Popular poet of modern Albania: Poetry By IRMA KURTI

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. Kurti has won numerous literary prizes and awards in Albania, Italy, Greece, Switzerland, USA, Philippines, Lebanon and China. 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. She received the Leonardo da Vinci and Giacomo Leopardi prizes from the Chimera Arte Contemporanea Cultural Association of Lecce. The same association also honored her with the European Ambassador Award and named her the Best Poet of the Year in 2022.

Irma Kurti

She received the Grazia Deledda medal and diploma of merit from the National Committee of WikiPoesia on the 150th anniversary of the birth of the great Italian poet. In 2023 she was awarded a Career Award from the Universum Academy Switzerland.
Irma Kurti is a member of the jury for several literary competitions in Italy. She is also a translator for the Ithaca Foundation in Spain.

Irma Kurti has published more than 100 works, including books of poetry, fiction and translations. She is one of the most translated and published Albanian poets. Her books have been translated and published in 21 countries.
 
 
THESE ARE NOT LEAVES
 
These are not leaves that the autumn
throws on my hair, my shoulders;
they are hands greeting me today
while I drag an old and heavy suitcase
that keeps the seasons we lived together.
 
These are not raindrops running down
my cheeks, but tears: so limpid and clear.
 
 
These are not puddles reflecting now my
face but rivers of thoughts and reflections.
 
 
Goodbyes always hurt; they leave you
bitter in the heart, even if, somewhere
out there, a world of magic colors waits…
 
 
MY ANIMA, A FEATHER
 
It was just a quick embrace, like
the elusive flight of a butterfly
brushing in an instant your hair.
 
 
It was just a warm hug inside a
body that trembled like a leaf,
that anonymous world, which
was a thousand times much
more familiar than my house.
 
 
It was nothing more than a hug,
but who knows why—in those
moments, my anima felt so light,
like a feather that ascends to the sky.
 
 
THE SPECTACLE OF THE SKY
 
It is the same light when I get up fast,
when I run towards the bus like crazy,
when it passes me by and I rest there,
just like a melancholic stain.
 
It’s the same tree and the same people
I see every day, the same trembling of
leaves and the delicate fall of them.
 
But the sky shows a diverse spectacle;
sometimes it’s gray, sometimes blue
or covered with a handful of clouds,
so soft and white. It often shows me
a plane that crosses it noisily, just like
a giant bird with its rigid, immovable
wings flying towards the infinite.