb ende parfume dhe aroma.<\/p>\n

Robert Frost<\/strong> (1874-1963), amerikan, tek poezia \u201cPas mbledhjes s\u00eb moll\u00ebve\u201d, shkruan:
\n\u201cPor nga mbledhja e moll\u00ebve tashm\u00eb mbarova. \/ Parfum \u00ebndrrash \u00ebsht\u00eb net\u00ebve dimri \/ aroma e moll\u00ebve : m\u00eb qet\u00ebson. \/ Nuk mund t\u00eb fshihem prej syve, nga e \u00e7uditshmja \/ ndjenj\u00eb q\u00eb ndjeva teksa v\u00ebshtroja n\u00eb m\u00ebngjes nga xhami \/ peshkuar nga dehja dhe i vendosur \/ p\u00ebrball\u00eb asaj bote q\u00eb m\u00eb zbardh…\u201d.
\nEr\u00ebmimet, natyrisht, jan\u00eb p\u00ebrplot me simbole t\u00eb jetuara.<\/p>\n

Luis Cernuda<\/strong> (1904-1963), spanjoll, tek \u201cAjo q\u00eb \u00ebsht\u00eb m\u00eb e brisht\u00eb zgjat\u201d, shkruan :
\n\u201cRinia? Vet\u00ebm \/ nj\u00eb arom\u00eb portokalli \/ n\u00eb shesh nat\u00ebn \/ kur drita e marr\u00eb \/ dhe nj\u00eb fener ndizen. \/ At\u00eb arom\u00eb e ndjeva \/ t\u00eb ngrihej nga e kaluara \/ dje e jotja , sot e huaj, \/\/ dhe t\u00eb trazon : aroma \/ vet\u00ebm, pa kujtime…\u201d.
\nAroma \u00ebsht\u00eb busulla n\u00eb detin e madh t\u00eb qenies dhe kujtimit, nj\u00eb instrument i thell\u00eb njohjeje dhe intuite, jo m\u00eb pak fisnike se sa shqisat e tjera.<\/p>\n

Francezi Paul Eluard<\/strong> (1895-1952), shkruan:
\n\u201cEr\u00ebmime t\u00eb nxjerra nga nj\u00eb ag i ngroht\u00eb \/ q\u00eb rri ende mbi yje \/ e gjith\u00eb bota vjen nga syt\u00eb e tu t\u00eb past\u00ebr \/ dhe gjaku im rrjedh n\u00eb ato shikime…\u201d<\/p>\n

PREKJA<\/strong>
\nA \u00ebsht\u00eb me t\u00eb v\u00ebrtet\u00eb e but\u00eb letra e poetit? Apo \u00ebsht\u00eb e ashp\u00ebr, e pal\u00ebmuar dhe me gjemba?
\nItaliani Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888-1970), tek \u201cLumenjt\u00eb\u201d, shkruan:
\n\u201cN\u00eb m\u00ebngjes u shtriva \/ n\u00eb nj\u00eb urn\u00eb uji \/ dhe si relike \/ pushova \/\/ Duke rrjedhur Isonco \/ m\u00eb l\u00ebmonte \/ si gurin e vet \/\/ I mblodha \/ kat\u00ebr eshtrat e mia \/ dhe u largova \/ porsi akrobat \/ uj\u00ebrash \/\/ P\u00ebrk\u00ebdhela veten \/ pran\u00eb teshave t\u00eb mia \/ t\u00eb pista prej luft\u00ebs \/ dhe si beduin \/ u p\u00ebrkula \/ p\u00ebr t\u00eb thithur \/ diellin…\u201d.<\/p>\n

Marina Ivanovna Cvetaeva<\/strong> (1892-1941), ruse, tek \u201cVargje p\u00ebr Blok\u201d, shkruan:
\n\u201cEmri yt \u2013 ah, nuk mundet! – \/ emri yt \u00ebsht\u00eb puthje mbi sy, \/ n\u00eb t\u00eb ftohtin e \u00ebmb\u00ebl t\u00eb qepallave t\u00eb pal\u00ebvizshme. \/ Emri yt \u00ebsht\u00eb puthje dh\u00ebn\u00eb d\u00ebbor\u00ebs. \/ Nj\u00eb gll\u00ebnjk\u00eb burimi, e akullt, e kalt\u00ebr.\/ Me emrin t\u00ebnd gjumi \u00ebsht\u00eb i thell\u00eb\u201d.
\nSi mund ta mohosh q\u00eb duke d\u00ebgjuar fjal\u00ebt shqisa jon\u00eb e t\u00eb prekurit rizgjohet dhe provon ndjenja m\u00eb reale se vet\u00eb realiteti?<\/p>\n

