Irma Kurti is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She is a naturalized Italian and lives in Bergamo, Italy. All her books are dedicated to the memory of her beloved parents, Hasan Kurti and Sherife Mezini, who have supported and encouraged every step of her literary path.
Kurti has also won numerous literary prizes and awards in Italy and Italian Switzerland. She was awarded the Universum Donna International Prize IX Edition 2013 for Literature and received a lifetime nomination as an Ambassador of Peace by the University of Peace, Italian Switzerland.
In 2020, she became the honorary president of WikiPoesia, the encyclopedia of poetry. In 2021, she was awarded the title of Liria (Freedom) by the Italian-Albanian community in Italy. In 2022, she was also nominated as the Albanian ambassador to the International Academic Award of Contemporary Literature Seneca of the Academy of Philosophical Arts and Sciences, Bari.
Irma Kurti is a member of the jury for several literary competitions in Italy. She is also a translator for the Ithaca Foundation in Spain.
Irma Kurti has published 26 books in Albanian, 21 in Italian, 14 in English, and two in French. She has written approximately 150 lyrics for adults and children. She has also translated 14 books by different authors, and all of her own books into Italian and English.
Irma Kurti is one of the most translated and published Albanian poets. Her books have been published in the United States, Canada, France, Italy, Romania, Turkey, Kosovo, the Philippines, Cameroon, India, Chile, and Serbia.
ONE WORD
Often, one word is more than enough
to warm your body as if by magic,
making anxiety, that rigid piece of ice,
melt and flow away like a stream.
A word, then the waves of sadness
in one minute change into bubbles.
Your shy smile is a ray of sunshine
that soon breaks through the clouds.
One word is enough . . . but strangely,
even that the people don’t want to say.
A POEM ON THE WALLS
I would like to write a poem on the
damp and ancient walls of my city,
people always run, time challenges
their steps with such great speed.
I’d like to write some verses, to be
enjoyed while smoking a cigarette,
to be read while sipping coffee,
a line in one’s mind will remain.
A short poem whose every verse
highlights the joy, light, and love,
awakening the people and the cold
city walls from their long slumber.
THE SAME COIN
You have leaned on my shoulder
and cried for months and years,
you sprayed my days with poison,
I could never live my own bliss.
I understood too late: my life
no, didn’t interest you at all,
my afflictions went in your ear
and out the other, of course.
You forgot the time I dedicated,
around you this world revolved.
If all I did wasn’t worth it,
I’ll use with you the same coin.
THE SUN IS TURNED OFF
The quietness invades my body,
strangely, I hear no sound.
No shouts coming from the present,
not one memory in my mind.
Not a cloud hangs on the horizon;
the sun is turned off;
no one can rescue me
from this darkness where I’m lost.
I can’t find the strength even to ask
if these days I’m living at all;
does anyone see and touch me?
can anybody hear my call?
No one sends a single message.
My phone seems to be dead.
I can’t tell if it’s day or night.
I don’t know when I am awake.
THE SUN IS TURNED OFF
The quietness invades my body,
strangely, I hear no sound.
No shouts coming from the present,
not one memory in my mind.
Not a cloud hangs on the horizon;
the sun is turned off;
no one can rescue me
from this darkness where I’m lost.
I can’t find the strength even to ask
if these days I’m living at all;
does anyone see and touch me?
can anybody hear my call?
No one sends a single message.
My phone seems to be dead.
I can’t tell if it’s day or night.
I don’t know when I am awake.
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