Out of thirst for Fishta and illusions

2022-06-27 13:06:23Pikëpamje SHKRUAR NGA ZIJA VUKAJ

Zija Vukaj

It is difficult for us mortals to understand what illusion is. Industrial and technological dynamics have made the human being hyperegoist. We have also dropped empathy, as an ontological quality of being.

What happens when the individual encounters the well-being of the other? With another's villa? With the signature clothes of the other, with the car of the other? What does not happen happens when the same individual encounters the culture, work, intellectual product and talent of the other. Wise people today are even rarer than they always have been.

Knowledge and cultural level is valued today according to certificates, testimonies, stamps which, not only eliminate the ignorant look, but also create urban legends. Hence, the expansion of the selfishness of being communal knows no bounds. This is more clearly and clearly reflected in the culture.

It is possible that Gjergj Fishta, Mjeda, Lasgushi, Migjeni, Frashërlinjtë, Kuteli, Çabej, etc. do not see anything with their pockets full. The effect of this selfishness in narcissism is the shallow reading of the works of the ancients. A reading not only superficial, but also blinded by the narcissistic illusion that anyone can be like them.

And this is also one of the reasons why today thousands of writers, who have nothing to do with the art of writing, flock and murmur, except for the anthropomorphic illusion, this treacherous trap, which makes innocent mortal beings think of themselves as resembling Nolin of Konica for the fact that they are equipped by the hand of the creator with five fingers, two hands and other organs similar to the above. Questions are circulating today such as: "How many works have you written?" or "How many awards have you received?" etc.

All this little meditation of mine that I am sharing now, stems from a crush that strikes me from meeting the satire of Father George (so I like to say to Fishta, like my ancestors). I read it often (like everyone else) and I feel guilty for reading it so shallowly (it reads so shallowly). Patër Gjergji is the king of Albanian satire. It is great everywhere, but in satire it is magnificent. Greatness lies in the unexpected. And the unexpected lies in the surprise. And his surprise lies in the fantasy of a born artist to create the sublime of the art of speech.

This keen mind, endowed with endless information and culture, this word artist and barometer of an unparalleled patriotism, which knows all the Balkan developments and beyond, has sudden satirical outbursts, worth thousands of literary contributions. When I had the opportunity two years ago to visit the city of the Albanian alphabet, Bitola, I saw an urban center emptied of Albanian speakers. I was disappointed to the point of despair, and it was there that I was reminded of the verses of the blessed Father George:

"Again they are saying that the Bulgarians
are fortifying the Monastery,
and that the cats on the ground of the Albanians are waiting for you to add
grace and without grace.
After all, what do we writers more than a century later know that scribble tons of paper to look like a writer? Father George's fantasy creates images that limit themselves to optical illusions. Here are two examples:
(1) "Ele ma, but how I wanted
With him said 'rain in the first word
Today faster a bag of fleas
You find together that two Albanians."
This flea bag is quite interesting. How many times have I imagined myself or someone else carrying such a bag on my back.
(2) In "Lugati" ("Lahuta"), there is a humorous sequence. When the ghost of Mehmet Ali Pasha appears to Knjaz Nikolla at midnight. This Shakespearean scene is given as follows: "
He had his belly until the end of the century . Here, that figure which aesthetes or "critics" call oxymorons and which usually occupies the space of a phrase or a verse, occupies an entire poetic paragraph. But let us better quote Voltaire: "Il faut cultiver notre jardin." It is better for everyone to work in their own garden.