Mużajk

2006-09-12T02:28:00.000+02:00

Run, rabbit, run, run, run, from the womb to the tomb,
de cuatro a dos a tres, del río a la mar,
play the fool, suffer school, żunżana ddur iddur,
engage-toi, perds ta foi, le regole imparar,

kul u sum, aħra u bul, chase the moon, meet your doom,
walk on ice, roll your dice, col destino danzar,
métro, boulot, dodo, titla’ x-xemx, terġa’ tqum,
decir siempre mañana y nunca mañanar, [...]

from C'est la vie

mużajk
mosaic - mosaico - mosaïque

an exploration in multilingual verse

2005-2008

Antoine Cassar

"Antoine Cassar's multilingual poetry and the plurivocality of his verses [...] is the result of the endless possibilities that ensue when two or more languages are spun together. [...] The resulting verses are not a linguistic Babel. Rather, the poems are a layering of languages that widens the horizons of interpretation; a delicate balance of economy that achieves rhythm, rhyme and a movement towards completion or at least, as Cassar writes, to mark existence, before the eternal silence descends."

Stanley Borg, The Times of Malta

2006-09-10T00:45:00.000+02:00

Dopo la pazza folla, un angolo nel cuor,
ħarruba tal-Maqluba, the scent of open air,
prado, acantilado, el girasol en flor,
mon âme qui se baigne dans le Poème de la Mer. [...]

from Samota

Introduction

January 2005, Madrid. Having spent the first five months of a two-year stay in Qrendi –the village in southern Malta where I had spent part of my childhood– I returned to Spain to hand in the first draft of my thesis and to visit family and friends. As beautiful as I find the city of Madrid, particularly for its architecture and cosmopolitan lifestyle, the constant hubbub, hustle and bustle of the metropolis briefly brought back the feeling of disorientation and claustrophobia I had lived through the previous year. Working in the centre of Madrid had been an interesting albeit remarkable nightmare: commuting from one building to another across an asphalt jungle, craving the scent of open air as an escalating sense of closure pressed against the insomnia-ridden self, the urbanisation of the human psyche rapidly broadening the inexorable rift between man and nature… I could feel Madrid's diverse cultures being swallowed up by the increasingly uniform appearance of the city streets. When plurality becomes uniformity, the charm and appeal of variety tends to be lost. Uniformity is different to unity: the former is monotonous and bland, whereas the latter allows mutually distinct voices to coexist in harmony and interact to different degrees. In the metro, in the crowds, amid the heavy traffic, I could hear phrases in various languages floating around my head. Seizing their rhythm as best I could, I sat down and attempted to combine each utterance in a logical sequence, exploiting their sounds whilst trying to maintain a serious tone. I thus wrote my first multilingual sonnet, In città, documenting the paradoxical sense of meaninglessness I felt in the city and expressing contentment for having rediscovered the guileless delight of rural life. Although not altogether satisfied with the result, the poetic experiment had begun.

The idea of experimenting with multilingual verse had been hovering in my thoughts for quite some time. Until a couple of years before, I had written poetry in Spanish, in Italian and in English, yet I found it difficult to decide which language I felt more comfortable with. Choosing one, or even two, would have meant sacrificing others, and to a certain degree, I felt that making a choice would also imply a political decision. Why the obsession with one as opposed to many? With the desire to take advantage of the phonetic nature and literary allusions of each language, whilst working and studying in Alcalá de Henares, a small University town in the outskirts of Madrid, this idea had materialised into an opera libretto written in a combination of four languages (the three mentioned above, plus French), a burlesque account of modern man's consumist habits, the use of religion as a means to structure and limit people's judgment according to certain interests, and the ease with which we create and celebrate new heroes. I had also begun to write multilingual song lyrics, mainly on the destruction of the environment, the arbitrary nature of political borders and the myth of nationality, albeit with a more light-hearted touch. For a time, these works were in search of a musician, yet as preliminary attempts at combining the sounds and rhythms of different languages in poetic form, I did not find them satisfactory. There was a lack of balance, and I felt that setting the works to music would only serve to accentuate their failed cohesion.

The Maltese language, which I was in the process of re-learning after over a decade's absence from the islands, was just the ingredient that I needed. The presence of Maltese in the song lyrics had been minimal. In the new sonnets, the Semitic structure and consonant sounds of the language provided greater variety, density and room for manoeuvre, whilst its Romance superstrate and vowel sounds linked it to the use of three of the other tongues, mainly to Italian. One of the main aims of this experiment is to play around with the sounds of each language in an attempt to gel them into a single rhythm, and in fact, I found that Maltese words can be rhymed with all four of the other languages, be it by consonance or assonance.

