A MAGAZINE’S CONTENTS
MIGJENI TRANSLATED FROM ALBANIAN BY GENTA NISHKU

ART BY FAINA YUNUSOVA


“Politics: no way!”

“No! We are in agreement. Because politics has no solid foundation, no law, no regulation, no framework.”

“It doesn’t even have morals,” a moralizing editor added, peering at his colleagues over his glasses. 

This same editor, earlier that day during lunch, paying no mind and without intending to, placed in his mouth not his food, but the corner of a book. Religious Morals, it was called. When he realized he couldn’t swallow it, he spit it out. Meanwhile, this gentleman had children at home, and children, as modern pedagogy teaches us, are monkeys, so that when they saw him spitting they began to do the same: ptuh, ptuh, ptuh.

“Politics is a chameleon, which, as is known, changes color according to its surroundings. Think about it. If a chameleon is standing atop a rock, it will take on the color of that rock. Even if someone points out the chameleon, you will struggle to distinguish it. You take off, scurrying to catch it, but the only trophy you return with is on your forehead, like you’d been fighting in the Trojan War. Your forehead has doubled in size from your scuffle with the rock. As for the chameleon—now you have it, now you don’t. It’s escaped your grip.”

“There’s a definition of politics for you—if politics can even be said to have one,” another editor said. 

“Politics has no place in our magazine!”

“No! No!” the editors repeated, the memory of the man who’d faced off with the chameleon still fresh in their minds. “Politics is dangerous,” they repeated to one another, nodding in agreement. 

“Don’t forget, gentlemen, that our magazine will be idealistic!”

“Bravo! Idealistic!”

“Its aim will be to educate and defend those who are defenseless! It will blow in the eyes of those who’ve been blinded!”

“That’s right.”

“It will awaken nationalism!”

“That, especially! Because our national consciousness is sleeping and sleeping—and it needs a .42 to wake it.”

“Shush!” they silenced the uncouth speaker, who happened to be the magazine’s postman. 

In the end, they drew up the contents for this idealistic magazine.

Massive, otherworldly advertisements were affixed to poles around the city, some of which blocked the windows of basement homes, leaving the people inside in complete darkness. 

On one particular street, where each day there passed a procession of four cats, three people, and the occasional rooster and chicken, a calf stopped in front of the magazine’s red advertisement and butted the pole with its  horns. Evidently, this calf was kin to the Spanish toros. 

“War! War!” people started to scream as they gathered in front of another magazine ad on the main street. (Because of the Second Italo-Abyssinian War, the population had been overtaken by a kind of war psychosis.) They could barely find a half-decent person, a half-decent gentleman, to finally read aloud from the ad: “An idealistic magazine!”

“Ugh, what bullshit,” said a woman, her hair in a bubikopf, and continued down the street with a military step.

Since the people didn’t know how to read, the magazine didn’t sell. 

There were no funds for a second issue.

“Let’s ask for subsidies!” the editors exclaimed. 

About the Work by Genta Nishku

In the 1930s, periodicals were the Albanian public’s most important avenue for discussing current events, local issues, and international developments. Newspapers, magazines, and journals were published in every corner of the country, from independent ventures to state and institutional publications—all of which enjoyed wide readership and eager participation from hopeful writers. For a country still seeking to establish its national identity, these periodicals provided the space for debating issues like the emancipation of women, the role of intellectuals in shaping culture, or the perennial question of whether Albania should look to the west or the east as its model. 

They also provided a platform for the country’s young writers. Writing from his hometown of Shkodër, Migjeni was only twenty-four years old when, in June of 1936, he sent this satirical piece to Bota e Re (The New World), a biweekly magazine that only a few months into its run had already amassed a loyal following. Operating from a small building in Korça and led by editor-in-chief Gaqo Evangjeli, a leftist intellectual with a strong editorial vision, The New World was published from April 1936 to February 1937, when the censorship campaign of King Zog’s government forcefully shuttered it. During the time it was active, the magazine and its editors and writers, placed themselves in the center of the aforementioned debates. 

Migjeni’s short story captures the spirit of the times. With his characteristic wry wit, he points to the hypocrisies of other periodicals, which unlike The New World, tried to claim apoliticalness at a time of rising fascism and open collaboration between the Albanian government and Mussolini’s Italy. Despite the fictional editors’ efforts to turn a blind eye, the world seeps in through the cracks, and through the actions of both animal and human characters in the story, Migjeni references conflict in Spain as well as Italian colonial aggression in Ethiopia. When a woman wearing a fashionable bobbed haircut—a German bubikopf—dismisses the magazine, it appears that even this prototype of European modernity isn’t pleased by the editors’ attempt to create an idealistic publication. 

Corresponding with Migjeni in May of 1936 prior to publication, the editors of The New World write: “‘A Magazine’s Contents’ reads bleaker than it should. Is it not possible for you to review it one more time?” 

It’s not clear if the version published that June was toned down or not, but Migjeni’s story, along with this correspondence between writer and editor, give a glimpse into the energy of Albania’s literary community after the First World War.

