Là tác giả của các tác phẩm văn, thơ sau: “Những bước chân của Clara” (Tiểu thuyết), “Bên kia bức màn xám” (Tiểu thuyết), “Hình ảnh sai lầm” (tiểu thuyết), “Con đường thơ ngây” (thơ), Những viên đá trắng (thơ) RIME SPARSE-Il suono di due voci poetiche del Medit erraneo (Poesie di Agron Shele e Claudia Piccinno), La mia Musa (“Libri di-versi in diversi libri” – Ý, 2020); Murmure d’un autre monde (thơ), Klisania - Nữ hoàng của hồ (Truyện ngắn) và “Ese-I và Ese-II)”. Agron Shele cũng là điều phối viên của các Tuyển tập quốc tế: “Open Lane-1”, “Pegasiada, Open Lane-2, tạp chí ATUNIS (Nr 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)” và Atunis Galaxy Anthology các năm 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023. Agron Shele đã đoạt một số giải thưởng văn học quốc tế. Ông là thành viên của Hiệp hội Nhà văn Albanian, thành viên của Hiệp hội Nhà văn Thế giới, tại Ohio, Hoa Kỳ, thành viên của các tổ chức thơ quốc tế như Poetas del Mundo, WPS, Unione world Poetry và là Chủ tịch của Trang Thiên hà Thơ ca Quốc tế “Atunis poetry”. Các tác phẩm của Ông được đăng trên nhiều báo, tạp chí trong nước và quốc tế, cũng như xuất bản trong nhiều tuyển tập trên toàn cầu như: Almanac 2008, 2017; Niên Giám Thơ Thế Giới 2009, 2013, 2015, The Second Genesis-2013, Kibatek 2015-Italy, Metafora (Ba Lan), Keleno-Hy Lạp, v.v. Dịch bởi Peter Tase và Merita Paparisto.
Dưới đây là 10 bài thơ của Agron Shele bằng tiếng Anh. Bạn đọc có thể tự dịch ra tiếng Việt hoặc nhờ phần mềm dịch thuật (Google, Chat GPT,…) để gặt hái được những giá trị đặc sắc về thơ của ông.
INTRODUCTION A NEW MEMBER:
Agron Shele (Albania – Belgium)
Agron Shele was born in October 7th, 1972, in the Village of Leskaj, city of Permet, Albania. Is the author of the following literary works: “The Steps of Clara” (Novel), “Beyond a grey curtain” (Novel), “Wrong Image” (novel), “Innocent Passage” (poetry), White stones (poetry) RIME SPARSE-Il suono di due voci poetiche del Mediterraneo (Poesie di Agron Shele e Claudia Piccinno), La mia Musa (“Libri di-versi in diversi libri” – Italy, 2020); Murmure d’un autre monde (poetry), Klisania, Queen of the lake (Short story) and “Ese-I and Ese-II)”. Agron Shele is also the coordinator of International Anthologies: “Open Lane-1”, “Pegasiada, Open Lane-2, ATUNIS magazine (Nr 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)” and Atunis Galaxy Anthology 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023. He is the winner of some international literary prizes. Is a member of the Albanian Association of Writers, member of the World Writers Association, in Ohio, United States, Poetas del Mundo, WPS, Unione world Poetry and the President of the International Poetical Galaxy “Atunis”. He is published in many newspapers, national and international magazines, as well as published in many global anthologies: Almanac 2008, 2017; World Poetry Yearbook 2009, 2013, 2015, The Second Genesis-2013, Kibatek 2015-Italy, Metafora (Poland), Keleno-Greece, etc. Currently resides in Belgium and continues to dedicate his time and efforts in publishing literary works with universal values.
Translated by Peter Tase and Merita Paparisto.
Here are 10 poems created by Agron Shele in English. Readers can translate into Vietnamese themselves or use translation software (Google, Chat GPT, ...) to collect the unique values of his poems.
- This time...
This time,
When you hear the rain that falls over the bare trees from a bronze sky
And the rows of raven trees all yellow
You ask yourself
Why only a tree stands tall?
In an empty park, lonely rotting day by day
Why do you care?
