FLASH
Shkruar nga Edi Rama
Jim was a great force of nature, wherever he entered he seemed to open the curtain of air with the sword of his mouth, wherever he sat he seemed to occupy his entire side of the table with the breadth of his laughter...
My day could not have started more bitterly than with the news of the death of Agim Rada, the rare sculptor, my great friend from my earliest youth, for whom I connected these words between long pauses and sighs in the mouth, but I couldn't avoid them at all, because definitely someone from the few who knew him closely, should have written them down. For him, the incomparable Gim of old, if for no one else. I know that the lines below are a bit long, but he, if none of you, has all the time to read them and laugh and cry with them, as he wants and as only he knows how to do.
Anti-hero of socialist realism and hero of curbside dissent, rebel of the Tirona of morning gymnastics and dinner laps, relentless lover of the alleys of the Artificial Lake and equally tireless mocker of the zealous spies in territal suits around the "Bay of whores", Gimi was the most excluded student from the choirs and actions and the most comical example of the failure of re-educational prejudices in the heart of the working class. The nightmare of Party organizations in school and in life and of youth leaders on the front line of the war against foreign shows, Gimi threw to his disciples of that blessed time of forbidden dreams, crumbs from the bag of his experience in planting of the seed of love the virgin fields of the coveted female world, preaching free love and the taste of the forbidden,
"Allow me to withdraw for a while, to go and break in the middle, to return to mother nature what
I took them piece by piece!", he used to say with his blue eyes burning with pleasure, when he went to the bathroom or when the cashier asked him for the city ticket, his epic ofshama followed it with a, "Oh, betomu sy that until now you've seen such a miracle!", while when he met one of his favorites on the street, the Democratic Front retirees with republican hats and gray shoes with holes, the address would come in a guilty voice, "Shoko, forgive me, a do you know something where I can make a self-criticism that I can't take it?!"...
Jim was a great force of nature, wherever he entered he seemed to open the curtain of air with the sword of his mouth, wherever he sat he seemed to occupy his entire side of the table with the breadth of his laughter, wherever he walked he always with him three or four others, as the bearer of a mystical message, which in fact had only the irresistible magnet of a free spirit and the incomparable charisma of a leader of souls, who sought freedom in their still undiscovered or unconscious selves lost.
Natural talent of clay, the one who through clay brought the great dead of the nation to life and treated death as the last lover, in the endless line of his Dylcinjas that would never have an end, "just like the end of clay we come and to the clay we go, what matters is what we leave behind from our clay", he was drawn more and more to the sculpture studio, not to break in the middle, but to spend endless hours on foot, in a run unbridled by the anxiety of time running out, as the number of dead he dreamed of bringing to life grew.
Dekadat që pasuan epokën e lavdishme të ilaritetit permanent ishin ndryshe dhe bohemi i harbuar i asaj epoke, u kthye vit pas viti në hijen e vetvetes, mes telasheve e dëshirës për të krijuar, melankolisë dhe nevojës për t’i mbijetuar transformimit të jashtëm e të brendshëm, duke lënë sa më shumë vepra. Rrëmuja dhe rrëmeti i qytetit që dikur ishte i tëri i veti, e ku në çdo lagje, nga Ali Demi në Kinostudio, kishte një Ofeli të dëshpëruar në pritjen e përlotur të të vetmit dhe të papërsëritshmit Gim Rada, hynin e dilnin gjithnjë e më pak në izolimin e tij përmes frëngjisë së celularit, prej nga edhe më shkruajti se vdekja i ishte paraqitur në derë për ta marrë.
He had understood that the last lover had no intention of leaving him without taking him, and that his legendary argument, "The deserted man leaves no woman, it is the women who leave him", had fallen and the separation from this world was only matter of time.
Now my great friend of the earliest youth, Gim Rada dora himself, is lying forever in the bed of the first who refused to leave him, and we could not help him to escape from it. "A woman is like life that doesn't give up easily!", he told us back then, when our mustaches hadn't yet tasted the first sweat, "Imagine them both as a big and invisible pit, that doesn't level with the ground without it's full, so be patient and I hope you'll be lucky until the last shovel!".
Hey Gim Rada, never die!
Lini një Përgjigje