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"He said everything, sleep peacefully", Rama takes out the photos from the ceremony for Kadare, this is what he wrote in the "Book of Memories"!

2024-07-03 23:55:53Politikë SHKRUAR NGA REDAKSIA VOX
"He said everything, sleep peacefully", Rama takes out the photos from
Edi Rama

Prime Minister Edi Rama has published a photo album from the parting with the colossus of Albanian letters, Ismail Kadarenë.

Rama has also published his speech given at the farewell ceremony with the greatest Albanian writer.

In his speech, Rama states that Ismail Kadare remains the great teacher of the Albanian language and that the internationally known writer told him everything he had to say.

Rama's Facebook post:

"The photo album of parting with the colossus of the Albanian language, Ismail Kadare and the word next to his archmort

This shadow of Mother Teresa on Ismail's body was not brought by whoever prepared this state ceremony.

The announcement that the hall was occupied and Mother Teresa could not be moved from there came to me along with the picture of this scene, which was being set up for a performance tonight.

Leave it there, I told them, there is nothing better.

No one would think what chance brought him here, even for Ismaili and better than under her shadow, the Albanian who belongs to the world, the next step could not be the ceremony of following the life of the Albanian who belongs to the world .

And having recognized him, the day in the instant that under the shadow of his beloved saint, Ismaili would feel protected by all those many who did not love him, but also by those who did love him he would not want them around, during his passage from this world to the next.

In the meantime, since the news of the death of Ismail Kadare got out, in the frequent message box of my usual days, opinions came to me from time to time, driven by a strange anxiety about his burial place.

I was reading them and I remembered Ismaili.

I tried to imagine how he would take those unsolicited proposals to bury him at the Frashëri Brothers, at the park in front of Rogner, at the green field behind the prime minister's office, at the Cemetery of Martyrs of the National - Liberation War, and up to the Cemetery of Martyrs in Kosovo.

I don't know what he meant.

I know as well as the archmort where his body lies, that if I could have shown him my vigil of this ceremony yesterday at dinner, there in Durrës at the house by the sea, where he closed himself to watch his sunset like a spectator brought down from a long life at the zenith, he would have a lot of fun - and as Gabriel Garcia Marquez said, he would be devastated that he would not be able to attend his own funeral.

When Helena also told me that she wanted nothing but my word at this funeral, remaining faithful as always to her Isis, who had a severe allergy to gatherings, honors, and especially speeches, I believe she chose the worst. small.

An inevitable speech of the occasion, yes at least from someone who does not speak simply because the task requires him, but also as someone with whom Ismail was connected by the pleasure of infrequent conversations.

Thus, this special honor, apart from a heavy burden of responsibility, right next to the archmort of the man who raised the Albanian language to the highest peak unreached by any of its cultivators, while Albanian literature in the pantheon of the entire world of letters, was also given to me an awkward embarrassment, as rare as appearing in an exam in front of Ismail's mocking face with rallies, honors and speeches.

In fact, as soon as I found out that he died and I thought about the inevitability of the preparation of the ceremony, along with the impossibility of avoiding myself being involved in the gathering, tribute and speech, it became like a postage stamp that I can't take my eyes off his sight. announced during the ceremony of the highest degree of the Order of the Legion of Honor, by the President of France himself, in the Palace of Brigades.

Since the special state commission of the funeral ceremony began to come to life, and at the same time, the clashes of opinions on stage and behind the scenes about him and his burial place, I felt like a character of Ismail Kadare's last literary trap, a maddening vortex of dreams in the testicles. , with myself as the decrepit palace clerk of those dreams.

A grave was required. Who could have his say, as in a self-proclaimed contest of literary fever, where he or she who would find the ideal place for the corpse pit of the author of "The General of the Dead Army" and "The Party Committee" would secure even the place closest to him in the other world.

Along with the sad face in the eyes, his warning line about death, "I will make a sign and I will run", is in my ear, and it seems to me that this whole unwritten novel with the search for the burial place, where there is no way to miss his older brother Naim, whose grave was changed five times, and in these hectic hours between reality, history and literature, they wanted to divide him into two to put Ismail next to him, as they once came out of the prison that put them in the houses of the dead for the living of the old regime, and many others buried, exhumed and reburied in this country cannot be missed.