Macaronic verse and the mosaic

The reason behind the choice of the name mosaic (or mużajk, mosaico, mosaïque – the title need not be written in any language in particular) may be obvious, but as I shall explain below, it goes beyond the mere combination of sounds and languages. I make no claim to originality, and whether these mosaics are to be considered a form, a genre or both is not a question for me to answer. Multilingual poetry –often called 'macaronic' verse– has existed for centuries. In the middle ages, we find non-liturgical carols written in a mixture of vernacular and Latin, which were particularly popular in the land we today know as Germany. Later on, in 16th and 17th century Italy, we find poems composed in a mixture of Italian, Greek and neo-Latin, very often satyrical, with a lot of the vocabulary actually invented on the spot. Naturally, macaronic verse is especially common in cultures with widespread bilingualism: for example, a great deal of bilingual poetry was written in 19th century Ireland; meanwhile, in Maltese literature of the same period, we find the bi and tri-lingual poems of Ġan Anton Vassallo, where Italian and English are mainly used to add an ironic effect. One modern Maltese exponent of macaronic verse is Victor Fenech, who, like Vassallo, interleaves English lines to add an element of sarcasm to the poetry:

Sun and limestone everywhere,
djar, vilel kullimkien
(imm' għall-għarajjes fejn?)
want a place in the sun?
show us your money…
you can have one!
Għax lilha, Mulej,
bl-oħla dawl libbist…
Malta fil-lsien u l-qalb
Malta Maltija! ¹

Macaronic poetry is often used as a vehicle for humorous social criticism, but also as a ludic exercise and linguistic challenge, or simply for the delight of hearing different languages in unison. One example well-known to English poetry is A. D. Godley's Motor Bus, written in a mixture of English (both modern and old-fashioned) and Latin; another example, a love poem written by Lord Byron in 1810, closes each verse with a refrain in Greek. Ezra Pound went as far as including Chinese characters in some of his Cantos -as well as quotations in European languages other than English-, whilst T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land contains well-known lines in German and Sanskrit. Closer to our times, one of the main inspirations for my multilingual experiment is the technique of 'collage' used in many of Franco Battiato's popular songs of the 1980s. Chanson Égocentrique, Up Patriots to Arms and Cuccurucucú Paloma all combine Italian lyrics with lines in other languages, whilst other celebrated tracks by the Sicilian songwriter end with a free stanza often containing references to the lyrics of other popular international groups and singers. See in particular the delicious nonsense ending of Passaggi a livello, built on four-syllable words and phrases in six different languages:

Good vibrations, Satisfaction, sole mio
Cinderella mit violino, Lux eterna
Galileo, douce France, Nietzsche-Lieder
Kurosawa, meine Liebe
mister Einstein on the beach.

Nevertheless, in all of the mentioned examples, we find that one language provides the main framework of the text, which is then peppered by the use of other languages to add an exotic and very often comical and ludic effect. In this respect, the mosaic is intended to be different: except in particular circumstances, there is an attempt to balance the use of each language as equally as possible, such that no single tongue takes prominence over the others, each one forming an integral part of the poetic fabric. That said, depending on the theme, influences or starting point of each mosaic, there are a few poems where one or two languages have a more dominant presence: such is the case of Ciao amore ciao, with references to traditional and modern Italian love songs, as well as Bateau Ivre, partly inspired by Rimbaud's symbolist poem of the same name (but without the article). At the outset there was also a tendency to conclude the mosaics in Maltese, particularly as the poetry became more personal – one poet friend has even suggested that this exercise may be a mere process of transition towards writing monolingual poetry in Maltese. However, although I still write monolingual poetry from time to time (mainly in Maltese and Spanish), I hope to continue giving priority to the experiment of multilingual verse in the years to come. I find the mosaics a great deal more challenging and exciting, partly for their cosmopolitan feeling – although of course, we should readily admit that the languages used are all 'Western', and our world is certainly a lot larger than Europe and the Americas.

After having written seven or eight of these poems and referring to them rather clumsily as 'multilingual sonnets', I decided to simply call them mosaics. Classifying them as macaronic or otherwise will depend on the breadth of the definition given to this term. They are mosaics not only of sounds, syllables and languages but also of literary references and topoi, and above all, of poetic decisions, in an attempt to achieve a successful interaction of the different elements. The name mosaic also refers to the external form of the poems, as I shall now explain.

