Ndrek Gjini

Ndrek Gjini Poems

Ndrek Gjini Biography

Ndrek Gjini was born in Albania. After his graduation from the University of Shkoder in Albania, with a BA (Honours) in Language and Literature he worked first as a teacher and then as a journalist. During these years he published four books in the Albanian language, and many poems, reviews, essays and articles in Albanian newspapers and magazines. In 2002, he moved to the West of Ireland. In 2004, he undertook a course at CCFE that led to a National Certificate in Print Journalism; at GMIT he earned a BA (Honours) in Heritage Studies. In 2011 he received an MA in Writing at National University of Ireland, Galway. His research and teaching interests are in digital humanities, book history, textual studies and bibliography, scholarly editing, and 20th-century literature. His poems, short stories and reviews have been published in Journals and Magazines in many countries. Ndrek’s first collection of poems in the English language, The Death of Night, was published in 2011 by EMAL. He was selected to read at the Strokestown International Poetry Festival in 2011, and was a featured poet in the ‘Cyphers’ Magazine, Issue 71. His work has also been published in The Mayo Anthology (Present Tense) , in 2006, and in the Writing4all Anthology, “The best of 2011”. ‘The Connaught Telegraph’, ‘Galway Advertiser’, ‘Galway City Tribune’, and ‘Sin’ are among other newspapers and magazines where his work has been featured. He has been invited to read at the Galway- Mayo Institute of Technology on both Galway and Castlebar campuses and at the Culture Night events. During 2012-2013, he worked, as the Arts Office Assistant, in the Community and Culture Department of the Galway City Council. Currently he works for the Galway Education Centre and is the webmaster and editor of www.artsingalway.com and Managing Editor of The Galway Review, (www.thegalwayreview.com))

The Best Poem Of Ndrek Gjini

How To Read The Wind

How To Read The Wind

My mother did not die of old age,
nor did any illness lay her low in bed.
Her worries for us, the fugitives,
broke her heart,
and one day she decided
to not breathe anymore.

Her last breath became wind,
and it's blowing wild
on this November day,
whistling and singing to my ears,
sometimes as a lullaby,
other times a lament.
And very often her voice in the wind
says to me:
‘Why so late my son? ’

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