Maybe because that reminds you the time that has passed
And you feel more older than ever
Like a lonely bird abandoned when the winter comes
Surviving is the only chance
This time,
When your thoughts are lost
And your face shows nothing more than sadness
In pale colours remained tattoo over your filthy skin
That is when you feel the touch of the last season
That is what reminds you of the long starry nights
All of this turns your spirit blue
....when the time passes
You can only see a rainbow that stares over an old church
Acrylic glass
You can only hear the whispers of monks as they go
But you can't hear the bell
What does that mean?
You feel like an old abused statue with crossed arms
You wait for your sins to be forgiven
If only it was that easy
But no, your demons consume your soul every day
Your disgusting devious eyes only stare at one thing
The only
The innocent saint Magdalene.
- I know...!
I know
One day, you will understand
Feathers stay as proof of a flying bird
Lost far away from the horizon
No turning back
No shelter
Very angry
Far away
Anxiety of an escaped shadow
I know
That this emigration has nothing in common with rainy days
Neither the blooming flowers
It is an unusual escape towards time , when the air smells the pain of earth.
Death of innocent leaves under the meaning of life until madness
I know
that the darkness brings lonely nights
No light, that gives you hope
No dreams, that give you freedom
No tomorrow
But only a dawn related to the shadows of life in chaos.
It feels like the poison of broken hopes
I know
that scream will destroy the walls of broken memories
And what is dead will return to life
No more envy trapped in a spider web
And the voracious crowds and Kings without crowns.
- The Silent journey
Sailing on a boat, through a stormy sea
we distinguish the gaze following us from the shore
frightened of the fate that pushes us toward the wild waves,
swollen with blood
down to the perturbed centuries
to the strange roots holding us in stasis
rotating around the satellite that extinguishes in the air
to the moment of abyss that separate life from death
of the lost illusion.
Again we wonder, trying to understand
the attempt in half dreams
on the wrinkled waves of tomorrow
under the mane of a horse that runs in a gust of wind,
through the nostrils of air
It is halted by the tether that pulls it
the footprints of the half of gallop are left
on the bank where the seafoam sleeps
and the Circes eyes are dissolute
Run, liberated from this rising like a mirage
breath and shape of this hectic darkness
like an everlasting song of this echo that attracts
our sorrow
the finish line
walking with youthful steps
and the grey aging through snowfall.
- Prayer...!
Please,
for what the gods cannot restore
on a threshold of dusty ports
that just waits and raises the empire of pain
upon the feeble souls that are instantly extinguished,
while the suffering being
obeys the will in silence
and follows that journey that centuries have passed.
Again please,
not that anything will change,
to relieve pain
I believe that after that north fringe on the white birches I will see
another gilding
of a moment of silence
for the recovery of the soul
in another genesis
who walks with the steps and the voice screams.
I pray
but ion chaos no longer has fluidity
nor the last glow of the phosphorescent color
and so on
in the agony of words that remain in memory
I do not want to understand,
but neither to accept
that you came as * The sun that warms my childhood
and you are extinguished like a candle, whose light I can never reach.
prayer...!
- White Light
A white light,
Wakened in the waters of my soul,
Over the wings of a flying bird
Just as once before...
A mirror of a reborn life in turmoil
Just as today...
Kidnapped from warm verses in rebellion.
White hope,
A voice of life colors without borders
An open canvas of colors brighten
Beautiful
Just as dreams of nights of no return
Thunderstorm,
Of a burning star, steaming hot.
White word,
Raised in the high benches of thoughts
Carved in ancient mythology of trust
Poured,
In fiery horizons of the west.
White life,
a broken mirror of crossed fates
a deep sea of kidnapped sorrows
just as snow...
Dissolved in the first rays of craziness
Just as a leaf...
Lost in a freezing autumn universe.
- Rain in Montparnasse
(Charles Baudelaire)
Today was raining in my town
Yesterday was the same symphony
With trickles of mist in bitter traces
In that time,
That was bending a sickening muse
Over evil flowers
Rooted under darkness
And shadowed in grey,
In a soul
Flowering the pain of light
Remaining
A white boat ravaged by seas!
