Rozi Theohari
Writer

Bio
Rozi Theohari vjershat dhe prozat e veta i botoi qysh ne vitet’ 60 ne gazeta e revista te ndryshme si “Drita”, “Hosteni”, “Shqiptarja e re”, “Fatosi” etj. Ka levruar vjershat humoristike e tregimin humoristik, si per te rriturit ashtu dhe per femijet. Per lexuesin e rritur ka botuar disa libra: “Telashe nga emancipimi” (1969), “Ne mungese te gruas sime” (1973), “Shoku Ndricim hapi kasaforten” (1977), “Pa diagnoze” (1978), “Teto Kalina” (1990). Ne vitin 1987 ka shkruar skenarin e filmit artistik “Familja ime”. Per lexuesit e vegjël ka botuar dy permbledhje: “Ne shkuam prane babait” (tregime, 1971) dhe “Lule, lule kuqelon” (vjersha, 1978).

Rozi emigroi ne Amerike ne vitin 1994 me familjen e saj. Pervec dy fakulteteve, atij Ekonomik dhe Histori-Filologji te kryera ne Universitetin e Tiranes, ne vitin 2000 ajo perfundoi me sukses e u diplomua nga North Shore Community College ne Lynn, Mass, USA, ne degen “Artet Liberale.” Prej tete vitesh ne Amerike vazhdon te jete anetare e shoqerise se nderit “Phi Theta Kappa.”

Ne vitin 2002 ajo botoi ne anglisht vellimin me poezi “Two Halves”, ne vitin 2003 botoi ne anglisht e shqip poemen “Rozafat” dhe ne vitin 2004 romanin “Lajthitje Dimerore”.

Rozi vazhdon nje aktivitet te mire letrar ne USA. Ajo eshte anetare e Shoqates se Shkrimtareve Shqiptaro-Amerikane dhe boton ne revisten “Pena” te kesaj shoqate. Po ashtu, boton vazhdimisht ne gazeten shqiptaro-amerikane “Illyria”, si dhe ne gazetat lokale dhe ne antologjite amerikane.

IMMIGRANTS

Two eyes
Here
Two eyes
There
In their homeland.
Immigrants
Have not
Five senses
But ten.
One part
Of their heart
Pours blood
Another-tears.

If you are
Close to a Cambodian
Or a Colombian
Don't call them
Muddled!
Their bewilderment
Is real
Because they
Live with double vision
Night and day.
Between push/pull feelings
Winners of the American Dream

For e Vietnamese
A skyscraper
Seems to be
A Buddhist Temple
An Albanian imagines
A high snowy mountain.

The Sun
Is cold
For immigrants,
Would you mind
Substituting this
With
Warm words of
WELCOME?

G I N A

You are just
A fragile flower
That blooms
In the thick wood
Under the trees' shadow.
I know,
You are so delicate
so fresh
Gina,
Why so frail?
It seems, Gina
If I touch
Your yellow petals
They will break!
You girl are
A transparent
Specter of light!
Why?

SPACE

Yesterday.
A long time ago
Icarus dreamt of flying.
We got it.
John Kennedy Dreamt of men on the Moon
We filmed it.
Today.
We are delighted
By Sojourner's
Landing on Mars.
Tomorrow.
Our descendants
Will shake hands
With new people
From other planets.
And...later...later?
What will "crazy" mankind want?
Nothing less than eternity…

R H O D E I S L A N D, 20 FEBRUARY 2003

As winter is walking with white snow boots
R.I. Spring Flower & Garden Show—Providence
Is celebrating a decade in bloom.
There where three young blond girls
Just putting in their long hair
Three crowns of red tulips
“Don’t tell the tulips it’s not spring.”
Three girls followed by the breath of spring
Strode in the MALL where each bought
An elegant short skirt
Going for dancing at a West Warwick nightclub.
Lunch time…a good time at
“Capital Grille”—right in the heart of
Downtown Providence.
Three girls with brittle figures
And red tulips over blond hair
Ate citrus grilled chicken sandwiches
Gazing innocent eyes
To the four round big clocks on the wall
With four different clock watch hands. Each clock
Named : London, Tokyo, Paris, New York.
“Different time, but they all work!
Right now in London they’re dancing
Oh, what a dream—to visit those cities, some day…”
Smiled three youthful, the purest of girls.
.........................
The evening breezes blow the girls’ hair
Walking there, inside at the nightclub
Where “Desert Moon”
Was rocking by Great White.
After using lipsticks and small mirrors, the three
Pushing between fans
Applauding, cheering, dancing,
Going closer and closer to the
Pyrotechnic fire
Getting burned and dying…
Their fresh tulips were trampled and broken
By the running crowd…
A tragedy. A traumatic loss. A reminder.
A reality of the desert moon.
In seconds their lives’ clocks stopped
Like three butterflies attracted
By the lantern’s light—and getting death.
A reminder. Every winter’s end
Three butterfly-girls will fly—rising and falling
Over W.Warwick, London, Tokyo, New York, Paris
Followed by the breath of spring
Sighing, whispering, and praying painfully:
“P e o p l e,
D o p r o t e c t p e o p l e !”

TWO HALVES

Midnight.

Half of my bed a white shroud

Lit by a half Moon that casts a cold look at me

I want to sleep, but can’t…

A half Moon…

Its other half lights my mother’s grave

Far off…in the Balkans.

Half pensive—half delirious…I cry in halves

Separated by

The dividing line of centuries.

Half despair

Half hope…half here—half there,

We are one in the semidarkness of a half—severed Moon…

2001

ROZI THEOHARI

P L A T O N I C L O V E

(Dedicated to my daughter and her husband)

Summer

On the beach

He tramples

Following in

Her footprints

On soaked sand

Seeking the sentiment

The caress, the freshness

Of her skin.

In winter

She walks

In the imprint

Left by

His footsteps

In the snow

Dipping into his warmth

In every season warm waves wrap

Around her legs.

Unknown to one another there can be

Nothing else.

Nothing…until Spring…

ROZI THEOHARI