Por nuk provon vet\u00ebm pengesa gur\u00ebsh lumi dhe goditje t\u00eb akullta.
\nN\u00eb k\u00ebto vargje t\u00eb Janis Ricos, (1909-1990), grek, p\u00ebrhapet ngroht\u00ebsia m\u00eb e but\u00eb e bot\u00ebs; \u201cFjal\u00eb epshi\u201d :
\n\u201cGjith\u00eb trupat q\u00eb kam prekur, kam par\u00eb, kam \u00ebnd\u00ebrruar, t\u00eb gjith\u00eb \/ mbledhur n\u00eb trupin t\u00ebnd, O, Diotim\u00eb epshore \/ n\u00eb simpoziumin e grek\u00ebve…\u201d<\/p>\n

SHIJIMI<\/strong>
\nDhe ja ku na shfaqet nj\u00eb lloj bible karaibesh p\u00ebr shqisat n\u00eb k\u00ebt\u00eb sulm t\u00eb madh simfonie me t\u00eb d\u00ebgjuar\u00ebn, shikimin, prekjen, shijimin q\u00eb p\u00ebrhapen n\u00eb prekje t\u00eb mahnitshme derisa t\u00eb ndjejm\u00eb n\u00eb gjuh\u00eb shijen e mishit t\u00eb djegur t\u00eb pirat\u00ebve, pjek\u00ebs t\u00eb gjahut.<\/p>\n

Derek Walcot<\/strong> (1930), nga Karaibet, tek \u201cDeti \u00ebsht\u00eb historia\u201d, shkruan k\u00ebshtu:
\n\u201cKu jan\u00eb monumentet tuaja, betejat tuaja, martir\u00ebt? \/ Ku \u00ebsht\u00eb kujtesa juaj fisnore? Zot\u00ebrinj, \/ n\u00eb at\u00eb pamje t\u00eb hirt\u00eb. Deti. Deti \/ aty mbyllet.
\nDeti \u00ebsht\u00eb Historia. \/\/ N\u00eb fillim vlonte vaji, \/ i r\u00ebnd\u00eb si kaos; \/ pastaj, si nj\u00eb drit\u00eb n\u00eb fund t\u00eb nj\u00eb galerie, \/\/ feneri i nj\u00eb karavele \/ ajo ishte zanafilla. \/ Pastaj u d\u00ebgjuan ul\u00ebrimat shurdhuese, \/ e p\u00ebg\u00ebra, t\u00eb qarat: \/\/ Eksodi, \/ asht m\u00eb asht i \u00e7liruar nga korali, \/ mozaik\u00ebt \/ t\u00eb kthyer nga hija mir\u00ebb\u00ebr\u00ebse e peshkaqenit, \/\/ ajo qe Arka e D\u00ebshmis\u00eb. \/ Pastaj erdh\u00ebn nga skajet pickues \/ t\u00eb drit\u00ebs n\u00eb fund t\u00eb detit \/ harpat e dhimbshme t\u00eb s\u00eb keqes babilonase, \/ si aglomerat molusqesh si prangat \/ mbi grat\u00eb e mbytura, \/ dhe ato qen\u00eb byzylyk\u00ebt e fildisht\u00eb \/ t\u00eb K\u00ebng\u00ebs s\u00eb Salomonit, \/ por deti vazhdonte t\u00eb kthente flet\u00ebt \/\/ duke k\u00ebrkuar Historin\u00eb. \/ Pastaj erdh\u00ebn njer\u00ebzit me sy t\u00eb r\u00ebnd\u00eb si spirancat \/ q\u00eb mbyten pa varre \/\/ kusar\u00eb q\u00eb pjekin bag\u00ebti \/ duke l\u00ebn\u00eb brinj\u00ebt e tyre t\u00eb djegura si gjethe palme \/ mbi breg…\u201d<\/p>\n

M\u00eb e p\u00ebrditshme, por jo m\u00eb pak luft\u00ebtare dhe e p\u00ebrgjithshme \u00ebsht\u00eb shija e moll\u00ebve t\u00eb vargjet e Janis Ricos.
\nN\u00eb \u201cFjal\u00eb epshi\u201d lexojm\u00eb: \u201cV\u00ebrtet, mos harro \/ kur t\u00eb shkosh n\u00eb treg t\u00eb blesh moll\u00eb me shumic\u00eb, \/ jo ato t\u00eb artat e Esperideve, por t\u00eb m\u00ebdha dhe t\u00eb kuqe q\u00eb kur t\u00eb zhytesh \/ n\u00eb tulin e fort\u00eb dh\u00ebmb\u00ebt e tu t\u00eb bardh\u00eb t\u00eb mbeten aty \/ si p\u00ebrjet\u00ebsia n\u00eb libra, mbushur me jet\u00eb buz\u00ebqeshja jote\u201d.<\/p>\n