* *

 

MIGJENI was the nom-de-plume of the poet and writer Millosh Gjergj Nikolla, born in 1911 in Shkodër, Albania. Breaking from a literary tradition rooted in romanticism and nationalism, Migjeni distinguished himself with works that captured the misery and struggle of his country’s most disenfranchised communities. After completing his studies in Monastir (now Bitola, North Macedonia), he was assigned as a teacher in the mountainous villages near his hometown. It was there that he began writing short stories and poetry, inspired in large part by the social inequality he witnessed and conveyed in the Gheg dialect of the region. Though plagued by ill health from tuberculosis, he was a frequent contributor to the periodicals of the time, and was preparing his first manuscript before his untimely death in 1938. The books Vargjet e lira (Free Verse) and Novelat e qytetit të veriut (Novellas of the Northern City) collected his poetry and short fiction. Since his death, Migjeni has been the subject of countless works of criticism and scholarship in Albania, which often name him as one of the most important and influential writers of the 20th century.

GENTA NISHKU is a writer, researcher, and translator from Tirana, now living in New York City. Her writing has been published in venues like the Kenyon Review, Bennington Review, Washington Square Review, minor literature(s), new_sinewes, among others, and her translations have been published by Akashic Books and Apofenie. She is at work on her first novel, which was recently supported by a Yaddo residency.

Source Text by Migjeni

 

Program i një reviste

Politikë - jo!

— Jo! Jemi dakort. Se politika s’ka nji themel të shëndoshë, s’ka ligj, s’ka rregulla, s’ka kllef. Madje s’ka as moral–ia shtoi një redaktor moralist, tue i shikue kolegët përmbi syza. Ky redaktor, asaj dite për drekë, në vënd të bukës, pahiri, futi në gojë një cep të librit “Morali fetar” dhe kur pa se nuk shkon, e pështyni. Mirëpo zotnia kishte te shtëpia fëmitë; e fëmitë—si thotë pedagogjia moderne—janë majmunë, prandaj, kur e panë t’anë tue pështye, ia nisën edhe ata fuj, fuj, fuj.

— Politika asht një kameleon, i cili—dihet—simbas vendit ku gjendet, merr edhe ngjyrën. Të mendojmë se kameleoni gjendet mbi një shkrep, dhe, natyrisht, merr ngjyrën e shkrepit. Ta dëftojnë me gisht dhe ti mezi e dallon nga shkrepi. Lëshohe turravrap me e xanë, por kthehe me trofej në ballë, si me pasë qenë ne Luftën e Trojës. Balli yt asht bamë dhe një herë ma i madh nëtë perpjekun me shkrepin. Se kameleonin tash e ke, tash s’e ke. Të iku.

— Qe nje definicion i politikës, po qe se mund të ketë politika definicion, - tha një tjetër redaktor.

— Politika s’hyn në program të revistës sonë!

— Jo! jo! - përsëritën të gjithë redaktorët, tue e pasë ende të freskët kujtimin e atij që donte me e xanë kameleonin. Asht e rrezikshme politika, - i përsëritshin shoqi-shojt tue ia pohue me krye.

— Mos harroni, zotni, se revista jonë do të jetë ideale!

— Bravo! Ideale!

— Do të ketë për qëllim arsimimin dhe mbrojtjen e atyne që nuk kanë mbrojtje! Do t’u fryjë në sy atyne që u ka hy lecka.

— Ashtu…

— Do të zgjojë komtarizmën!

— Sidomos! Se ndërgjegjja komtare flen, flen, e flen dhe duhet nji katërdhetedysh…

— Pssst! - e shutitën folësin e pagdhendun, i cili ishte postaxhia i revistës.

Në fund të fundit u përpilue programi për një revistë ideale.

Do pllakata të mbinatyrshme u ngjitën nëpër shtylla të qytetit, e disa prej tyne ua mbyllën dritaret shtëpive përdhecke dhe njerëzit përmbrenda mbetën në terr.

Në nji rrugë, kah për ditë kalojshin katër mica, tre njerëz dhe ndonjë gjel me pulë, në atë rrugë nji viç u ndalue përpara pllakatës së kuqe e brinat i mbërtheu në shtyllë. Si shifet, ishte farefis me torot e Spanjës.

— Luftë! Luftë! bërtitshin njerëzit tu u mbledhë para nji pllakate në rrugë kryesore. (Nga shkaku i luftës Italo-Abisine, popullin e kish rrëmbye psikoza luftarake). Mezi u gjet nji gjysmë njeriu, gjysmëzotni që ta këndojë me za: Revistë ideale! 

—“Uf, me halle” - ia priti nji grue bubikofe dhe vazhdoi rrugën me hap ushtarak.

Mbasi populli nuk dinte të lexonte, revista ngeli pa u shitë. E për botimin e numrit të dytë nuk kishte të holla.

— Të kërkojmë subvencion! - vendosën redaktorët.