The sonnet: a natural choice

As I have been carrying out research on the origins of the Spanish sonnet since 1999, it was only natural that I would choose this poetic form for my multilingual experiment. I had already written several sonnets in Spanish, although today I would only dare publish a few of them. The sonnet has a certain geometric attraction to it: appearing to the eye as a rectangle or square depending on the number of syllables per line, the sense of harmonic proportion given by the two parts of the Petrarcan variety (8+6 or 4+3) conveys an idea of unity and completeness. Charles Baudelaire himself once said that the sonnet possesses une beauté pythagorique; in fact, according to today's most widely-accepted theory, recently developed by Wilhelm Pötters on the basis of research previously carried out by Ernest Wilkins, the invention of the sonnet in early-13th century Sicily may have been partly inspired by Archimedes' approximate fraction for π (22/7), and thus by the form of the circle.² The dimensions of Giacomo da Lentini's original sonnets –14 lines by 11 syllables–, which would be perpetuated by thousands of poets in different languages way into the 19th century and beyond, are closely related to the numbers of this fraction, whilst the area of a rectangle of the same dimensions is equal to that of a circle of radius 7 – which in medieval Europe was of course considered a magic number.

This academic theory partly explains the circular nature of the sonnet, in Pötters' words, "geometry in metric form". This is related to another basic element of the sonnet form: the importance of logic. Aided by its neatly fragmented structure, the sonnet allows for the easy arrangement of a rational argument, with each stanza forming one or more hermetic yet interrelated parts of the discourse. In some of Petrarch's best examples, the two quatrains contain two premises, the first tercet a transition, all leading to the conclusion presented in the second tercet or even in the final line. The sonnet's tight configuration effectively encapsulates and organises a logical thought or reflection, combining unity and beauty of content with harmony and splendour of form.

In the mosaics, the logical chain of discourse is intended to be structured not so much by the form of the sonnet itself as by a succession of phrases, clichés and images supported by the play on sounds, with allusion and association of ideas leading the reader to the final conclusion. Thus the mosaics not only combine different languages into a single rhythm but also into a single thought, and in many cases, literary references and intertextuality are aimed to contribute to the essence and general feeling of the poem. Influenced as I am by postmodernist writing and structuralist poetic criticism, I firmly believe that dialogue between texts is what keeps literature alive. To some extent, the mosaics are also intended as an act of tribute and admiration to poets I have enjoyed reading, be they old or contemporary.

Just as ancient and modern mosaics often have a square or rectangular shape, so too do these poems. In effect, they are not written in hendecasyllables but in alexandrines – each line is made up of two hemistichs of seven syllables each (or six when the accent falls on the last syllable, as always occurs, for example, in French and often in Maltese and English due to the phonetic nature of these languages), thus giving the mosaics the form of a 14 by 14 square. Sonnets written in alexandrines were of course common in 16th and 17th century France, as well as in modernist poetry in the Spanish language, one of the principal exponents being the Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío. I chose this syllabic line not only because I had used it quite extensively in my Spanish poetry, but mainly due to its flexibility and adaptability to each language, as well as the ease with which it can be split in the creation of internal rhyme.³

More so than to be read, these poems are designed to be heard. For this reason I include recordings of each selected mosaic. The quality is not perfect, but they should give an idea of the intended poem delivery. There is a certain theatrical element to the poetry which I believe should be exploited, something I hope to continue to develop in the not too distant future. The experiment is still at an early stage, and I have recently begun to play around with other languages beyond the main five mentioned above, so far including Czech, Dutch, Hungarian...

The first series of mosaics appeared in July 2007 in the self-published anthology Ħbula Stirati (Tightropes), alongside the work of four Maltese poet friends. One of the reviewers of this book very validly poses the question whether the mosaics are the zealous attempt of a poet-linguist to break down the insular walls of the Maltese language in order to broaden his audience, or whether the poems aspire beyond the demands of recognition and consumption and look more to transcend the slavery imposed ipso facto by the regime of 'a single language' on the free spirit of the poet. The first supposition is not entirely false, but the second is much more accurate. Whether or not the mosaic can be a humble (or not so humble) manifesto taking unity in diversity another little step forward, towards a poetry which is at once local and supranational, remains to be seen, and this I believe will ultimately depend on the content more than on the mere form.

I hope you enjoy the poems I have produced so far as much as I enjoy composing them.

Antoine Cassar
August 2007

¹ Taken from Friggieri, Oliver, 2000. Dizzjunarju ta' Termini Letterarji (Malta: PEG), pg. 436. This is the closing stanza of a longer poem called "Din l-Art Ħelwa, Din l-Art li Alla Tana" ('This sweet land, this land which God gave us'), which effectively parodies the words of the Maltese national anthem and other patriotic poetry. A rough translation: «Sun and limestone everywhere, / houses, villas everywhere / (but where can lovers go?) / want a place in the sun? / show us your money... / you can have one! / For her, Lord, / you clothed with the sweetest light... / Malta in the language and the heart / Malta Maltese!»

