WomanII-1.jpg (150×225)I am a believer, a stitcher of dreams, mother, wife, sister, and friend. Though a Jack of many trades and a master of only some, I love what I do.

I may no longer be headlines, but I am no ghost. I am a woman, a witness, a survivor, a loaded canon, a loosened noose. Once again I will outlive you, shake you off like dust from my apron, and move on. 

Më quajnë Jonida Beqo, por shumë më njohin si Gypsee Yo, gjysma ime poetike.  Jam poete, aktore, drejtuese lëvizjeje, dizajner dhe aktiviste.

Autobiography - Gypsee Yo 

 

25 Komente

 Pse e solle kete teme Monde, apo per solidaritet racor...

? Cfare race qenka Monda dhe Jonida?

alidems, nisur nga videoja ne youtube.  Me vjen keq qe s'e gjej dot tekstin.  

 Fucking gorgeous. A knew the name, but not the poetry.

"Do të kuptojnë se për ta, për brezat e ardhshëm, bëj betejat kundër gënjeshtrave, mashtrimeve, padrejtësive, korrupsionit, dhunës e dhunëtarëve. Dëshiroj që ata, brezat e ardhshëm, të mos jetojnë me gënjeshtra, e ndër gënjeshtra, mashtrime, padrejtësi, korrupsion, dhunë si ne, sot dhe deri sot".
 

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SK3nqACtmk

 

“Ema's Song”
Jonida Beqo

Last night I felt you move
Like time
Like a spiral staircase in the eye of the storm
and I stood still and listened in the dark
to a peculiar thing
5 inches above my belly button
there’s a heartbeat
3 inches below there’s another one
tied up to my belly button by a cord of hope
my child 

my child 
you come from a long line of against all odds
you were conceived on your grandparents bed
in our old country, Albania
at a time when wars had ceased to be fought
but the wounds still oozed dark blood
beneath cracked foundations of pyramid scheme hopes
and your father and I took a brief flight back
to be reminded of what still hurts us
and haunts us what was lost

it was a bitter winter

one night there was no electricity or heat
so your father and I went to bed early
and we sparked
like stone striking against stone
till the flame bursts into light
and we rested content in the heat
that unraveled from our souls
and cocooned into you
by the time I flew back to the states
my womb was the size of a grapefruit
so I smuggled you in through customs
like a rare and precious seed
tucked safely in the pink folds of my flesh

I came home and took a home pregnancy test
It said to wait 3 min but I had no watch
So I spoke a slam poem to my image in the mirror
While awaiting the scarlet thread of my hope
To appear in the little plastic window

When it did
I believed in God and grace

For you are not what I deserve for my past

It is a peculiar thing
to have wrestled with words
all the days of my existence
And to suddenly find rest
When you move
Like time
Like a tide
tied up and carved out of my womb
A poem of flesh and bones
Perfectly woven in two tongues
With nothing lacking in context
No language barriers to overcome
A manifesto and a sonnet
An anthem and a psalm

My child,
I pray you live a life of words well kept and truths unbroken
Earn a name that is not misspelled or misspoken
Love all souls the same and owe nothing to none
Know its power but never use a gun
Judge people like a blind man
By the shape of their speech
Than smile to the ones with accents for they are your kin
Pilgrims and strangers in this world not worthy of them
They all were once just like you
citizens of the womb
so never despise hands that work and brows that sweat
to the orphan be a sister
To the widow be a daughter
Speak up for who doesn’t speak English
Stand up for the weak in the playground
be blind to fear and bold to shine
may your lip quiver at the sight of beauty
and your eyes not blink at the face of tyranny
may your virtue be fierce and your honesty and unmoved
may your anger be barren and your grace abound
Pray when you lack wisdom
Sing when you’re afraid
love at all cost
Listen to prophets and poets
Love books and beauty
abhor evil and lies
Always remember to be a child
Answer the door when God knocks in your heart
When in doubt the blood will lead you home
Trust in it
and you’ll stand approved before the righteous throne

live for what matters
die for what is right

be a poem
they all inspire to write

be a poem
that all will know by heart

when you are gone

and your three minutes are up.

Alone, shume flm smiley.

PS: Alidems, titulli i ketij posti shkurt mund te kishte qene "Our Maya Angelou" smiley

Monda, Maya Angelou ben poezi, edhe kur ben proze.

My loss entirely.

pashe videon e pare. jam kunder vjershave patetike ne menyre enciklopedike, me duket se s'i bejne nder as poezise, as enciklopedise, dhe i ndihmojne ceshtjes deri ne piken qe lexuesi/degjuesi fillon bezdiset nga pesha e kamionit qe i derdhet siper dhe menyra ashiqare e manipulimit emocional. loja si aktore ishte pak te thuash e dyshimte.

ne stil krijues me kujtoi pak franca ramen, por per mua franca eshte filozofikisht dhe estetikisht ku e ku.

monda ma bej hallall.

 Interesant kjo bezdisja nga manipulimi emocional. A thua se mund t'i shpetojme manipulimit, apo a thua se manipulimi cerebral eshte me pak i bezdisshem?

Lulo, mqse jemi aty ku asnjoni nuk ka meter e mase ne dore, me lejo te te pys c'mendon per ket numer ktu? Dmth si e gjen, a ka ndonje rendim te muhabetit me naj ven...

 Lozonjare, muzike pa kufinj, e kendshme me kende te harkuar, theks shkodran i thekur por frengjishte me frak te ngushte ne gryke. Keto jane gjojnat qe me vijne ne mendje, emo, plus banda fantastike dhe Elsa mbreterore. Cfare zeri! Cfare femre!