Jo, m\u00eb mitologji; mjafton dhe ari i rrem\u00eb i historive t\u00eb Herakliut, kopshti i magjepsur i Esperideve t\u00eb paharruara: sot poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb n\u00eb buz\u00ebqeshjen e dashur, q\u00eb godet me mjesht\u00ebri t\u00eb panjohur frutin deri edhe te artist\u00ebt klasik\u00eb.<\/p>\n

SHQISA E GJASHT\u00cb<\/strong>
\nT\u00eb dish \u00ebsht\u00eb ndjenj\u00eb e vetvetes. I pari, urdh\u00ebri i vet\u00ebm dijes helenike, flamuri dhe manifesti q\u00eb val\u00ebvitej n\u00eb mermerin e Delfit: \u201cNjih vetveten\u201d. Sa her\u00eb kan\u00eb e shtruar poet\u00ebt pyetjen e madhe Kush jam un\u00eb? Jo gjenetiku im, jo, jo ai. Aty punon filozofi, munduesi i shpirtit, prifti, politikani… Qena ime poet. Dhe sa p\u00ebrgjigje. Ja kush jan\u00eb t\u00eb parat, disa prej tyre.<\/p>\n

Czeslaw Milosz<\/strong> (1911-2004), polaku, tek \u201cP\u00ebr poezin\u00eb\u201d, shkruan :
\n\u201cM\u00eb fal, poezi, n\u00ebse \u00ebsht\u00eb faj q\u00eb nxora \/ k\u00ebt\u00eb z\u00eb dhimbjeje, z\u00eb njer\u00ebzor q\u00eb hiqet, \/ si z\u00ebri yt i ndrysh\u00ebm nga nj\u00eb l\u00ebmsh ankimesh \/ si nj\u00eb val\u00eb e bardh\u00eb deti prej mo\u00e7alesh ngjyr\u00eb korali. \/\/ Ti, q\u00eb je skica e flegrave \/ t\u00eb nj\u00eb kali q\u00eb ende s\u2019ka ardhur n\u00eb jet\u00eb, forma dhe ngjyra \/ e moll\u00ebs s\u00eb shp\u00ebrb\u00ebr\u00eb n\u00eb pluhur, krah\u00ebt vet\u00ebtit\u00ebs \/ t\u00eb dall\u00ebndyshes q\u00eb preku kryet e Tiberit \/ n\u00eb at\u00eb pik\u00eb t\u00eb caktuar t\u00eb p\u00ebrkat\u00ebsis\u00eb, \/\/ thuam\u00eb, \u00e7\u2019do t\u00eb thot\u00eb t\u2019i thuash \u201cTi\u201d \/ gj\u00ebrave, q\u00eb nuk kan\u00eb gjuh\u00eb tjet\u00ebr ve\u00e7se qenies tyre \/ dhe rrin\u00eb aty ku mbaron koha, larg, larg \/ nga urrejtja njer\u00ebzore dhe nga dashuria\u201d.<\/p>\n

Eeva-Liisa Manner<\/strong> (1921-1995), finlandeze, tek \u201cTeorema\u201d:
\n\u201cT\u00eb jet\u00eb e v\u00ebshtir\u00eb proza, le t\u00eb ngjall\u00eb shqet\u00ebsim. \/ Por poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb nj\u00eb jehon\u00eb, q\u00eb d\u00ebgjohet kur jeta \u00ebsht\u00eb e heshtur: \/ n\u00eb male rr\u00ebshqasin hijet : imazhe ere dhe mjegulle, \/ kalimi i tymit apo i jet\u00ebs: i kulluar, i err\u00ebt, i kthjell\u00ebt, \/\/ nj\u00eb lum\u00eb q\u00eb rrjedh leht\u00eb…\u201d<\/p>\n

Kostas G. Kariotakis<\/strong> (1896-1928), grek, \u201cVargjet e mia\u201d:
\n\u201cJan\u00eb bijt\u00eb e mi, Vargjet, e gjakut tim. \/ Flasin, por u jap fjal\u00ebt atyre \/ si t\u00eb ishin cop\u00ebza t\u00eb zemr\u00ebs sime…\u201d : \u201cNe jemi qeste paksa t\u00eb shpartalluara \/ Era, kur fryn mbi korda, \/ si zinxhir\u00eb t\u00eb k\u00ebputur, rizgjon \/ vargje, zhurma q\u00eb s\u2019ting\u00ebllojn\u00eb. \/\/ Ne jemi antena paksa t\u00eb ve\u00e7anta…\u201d<\/p>\n

Poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb monedh\u00eb e ekzistenc\u00ebs s\u00eb p\u00ebrditshme t\u00eb Ricosit, Fjal\u00eb epshi, pik\u00ebmb\u00ebrritje e bujshme, sepse poezia \u2013 poeti q\u00eb i jep z\u00eb, gjak e shpirt \u2013 e kupton hovin se qenia e tij p\u00ebrputhet me fjal\u00ebt, si\u00e7 \u00ebsht\u00eb besuar gjithnj\u00eb, por jeta, e cila nuk ka nevoj\u00eb p\u00ebr tinguj shqiptues, shprehet vet\u00eb, me gjeste t\u00eb dashuruara dhe t\u00eb heshtura.<\/p>\n

\u201cPoezit\u00eb q\u00eb kam jetuar duke heshtur mbi trupin t\u00ebnd \/ do m\u00eb k\u00ebrkojn\u00eb z\u00ebrin e tyre nj\u00eb dit\u00eb, kur t\u00eb ik\u00ebsh. \/ Por un\u00eb nuk do t\u00eb kem m\u00eb z\u00eb p\u00ebr t\u2019i treguar at\u00ebher\u00eb. Sepse ti ishte m\u00ebsuar \/ t\u00eb ecje zbathur n\u00ebp\u00ebr dhoma, e pastaj strukeshe mbi shtrat, \/ l\u00ebmsh puplash, m\u00ebndafshi e flak\u00eb e eg\u00ebr… Pra, \/ si mund t\u00eb kem m\u00eb z\u00eb. \/ Poezia nuk ka ecur kurr\u00eb k\u00ebshtu, n\u00ebn bardh\u00ebsin\u00eb e moll\u00ebve n\u00eb lule t\u00eb asnj\u00eb parajse.\u201d<\/p>\n

Busull modeste, hart\u00eb e thjesht\u00eb porti, k\u00ebto sh\u00ebnime mbi ndjenjat e poezis\u00eb: mbres\u00ebl\u00ebn\u00ebse \u00ebsht\u00eb shtrirja e vargjeve q\u00eb p\u00ebrhapen mbi faqet e k\u00ebtij rr\u00ebfimi q\u00eb rreshton qindra z\u00ebra poetik\u00eb t\u00eb shekullit t\u00eb shkuar. \u00c7do poezi, nj\u00eb ankorim, nj\u00eb tok\u00eb p\u00ebr t\u2019u zbuluar. Shk\u00ebmbinj fjal\u00ebsh, faresh, thell\u00ebsish uji: bukur t\u00eb lundrosh, por edhe t\u00eb largohesh nga hallakatja, n\u00eb mes t\u00eb k\u00ebnaq\u00ebsis\u00eb s\u00eb nj\u00eb lundrimi, t\u00eb nj\u00eb ringjalljeje q\u00eb s\u2019 mund t\u00eb jet\u00eb m\u00eb shum\u00eb e \u00ebmb\u00ebl n\u00eb k\u00ebt\u00eb det.<\/p>\n

(Publikuar n\u00eb shqip, 2005 – Poeteka<\/em>)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ezio Savino D\u00cbGJIMI N\u00eb \u00e7\u2019kuptim mund t\u00eb themi se poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb d\u00ebgjim? Ignazio Matte-Blanco na kujton se nj\u00eb poet spanjoll i shekullit t\u00eb kaluar, Espronceda, u mundua t\u00eb shkruante n\u00eb vargje ndjenjat q\u00eb p\u00ebrjetuan spektator\u00ebt prej nj\u00eb kali q\u00eb hidhej me vrull t\u00eb hazdisur dhe mihte n\u00eb pluhur. Vargu i par\u00eb, i shpejt\u00eb dhe i […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\nSHQISA E GJASHT\u00cb E POEZIS\u00cb - FjALA e LIR\u00cb - Arkivi<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/fjala.info\/2009-2015\/shqisa-e-gjashte-e-poezise\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"sq_AL\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"SHQISA E GJASHT\u00cb E POEZIS\u00cb - FjALA e LIR\u00cb - Arkivi\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Ezio Savino D\u00cbGJIMI N\u00eb \u00e7\u2019kuptim mund t\u00eb themi se poezia \u00ebsht\u00eb d\u00ebgjim? Ignazio Matte-Blanco na kujton se nj\u00eb poet spanjoll i shekullit t\u00eb kaluar, Espronceda, u mundua t\u00eb shkruante n\u00eb vargje ndjenjat q\u00eb p\u00ebrjetuan spektator\u00ebt prej nj\u00eb kali q\u00eb hidhej me vrull t\u00eb hazdisur dhe mihte n\u00eb pluhur. 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