21.07.2021 – 14:13
The descendant of shDritëro Agolli’s well-known criminal, Elona Agolli, occasionally reveals his father’s correspondence with his relatives and friends, and finally, brings a letter sent by Ali Podrimja, at the time when Lumi, his son, was in a hospital in Belgrade.
In a 1979 letter, Podrimja addressed a prayer to Dritëro Agolli, asking if he could find a good doctor for the boy. The letter came from Belgrade to Tirana.
Below, the full letter of Ali Podrima, in 1979, to Dritëro Agolli:
I wanted to be with you, but yes, I found this bad. Despite the great interventions of the doctors, my child finds himself in a deep vanity.
He did not have echinococcus, but tumor in the seventh rib of the left side. Horror, horror and something unforeseen. I do not know how I will deceive him and how I will tell Victory; I do not know how I will spend my days with him.
Dear Dritëro, if you can and if you have good friends from the doctors, please take an interest and let me know somehow. My goal is to save the River, to find medicine for its life.
He gives this picture of the River to Xhevair.
Excuse me, I can no longer write.
I wish you all the best, your family and all your friends.
With brotherly love
I will remember October 30th as a difficult day for my family.
Some time later, the wonderful poem, “Lum Lumi”, would be written:
Is it your last day in the hospital?
we will fall to the end as it were
even this day tired at family time.
I have not cursed you nor have I ever fallen on you
I just told you; He in space far away is Me.
In life, in art the biggest killers are cowards.
Their craftsmanship; shooting in mistakes, fox.
You learn to love little ones. You learn to walk on your own two feet
over evil over good, think with your head
never spit in love, nor in manure;
Curse of the tribe.
Your ancient school; knowing how to open the door of the house
In every time,
Knowing how to say the word when it should be said.
Hatred is worse than murder.
For days he looks at me from the old bed; too small hospital
for your pains
for your seven wounds
for your days, for your nights full of cries.
too small hospital
too small hospital
beneath the deep blue Danube.
Do you think the smell of iodine will come to us all our lives
we will spit blood and bitterness,
do you disinfect your whole life, your dreams, your words.
Are you going to spend this day in the hospital too?
To look; in your eye the flame, the thirst, the sky,
In your eye no trickery, no rage
the purity of your eye has consumed me all.
At the bottom of your eye
unleash my ghastly fate.
He is not Me
He is not YOU
Who am I, who are you?
Your eye closes, and the turret on the Tower.
The most beautiful poem has not yet been written
nor will it be written
while the divers are still alive
My little one, the depth deceives, only turns away from the truth
and every end is tragic.
What is down there in matter
White Mouse, antimatter.
The time will come when you will open me up like a book
when I will learn to walk through my dust
but time often walks on the tortoise’s back.
Did we run out of words, songs,
we were defeated by dreams, roads,
Do you think that even this day is leaving us with a soul between our teeth.
You are bigger, smaller, stronger than this hospital
to anger this day to finish it to the end.