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Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
- Thread starter Darien
- Data e fillimit
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
.................................................
Nje zi zhartieresh zonjash te nje tjeter kohe
Ne mendjen time bie si muzg.....
Kishte disa kohe qe disa nga mendimet me rrinin keshtu ne koke, ne trajta vargjesh, titujsh ose epitetesh te gdhendur ne mermer.
Ishte nje nga te fshehtat e mija, nga ato qe ishte veshtire te shpjegoheshin pa rrezikuar te dukeshe mendjefyell.
Edhe me veshtire ishte sqarimi brenda ndergjegjes sime, se kjo turbullire kishte kohe qe pulsonte aty. Kishte jo nje, por disa fillime ndoshta, si ato rrjedhat qe s'dihet ku e sajojne se pari perroin e vogel. Kisha pershtypjen se ne njeren nga varrezat e Tiranes kisha pare.............. (Vazhdon.......)
Gjejeni kete!
.................................................
Nje zi zhartieresh zonjash te nje tjeter kohe
Ne mendjen time bie si muzg.....
Kishte disa kohe qe disa nga mendimet me rrinin keshtu ne koke, ne trajta vargjesh, titujsh ose epitetesh te gdhendur ne mermer.
Ishte nje nga te fshehtat e mija, nga ato qe ishte veshtire te shpjegoheshin pa rrezikuar te dukeshe mendjefyell.
Edhe me veshtire ishte sqarimi brenda ndergjegjes sime, se kjo turbullire kishte kohe qe pulsonte aty. Kishte jo nje, por disa fillime ndoshta, si ato rrjedhat qe s'dihet ku e sajojne se pari perroin e vogel. Kisha pershtypjen se ne njeren nga varrezat e Tiranes kisha pare.............. (Vazhdon.......)
Gjejeni kete!
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
/pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif ehe !
/pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif ehe !
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
pS: Nuk te quhet se ti e kishe lexu kete librin! /pf/images/graemlins/tongue.gif
pS: Nuk te quhet se ti e kishe lexu kete librin! /pf/images/graemlins/tongue.gif
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Perballe pasqyres se nje gruaje /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
pS: Ti sapo e kishe lexuar ka pak kohe /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
Perballe pasqyres se nje gruaje /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
pS: Ti sapo e kishe lexuar ka pak kohe /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Meqë po e përmendim kaq shumë, mendova se mund t'i pëlqejë dikujt ky artikulli: Google vs. EvilFillimisht postuar nga Kordelja:
[qb] ... P.s.Mallkuar Google /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif [/qb]
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
tani mos harroi poezitë që vuri BatGirl në krye të kësaj faqeje
pikët vazhdojnë të numërohen, mos kini merak /pf/images/graemlins/tongue.gif Lara Croft ka 5 tani, Belndi@BE ka 4
U gjet nga Ema - përgjigjen e saj e gjen këtu: http://www.albforumi.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=7;t=000123;p=10#000239Fillimisht postuar nga Lara Croft:
[qb] ...me ka mbetur fiksim ajo poezia qe ka postuar IF. U gjet?? ... [/qb]
tani mos harroi poezitë që vuri BatGirl në krye të kësaj faqeje
pikët vazhdojnë të numërohen, mos kini merak /pf/images/graemlins/tongue.gif Lara Croft ka 5 tani, Belndi@BE ka 4
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Korine, Korine!... - E thirri ai.
- C'beni ashtu?.... Eshte krejt absurde.... A e kuptoni qe......
Nuk duhet keshtu!....
- ju me duket se nuk e merrni me mend se c'po beni! -: Tha ajo midis dy denesave.
- Po ne do vazhdojme te shihemi si miq!
- Jo, jo Zhan! Jo kete. Nuk do te mund ta duroja nje gje te tille! Me pelqen me teper te mos shihemi me. As me ju as me njeri tjeter......
Pati nje heshtje te gjate qe e qetesoji ate.
- Korine.... Korine... e thirri.
- Po?
-Cfare po beni?
-Perse me genjyet pak me pare Zhan? Ju qenkeni tallur me mua!
- Ju betohem qe.....
- Ju jeni njesoj si te tjeret! C'marrezira qe bej une ne jete! C'deshtim i neveritshem! Dhe sa me shume qe me shkon jeta keshtu, aq me shume e pyes veten perse jetoj! Megjithate, do te ishte nje gje e lehte.......... ( Vazhdon.......)
E kete?
Korine, Korine!... - E thirri ai.
- C'beni ashtu?.... Eshte krejt absurde.... A e kuptoni qe......
Nuk duhet keshtu!....
- ju me duket se nuk e merrni me mend se c'po beni! -: Tha ajo midis dy denesave.
- Po ne do vazhdojme te shihemi si miq!
