FLASH
Shkruar nga Pamfleti
Lasgushi's love with Ana G., and its experience by Ismail Kadareja; About the novel "Ikja e shërgut"!
A few years ago, the outstanding world-renowned writer, Ismail Kadare, gave me his book "In front of the mirror of a woman", which contains three short novels, except for the one of the title, and "Knight with a falcon", another is included with the title "Ikja e štërgut", which was dedicated to the poetic love of Lasgush Poradec, with the beautiful Ana G. That whole book, like all his creativity, had left an unforgettable taste for me, so one afternoon I took it out of my library and started re-reading it. While wandering between the lines, I remembered that expression of M. Nekse, that; "The extreme compression of the material... this is what is important for the creation of the literary work".
In a few pages, the genius has said so much. And without tiring or straining at all. On the contrary, you feel relaxed, relieved and spiritually renewed, in these days of depression. Especially with the masterful elaboration of that Olympic story, by our magical poet, Lasgush Poradeci, where I will stop during this article. I have spoken at length about Kadare and his wonderful work, as well as about the symbol of pure human love, his idol, the fire-heart Lasgush Poradeci.
But, both of them are separate universes, where the great artistic and aesthetic values, the themes they have chosen, the treatments they give them, the messages they give, the literary innovations they bring, the emotions they derive from the love they have for the homeland, for man , freedom, the good and the beautiful, and especially the hatred for injustice and dictatorships, are endless. Both were challengers; Kadareja with his bold and quite refined pen, while Lasgushi, with his behavior, with his arms turned, with his silence disagreeing with the regime.
And he himself speaks about this more than clearly, as he wrote this novel about "immoral" and unprecedented love in 1986! A novel that the famous writer closes with the cry: "Where will you go, you great wretch, and where will you leave us, the poor?", as well as the whim of old Goethe and Lasgushi, who acted freely, as if he was in the court of the Duke of Weimar, and he unabashedly loved the eighteen-year-old Ulrika fon Livencovi, the Albanian, and not under the envious observation of a monster like Enver Hoxha.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, in one of his books, posed the question that; "What is Hell?" and he himself answered: "I think it is the suffering of not being able to love". Lasgush lacked many things: respect, the possibility of publication for what he wrote, according to his intellectual formation, public life, freedom of expression, his wife, the possibility of moving around the world, going to Kosovo to his friends, wandering around Albania, as a consequence of economic hardship.
The meanest way was found to shut him up: that of ignoring him, leaving him in oblivion, until people thought he had been dead for a long time. So, as Kadareja says in the book: "For years it was and was not. They had sidelined him, he was absent from all the ceremonies.
And maybe right between the ceremony, the gilding of the holiday, the rebuke for him started"! And further: "Something that should not have been abandoned was abandoned. The dream was trampled. From our meeting halls, brutally lit, it seemed as if he, the great absentee, had taken the old gilding of the old chandeliers, to adorn his sarcophagus with it!
And as if by the irony of fate, in this time of oblivion, his great benefactor, Ismail, gives an almost unbelievable news, the bored and impatient RP: "Lasgush Poradeci, there was a love story this summer". But where was there better news than this? Is the poet alive?! His heart has remained intact! Oh! What happiness! He was now devoting himself emotionally to her, which no tyrant or prejudice could stop. And without thinking for a long time, they got on the bus and made their way to him.
You need Kadare's bright mind, his attention, which nothing escaped, and that Gogolian veil of his sarcasm, to enjoy that journey. And not only to enjoy it, but also to laugh at an infinity of jokes that followed us when we had to go to where he rested, the great one. Controls, after controls.
One policeman or security employee, more ignorant and suspicious than the other! Maybe that was the task, but what surprised him more was not the question: "Why do you go to Pogradec", but "Do you know Ana G."? So, RP, it was not only boring and unbearable, but also provocative; he broke the word to them.
Maybe Ana G. had some plan against the leader who was coming there. But even if not, she wanted to flirt with the poet. I have seen Ana G. and my friends have told me about her intelligence and culture when she was a literature teacher in Pogradec. I heard him one evening on a walk, while he was talking to a group of young people. Her portrait would not easily escape the Florentine painters of the Middle Ages.
Me një shkodranishte të ëmbël, e sigurt në ato që thosh, kuptohej menjëherë, se ishte një grua intelektuale që kishte ecur shumë para kohës, aq sa më kollaj mund të besoje, se kishte dalë nga faqet e librave të Mopasanit, Çehovit a Cvajgut, sesa nga apartamentet gri e të ngushta, të një qyteti të humbur shqiptar, ku syri të zinte; “Nën dritën e pamëshirshme të diellit, vitrinat e dyqaneve (që) ngjanin edhe më të varfra.
Në qelqe, si kudo, kishte prapë parulla, madje më tepër se dy vjet më parë, kur kisha qenë këtu me pushime. Pantallona burrash, kinkaleri. Edukim, vigjilencë, shampo…! Vapë dhe qytet i vogël provincial. Klubi i gjuetarëve. Berberhane. Qendër Edukimi e Lagjes Nr. 6”!