² See Pötters, Wilhelm, 1998. «Nascita del sonetto: Metrica e matematica al tempo di Federico II» (Ravenna: Longo Editore); and Wilkins, E. H., 1959. «The Invention of the Sonnet and other studies in Italian literature» (Roma: Ed. di Storia e Letteratura).

³ This type of line is known in Maltese as the vers Martelljan, used for example by Ninu Cremona and Rużar Briffa. See Friggieri, op. cit., pg. 442. Together with alessandrino, Italian uses the labels martelliano and doppio settenario.

2006-09-08T21:06:00.012+02:00

Adagio, a tuo agio, il festeggiar d'un bacio,
tbissima lewn ix-xemx, turisti f'art il-ħolm,
arc-en-ciel, que tu es belle!, deux corps qui font une ombre,
si scioglie la mia lingua, e chiudo gli occhi, e taccio...

from Ciao amore ciao

News

28 May 2008
XIII Biennale des Jeunes Créateurs de l'Europe et de la Méditerranée – Puglia, Italy
Selected by Inizjamed as one of the artists to represent Malta at the BJCEM, I gave an intimate introduction and reading of the mosaics before an international audience at the Fiera del Levante, Bari.
I performed C'est la vie, Ciao amore ciao, A Dunánál and Roam.
This was followed by a recital of fellow Maltese poet Norbert Bugeja, and a Maltese/multilingual poetic duet between Norbert and myself entitled Kairos, in relation to the chosen theme of the Biennale.
A video of the performance will soon be placed on Youtube.

Links:
Presentation of four mosaics projected on screen during the performance with parallel English translation
Interview on Controradio together with Biagio Lieti, 30 May 2008
Podcast interview of myself and Norbert Bugeja for Bitonto TV
The flyer for Run, Rhythm, Run, as the joint poetry performance was advertised
Article on the Biennale by leading Maltese author Immanuel Mifsud, in English and Maltese

With heartfelt thanks to BJCEM, Inizjamed, and the Malta Council for Culture and the Arts.

11 April 2008
Djaspora - An evening of Maltese literature, Foyer Européen, Luxembourg
With the participation of Pierre J. Mejlak, Miriam Galea, Alex Vella Gera, Albert Marshall, Kevin Saliba, Joseph Spiteri, Simon Bartolo and others.
A bilingual booklet of the prose and poems read can be downloaded here.

I performed the mosaics C'est la vie, Tak, jako pták and A Dunánál, as well as (a revised version of) the Maltese poem Jum ir-Riflessjoni.

10 February 2008
Popular blog Language Hat features the mosaic C'est la vie.

January 2008
The Chimaera, Issue II - Found in Translation
A feature on poetic translation into English from various languages, among them classical Greek and Latin, Chinese, French, German, Irish, Italian, Old English, Spanish, Swedish, and Urdu. The issue also includes original work by over 20 poets. The Chimaera is an online miscellany of poetry and prose edited in Australia by Paul Stevens and Peter Bloxsom.
The feature includes three mosaics together with recordings and translations in English, followed by a prose introduction of the mosaic concept.

December 2007
The Drunken Boat Fall/Winter 2007 - A feature of contemporary poetry from Malta
A survey of the work of thirteen Maltese poets translated and edited by Maria Grech Ganado, together with essays by Adrian Grima and Bernard Micallef. The Drunken Boat is an online literary magazine owned and operated by US poet and translator Rebecca Seiferle, a winner of the Pushcart prize.
The feature includes four mosaics together with recordings and translations in English.

29-30 September 2007
Malta Mediterranean Literature Festival, Couvre Porte, Birgu, Malta
A major literary event held in the context of the Literature Across Frontiers project, partly as the outcome of the International Translation Workshop (see below).
With the participation of Valerio Cruciani (Italy), Samira Negrouche (Algeria), Biel Mesquida (Catalonia), Fatena al-Ghorra (Gaza, Palestine), İpek Seyalıoğlu (Turkey), Robert Minhinnick (Wales) and Maltese writers Clare Azzopardi, Antoine Cassar, Maria Grech Ganado, Adrian Grima, Immanuel Mifsud and Walid Nabhan.
Music from the Zizza Ensemble, film and artwork by Pierre Portelli.
I recited mosaics Azul and Jaro ve Stratově, together with Maltese poems U niġi nfittxek and Lejl romantiku.
Also read were my translations into Maltese of poetry by Biel Mesquida, Valerio Cruciani and İpek Seyalıoğlu.
Click here to read a detailed report of the festival written in Italian by Valerio Cruciani, including a number of the poems performed.

..........

