Asdreni (1872-1947), pseudonym of Aleks Stavre Drenova<\/em>, was born in the village of Drenova, about five kilometers from Kor\u00e7a in southeastern Albania. He attended a Greek-language elementary school in his native village and had just begun high school in Kor\u00e7a when his widowed father died, leaving the thirteen-year-old Aleks an orphan. In the autumn of 1885, the young Aleks arrived in Bucharest (Romania) to join his two elder brothers. It was here in the culturally active Albanian colony that he first came into contact with the ideas and ideals of the nationalist movement in exile. Asdreni worked initially as a coal-boy and an apprentice, and later continued his studies, both privately, and for a short time at the Faculty of Political Science of the University of Bucharest. In 1905, he taught at an Albanian school in the port city of Constanza and the following year became president of the new Bucharest chapter of the Dija <\/em>(Knowledge) society , originally founded in Vienna. Inspired by the creation of an independent Albanian state, he set off for Durr\u00ebs on the Adriatic in the spring of 1914 to welcome the country\u2019s newly chosen head of state, Prince Wilhelm zu Wied (1876-1945) , from whom he hoped to obtain an appointment as archivist in the new royal administration. It soon became apparent, however, that there would be little to administer and no need for his services at all. After a short visit to Shkodra, Asdreni returned to Bucharest in July 1914 as Europe prepared for war. In the following years, Asdreni continued to take an active interest in the Albanian national movement. He chose nonetheless to remain in Romania, and served there as secretary at the Albanian consulate which opened in March 1922. He made another visit to Albania in November 1937 on the twenty-fifth anniversary of independence, hoping after many years of service to the Albanian state to receive a government pension, but to no avail. He died in poverty on 11\u00a0December 1947 at the age of seventy-five.<\/p>\n

It was in the early years of the twentieth century that Asdreni had begun writing poetry and publishing articles in the local press. In 1904, he published his first collection of ninety-nine poems, R\u00e9z\u00e9 dj\u00e9lli<\/em>, Bucharest 1904 (Sunbeams), which he dedicated to the Albanian national hero Scanderbeg . Asdreni\u2019s second volume Endra e lote<\/em>, Bucharest 1912 (Dreams and tears), published eight years later, displayed much greater maturity. This collection of ninety-nine poems, like the previous one, was divided into the cycles: fatherland, nature, thought and beauty, and was dedicated to the English traveller and friend of Albania, Edith Durham (1863-1944). The improvement in form, style and technique and the broadening of the range of themes and ideas are even more evident in Asdreni\u2019s third volume of verse, Psallme murgu<\/em>, Bucharest 1930 (Psalms of a monk), which marks the zenith of his poetic creativity. Many consider the collection Psallme murgu<\/em> with its classical refinement to be one of the best volumes of Albanian verse published in the 20th century.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To the Adriatic<\/strong><\/p>\n

I have beheld you, Adriatic, I have beheld you,
\nA nymph from the twinkling heavens
\nSparkling with pearls, your breasts
\nHeaving gracefully like a sylph’s.<\/p>\n

I knelt before you as before a goddess,
\nAn apparition of untold beauty.
\nThe rapture I felt, I could not endure,
\nAnd departed, tears streaming down my cheeks.<\/p>\n

Like molten gold you shimmer,
\nA fabled palace full of magic,
\nYou sway like maidens in the meadow.<\/p>\n

Of youthful grace is your rise and fall,
\nSweet memories, a world of wonder
\nLike a vision of divinity itself.<\/p>\n

[Adriatikut<\/em>, written in December 1912, published in the volume Psallme murgu<\/em>, Bucharest 1930, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English by Robert Elsie in History of Albanian literature<\/em>, New York 1995, vol.\u00a01, p.\u00a0362-363]<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Forgotten Memories<\/strong><\/p>\n

Where can I find you, oh companions of my youth,
\nThat I might once more enjoy that beloved time,
\nMoments which filled us with such delight
\nWhen we played and frolicked in mirth sublime?<\/p>\n

Not a drop of sorrow did we feel in our souls,
\nOur hearts were so fully transfixed by the spring,
\nLittle did we know that our lives would be sad,
\nAnd lost youth would nevermore joy to us bring.<\/p>\n

Like the autumn leaves which the wind doth chase
\nLike a fleeting moment of glee which escapes,
\nOr a summer night’s dream that veils its trace,<\/p>\n

You can sense, you can see how our elusive hopes
\nBrought surprising delights to us now and again,
\nLike the rays of the moon glowing on a parched plain!<\/p>\n

[Kujtime t\u00eb shkuara<\/em>, from the volume Psallme Murgu<\/em>, Bucharest 1930. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Oracle of Dodona<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the sombre woods of ancient Dodona
\nWas a Dorian temple by expert hand built,
\nNo other in this world could compare to its beauty,
\nSurrounded by statues of silver and gilt.<\/p>\n

Laden with gifts appeared kings from afar
\nTo honour the priestess, her speech divining,
\nLike hermits they huddled in fasting and prayer
\nAwaiting their fate, outside they were pining.<\/p>\n

But fate and the future have eyes unbound,
\nAnd lots when cast can quickly turn round,
\nA word is enough, if sent from the heavens…<\/p>\n