Today horizons descended drapes of clouds
On the brightest stands of the sky
Behind the scenes of stars,
That embodied concern
And a faded angel
Driven magically
Through the warmth of words
And extended conviction
A broken blood
Biting of evils
Thirsty kisses
Escaped demons
Towards deepest mysteries
The wind held her breadth today
For the concert played in Montparnasse
Without violins
Except vibrations of air,
As inarticulate,
From a choir of birds that keep the same nest
With their broken wings
On that statue
Those orchids descended on earth!
- Passage
I need to see beyond the frames
And twist the contrast to make one more color
for deciphering all the views
that in a second change so abruptly
to make that colour a sea, a typhoon,
but also the peace that sleeps on the white waves
peace that rests beside an island
which, for me, Ithaca always remains
Time sleeps on the blooming lilies
whorls brightened in spring
collecting the first beams of dawn
and hiding their sight beyond the twilight
putting together the galaxy of stars.
that sparks on the cherry garden of love
to feel the distant whisper of the body
wrapped in a scarf of longing
and so the day’s vail is unveiled
running toward the purity of life
removing a fraction that reflects the light
and turning it to a charm that reveals the sun
weaved like this, in Gods fire
together with the lyre of the goddess of muses
at the footsteps left on the desire of words
or the thirsty longing for the traces of lips.
- A woman
Do not expect her to walk
in the cold streets with her scarf over one shoulder
Or tap the heels on the silent memories
nor mirroring her image in the shops window
because her effulgence
is stronger then the sun
that warms the ice transforming it in to a candle,
touching the marrow of the earth
breaking the myths of winter
that die at the irises and yet,
are resurrected
to embrace the light.
An image that appears at the shine of stars
and with her the wind extends the hair
to a forest where the deers are sleeping
the tracks of their hooves are printed on the snow
like a magic hidden in lightning
slaves of fate and troubled dance
towards that image
that god himself created
holiness
in the kingdom of every living breath.
Do not expect her to be weakened
because pain walks with her blood
and the blood with the feeling of eternity
like a deity
of the force that lifts gods to their feet,
the angels, everyday,
understanding the silence
of the turn of centuries
because the life is more than one attempt
that walks through the gates of the rainbow
and opens the doors of life
to the smile of a woman!
- Is not enough ...
It's raining here,
the sky is always bronze
and the steps knock on the empty road
in thousands of feet,
without the melody of your heels,
of that timber who use to hear
as music
and the view that gave our journey distance,
not those of 100-years loneliness of Garcia
but not even love
in the cholera time (covid)
just a forgotten charm across the wind
and a journey that began
without goodbye!
I'm already used to it
with the sudden losses of the season
who run to unclothe the memory
first from alienated leaves of the green
then to the yellow,
violet and the reddish of Autumn,
but without your eyes
those bright thousands of suns
and hatch a light of life
and never I got learned;
that the next day
would wake up at the doorstep of a world
shinning and whispering of a silent forest.
Is not enough the cherry garden
nor the shadows of Moon
at the mirror of trunks of the Neruda's garden,
nor confusions,
nor the Eden that changed the flow of resemblance,
but simply a closeness
an overpass to the crazy world,
where the sad look of a woman
turned into the tear of my pain.
- Captivity of a weave ...!
What seed can be more than one soul
except a color that catches the eyes of the sky
and turns it blue
to dissolve his own pain
in the weave that collapsed and rose to the clouds
and then
with the power of hope he believed
that this world is coming tomorrow
and she
just a concept
of what once happened.
It is not an inner voice
nor the code that opens the Pandora box
nor the flame that goes out in a single moment
but legend
of what we have
as the morph of the vision of the lily in the lake,
that was born out of the beautiful Ophelia and forever dissolved
Beatrice’s madness.
How much can be confessed
the simple human world
passed through the newly built barn
from the rows of earth,
or the marbles of royal palaces
which wandered in fear of the crown
thirst intrigues
and the victims of princes who never ran.
Everyone sleeps one day
under the roof of extinguished stars
and only echoes arrive, as a memory
of what ever recognized the magic of the dress lost through the wind
and the imagination that turns him forever to *Me!
Agron Shele (Albania – Belgium)
Email: atunisgalaktika@gmail.com
Web page: https://atunispoetry.com/
