Reading Time: 4 minutes
Stephanie reviews Gjekë Marinaj’s poetry collection, “Teach Me How to Whisper,” highlighting its universal emotions and powerful words, promising self-discovery, exclusively for Different Truths.
I know Gjekё Marinaj both on the page and off it. He has passed in and out of my life in quick flashes, each time always pausing to take note of my talent or the things that matter most to me. I am an outlier, as it turns out many artists are. That’s the risk of being rare. When you see the world differently, the fewer people you find who see it that way too.
But Marinaj and I, in spite of being born in different countries and in different decades, hold one core similarity: we fight for the freedom of the oppressed. While I will never stake claim (or come close) to his genius, I know what causes us to pause in each other’s presence is setting eyes on someone else who understands. He understands. This book is a powerful compilation of that understanding.
Step into the world of Teach Me How to Whisper: Horses and other poems where the richness of the human experience is wrapped up in a vibrant red cover, inviting you to delve into its nine distinct sections: Home, Albania, Amor, Admonitions, Acheron, Heroines, Metaphysics, Poets, and The Earth. Through the skillful translations by the author and poet Frederick Turner, the poems flow seamlessly from Albanian to English, capturing the essence of their original beauty. As you immerse yourself in these verses, you’ll find yourself transported, feeling as though they were written just for you. And while my focus is on these captivating poems, let’s not forget Turner’s insightful introduction, a treasure trove of wisdom that adds depth to the journey ahead.
The poems within Home give a glimpse of Marinaj as a young boy full of magical thinking, getting lost in books instead of parental expectations. Albania depicts another kind of home, one filled with rage and war, loss and Marinaj’s deep love for his motherland. In “Without Immunity” he writes:
I found Albania like a white angel walking slowly one span above the ground among the shades of the dead with bouquets in their hands. I hugged them to me, with a pale wounded face, like an orange with bite marks on it.
Surely, we are all shaped by our upbringing—our homes, our homeland, and the people who occupy those spaces alongside us. There is a relatability within Marinaj’s words which makes me remember two things can be true at once. The beautiful and the brutal can co-exist. We can pay homage to the horrific. We can escape, yet never leave.
I would be remiss not to mention the lines within the section titled “Amor” I most love: “We are two scribbles of the light” (“Evening,” page 67), or “With blown pine needles the wind / Writes love’s calligraphy upon the snow” (“Reading Poetry with my Sweetheart,” page 63), or “Those eyes—their side effects / include this blush that’s come to the cheeks of my intelligence, / this defeat to my resistance against time” (“Your Eyes,” Page 55).
It would be easy to list Dusita amongst my favorites, an ode to Marinaj’s wife of thirty-two years. Any relationship with a shelf life that long is worthy of a multitude of praise, much of which is included within these pages. But beyond love, there is the sentiment of mutual admiration and respect, which is perhaps what every relationship, at least those longing for longevity, should rely on.
But the poem I love most within “Amor” has nothing to do with “eyes that make verbs talk to themselves,” but rather the raw, interrupted love that is depicted in “A Freudian Moment.”
Perhaps this impacted me most because I understand it to be true. Love is poetic even when it is inconvenient, even when its endurance is tested. I am weary of anyone who projects perfection. Relationships are full of hard work and homework. Marinaj effectively shows the duality of love, communicating just how beautiful it can be, even when the pretty and gritty moments of life collide.
There are many more passages of note within Teach Me How to Whisper: Horses and Other Poems. More than of note. They are to be transcribed, memorized, and placed on the post-it of your soul. But it is not for me to give my perspective on them, because work like Marinaj’s is deeply personal. It will speak to the person reading it in an individualized way. Open the book and be prepared to open your eyes to new perspectives.
I learned many new things about Marinaj within these pages. But mainly, most importantly, I learned about myself too, which is surely the indication of good and worthy poetry. Even if we have differing circumstances, feelings are universal, and Marinaj taps into that shared world.
Every universal emotion is within Teach Me How to Whisper. I read the 223 pages of this book out of order (I’m wild and reckless like that). One of the poems I concluded with was aptly titled, The Poet:
Over the white page His eyes have turned to eyeglasses. As a proud pencil Finely sharpened He keeps going Until his lead is spent (page 140)
May Gjekё Marinaj never be spent extending these offerings. May he continue to be a thought-leader, a challenger of norms and systems. May he take a woman like me, stuck in suburban motherhood, and make her believe she too can escape, trading the mundane for travel of the mind.
Anything is possible when you’re taught how to whisper, and this book demonstrates just that. Marinaj’s writing speaks directly to the reader in a language, tone, and style only they can interpret. Just as Marinaj himself has stopped by to see me over the years, taking note of what I most need, so now Teach Me How to Whisper will effectively do the same. Poetry is his pause. And within these pages, readers will feel fully seen too.
Translated from the Albanian by Gjekë Marinaj and Frederick Turner. Syracuse. Syracuse University Press. November 2023. 223 pages.
Book cover photo shared by the reviewer.