How many thrones have been toppled and tossed,
\nAnd how many leaders’ minds have been lost
\nFor failing to heed that old woman’s words.<\/p>\n

[Fjala e Dodon\u00ebs<\/em>, from the volume Psallme Murgu<\/em>, Bucharest 1930. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Flute<\/strong><\/p>\n

Oh flute, I worship you with faith and longing
\nFor I was raised, the consort of your trill divine
\nfrom the time I was a lad,
\nYou poured dew into my soul,
\nAt the height of my joy, my feelings merged
\nin a tenderness rare.<\/p>\n

With you I felt an unslaked sense
\nOf love for Albanian soil
\nWhich remains day after day in my dreams,
\nWhen your sounds, the treasures of the past,
\nTraverse my mind like a summer’s breeze
\nAnd with deep ecstasy.<\/p>\n

When you speak to me and fill me,
\nUnending voices echo and swell
\nIn waves like a chorus of angels,
\nCompanions of the peaks, streams and hills,
\nFrom your lips flit fairies
\nAs if from some majestic palace.<\/p>\n

Like starlight and moonbeams in longing,
\nSparkling on the surface of the lake,
\nI quiver like a lover,
\nAs your words, harbingers of a message
\nFrom the Earthly Beauty, with fair tones,
\noffer us a breath of spring.<\/p>\n

Like the season which begins to blossom,
\nUnfolding its wide wings within our bosom
\nTo give us strength and divine grace,
\nSo do you lend the world a new face
\nAnd create around us a joyous choir
\nWhen your notes traverse the scales.<\/p>\n

With you does the shepherd climb to the mountain pastures
\nMoved by your magic melodies,
\nYour every fire melts his heart,
\nWith you do young lads take to the dance,
\nThrilled by your sacred songs of love
\nWelling anew within their breasts.<\/p>\n

Like tender leaves quivering in the wind
\nWhich in their rustling strike up a song
\nIn perfect harmony,
\nWhosoever hears your chant
\nRecalls forgotten memories
\nLike a symphony from the heavens.<\/p>\n

The farmer bent behind his plough
\nOr scything ripened sheaves of grain
\nKnows not why he slaves,
\nYet with you all his hardship dissolves
\nAs his thirst abates when he scoops
\nAnd drinks the waters of mountain springs.<\/p>\n

From ancient times our ancestors
\nBore you in their belts, sabres brandished,
\nSinging their fiery songs
\nAnd spreading courage in the thick of battle,
\nAlways were they rewarded for their toil,
\nAs was the legendary Alexander.<\/p>\n

With you did the goddess Minerva
\nWhile away the hours in delight,
\nUp on flashing Olympia
\nAnd the nymphs around her like tiny stars
\nIn the rhythmic pacing of the dance
\nTeased jealous Bacchus.<\/p>\n

Virgil, master and famed singer
\nOf ancient times, and Mozart –
\nWith you, they built their sacred altars,
\nWith you do nations dream,
\nNourished on lofty ideals
\nFrom a healing source.<\/p>\n

So many others have followed,
\nAs new tokens of progress,
\nWhich no one on earth can oppose,
\nTo you, poets will always weave hymns,
\nFor with your strength and courage, magic flute,
\nYou soar above them all.<\/p>\n

[Fyelli<\/em>, from the volume Psallme Murgu<\/em>, Bucharest 1930. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Oath to the Flag<\/strong>
\n(The Albanian National Anthem)<\/strong><\/p>\n

Around our flag we are united,
\nWith but one will and one desire,
\nA sacred oath are now proclaiming
\nFor our salvation to aspire,
\nMay only those avoid the struggle,
\nThose who are traitors to our laws,
\nUndaunted is a hero through and through,
\nHe dies a martyr to the cause.<\/p>\n

With weapons in our hands a-brandished,
\nWe will defend our fatherland,
\nOur sacred rights we\u2019ll not relinquish,
\nThe foe has no place in our land,
\nFor God has told the world, proclaiming:
\nThe nations of the earth shall wane,
\nAnd yet will live, will thrive Albania.
\nFor her our fight won\u2019t be in vain.<\/p>\n

Our flag, our nation\u2019s sacred symbol,
\nWe swear an oath to your fair name,
\nDefend our country, our Albania,
\nProtect her honour and her fame,
\nOur praise goes to those mighty heroes
\nWho in our nation\u2019s past did fall,
\nTheir memory will be cherished evermore,
\nIn life and death will they live all.<\/p>\n

[Asdreni, Betimi mi flamur<\/em>, 1907, from the volume \u00cbndrra e lot\u00eb<\/em> (Bucharest: Gutenberg, 1912). Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie. ]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Asdreni (1872-1947), pseudonym of Aleks Stavre Drenova, was born in the village of Drenova, about five kilometers from Kor\u00e7a in southeastern Albania. He attended a Greek-language elementary school in his native village and had just begun high school in Kor\u00e7a when his widowed father died, leaving the thirteen-year-old Aleks an orphan. In the autumn of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[70],"tags":[66],"class_list":["post-855","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-albanian-authors","tag-classical-authors-19th-early-20th-centuries"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/855","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=855"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/855\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":856,"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/855\/revisions\/856"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=855"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=855"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/en.shqipopedia.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=855"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}