24-28 September 2007
Literature Across Frontiers - International Translation Workshop, Il-Wardija, Malta
A one-week residential translation workshop, organised by Inizjamed as part of the LAF project, part-financed by the Culture 2000 programme of the European Commission.
With the participation of Alexandra Büchler (Czech Republic/UK), Valerio Cruciani (Italy), Samira Negrouche (Algeria), Biel Mesquida (Catalonia), Fatena al-Ghorra (Gaza, Palestine), İpek Seyalıoğlu (Turkey), and Maltese writers Clare Azzopardi, Antoine Cassar, Adrian Grima, and Walid Nabhan.
Click here to watch a news item on the workshop by Television Malta (© PBS).
İpek Seyalıoğlu's Turkish translation of the mosaic Azul can be read here.

27 August 2007
Reach for the Sky - Café Deux Baronnes, Valletta, Malta
An evening of poetry and music, held by PoeżijaPlus in collaboration with the Malta Astronomical Society.
Charles Mifsud read the mosaic Samota.

24 August 2007
Mosaics: A symphony of multilingual poetry
Feature on the mosaics published in The Daily Star, Kuwait (distributed with the International Herald Tribune). With thanks to journalist Marija Grech.
Click here to see the pdf, or here to read the article online.

August 2007
The mużajk website finally goes live in the form of a blog, featuring a selection of seven poems together with audio recordings and translations in English.

July 2007
First seventeen mosaics appear in self-published Maltese anthology Ħbula Stirati, together with the poetry of Mario Vella, Alex Vella Gera, Kevin Saliba and Ċali Grima.
Photos of the book launch at the Tal-Milorda gardens in Floriana can be seen here.
At the launch, Maria Grech Ganado gave a warm rendition of the mosaic C'est la vie, and I performed Azul, as well as my Maltese poem U niġi nfittxek.

30 June 2007
Rimbaud et l'Europe - Conference and poetry reading organised by Les Amis de Rimbaud, Cercle Munster, Luxembourg
Translations of Rimbaud's poetry read in over twenty languages, including Maltese rendering of poem Roman ("On n'a pas sérieux quand on a dix-sept ans") by Alex Vella Gera, downloadable here.
I also read the mosaic Bateau Ivre.

May 2007
C'est la vie and Ciao amore ciao published in Italian literary journal Nuovi Argomenti (Mondadori) together with Italian translations by Damiano Abeni.

The same issue features work of Walter Siti, Moira Egan, Derek Walcott, James Wright and Seamus Heaney, among others.

20-21 April 2007

Dream 2007 - A multilingual workshop presentation based on themes from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, Centre culturel, Sandweiler, Luxembourg

A workshop of acting, music, dance and poetry in several languages, as part of the celebrations of Luxembourg European Capital of Culture 2007.

I performed the poem Ciao amore ciao.

9 February 2007
sittalive - The first evening of Maltese poetry in Luxembourg, Foyer Européen, Luxembourg
With the participation of Norbert Bugeja, Kevin Saliba, Stephen Gatt, Alex Vella Gera and Albert Marshall.
A booklet of the poems read can be downloaded here (together with the English translations).

I read the mosaics C'est la vie, Ciao amore ciao and Azul, as well as two poems in Maltese.
Click here to watch videos of some of the readings.

14 October 2006
Turġien (Steps) - An evening of literature and music, Manuel Theatre Courtyard, Valletta, Malta
Part of the international writing project Sealines, run by Literature Across Frontiers in collaboration with Inizjamed and supported by the Culture 2000 programme of the EU.
Maltese poet Maria Grech Ganado read the mosaic In città.

4 August 2006
Peace vigil in solidarity with the people of Lebanon and Israel, Għar id-Dud, Sliema, Malta
An evening of poetry, folk music, and fair trade on the Sliema seafront in favour of peace, with the participation of Vince Fabri, Adrian Grima, Roderick Mallia and Walid Nabhan, among others.
A video of myself reading two haikus, the mosaic Nhar ta' Tnejn and a Maltese translation of Franco Battiato's song Povera Patria can be accessed here.

3 August 2006
Public reading by Moira Egan and Maltese poets, Café Deux Baronnes, Valletta, Malta
With the participation of Clare Azzopardi, Maria Grech Ganado, Adrian Grima, Simone Inguanez and Roderick Mallia.
C'est la vie, and in particular Ciao amore ciao, were very well received by the audience.

1 August 2006
Literary gathering with Canadian-based Maltese poet John P. Portelli, Ċentru Dawradurella, Kalkara, Malta
An informal get-together of Maltese writers reading and discussing one another's work, bridging the borders between Canada and Malta. I read the poem C'est la vie.