- Jo, jo Zhan! Jo kete. Nuk do te mund ta duroja nje gje te tille! Me pelqen me teper te mos shihemi me. As me ju as me njeri tjeter......
Pati nje heshtje te gjate qe e qetesoji ate.
- Korine.... Korine... e thirri.
- Po?
-Cfare po beni?
-Perse me genjyet pak me pare Zhan? Ju qenkeni tallur me mua!
- Ju betohem qe.....
- Ju jeni njesoj si te tjeret! C'marrezira qe bej une ne jete! C'deshtim i neveritshem! Dhe sa me shume qe me shkon jeta keshtu, aq me shume e pyes veten perse jetoj! Megjithate, do te ishte nje gje e lehte.......... ( Vazhdon.......)
E kete?
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
(.........Vazhdimi...........)
-Cfare do te ishte e lehte?
- Per ti dhen fund nje here e mire!
Ajo heshti perseri dhe u largua. Ai ndjeu befas nje frike te keqe e te madhe, qe u ngrit brenda tij si nga ca re te zeza qe mbulojne qiellin papritur. Nje kujtim me i mprehte se te tjeret sikur e shpio ne zemer.
- Korine!
Hic pergjigje. Mos e kishte mbyllur? Jo, ende aty ishte; ai e ndjente pranine e saj.
- korine!
Pati nje kercitje te lehte metalike. Kete radhe e kishte prere telefonin. Ai u nxitua, veshi pardysyne dhe doli ne rruge. Nje nate e vertete black-out-i).
Shpetite e erreta, te medha dukeshin si shkembinj. Here- here ndriconte ndonje llampe mbeshtjelle nga mjergulla. Por kete radhe Bernardi nuk do te vinte ta merrte me makine. Ai ai dha vrapit.
.......................
(.........Vazhdimi...........)
-Cfare do te ishte e lehte?
- Per ti dhen fund nje here e mire!
Ajo heshti perseri dhe u largua. Ai ndjeu befas nje frike te keqe e te madhe, qe u ngrit brenda tij si nga ca re te zeza qe mbulojne qiellin papritur. Nje kujtim me i mprehte se te tjeret sikur e shpio ne zemer.
- Korine!
Hic pergjigje. Mos e kishte mbyllur? Jo, ende aty ishte; ai e ndjente pranine e saj.
- korine!
Pati nje kercitje te lehte metalike. Kete radhe e kishte prere telefonin. Ai u nxitua, veshi pardysyne dhe doli ne rruge. Nje nate e vertete black-out-i).
Shpetite e erreta, te medha dukeshin si shkembinj. Here- here ndriconte ndonje llampe mbeshtjelle nga mjergulla. Por kete radhe Bernardi nuk do te vinte ta merrte me makine. Ai ai dha vrapit.
.......................
CaSaBlAnCa
Primus registratum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Fillimisht postuar nga BATGIRL:
[QB] Po keto kush e gjen ....po filloj me te thjeshta ; )
BRAKTISJA
E lashë se s´mund t´a mbaja,
Kaçubave, gropave, përrenjve.
Nga afër ndjeva flliqësirat e botës
Të konstruktuar me ato,
Kufijve, shteteve...
I zhveshur deri në padukshmëri
I ushqyer me turpin që nuk më perkiste
E mora me mend se për të ekzistuar
S’ke pse kërkon arsye,
Tash kjo mbetje e braktisur
Vuan mëkatin e mizorisë.
DUHET TË VAZHDOJ PA TY
Shtëpi të heshtura,
Nën qiellin e rënduar,
Shiu dhe Unë,
Të ftohur në vetmi,
Në këtë qytet që asgjë s’ka marrë nga Ti.
Në pritje harrova hapat e tu,
Më ngjan si në ëndërr,
Eh...! kur largohesh Ti...
Më duhet të filloj përsëri.
----------------------------
ISA BEQIRI
Fillimisht postuar nga BATGIRL:
[QB] Po keto kush e gjen ....po filloj me te thjeshta ; )
BRAKTISJA
E lashë se s´mund t´a mbaja,
Kaçubave, gropave, përrenjve.
Nga afër ndjeva flliqësirat e botës
Të konstruktuar me ato,
Kufijve, shteteve...
I zhveshur deri në padukshmëri
I ushqyer me turpin që nuk më perkiste
E mora me mend se për të ekzistuar
S’ke pse kërkon arsye,
Tash kjo mbetje e braktisur
Vuan mëkatin e mizorisë.
DUHET TË VAZHDOJ PA TY
Shtëpi të heshtura,
Nën qiellin e rënduar,
Shiu dhe Unë,
Të ftohur në vetmi,
Në këtë qytet që asgjë s’ka marrë nga Ti.
