# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  Të njohim F. Herbertin si njeri

## Baptist

Qe ta njohim F. Herbertin si njeri, mjafton ta lexosh kete dedikim qe ia beri gruas se vet ne librin "Chapterhouse Dune". Cdo koment i saj nga ana ime mund te jete i tepert, andaj po e bi ketu teresisht te paprekur.
---
Here is another book dedicated to Bev, friend, wife, dependable helper and the person who gave this one its title.  The dedication is posthumous and the words below, written the morning after she died, should tell you something of her inspiration.


One of the best things I can say about Bev is there was nothing in our life together I need forget, not even the graceful moment of her death.  She gave me then the ultimate gift of her love, a peaceful passing she had spoken of without fear or tears, allaying thereby my own fears.  What greater gift is there than to demonstrate you need not fear death?

The formal obituary would read:  Beverly Ann Stuart Forbes Herbert, born October 20, 1926, Seattle, Washington; died 5:05 P.M.  February 7, 1984, at Kawaloa, Maui.  I know that is as much formality as she would tolerate.  She made me promise there would be no conventional funeral "with a preacher's sermon and my body on display."  As she said:  "I will not be in that body then but it deserves more dignity than such a display provides."

She insisted I go no further than to have her cremated and scatter her ashes at her beloved Kawaloa "where I have felt so much peace and love."  The only ceremony -- friends and loved ones to watch the scattering of her ashes during the singing of "A Bridge Over Troubled Waters."

She knew there would be tears then as there are tears while I write these words but in her last days she often spoke of tears as futile.  She recognized tears as part of our animal origins.  The dog howls at the loss of its master.

Another part of human awareness dominated her life:  Spirit.  Not in any mawkish religious sense nor in anything most Spiritualists would associate with the word.  To Bev, it was the light shining from awareness onto everything she encountered.  Because of this, I can say despite my grief and even within grief that joy fills my spirit because of the love she gave and continues to give me.  Nothing in the sadness at her death is too high a price to pay for the love we shared.

Her choice of a song to sing at the scattering of her ashes went to what we often said to each other -- that she was my bridge and I was hers.  That epitomizes our married life.

We began that sharing with a ceremony before a minister in Seattle on June 20, 1946.  Our honeymoon was spent on a firewatch lookout atop Kelley Butte in Snoqualmie National Forest.  Our quarters were twelve feet square with a cupola above only six feet square and most of that filled by the firefinder with which we located any smoke we saw.

In cramped quarters with a spring-powered Victrola and two portable typewriters taking up considerable space on the one table, we pretty well set the pattern of our life together:  work to support music, writing and the other joys living provides.

None of this is to say we experienced constant euphoria.  Far from it.  We had moments of boredom, fears, and pains.  But there was always time for laughter.  Even at the end, Bev still could smile to tell me I had positioned her correctly on her pillows, that I had eased the aching of her back with a gentle massage and the other things necessary because she could no longer do them for herself.

In her final days, she did not want anyone but me to touch her.  But our married life had created such a bond of love and trust she often said the things I did for her were as though she did them.  Though I had to provide the most intimate care, the care you would give an infant, she did not feel offended nor that her dignity had been assaulted.  When I picked her up in my arms to make her more comfortable or bathe her, Bev's arms always went around my shoulders and her face nestled as it often had in the hollow of my neck.

It is difficult to convey the joy of those moments but I assure you it was there.  Joy of the spirit.  Joy of life even at death.  Her hand was in mine when she died and the attending doctor, tears in his eyes, said the thing I and many others had said of her.

"She had grace."

Many of those who saw that grace did not understand.  I remember when we entered the hospital in the pre-dawn hours for the birth of our first son.  We were laughing.  Attendants looked at us with disapproval.  Birth is painful and dangerous.  Women die giving birth.  Why are these people laughing?

We were laughing because the prospect of new life that was part of both of us filled us with such happiness.  We were laughing because the birth was about to occur in a hospital built on the site of the hospital where Bev was born.  What a marvelous continuity!

Our laughter was infectious and soon others we met on the way to the delivery room were smiling.  Disapproval became approval.  Laughter was her grace note in moments of stress.

Hers was also the laughter of the constantly new.  Everything she encountered had something new in it to excite her senses.  There was a naivete about Bev that was, in its own way, a form of sophistication.  She wanted to find what was good in everything and everyone.  As a result, she brought out that response in others.

"Revenge is for children," she said.  "Only people who are basically immature want it."

She was known to call people who had offended her and plead with them to put away destructive feelings.  "Let us be friends."  The source of none of the condolences that poured in after her death surprised me.

