BIOGRAPHY

Hasan Zyko Kamberi was born in the second half of the eighteenth century in Starja, a southern Albanian village near Kolonja at the foot of Mount Grammos. Of his life we know only that he took part in the Turkish-Austrian Battle of Smederevo on the Danube east of Belgrade in 1789 [1203 A.H.] in an army under the command of Ali Pasha Tepelena (1741-1822). He died a dervish, no doubt of the Bektashi sect, in his native village at the beginning of the nineteenth century. His tomb in Starja was turned into a shrine known locally as the turbeh of Baba Hasani.

Kamberi is one of the most commanding representatives of the Muslim tradition in Albanian literature, though his main work, a 200-page mexhmua (verse collection), has disappeared. A manuscript of this collection is said to have been sent to Monastir (Bitola) in 1908-1910 to be published, but all traces of it have since been lost. Indeed little of his verse has survived and even less has been published. Of the works we do possess are: a short mevlud, a religious poem on the birth of the prophet Mohammed; about ten ilâhî; and over fifty secular poems.

Kamberi’s secular verse covers a wide range of themes. In his octosyllabic Sefer-i hümâyûn (The king’s campaign) in thirty-three quatrains, he describes his participation in the above-mentioned Battle of Smederevo and gives a realistic account of the suffering it caused. In Bahti im (My fortune) and Vasijetnameja (The testament), Kamberi casts an ironic and sometimes bitter glance at the vagaries of fate and in particular at the misfortunes of his own life. Gjerdeku (The bridal chamber) portrays marriage customs in the countryside. It is not a pastoral idyll we encounter here, but a realistic account of the anguish and hardship of young women married off according to custom without being able to choose husbands for themselves, and the suffering of young men forced to go abroad to make a living. In Kamberi’s love lyrics, the author laments social conventions that inhibit passion and spontaneity. The most famous of his poems is Paraja (Money), a caustic condemnation of feudal corruption and at the same time perhaps the best piece of satirical verse in pre-twentieth century Albanian literature.

POETRY

Money

The sultan who rules the world,
The founder of the mint,
The place where silver's coined,
He knows what money's worth.

The vizier, who's his aide,
Who acts as if he's just,
He lets no gossip spread,
He knows what money's worth.

Sheyhulislami issues fatwas,
He knows what's canon law,
Yet a bribe he'll not refuse,
He knows what money's worth.

The mufti and the teacher,
Both scholars and imams,
Are in the devil's pact,
They know what money's worth.

The judge, too, in his courtroom,
Reclining on his rug,
The dervish in his tekke,
They know what money's worth.

The pashas and the beys
And all the milling crowds
For riches lose their heads,
They know what money's worth.

Show money to a judge,
He'll interpret laws anew,
For a cent he'd sell his father,
He knows what money's worth.

For money they'll get drunk
And put the world to shame,
E'en the farmer sowing beans,
He knows what money's worth.

There is no creature living
Exempt from this desire,
All guildsmen and all merchants,
They know what money's worth.

The infant in his cradle,
His hand out, crying "gimme!"
Will cram cash in his pocket,
He knows what money's worth.

The jackdaw perched in silence,
Throw a penny on the ground,
'twill seize it, take it nestward,
It knows what money's worth.

Money in this world
Will consume both young and old,
In hellfire it will burn them,
They know what money's worth...

[Excerpt from Paraja, late 18th century. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]

Trahana

All comrades, men and women,
Good people on this planet,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana. *

What a blessing to the famished,
Mixing milk with flour and yoghurt.
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

He was, 'tis true, a wise man,
Was indeed no infant spirit,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

For eight months it is eaten,
Keeps alive the poorest people,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

In the morning when they waken,
Young and old for it do clamour,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana,

All the serfs and wretched bondsmen,
With their herds toiling and farming,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

In the huts where it is lacking,
Do the children mewl, oh mercy,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

No other food can match it,
Like wine it soothes the stomach,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

With milk is it enfolded
And with butter pan-browned, scalded,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

Into your bowl you put it
And with bread, black pepper taste it,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

Trahana is an honour
And a treat when boiled and steamy,
Praise and glory to him
Who invented trahana.

* Alb. trahaná, def. trahanája: a southern Albanian porridge made of milk, yoghurt and sourdough

[Trahani, late 18th century. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]