Në pritje harrova hapat e tu,
Më ngjan si në ëndërr,
Eh...! kur largohesh Ti...
Më duhet të filloj përsëri.
----------------------------
ISA BEQIRI
Diabolis Dassaretis
Forumium praecox
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
By Fitz-Greene Halleck
AT midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power:
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch’s signet ring:
Then pressed that monarch’s throne—a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden’s garden bird.
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian’s thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood
On old Platæa’s day;
And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on—the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;
He woke—to hear his sentries shriek,
“To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!”
He woke—to die midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:
“Strike—till the last armed foe expires;
Strike—for your altars and your fires;
Strike—for the green graves of your sires;
God—and your native land!”
They fought—like brave men, long and well;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night’s repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal-chamber, Death!
Come to the mother’s, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born’s breath;
Come when the blessed seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption’s ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine;
And thou art terrible—the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come, when his task of fame is wrought—
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought—
Come in her crowning hour—and then
Thy sunken eye’s unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight
Of sky and stars to prisoned men;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land;
Thy summons welcome as the cry
That told the Indian isles were nigh
To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land wind, from woods of palm,
And orange-groves, and fields of balm,
Blew o’er the Haytian seas.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory’s time,
Rest thee—there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
She wore no funeral-weeds for thee,
Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume
Like torn branch from death’s leafless tree
In sorrow’s pomp and pageantry,
The heartless luxury of the tomb;
But she remembers thee as one
Long loved and for a season gone;
For thee her poet’s lyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed;
For thee she rings the birthday bells;
Of thee her babe’s first lisping tells;
For thine her evening prayer is said
At palace-couch and cottage-bed;
Her soldier, closing with the foe,
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow;
His plighted maiden, when she fears
For him the joy of her young years,
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears;
And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak,
The memory of her buried joys,
And even she who gave thee birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,
Talk of thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s:
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
By Fitz-Greene Halleck
AT midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power:
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch’s signet ring:
Then pressed that monarch’s throne—a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden’s garden bird.
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian’s thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood
On old Platæa’s day;
And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on—the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;
He woke—to hear his sentries shriek,
“To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!”
He woke—to die midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:
“Strike—till the last armed foe expires;
Strike—for your altars and your fires;
Strike—for the green graves of your sires;
God—and your native land!”
They fought—like brave men, long and well;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night’s repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal-chamber, Death!
Come to the mother’s, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born’s breath;
Come when the blessed seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption’s ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine;
And thou art terrible—the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come, when his task of fame is wrought—
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought—
Come in her crowning hour—and then
Thy sunken eye’s unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight
Of sky and stars to prisoned men;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land;
Thy summons welcome as the cry
That told the Indian isles were nigh
To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land wind, from woods of palm,
And orange-groves, and fields of balm,
Blew o’er the Haytian seas.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory’s time,
Rest thee—there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
She wore no funeral-weeds for thee,
Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume
Like torn branch from death’s leafless tree
In sorrow’s pomp and pageantry,
The heartless luxury of the tomb;
But she remembers thee as one
Long loved and for a season gone;
For thee her poet’s lyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed;
For thee she rings the birthday bells;
Of thee her babe’s first lisping tells;
For thine her evening prayer is said
At palace-couch and cottage-bed;
Her soldier, closing with the foe,
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow;
His plighted maiden, when she fears
For him the joy of her young years,
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears;
And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak,
The memory of her buried joys,
And even she who gave thee birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,
Talk of thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s:
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
Diabolis Dassaretis
Forumium praecox
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
... dhe titulli Marko Boçari.
Një tjetër:
Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris
Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit
litora - multum ille et terris jactatus et alto
vi superum, saevae memorem Junonis ob iram,
multa quoque et bello passues, dum unde Latinum
Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romae.
... dhe titulli Marko Boçari.
Një tjetër:
Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris
Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit
litora - multum ille et terris jactatus et alto
vi superum, saevae memorem Junonis ob iram,
multa quoque et bello passues, dum unde Latinum
Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romae.
drops^of^enigma
Primus registratum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Aeneid - VirgilFillimisht postuar nga Diabolis Dassaretis:
[qb] ... dhe titulli Marko Boçari.
Një tjetër:
Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris
Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit
litora - multum ille et terris jactatus et alto
vi superum, saevae memorem Junonis ob iram,
multa quoque et bello passues, dum unde Latinum
Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romae. [/qb]
Diabolis Dassaretis
Forumium praecox
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
PO!
