Fatos Arapi is an Albanian poet, short story writer, translator and journalist, laureate of the Struga Poetry Evenings Golden Wreath Award for 2008.
Born in 1930 in the village of Zvërnec near Vlorë, he studied economics in Sofia, Bulgaria from 1949 to 1954, then started to work as a journalist in Tirana. He soon made a name for himself as a poet, and went on to work as a researcher for the History and Philology Department of Tirana University. He now lives in Tirana.
Never fearing innovation, despite the cultural isolation of his country, Arapi has been a pioneer of free verse and experimental poetry in 1960s Albanian literature. Born on the seaside, the maritime universe has always inspired his verses, as has Albania's troubled history. He has also written meditative poetry, love poems and elegies, with the eternal questions on life and death as a recurrent theme.
He translated into Albanian the works of poets such as Sapho, Pablo Neruda and Nikola Vaptsarov. He was the editor-in-chief of two anthologies: Songs of the Peoples and Anthology of Turkish Verse.
Poetry
Shtigjet poetike (Poetic Paths) 1962
Poema dhe vjersha (Poems and Verses) 1966
Ritme të hekura (Rhythms of Iron) 1968
Më jepni një emër (Give Me A Name), 1972 (later banned by Enver Hoxha's regime)
Gloria victis,1997
Eklipsi i endrrës (Solar Eclipse) 2002
Short stories
Patate e egra (Sour Potatoes)1970
Dikush më buzëqeshte (Someone Smiled At Me) 1972
Gjeniu pa kokë (Headless Genius) 1999
Plays
Partizani pa emër (The Anonymous Partisan) 1962
Qezari dhe ushtari i mirë Shvejk (Caesar and the Good Soldier Švejk) 1995
Those who have no food,
When they dream of food,
Let them think of you and me.
Those who have no fire,
When they dream of fire,
Let them think of you and me.
The insomniacs of this world
With their eyes wide open like the night,
In the depth of their nights,
Let them think of you and me.
Those who have perished
And who still love -
Let them think of you and me.
(1970)
...
Like the linden tree, words spread their fragrance through the twilight,
Deep in the words I have spoken,
As in the depths of the Ionian,
I see my face.
...
Little Mother
Mother has shrunk,
As if constantly stooping,
My heart quivers,
So brittle, so tiny...
Almost as if she were my child,
...
On the shoulders of my times
I rested my head.
I did not sleep. I did not doze.
On the shoulders of my times,
As on Her shoulder
I was lost in thought.
...