“mail no longer writes”, Rama: Sad news of Kadare's departure went up to the pedestal of eternity

He has said that no word of sé comes at this moment and reprints a message published on his birthday.

Writing about it, I remembered how many people have taken the pen to make books, dissertations, masters, doctors, articles, scriptures, life stories and scraps, and dittirambs, evaluations and even insults, for his books and for themselves, and how little of a chance it is, that the mountain ranges of their letters have a better fortune than the sand castles, that kids raise on the edge of the sea, envisioning the heroes of the ballads or the gongs of the muds and the sounds of the dogs before the sleep.

And with that thought I'm leaving this note (that the same fate with those castles will have) with a simple thanks, without claiming anything more than expressing great gratitude to Ismail for the fantastic monument that has raised the Albanian language, making it even greater the love for this awesome language, which we Albanians have the chance to speak and write as a native language; for the extraordinary pleasure of traveling in the world of events, characters, the thrills that he has easily raised in the life of a magician, shed into light an exotic power and warehouse; for the bitterness of men who have caused the jealousy of jealousy of the jealous peoples in the world, the years that I have taught them to do so many years of life in the world's struggle, where I have now known as the writers and the rest of the rest of the writers, and the rest of the rest of the people who have not yet known as well-timers have seen it.

Ah, quite personal to this, and to Vladimir Majakovski, the volcanic genius of Russian poetry, that if there wasn't for Ismail Kadare, I would never have met him at one of the most amazing meetings in my literature!

I'm just stopping here and congratulating today with his birthday and so that his legend that Ismaili no longer writes, that it's just his next game of real-life characters, where he's always been like a foreigner of Albanian descent and passport, the last word of this wish left to Kadare's Mayakovx:

Your “

Dreaming in a soft brain.

As if they were a lazier on raised couches.

And he shall be mocked by the blood of the heart.

As long as I'm fed up, you brutal prick. ”

“Now is no longer the legend, Ismaili no longer writes”, wrote Rama at the end.