In memoriam - For the poet, writer and researcher Koçi Petriti

2025-04-20 19:34:00, Opinione Edion Petriti

In memoriam - For the poet, writer and researcher Koçi Petriti
Today we remember the poet, writer and researcher Koçi Petriti, on the 11th anniversary of his passing .

He was born in Sovjan, Korça, on March 1, 1941. He began writing poetry and publishing at a young age. He began his studies at the Faculty of History and Philology, University of Tirana .

He has published the following poetry books: May Lyrics (1962); Again on the Road (1967); Signature of My People (1974); Prush pirënësështë (1979); Lulëkuqet (Prishtinë, 1985); Të marsënova ty (1988); Poezia albanipe 36 (1989); May Lyrics (reprinted with changes, 2002); Album of Lyrics (2004); Poezi të tështëra (2006); Lyrika (2010); Ballads (2010); Nga dolëv ime dalin zogj (2011).

From the books with studies, essays and teaching alternatives we mention: In the poetics of Martin Camaj (1997); Poetic Word, Pandora's Box (2008); Challenging Communication. The Poetic World (2009).

In the years 1992-1994 he was the dean of the Faculty of History and Philology, University of Tirana. From 1994 he continued to work as a lecturer in this faculty and later, as an external lecturer in the Faculty of Education and Philology, at the "Fan Noli" University of Korça.

He passed away on April 20, 2014.

The corner of the swamp cries
In the sleeve of the grove, where the sedges often come,
I take the hook and cut the fronds,
When the moon, like a maid, who hides her breast with shame,
Sprinkles the lawns with light.
Click-click, click-click, with fragile cries
The corner of the swamp cries,
The fleeting shakes the willow and willow slippers,
I dissolve dreams among the waters.
As I try to throw the hook on the pure face,
Under the gathered legs of the sedge,
Like a fairy-tale sedge with an alabaster body,
A face appeared to me and disappeared.
You do not make me sleep on the banks of life,
A voice shook me from the bottom,
Click-click cried the corner of the swamp,
Only the beautiful sedge does not come anymore.

Korça, December 17, 1962

childhood

I often sit and scratch the wounds deep within me,
The Versniks often come to mind.
For corn bread we at the "Death Oven"
In line we bitterly ate our childhood.
We did not know the meaning of "Death Oven",
Because we were not so much knowledgeable as hungry,
But when we fell asleep without eating
We thought about the future as adults.

April 8, 1963

We all know it.

We all know: the last kiss
Is given to us by our enemy, death.
It hears neither pleas nor prayers,
It treads over victory and defeat
And runs like a maid in her prime.
We all know, we all know,
We never wait until our turn comes.
The future opens its breast like a maid,
We climb the ladder and grasp the universe
And we do not ask if one day we will descend.
Come, you gray-haired one, who holds the reins in your hands,
Do not lie to yourself that worries close by themselves,
It is not right for an old man to wait on his knees
Mourning the past honey
Until your cup of life is empty.