25 July 2006
Poeżija Gardjola - Maltese and US Poets at Ġnien il-Gardjola, Senglea, Malta
Open-air public reading organised by Inizjamed in collaboration with the Senglea Local Council, with the participation of poet and songwriter M. L. Liebler, together with other US and Maltese poets, including Maria Mazziotti Gillan, Anca Vlasopolos, Immanuel Mifsud, Victor Fenech, Maria Grech Ganado, Leslie Vassallo, Adrian Grima, Simone Inguanez, Roderick Mallia, and Malta-based Palestinian poet Walid Nabhan.
This was my first public reading of the mosaics. C'est la vie, Tant xwejjaħ tant żagħżugħ and Samota were very well received.

2005-12-15T17:16:00.000+01:00

Hüzün

İstanbul'da bir güz. Tarifsiz bir hüzün:
toute épreuve n'est qu'ébauche. Schlafwandlerstadt, awash
amid the mist, ambula por la bruma, iroxx
liżar tal-fwar mal-lampa, qui nulle part n'y allume...

Blinking, beckoning, barking, basking in the dusk, strewn
with the absence of May. İpek gibi ve loş,
miroir brouillé de buée où la soif se reproche,
bħall-gawwi abjad ragħwa wara t-tranja tal-barkun.

İşte dumanlı nur, ein staubig Abendsturm,
pátina de hollín. In a back alley lodge,
un derviche s'épanouit comme une orchidée blanche,
reaching up to be gathered with the scythe of tattered moon.

Estambul es distancia, es ansia de otro ayer,
–bugün dün, yarın dün, ve dün sonsuz bir keder–

belt itqarnat max-xatt, titlenbeb miż-żinżifru,
belt tiżżerżaq mis-swaba' appik appik imissu,
belt titfettet, titfellel, titgerrem mill-bebbux...

Bir varmış, bir yokmuş, açık kanatlı kuş,
er träumt von höherem Flug noch zwischen Sturz und Sturz.

Sous une lune en décours, j'ai lu dans le lueur
l'écriture qui demeure sur les murs de malheur:

Minarets pierce the clouds
pining towards the sun.
The flame has done its rounds.
The light, once more, undone.

Dans l'automne monochrome Istanbul embaume son âme.
Bu akşam boğuyor. Çan. Can. Ezan. Hazan.

Hüzün (Sadness)

An autumn in Istanbul. An indefinable sadness: all attempt/experience is but a sketch. Sleepwalker city, awash amid the mist, rambling around in the haze, sprinkling a sheet of vapour over the lamp, which nowhere there illuminates...

Blinking, beckoning, barking, basking in the dusk, strewn with the absence of May. Silk-like and dim, a mirror blurred with steam where thirst rebukes itself, like the foam-white seagulls following the wake of the pontoon.

Here is a hazy radiance, a dusty evening storm, a patina of soot. In a back alley lodge, a dervish blossoms like a white orchid, reaching up to be gathered with the scythe of tattered moon.

Istanbul is distance, the yearning of a different yesterday, -today is yesterday, tomorrow is yesterday, and yesterday is an endless grief-

a city spreading its tentacles along the coast, rolled out by the biting draught, a city slithering between the fingers just about to touch, a city being sliced, being crumbled, being nibbled away by snails…

Once upon a time there was a bird with open wings, he dreams of higher flight still from fall to fall.

Under a waning moon, I have seen in the gleam the writing which remains on the walls of sorrow:

“Minarets pierce the clouds pining towards the sun. The flame has done its rounds. The light, once more, undone.”

In the monochrome autumn Istanbul embalms her soul. This evening is choking. Bell. Spirit. Call to prayer. The melancholy of autumn.

The last four words are an adaptation of the ending ("Ezan, Çan, Hazan") of the poem Boğaz'da Ortaköy'de by Beki L. Bahar, found at the top of a pole close to the Ortaköy wharf in Istanbul.

2005-08-17T18:10:00.000+02:00

A Dunánál

Talán Budapest ég. Tal vez se iluminaron
de poniente las calles. Perhaps the crats who freed her
now besiege her with colour, b'rebbiegħa dejjem ġdida...
Ah, дорогой товарищ ! Vigyázz - egy, kettő, három,

Semmi. Mennyi? Jobb áron: peasant blood by the gallon,
húzni, tolni, öffnen, schließen, west to east and back, ida
y vuelta, cual muelle en manos de un niño fratricida…
És a Duna csak folyt, like the river of Charon.

O tempora, o mores! La ciudad de las flores
vendió su alma al dólar, her charm for neon furniture;

thus I, tourist of tongues, catador de amores,
bête en quête de beauté, verssorok őrült koldusa,

minn tarf il-pont imkisser inbul biex nara ddub

my tingling western shame in the kidney-brown Danube.