It was typical of her that she wanted me to call the radiologist whose treatment in 1974 was the proximate cause of her death and thank him "for giving me these ten beautiful years.  Make sure he understands I know he did his best for me when I was dying of cancer.  He took the state of the art to its limits and I want him to know my appreciation."

Is it any wonder that I look back on our years together with a happiness transcending anything words can describe?  Is it any wonder I do not want or need to forget one moment of it?  Most others merely touched her life at the periphery.  I shared it in the most intimate ways and everything she did strengthened me.  It would not have been possible for me to do what necessity demanded of me during the final ten years of her life, strengthening her in return, had she not given of herself in the preceding years, holding back nothing.  I consider that to be my great good fortune and most miraculous privilege.

FRANK HERBERT,
Port Townsend, WA
April 6, 1984
---
Kaq kishte, ju faleminderit

----------


## DoLpHiN

Mund te kishte qene interesante po te ishte ne shqip ;)
Na e perkthen dot ne pjeses qe nuk e kuptojme?

----------


## Baptist

Do te perpiqem :)

----------


## Baptist

*Frank Herbert, Perkushtim libri*

Ja edhe nje liber tjeter kushtuar Bevit, mikut, gruas gjithmone te gatshme per ndihme dhe personit qi ia dhuroi titullin. 

Dedikimi eshte posthum dhe fjalet perfundi, te shkruara ne megjesin qe vdiq, do t'ju tregojne  dicka nga inspirimi im per te.

Gjeja me e mire qe mund te them ndaj Bevit eshte se nuk ka asgje nga jeta jone e perbashket qe dua ta harroj, madje as momentin e dhimbshem te vdekjes se saj. Aty ajo me dhuroi shperblimin e kushtuar te dashurise se saj, kalimin e saj te qete per te cilin kishte folur pa frike as lote, me cka e lidhi edhe friken time. A mund te kete dhurate me te cmueshme se  deshmia se nuk ekziston nevoja t'ia kesh friken vdekjes?

Ne nekrologjine formale do te shkruan: Beverly Ann Stuart Forbes Herbert, e lindur me 20 Tetor, 1926, Seattle, Washington; vdiq ne 5:05 P.D. me 7 Shkurt, 1984, ne Kawaloa, Maui. 
E di se kjo eshte e shumta e formalitetit qe ajo do ta lejonte. Me la amanet qe te mos kete varrim te zakonshem me "predikimin e priftit mbi trupin tim te shtrire". Nga se tha: "Une nuk do te jem ne ate trup atehere por ai meriton pak me shume dinjitet se qe ofron nje e pane e tille".
Pat insistuar qe te mos bej me teper se kremaktimin dhe perndarjen e hirit te saj ne Kawaloa "ku kam ndjere aq shume paqe dhe dashuri."  Si ceremoni e vetme  -- miqte dhe te dashurit e saj te shikojne shperndarjen e hirit te saj gjate kendimit te "Nje ure siper ujerave te trazuara".

E dinte se do te kete lote atehere sic ka lote ndersa po i shkruaj keto fjale por ne ditet e saj te fundit ajo shpesh fliste per lotet si per dicka profane. Ajo i pranonte lotet si pjese te origjines sone shtazarake. Qeni uluron me humbjen e te zotit.

Nje pjese tjeter e vetedijes njerezore dominonte jeten e saj: Shpirti. Jo ne ndonje kuptim  religjioz pa shije as te asaj qe shumica e Spiritualisteve do ta asoconin me kete fjale. Per Bevin, ishte nje drite qe shkelqente nga vetedija ndaj cdo gjeje qe perjetonte. Per kete shkak, mund te them se perkunder merzise qe kam madje edhe brenda saj se shpirti me mbushet hare nga dashuria qe ma ka falur dhe vazhdon te me jape. Asnje pikellim prane vdekjes se saj nuk ka cmim aq te larte te paguaj dashurine qe ndame ne.

Zgjedhje a saj per kenegen qe do ta kendojme ne shperndarjen e hirit te saj i shkoi asaj qe ne shpesh e thonim ndervete -- se ajo ishte ure e imja dhe une ure e saj. Qe misheron jeten e marteses sone.

...

----------


## Baptist

> Mund te kishte qene interesante po te ishte ne shqip ;)
> Na e perkthen dot ne pjeses qe nuk e kuptojme?


turki, -te ta perktheje ty axhi turqisht, se s'na the gje per perkthimin shqip tash 1 vit?

----------