Tjetër:
Of the Thesprotians and Mollossians after the great inundation, the first king, according to some historians, was Phaethon, one of those who came into Epirus with Pelasgus. Others tell us that Deucalion and Pyrrha, having set up worship of Jupiter and Dodona, settled there among Molossians. In after time, Neoptolemus, Acilles's son, planting a colony, possessed these part himself, and left a succession of kings, who, after him, were named Pyrrhidae, as he in youth was called Pyrrhus, and of his legitimate children, one born of Lanassa, daughter of Cleodaeus, Hyllus's son, had also that name. From him Achilles came to have divine honours in Epirus, under the name of Aspetus, in the language of the country.
PO!
Tjetër:
Of the Thesprotians and Mollossians after the great inundation, the first king, according to some historians, was Phaethon, one of those who came into Epirus with Pelasgus. Others tell us that Deucalion and Pyrrha, having set up worship of Jupiter and Dodona, settled there among Molossians. In after time, Neoptolemus, Acilles's son, planting a colony, possessed these part himself, and left a succession of kings, who, after him, were named Pyrrhidae, as he in youth was called Pyrrhus, and of his legitimate children, one born of Lanassa, daughter of Cleodaeus, Hyllus's son, had also that name. From him Achilles came to have divine honours in Epirus, under the name of Aspetus, in the language of the country.
drops^of^enigma
Primus registratum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
nuk jam e sigurte...Homer-The Odyssey?
nuk jam e sigurte...Homer-The Odyssey?
Diabolis Dassaretis
Forumium praecox
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Jo.
vazhdim:
...ata u shfaqën para Glaukit, atëhere Mbreti i Ilirianëve, që e gjetën duke ndenjur në shtëpi me gruan e tij, ata e shtrinë poshtë fëmijën para tyre.
... ai ja dha Pirron nën kujdes gruas së tij, duke urdhëruar që ai të rritej me fëmijët e tij; pak më vonë, armiqtë dërguan ta kërkonin atë, dhe Kasandri vetë ofroi dyqint talente, ai nuk dëshironte ta dorzonte atë; por kur ai u bë dymbëdhjetë vjeç, e çoi atë me një ushtri në Epir, duke e bërë mbret.
Jo.
vazhdim:
...ata u shfaqën para Glaukit, atëhere Mbreti i Ilirianëve, që e gjetën duke ndenjur në shtëpi me gruan e tij, ata e shtrinë poshtë fëmijën para tyre.
... ai ja dha Pirron nën kujdes gruas së tij, duke urdhëruar që ai të rritej me fëmijët e tij; pak më vonë, armiqtë dërguan ta kërkonin atë, dhe Kasandri vetë ofroi dyqint talente, ai nuk dëshironte ta dorzonte atë; por kur ai u bë dymbëdhjetë vjeç, e çoi atë me një ushtri në Epir, duke e bërë mbret.
drops^of^enigma
Primus registratum
Re: Gjeje titullin dhe autorin
Gjejeni kte :
Ajo doli nga dhoma ndersa ai e ndoqi me sy deri sa arriti te dera. Gjate ketyre pak casteve,ne syte e tij pasqyrohej nje epsh i zjarrte. Kur ajo e mbylli deren mengadale, Juxhini shkoi ne dhomen e tij dhe u ul ne karrige. I dukej sikur tere trupi i dhimbte dhe ndjente veten krejt te keputur. I solli ndermend ngjarjet e minutave te fundit dhe pastaj doli jashte, nen yjet e ndritshem,duke degjuar zhurmat e natyres: bretkocat guaknin, dicka feshferiste ne bar, sikur te levrinin brumbuj. Nga larg degjoheshin kuak-kuaket e nje rose dhe here pas here tingujt e kembores se lopes se shtepise, qe vinin ng buza e perroit te vogel. Atje lart ne qiell, shihej Arusha e Madhe,Siriusi,dhe, ne lartesira te pakufishme, shtrihej Rruga e Qumeshtit.
Gjejeni kte :
Ajo doli nga dhoma ndersa ai e ndoqi me sy deri sa arriti te dera. Gjate ketyre pak casteve,ne syte e tij pasqyrohej nje epsh i zjarrte. Kur ajo e mbylli deren mengadale, Juxhini shkoi ne dhomen e tij dhe u ul ne karrige. I dukej sikur tere trupi i dhimbte dhe ndjente veten krejt te keputur. I solli ndermend ngjarjet e minutave te fundit dhe pastaj doli jashte, nen yjet e ndritshem,duke degjuar zhurmat e natyres: bretkocat guaknin, dicka feshferiste ne bar, sikur te levrinin brumbuj. Nga larg degjoheshin kuak-kuaket e nje rose dhe here pas here tingujt e kembores se lopes se shtepise, qe vinin ng buza e perroit te vogel. Atje lart ne qiell, shihej Arusha e Madhe,Siriusi,dhe, ne lartesira te pakufishme, shtrihej Rruga e Qumeshtit.