
An embarrassing moment happened the other night on the show "Goca dhe Gra" on Top Channel.
Actress Egla Ceno asked poet Mimoza Ahmeti to autograph one of the books she had brought with her.
But Ahmeti refused to do this.
Excerpts from the debate:
Egla: Can you sign an autograph for me?
Mimoza: Excuse me, is this the book I brought?
Egla: I have the impression, yes.
Mimoza: I have these for work.
Egla: Can we buy these?
Mimoza: No, I have work to do.
Kleoniki: Are these books different from others you have?
Mimoza: I have trips to make. I'm going to Germany, I'm not going to buy books. I don't give people books. They must have done their utmost for me to give them books.
Through a post, she ironized the poet's action, writing "this is a symphony of hypocrisy accompanied by symptoms of a narcissism dressed up in 'poetry' and a coldness that even metaphors cannot warm."
"Dear Moza, or more precisely: Moza who rose above the manuscripts of an era, who ate metaphors with a golden spoon and taught us not to ask poets for dedication, because they are above us - like clouds, like fog, like misunderstanding."
I'm writing you a public letter from the bottom of a hospital bed where my mother is lying, because... let's just say you deserve it.
Dear Moza, I followed you with naive curiosity (the commitment would have been excessive) during the interview I was assigned to do with you, where you came with your book, a full 5 copies, maybe to show it, maybe to read it, maybe simply to have something to hold in your hand.
In a human act, I approached you with a pen in my hand, with the silent prayer of a reader seeking a dedication, and you didn't give it to me. Regret? No. Surprise? It's out of the question. You're an artist, and as we already know, c.
Well, great Moza, if a reader doesn't deserve a dedication, why pick up the book? And if an author doesn't see fit to make a dedication, why bring the book to television? Because, ultimately, this is a symphony of hypocrisy accompanied by symptoms of a narcissism dressed up in "poetry" and coldness that even metaphors cannot warm.
You can't leave me as a "tree", leave me as someone who was asking for dedication from someone who has a style of contempt as art. And this is a genre in itself.
With reserved greetings,
"A reader who loves poetry, but not without humanity," writes Ceno.