Already, at the age of three, the author of these lines was remarkable: he'd make a portrait of the concierge as an Aunt Sally, earthenware color, mouth wide open, at the moment wh
the Visigoth with a face of wisteria the only pincers needed unthreading the lightening comes preserved in the snow with shell-like hands and words which blow on daybreak until the
* My eyes, dense night where you alone drink. My eyes, garden of sand where you alone whisper My eyes, windows open wide where you alone cry out. My eyes, abandoned port where you
Bitter Grass is Gëzim Hajdari’s second bilingual, English-Italian collection of poetry, this time in Ian Seed’s translation, following Stigmata, translated by Cristina Viti an
