Irsa Ruçi is an Albanian Writer, Speechwriter and Lecturer. She was born in Tirana (Albania), in 1990. Her books of poetry include Trokas mbi ajër (poems and essays), 2008 and Pështjellim (poetry), 2010. So far in 2016, her work has appeared in more than 70 print and online national and international magazines and anthologies. Among many awards, she has received the first prize in poetry, in competition “Anthology 2007”, as the best poet in Albania. A recent interview she did with Walking Is Still Honest Press can be read here.
The fragile heart of the poet, the love that hath flair…
Poets create special words which contain a power that can heal souls. They breathe between thoughts, view the world through the eyes of feelings, and understand reality as perceived by pure ideals that are born with intensity. They are the only beings who, like turtles holding their shells, keep upon their shoulders the weight of their strings and verses.
A poem is the product of frenzied emotions crashing through billows of truth, as a whirlwind swirls between rampant imagination, exceeding seven mountains and swimming across the seven seas. A poet does not live in time, does not recognize the conditions of physical space; they are racers upon the track of their own madness. Not content to talk about the ordinary aspects of existence and the common monotonies of life, the poet spreads wide their wings to soar with the wind and touch the heights of freedom; they see daily life as a reflex of wishes on which are built the foundations of humanism.
The love of a poet is the pure light that drips from the sky to ignite all the stars within the spirit of each being that is touched; for them, Prometheus stole the fire of love, burning with an intense passion that became divine, never extinguishing through the ages. This torch of flames was donated to the world so as to warm hearts with the most magical feelings of perception; thus was inherited the “hunger for love” in the form of this first legend with which mankind originated.
They sanctify the flesh of the person whom they adore; they kneel down and worship at the altar of the lover who has kidnapped their soul, performing a ceremony meant to enshrine immortality; they perpetuate between strings the name that has been carved in the crust of their heart. If you love a poet, you will be gifted a convoy of lines that flow toward the gates of eternity … exactly to this point, a poet, when in love, does not talk about life in this world, but rather that of the eternal journey which the spirit follows. This highest form of bliss is blessed by these angels that have come down from heaven to dwell upon the earth; from them is born the light that opens up the magic of love which penetrates down to the very marrow of bone-warming sensations.
They love each other like a cult; they sense holiness at the core of the other’s life, and so spend the hours of each day watering the seeds of their time spent together so as to cultivate and enhance the conditions of their shared future with absolute dedication and selflessness.
Poets are constantly in search of life’s highest ideal, that elusive particle of perfection which, when found, they preserve like the treasure of human breath. They can often become desperate when unable to find in the sediment of reality the absolute beauty that they see through the eyes of poetry.
Two poets in love live to share the holy spirit together, to breathe in synchronized rhythm upon this land at the peak of happiness that springs up in their chests and touches every sense, burning ever-hotter, pleading to connect with one another with the strength of magnetic attraction. They sing melodies of contentment in the realms of heaven for those who sow the fields of paradise on earth.
Poets are mad in their idealism, they are wise in their sophism, they are free in their poetry, they are imprisoned deeply in their love, they are just as mortal as anyone else on this earth, and yet they are also enshrined eternally through their verses that get left behind.
The love felt among poets is magical, almost having no relation to reality. Events between them do not take place on earth, feelings do not flourish with the rhythms of normalcy; everything is a grove of angels filled with the fruit of paradise, inspired by the sacred scent of flowers that bloom anew in each season, blessed by the hand of God centuries ago when their souls were originally connected together in an unstoppable way. This supernatural merger causes them, throughout each epoch, to seek each other again and again, to look always in each lifetime for the resonating source that wrote and wove their destinies together while still granting them freewill in this world to once more locate their similar half. They find their soulmate, even while drunk from each other’s verses. While reading each other’s poems, the lofty sky of their heart is revealed upon the earth, and meanwhile the purity of their motive flows smoothly like honey from the love they feel within.
The love between two poets is an inextinguishable volcano which creates from scratch the ignition of humanity’s purpose with the same force every new millennium. Their love is illuminated with an intensity that can never be erased; they live to be immortalized in the sanctification of each other’s love…
Love among poets is the greatest truth that has been given to mankind!
Because of the pure heart of a poet, poetry of love is born in the world!
You create love from the foundation,
sanctifying the word with a new dimension,
haunting the trails where your reflex
catches the light that emanates from my eyes.
You are the spring that I birth with a single breath
while morning dew still sits on my eyes.
Pollen spreads over fields that boom with your presence;
you are everything nature perfected, creating the motive of dreams.
Thinking of you, the world shrinks into a tear
that stems from the eyes of joy;
I call you, and each wave of the sea provides strength for the soul;
you have forever been my saga of salvation;
I seek you, dipping into the garden of paradise
where the blessed fruit of angels is held in their hands;
come and bite these traces of love
that are born in an instant, never to be quenched.
You are the word that writes the future as a poem,
and I am a silver cup from which you drink wine.
The heat of thoughts were lit upon the hearth of life
when God knit our destinies with archers,
and, in that magic moment, we sang to hope.
I cook my feelings only for your heart
and feed them with honey that flows from love;
because when I whisper your name
my soul transcends the scales of eternity.
When your voice is singing with love
the walls of this world collapse
and build new connections without borders
a place where peace prevails throughout the land
and people speak through song
to fall in love from the first verse of poetry
When your voice is singing with love
birds gather atop wires in the choir
and whisper a few words in your ear,
helping to compose serenades for your spouse:
And when your voice is singing with love
I feel the breeze of spring
and I close my eyes to hear your heart call my name.
6000 milliard tons this earth weighs
but now that I have you in my heart
the weight of the soil is only a feather in the air,
incomparable to the weight of our love.
That same power which erupted
to create the earth 4.57 billion years ago
was instantly recognized anew by our eyes
when reading the first poems of love.