Fatmir Terziu – Three Poems

fatFatmir Terziu lives in London, UK. He holds a PhD degree in Cultural Studies from the London South Bank University.
He is an academic, writer and filmmaker. He is author of many books of poetry, short stories, and essays. His documentaries such as Pencil and Computer and One Egg are selected for BBC.
Fatmir Terziu is known in the UK for his essay, Parametric Narration in Norman Wisdom’s Films, written in 2007. This essay was one that helped shift the orientation of film theory towards a study into the parametric narration of Norman Wisdom’s films.

The church of the eyes

Those just out of the egg,
The confused yellowings
Open their wings, take an unreasoned stance,
Only their mothers understand them.

They open their light wings
Over fleshy bodies, carefully breathing.
Pressed against the blossoming buds,
The rose petals
Guarded by the thorns.

The aroma of the flowers, the varied colours, everything
Embraces the reason of love in the church of the eyes;
the prayers have started.

In the garden, the last preparations are performed
By all the living things,
It is the time of multiplications
And love has raised its head.

Over newly blossomed roses
Where the buds shade the egg hatchlings
A snake slithers towards the nest
Aiming to end
the newly born dreams.

The thorns are privy to the wrath of the sun,
Bringing from above the whole curse of the sky.
The feast restarts soon,
When the snake fleetingly burns in flame.


I would have wanted for us to iron our thoughts together,
When the rebelling angels catwalk amongst the icy clouds,
whilst promoting the required fashion,
as they give in to lust,
I would have desired to have been within the existence of the word
Where the Earth holds us in her soul,
Where the sun and rain have fed everything:
centuries, years, months, days,
the trees of the erased goodness,
and love is transformed
into a house where spiders are entertained
whilst being anointed with an orgasm.
But you were, and I think you felt, bad,
You pushed me away slowly and slightly every day.
The collected thoughts of your pockets,
Under the force of the unremembered word,
The hope of life evaporated,
The noisy offices had no order,
because some breathing occurs that is stifled
by the evil of the world,
and some expensive thoughts are not just
for the eyes of the World…
Ah, even you had become privy with the officials,
Orphaned thoughts crawled from plaza to plaza,
Saying that someone had left your rope outside,
As he wanted everything to go sour…

Advert for the Father-land

What could I tell a Londoner about the Fatherland? The adverts
Are copies of the unscrupulous inscriptions in tombstones,
Just as we are copies of the bestial goods,
Of our egoistic laughable thoughts,
Like fortune-telling using broken coffee-cups
which contain pieces of the phantasmagoric fates of our fear,
The yellow pages of history.
What could I draw to the attention of a Londoner,
The early flight of the sleeping thoughts,
I pity the forgotten contemplation,
I fear the future views,
The never-formed ideas stir my soul,
Six hundred years have I been drinking from the sea of thought.
I shrink in spirit, shy away from walking the streets,
Hide amongst the whispers,
The adverts of the land, adverts for the Father-land,
Advice about unbrushed teeth,
Instructions about uncut nails,
Adverts for baby nappies, adverts for Mercedes,
Adverts for slimming pills, packets for slimming belts,
What could I say about the Fatherland to a Londoner…



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