Na aanleiding van Louis se Nuuswekkers oor Albaniese digters enkele weke gelede, lees ek onlangs die aangrypende verhaal van nog ’n Albaniese digter, Flora Brovina, wat in Kosova woon. Sy het slegs drie digbundels die lig laat sien en was veral bekend as ’n aktivis vir vroue-regte. Sy studeer medies en spesialiseer as ’n pediater in Zagreb. Sy gaan werk by die Prishtina Algemene Hospitaal. Sy skryf dikwels oor die vrou as ma en haar rol in die samelewing, asook verse wat kommentaar lewer op die politieke onrus.
Toe die politieke situasie in Kosova al hoe meer ontaard in gevegte in die negentigerjare, het Flora Brovina na talle weeskinders omgesien wie se ouers in gevegte omgekom het. Maar op 20 April 1999 tydens die Kosova oorlog, word sy ontvoer deur agt gemaskerde Serwiese soldate na ’n onbekende plek. Haar seun, wat toe ‘n student in Amerika was, kontak die skrywersvereniging PEN sodat haar ontvoering wêreldwyd bekend gemaak word. Sy word oorgeplaas na ’n Serwiese tronk in Pozharevac en was hier in detensie gehou waar sy vir meer as 200 ure lank in 18 afsonderlike sessies ondervra is. Sy is fisies en emosioneel gemartel. Op 9 Desember 1999, word sy in ’n hofsaak beskuldig van terrorisme en moes meer as ’n jaar lank in die Serwiese gevangenis deurbring voordat sy vrygelaat word as gevolg van internasionale druk. Gedurende die hofsaak het Brovina ‘n lang pleidooi gelewer. Hier volg slegs ‘n klein gedeelte daaruit: “I have dedicated my whole life to children, and children do not choose their ethnic origins, children do not know what ethnic group they belong to if their parents do not tell them. […] My objective has been to dedicate myself as a doctor, as a poet and as a women to the emancipation of Albanian women, to their awareness and to human rights for women in general. […] I am very saddened that the court underestimates the role of women in the world. It is very important that women enjoy equality with men. I will never give up fighting for the rights of women. The court has accused me of having fought for the secession of Kosova and for its annexation to Albania. Let me repeat: my country is where my friends are and where my poems are read.”
Wat van Flora geword het, weet ek nie en of sy soms gedigte maak weet ek ook nie. Sou hierdie ervaring dalk te traumaties gewees het vir haar om weer te skryf? Waarom dan slegs drie bundels? Haar derde digbundel wat in 1995 gepubliseer is, word beskou as “the most compelling and impressive of her volumes. Mat e çmat appeared at a time when Kosova was obviously and perhaps inevitably gravitating towards war. Though this third collection cannot be interpreted as political verse to any great extent – too personal, maternal and feminist is the world of Flora Brovina -, there are many poems in the volume which reflect her preoccupation not only with the problems and aspirations of individuals, but also with the fate of her people, with freedom and self-determination.” Lees meer oor haar hier.
Hoewel sy nooit in die hoofstroom van wêreldletterkunde bekend geraak het nie, het daar wel ’n versameling van haar verse verse in Engels verskyn: Flora Brovina, Call me by my Name, Poetry from Kosova in a bilingual Albanian-English Edition, vertaal deur Robert Elsie, New York.
Hieronder volg een van haar vertaalde gedigte. Lekker lees en geniet jou dag.
MJ
Dimension
With the tape it measures,
And with the tape it measures
My waist and right arm,
With the tape it measures,
Crawling up my spine,
Rib for rib
As I stand erect,
And with the tape it measures
My long hair and bare shoulders,
Taking a furtive glance of toes
On naked feet,
With the tape it measures
Droplets slithering down my body,
Down my brow and down my cheeks,
I stay put
I don’t go out, I don’t go in,
I don’t go out, I don’t go in,
And with the tape it measures
My bare physique,
My stubby limbs,
No, please, not the head,
And with the tape it measures,
Overlooking nothing,
Missing not a hair,
It puts a noose around my neck
To fashion me a collar
And makes me clothes to its dimensions,
Soaking wet I shiver,
With the tape it measures,
And with the tape it measures,
Nothing can I conceal from it
Neither brow, nor curves, nor belly,
Neither fever, nor blood, nor sweat,
It sees it all,
My whole physique, oh,
But not the tears
Below the lashes, no,
For these there is no tape,
And so the clothes will not be fashioned
To its own dimensions.
[Përmasë, uit die bundel Mat e çmat, Prishtina: Rilindja 1995, p. 79, uit Albanees vertaal deur Robert Elsie en opgeneem in Flora Brovina, Call me by my name, Poetry from Kosova in a bilingual Albanian-English edition, New York: Gjonlekaj 2001]