Pra, mërzi. Ana G., mes atyre ndërtesave të shëmtuara, natyrisht që autorit të romanit, i është dukur me të drejtë e huaj dhe skandaloze. Por edhe si dhuratë nga Lasgushi, në pamundësi për t`i shndërruar arkitekturën. Dhe e gjithë kjo, me një mjet të pabesueshëm: me dashurinë e tij fisnike, që ai vetë ishte munduar ta mbante të pazbuluar: “Se s`dashuroja as unë as ti, / Por dashuronte dashuria, / Një dashuri plot fshehtësi, / M`e fshehtë se fshehtësia”!
Por si mund të mos merrej vesh kjo dashuri e çuditshme, ku edhe ajo midis dy të rinjve gjimnazistë, bëhej objekt thashethemesh të pafund? Maksim Gorki, duke folur për përditshmërinë e shkrimtarit, pra për qenien e tij njeri, ka thënë se;
“Shkrimtari nuk duhet të jetë Robinson…duhet të jetojë jetën, të thërrasë, të qeshë, të shajë, të zihet, të dashurojë”. Mendoni pastaj, Lasgushin, me zemrën e tij sa bota. Veç duhet pranuar, se atë së pari, e pa dhe e kuptoi, për të mos thënë, e përligji, një tjetër mendje superiore, ajo e Ismail Kadaresë.
Marsel Prust, për stilin e shkrimtarit, ka thënë se; ashtu si dhe për piktorin, nuk është çështje teknike, por është çështje e botë vështrimit. Dhe botë vështrimi nga ana e saj, është e shkallëzuar, nga e zakonshmja, deri te gjenialja. Dikush mund të dyshojë dhe të thotë se çfarë do t`i pëlqente Ana G., plakut Lasgush, me atë pallton e vjetër, kapelën e zezë republikë strehë madhe dhe shkopin ku mbahej.
Por, përtej kësaj, ai vazhdonte të ishte; një shpirt. Një shpirt i pashoq, i bukur, plot jetë, që ngazëllehej njësoj si nga vala e liqerit, si nga kërcitja e një lopate të varkës që voziste tek kthehej pas peshkimit, si nga ajo shqiponja, që po arratisej tutje ndë Mal të Thatë, ashtu dhe nga bukuria e një gruaje, gati si Ana Kern.
Po pse, a nuk e dimë se, kudo do gjesh femra që vazhdojnë të dashurojnë Danten, Pushkinin, Lermontovin, Bërnsin, Eseninin, deri dhe A. Bllokun (atij që shkruante: “Dhe para korit, plaku si trim, / Këmbën përplas: / Më digj të tërin me zë, me shikim, / Ksjusha, ti gaz!” dhe që qe shkruar edhe një novelë për një vajzë sovjetike të dashuruar me të pas vdekjes), e plot të tjerë, edhe pse ata fizikisht nuk janë mes nesh.
Wouldn't each of them wish to be the girlfriend of one of them and wouldn't she feel privileged and lucky, as if their pen would immortalize her for life. And don't we all have the right to think that even Ana G. remained like that, thanks to that Platonism of hers, for the magma of the lover, of the one who raised hymns to the most sublime feeling that man has.
And that with her action, she attracted the attention of Kadare, the one who, with his unique talent, did and still does honor to all of Albania and so neatly conveys the rejuvenating power of love, "especially in the twilight of life". Of a love, for which Lasgushi's own writing fell into his hands; "Miss Ana G.'s visit to my tower", there was no longer any doubt.
Moreover, your respect for that young lady increases, until entering that "tower", she was careful not to kill the shadow she had left climbing those stairs. But the events take a completely unexpected turn: when Ismaili meets Lasgushi, who "had the same smile as last year", the latter returned to his rebellious character, which ruined all the visitor's plans. From the very beginning, he said: "Poets make the nation".
They, up there, remember them only when they need them. And then follows the surprising question: "By the way, what is he (Enveri) doing, is he alive or dead?". And all this, while that monster, with his wife, children, son-in-law and daughters-in-law, watched the trial of the Prime Minister's family declared a police agent at dinner, even though they spent the holidays together with him. There is something Shakespearean here, not to say that a little trick would be enough and anyone would believe that it was the work of fantasy of the great English tragedian from Strasford.
The climax comes when amid the dilemma of who had the most influence on the Poradec name; the lake, the city or the poet himself, the author of the novel, looking away at the darkness of the sky and the illumination of the stars, is tormented by the verse: "Flyed and the last magnificent trail with a poor soul".
But the reader must find out for himself the reason why the poet, the old boy, is going heartbroken: from the official silence and oblivion that followed him, or from the loss of his love for the wise beauty Ana G.?! But one thing is clear; what Dyame has said that; "The supreme goal of the novelist is to make us sensitive to the human spirit, to make us know and love it in its greatness and misery, in its victories and desires."
There is no reader who does not understand the strength of the human spirit in this novel that is characterized by the Tolstoyan precept, for simplicity, laconicism and clarity, thus achieving the perfection of the art form, which only a writer with inclination and great work can do. as the eternal living, the great and unrepeatable Ismail Kadareja!/Memorie.al
Lini një Përgjigje