No vídeo: rapsodo albanês canta, acompanhado de lahuta, o trecho de uma épica. O meu albanês não dá para perceber mais nada.
The rhapsode began to sing in a voice quite unlike his speaking voice. It was an unnatural, cold, unwavering voice full of anguish that seemed to come from another world. It made Bill's spine tingle. He kept on trying to follow the meaning of the words, but the monotonous delivery of the singer made that impossible. It felt as if he was being emptied from the inside, as if his guts were being drawn out of him, as if his inner being was slowly being wound out along a woollen thread turning on a distaff. The rhapsode's voice had the ability to hollow you out. If he went on much longer, everyone was going to dissolve on the spot. But the lahuta stopped on time.
Ismail Kadaré, The File on H, David Bellos (trad. da versão francesa da tradução albanesa de Jusuf Vrioni), Vintage Books, 2006.