By the Danube

Perhaps Budapest is burning. Perhaps the streets have been lit up with sunset. Perhaps the crats who freed her now besiege her with colour, with a spring forever new… Ah, dear comrade! Beware - one, two, three,

Nothing. How much? A better price: peasant blood by the gallon, pull, push, open, close, west to east and back, gone and returned, like a spring in the hands of a fratricide child… And the Danube simply flowed, like the river of Charon.

Oh the times, oh the manners! The city of flowers has sold her soul to the dollar, her charm for neon furniture;

thus I, tourist of tongues, taster of loves, beast in search of beauty, mad beggar of lines of verse,

from the end of the broken bridge I piss in order to watch melt my tingling western shame in the kidney-brown Danube.

2005-08-17T18:06:00.000+02:00

Azul

Azul, te quiero azul, azul como la mar
tal-Qrendi. Vieni, scendi, porte-moi sur les ondes,
entre acianos marinos, lejl u nhar, near and far,
take me down, let me drown, sa għerq iż-żerq tal-fond ...

Blanc et noir? J’en ai marre! Ô qu’on me laisse choir!
Azul. Not grey, nor blond, no soggy northern pond,
saphir, kaħlani nir, tout être, ne rien avoir,
in quel regno di quiete my subprimordial bond.

Azul, azul del sur, blu dipinto di blu,
la mer, cette grande lumière, toi la vague, moi l’île nue …

O to be who I was, who I was to be me!
O for my wretched soul to dissolve into the sea!

Familja, meta mmut, la tixħtunix fit-tebut:
remmduni, u xerrduni fil-baħar ta’ Ħaġar Qim.

Blue

Blue, I want you blue, blue like the sea of Qrendi. Come, descend, take me on the waves, among marine cornflowers, night and day, near and far, take me down, let me drown, to the root of the blue of the deep…

White and black? I've had enough! O may one let me fall! Blue. Not grey, nor blond, no soggy northern pond, sapphire, indigo blue, to be entirely, to have nothing, in that realm of silence my subprimordial bond.

Blue, blue of the south, blue painted blue, the sea, that great light, you the wave, I the naked isle...

O to be who I was, who I was to be me! O for my wretched soul to dissolve into the sea!

Family, when I die, throw me not into the coffin: make me ash, and scatter me in the sea of Ħaġar Qim.

2005-08-17T17:58:00.000+02:00

Ciao amore ciao

Adagio, a tuo agio, il festeggiar d’un bacio,
tbissima lewn ix-xemx, turisti f’art il-ħolm,
arc-en-ciel, que tu es belle!, deux corps qui font une ombre,
si scioglie la mia lingua, e chiudo gli occhi, e taccio...

mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré! Bufera a fine maggio,
de rigueur, le malheur, perduto ormai l’amor,
old and cold, my soul sold, the seams of dreams untold,
e il cuore dissecato in un tubo da saggio.

Ahimè, me equivoqué, faccio un auto da fé,
una rosa è una rosa, ma tu sei una sposa,
u għad ninsa, għad ninsa t-togħma ta’ ġildtek ħalib il-mogħża...

papillon de janvier, laissons-le, ça y est,
colorín colorado, este cuento se ha acabado,
my friend, this is the end, adieu, ho abdicato.

Bye love bye

Slowly, at your leisure, the feast of a kiss, a smile the colour of the sun, tourists in the land of dreams, rainbow, how beautiful you are!, two bodies casting one shadow, my tounge/my language melts, and I close my eyes, and I fall silent;

but, it's true, I've wept too much! A storm at the end of May, by default, unhappiness, now that love is lost; old and cold, my soul sold, the seams of dreams untold, and the heart dissected in a test tube.

Alas, I was mistaken, I make an auto-da-fe, a rose is a rose, but you are a spouse, and I'll yet forget, I'll yet forget the taste of your goat-milk skin...

January butterfly, let's leave it, it's over, colorín colorado, this story is finished *, my friend, this is the end, goodbye, I have abdicated.

* The chorus of a Spanish nursery rhyme

2005-08-17T17:52:00.000+02:00

Bateau ivre

Fuq blata, ħadt xemxata, parlant avec les muses,
le onde fino alle ossa del petto, e più in su,
dawra mejt, jien sturdejt, ma tête, ma tête elle tourne,
high and low, to and fro, no side, no tide, no moon,

inbaħħar, għadni nbaħħar, bla boxxla u bla tmun,
l'espoir, la mer à boire, ça coule, ça roule, ça bouge,
the world, the world astounds me, I'm bemused, I'm confused,
e vado alla deriva, y soy el mar azul.