Good. Kjo me shpjegon ne menyren e vet edhe vleresimin tend per materialin e sjelle ne kete teme.

 Emo, t'i s'me the ca mendove per kete Gypsee Yo-ne?

Oh, nothing much, Lul. Me kujton nje recituese ne kohera te vjetra qe fitonte gjithnje ne konkurset e TV-se, Alma Papamihali quhej.

 Oh come on, Emo, jo kaq pa kriter krahasimet:

Diku veç në tavolinën
Me mbulesë të bardhë shtruar,
Birrë të  huaj ke përpara
Dhe një pamje të menduar.
 
Diku veç në tavolinën
Në një qoshe të lokalit,
Shokun  tënd se ke përballë
Pi vetmuar ti prej hallit.
 
Diku veç në tavolinën
Në një lagje të panjohur,
Gjithçka  është akull e ftohtë
Vetëm birra është e ngrohur.
 
Diku veç në tavolinën,
Që të bën ty shoqëri
Gotën s´di ku  t´a trokasësh,
Tavolina s´është njeri.

S'ka asnje lidhje njera me tjetren. Ti nuk e ke idene sa ziliqar me ben vetem ky varg: "you come from a long line of against all odds." Do doja ta kisha shkrujt vet.

s'di ca me te thene, Lul. Ate punen e te kujtuarit e kisha per atmosferen e mbushur me molekula xixa xixa pathosi. OK, po sikur te them dicka per atmosferen qe krijon reshat arbana kur reciton ali asllanin ... ashu mbase do me marresh vesh me mire c'dua te them. Amon se goca ishte nga atlanta, mos gaboj, dhe mund qe na priten rrugen naj dite - kom shpin atje, pranej them - cne me lazem. do doja shume te me pelqente, kupton, por ka dicka prej perpjekje me patjeter per shock and awe, dicka prej James Brown qe donte ta merrte publikun qe me 4-5 notat e para te kenges, tamam arsyeja qe pse edhe James Brown nuk para me ngjit (edhe ai nga GA btw).

I feel good, I knew that I would... smiley

 

me kujtove nje zen master qe per nje seance 30 minuteshe me ulerinte, vertet ulerinte, qe une ca gjera s'kisha per t'i kuptuar dot sepse doja patjeter t'i kuptoja intelektualisht.

nuk mendoj se mund t'i shpetojme manipulimit, madje mendoj se arti eshte nje forme superiore manipulimi, nje forme qe s'te godet vetem ne stomak, por edhe ne sy, ne veshe, e ne intelekt. megjithate, per artin do te parapelqeja fjalen ndikim me teper se manipulim, sepse manipulimi eshte pikerisht ai qe nuk te perfshin si qenie te plote, por qe e terheq qenien tende vetem prej njerit vesh per tek rreshtimi ne kolone.

me siper permenda franca ramen si shembull te nje artisteje qe e perdor kushtezimin emocional nepermjet tragjedise personale per te punuar edhe me temen, edhe me perjetimin skenik te temes, edhe me intelektin e publikut.

me fal lulian se kisha dhe ca shpjegime te tjera por jam vone per diku.

Jo mi zemer, c'ka per hallall smiley.

Pune energjie, my gain is somebody's else loss smiley

PS: S'kam kohe tani, por kur te kesh, hidhi nje sy "slam poetry".

Great ( concept and composition)  picture on her page, intriguing description, s'pata kohe t'i lexoj poezite, degjova pak nga ajo videoja enciklo-ulerrime-tonjese qe ka vene Monda si link dhe s'e cova dot deri ne fund...read Trop above for more on this, ose shiko shembullin e celebrimit te feminizmit duke protestuar per kutine.

But def. someone to come back at, te pakten per ti lexuar poezite, se tani s'kam kohe.

Good luck Jonida, and thx Monda qe e prure ne vemendje.

 Mua ky vetprezantimi me kujtoi pak Kocin e teto Lefkes

...bej zhaba ne allci dhe kuaj ne cizme meksikane... smiley

 Emo, pathosin nuk e mohoj, por shiko ne eshte molekula xixa xixa, apo tjeter lloj atmosfere:

"a spiral staircase in the eye of the storm
and I stood still and listened in the dark"

"you come from a long line of against all odds"

"a time when wars had ceased to be fought
but the wounds still oozed dark blood
beneath cracked foundations"

"it was a bitter winter

one night"

"we sparked
like stone striking against stone
till the flame bursts into light"

"a rare and precious seed
tucked safely in the pink folds of my flesh"

This is language in becoming, em:

"It is a peculiar thing
to have wrestled with words
all the days of my existence
And to suddenly find rest
When you move
Like time
Like a tide
tied up and carved out of my womb
A poem of flesh and bones
Perfectly woven in two tongues
With nothing lacking in context
No language barriers to overcome
A manifesto and a sonnet
An anthem and a psalm"

And on, and on the epic atmosphere, forging flesh onto word and word onto flesh as if in some half god half warrior orator from Homer, until

"you’ll stand approved before the righteous throne"

Mund te vazhdoj, but i think you get the idea. This is the pathos of epic story-telling, man. I don't see nothing funky.

Ama e cuditshme se si e njejta poezi te ngjalle dy atmosfera kaq te ndryshme sa "funk" and "epic."

Tek Video me pelqeu, edhe interpretimi..

she sounds like a church goer or a minister's wife or smth, nonetheles impressive at what she does, and happy to have her.

Për të komentuar tek Peshku pa ujë, ju duhet të identifikoheni ose të regjistroheni (regjistrimi është falas).