"This is when we don't have, like the whole world, a pantheon for the dead heads of the nation," said some. Someone else called for a "mausoleum", assuring us all that unlike the mausoleum of that other Gyrocastrite, which ended up in a pitiful ruin from the hatred of his former worshipers, this one of the former "Chronicle in Stone" boy, will to withstand all time as a Buddhist temple, where from the generations subjugated in worship to the author of the "Breznia e Hankonatëve", thousands of small Ismailis would rise from the great loss of the only one we had in 500 or so years .


While I, an involuntary part of this grotesque extension into the real life of the Qadareyan world, in the role of the official authorized by the government for the smooth running of the funeral organization, I thought that we should build a tower behind Skanderbeg, with many apartments for all the dead. with a great or enlarged name of this country, we would probably close forever the historical problem of finding the right burial place in these cases. But then I stopped, horrified, not only by the real possibility of the unbearable flow of the river of requests for an apartment from so many "national honors" made in these years for a multitude of dead people, but even more so by the idea of ​​creating a long line of living people who could probably submit, along with the relevant CV, the application to die to secure an apartment in that tower.

I can't tell you how much I would like to tell you what my eyes saw and what my mind told me while dealing with your funeral, but at least I have to thank you with this unwritten novella, which is undoubtedly that sign that you wrote that you would do before you left, and even the answer that I couldn't take alive, when you said I don't write and if I asked you why not, tell me back, I've said it all.

I could not obey, and it seemed a sin to me that his pen was lying lifeless somewhere in the house by the sea. But today I am fully convinced that Ismail Kadareja told the truth of all that he had to say, and I have no doubt that this country will never disappoint him in that stubborn belief of his, because he will never repeat it with himself, perhaps in new ways, but without saying anything new, everything he said about him and who lived or will live in him.

Therefore, among all, I say, no longer in the unsolicited role of the character of the newly lived novel, but simply in the function of the spokesperson here and of the Albanian government and not simply of someone who thinks like this, Ismail Kadareja deserves to rest in an apartment finite to be all his.

Not with the martyrs, because he was neither a martyr nor did he have anywhere, in any of his cells, the desire or willingness to become a martyr.

Not with the Frashëri brothers, who were among the very few whom he loved and respected sincerely, because they neither owe him to make room for him in their graves, nor did he owe us to stop him from being alone his so dear, only because he can't stop us, looking at us with that spoto of his to tell us his proverbial jonukduan.

Not at the park in front of Rogner, nor at the green field behind the prime minister's office, because not only does a civilized country not keep the living and the dead together in the same open urban environments, without at least separating them with high walls or enough distance not to see each other every day, but also because when you think that Ismail ran away as much as possible from places where people circulated and gathered, this would be like imposing a fatal sentence on him eternally along with death equal to life in hell.

Ismail Kadareja lived as a witness to a word for which he received all the possible praises and honors of the world and all the praise and possible insults of the country that gave birth to him. He did not receive the Nobel Prize, but remained in the archives of the minutes of the Nobel Committee, the only candidate for whom there is a file of anonymous letters from his compatriots.

We have only one obligation. Let's respect his departure, giving him a final home at the right time and place, where he won't feel threatened either by the unsolicited love that terrified him, nor by the never-desired neighborliness that Lemeri had, and neither and not from the gatherings, the honors and the speeches, especially, that the llahtari had.

As for today, it is a legitimate request of his inseparable shadow, Helena, that the temporary placement of his body in Tufina be done only in the presence of family members.

There is no doubt that this would also be Ismail's will if he were asked, therefore, on her behalf, I ask everyone to respect this will and close the tributes at the moment the small family cortege leaves the square in front to the city cemetery.

Stopping my speech here, which will have to close together with the transition of the body of our national writer to his last residence, where it will be carried out in the presence of his friends from France and elsewhere, the concluding part of the state ceremony honoring Ismail Kadare, I need to publicly thank Ismail for a very special gift, which he has given me and all generations of indomitable lovers of the Albanian language, with the fascinating translation of Re in Pantallona of Mayakovsky.

He knows, I have told him more than once, and I also know today, that it would be very good for him if he had the opportunity to attend his funeral here with eyes and ears, he would heard these lines:

that dreams in the soft brain,

like the fat footman on the couch

I will mock him with the bloody zeal of his heart;

until I am satisfied, cruel and brutal."

Rest in peace Ismail. He said everything", writes Rama.


Në përputhje me standarded JTI

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