Masiela Lusha

Rookie (23 October 1985-? / Tirana, Albania)

Masiela Lusha Poems

41. A Translation Of Mother Theresa's Poem, 'Life' 7/30/2006
42. A Man Of Forty 7/10/2006
43. Call Us Women 7/10/2006

Comments about Masiela Lusha

  • Michael Shepherd (7/11/2006 6:22:00 AM)

    Masiela, welcome to Poemhunter, this wonderful mixture of 'poetry' of every conceivable sort!
    If these poems were indeed written when you were twelve, then they and you are truly remarkable.
    I'm guessing that they were primarily 'thought' in eloquent Albanian, and then translated by yourself or another. They have an attractive poetic 'address', and a natural drama that freshens poetry.So there are nice 'surprises' of the unexpected word in English - and also several awkwardnesses of phrasing, 'dictionary English'.
    I think you might consider revising them (certainly not scrapping) later on when you have time.
    I'm guessing that you were well taught in grammar and expression, and that you have read Rilke with admiration, and perhaps Pablo Neruda.
    At the moment, I admire Roma I for its Rilke-like conspectus, and Gravestones for its straightforwardness and wise ending. And A Man of Forty is a touching empathy.

    I hope we shall hear more from you. And would you like to correct the too many errors of transcription? And perhaps date your poems, so that we can appreciate what we hope will be a continuing development?

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Best Poem of Masiela Lusha

Call Us Women

All you men...
What lies in your fists?

In your eyes,
Tongue,
& Mind?

Your packs of gods
Offer drops of life,
& we women
Carry it,
Bake it
& endure it
Until it becomes
A seed of heaven,

Which we fed with our mouth,
Caressed with our blood,
& heard its bubbling songs
of life
Through our skin.

Your bellies,
Which lounge gods of Men,
Of changing passion
& rage,

Can never churn
The weight of a shell
Into a breathing being as powerful
As yourself.

It was bestowed upon us,
Because ...

Read the full of Call Us Women

Drinking The Moon

I have planned and dreamt of this trophy of gold,
The halo of silver, around in which it molds.
I have cradles this idea and nursed it to true plan,
I have fed it seeds of confidence, O this is so grand!

How lofty atop your kingdom's throne you rest,
Pray, dim these stars, for (alone) your grace shines best.
No cloud can cloak your clean face of white,
For however masked, somehow, somewhere, you glow so bright!

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