Posting art from every European country, day 1: Albania. Paintings by Vangjush Mio (1891-1957) by ArthRol Tags:Europe 6 comments Random Albanian poem: “Under the flags of melancholy” by Migjeni (1911-1938) translated by Robert Winton In our country there are rather sorry-looking banners flapping everywhere… … and no-one can say if this is a state really trying to create something new-born. Somewhere behind the banners you can find grey men desperately trying alchemy, a death-defying effort to turn hope into glory, to turn huff and puff into magic! But all that we see (and this is a little tragic) Is merely a flea. This farce has shattered the joy of that February night and, as if out of spite, we crumbled. Over the hunched men in cafés And the chilly girls on Nënë Terezë the banners flap and droop looking rather sorry. Day 1? How many days will there be? Finally, real art instead of the AI created “art” Interesting idea. Continue with this. Very nice Thank you for sharing this! Leave a ReplyYou must be logged in to post a comment.
Random Albanian poem: “Under the flags of melancholy” by Migjeni (1911-1938) translated by Robert Winton In our country there are rather sorry-looking banners flapping everywhere… … and no-one can say if this is a state really trying to create something new-born. Somewhere behind the banners you can find grey men desperately trying alchemy, a death-defying effort to turn hope into glory, to turn huff and puff into magic! But all that we see (and this is a little tragic) Is merely a flea. This farce has shattered the joy of that February night and, as if out of spite, we crumbled. Over the hunched men in cafés And the chilly girls on Nënë Terezë the banners flap and droop looking rather sorry.
6 comments
Random Albanian poem:
“Under the flags of melancholy” by Migjeni (1911-1938)
translated by Robert Winton
In our country
there are rather
sorry-looking banners flapping
everywhere…
… and no-one can say if
this is a state
really trying to create
something new-born.
Somewhere behind
the banners
you can find grey men
desperately trying
alchemy, a death-defying
effort to turn hope into glory,
to turn huff and puff into magic!
But all that we see
(and this is a little tragic)
Is merely a flea.
This farce has shattered
the joy of that February night
and, as if out of spite,
we crumbled.
Over the hunched men in cafés
And the chilly girls on Nënë Terezë
the banners flap and droop
looking rather sorry.
Day 1? How many days will there be?
Finally, real art instead of the AI created “art”
Interesting idea. Continue with this.
Very nice
Thank you for sharing this!