X'crazy miscela de langues, de aguas, ta' lwien, de mondes,
cent mille livres, bateau ivre, le flou d'idées reçues,
trickling sands, empty hands, après nous, le déluge,

żielaq taħt wiċċ il-baħar, la kwadru u lanqas tond,
no comprendo, mi arrendo, j'ai peur, c'est l'Inconnu,
u meta, għidli, meta se jittrakka l-vapur?

Drunken boat

On a rock, I got sunstroke, conversing with the muses, the waves up to the bones of my chest, and further up, round and round, I've gone dizzy, my head, my head it turns, high and low, to and fro, no side, no tide, no moon;

sailing, I'm still sailing, without a compass or a rudder, hope, the sea to drink *, it flows, it rolls, it moves, the world, the world astounds me, I'm bemused, I'm confused, and I am cast adrift, and I am the blue sea.

What a crazy mix of languages, of waters, of colours, of worlds, a hundred thousand books, drunken boat, the haze of received ideas, trickling sands, empty hands, after us, the deluge;

slipping below the line of the sea, neither square nor round, I don't understand, I give up, I'm afraid, it's the Unknown, and when, tell me, when will the boat dock?

* A modification of the French idiom "ce n'est pas la mer à boire", meaning "it's not impossible"

2005-08-17T17:48:00.000+02:00

White Knight Syndrome

Ribussa ai miei pensieri un desiderio d’ieri,
chagrin malin d’amour, a cold and burning bliss,
mil noches sin dormir, il sogno in cui non c’eri,
u f’qalbi llejla jriegħed, niftakar f’ħarstek biss ...

ancor, l’andirivieni di lunghi lunghi treni,
elf ilment, mein Herz brennt, hombre de traje gris,
fil-bla tmiem ta’ għajnejk is-seħer tal-misterji
kollha ta’ l-univers, and more, much more than this ...

enough, c’est fou, rien plus, c’est tout, now let it be,
daqshekk, basta così, ir-riħ li ’l bogħod ġie jtajrek
illejla niżżih ħajr, ô belle dame sans merci;

għada jisbaħ ukoll, u nisbaħ jien mingħajrek,
je change dame et cheval, je change de chevalier,
niente più niente al mondo se penso solo a te.

White Knight Syndrome

Knocking on the door of my thoughts comes a desire from yesterday, malign grief of love, a cold and burning bliss, a thousand sleepless nights, the dream where you were not, and in my heart tonight it thunders, as I remember no more than your look ...

once more, the coming and going of long long trains, a thousand moans, my heart burns, man in a grey suit, in the endlessness of your eyes the spell of every mystery of the universe, and more, much more than this …

enough, this is mad, no more, that's it, now let it be, it's over, that will do, the wind that came to blow you far away tonight I thank, oh merciless fair maiden;

tomorrow will also dawn, and I will dawn without you, I change maiden and horse, I change the knight, nothing plus nothing in the world if I think only of you.

2005-08-17T17:30:00.000+02:00

C’est la vie

Run, rabbit, run, run, run, from the womb to the tomb,
de cuatro a dos a tres, del río a la mar,
play the fool, suffer school, żunżana ddur iddur,
engage-toi, perds ta foi, le regole imparar,

kul u sum, aħra u bul, chase the moon, meet your doom,
walk on ice, roll your dice, col destino danzar,
métro, boulot, dodo, titla’ x-xemx, terġa’ tqum,
decir siempre mañana y nunca mañanar,

try to fly, touch the sky, hit the stone, break a bone,
sell your soul for a loan to call those bricks your home,
fall in love, rise above, fall apart, stitch your heart,

che sarà? ça ira! plus rien de nous sera,
minn sodda għal sodda niġru tiġrija kontra l-baħħ,
sakemm tinbela’ ruħna mill-ġuf mudlam ta’ l-art.

C'est la vie

Run, rabbit, run, run, run, from the womb to the tomb, from four to two to three, from the river to the sea, play the fool, suffer school, the wasp goes round and round*, get involved, lose your faith, learn the rules,

eat and fast, shit and piss, chase the moon, meet your doom, walk on ice, roll your dice, with destiny dance, metro, work, sleep, the sun rises, you get up again, to say always tomorrow and never tomorrow reach,

try to fly, touch the sky, hit the stone, break a bone, sell your soul for a loan to call those bricks your home, fall in love, rise above, fall apart, stitch your heart,

what will be? it will go well, nothing more of us will be, from bed to bed we run a race against the void, until our soul is swallowed by the dark womb of the land.

* the name of a Maltese children's game

2005-08-17T17:22:00.000+02:00

In città

All ephemeral is, and yet at once is not,
e va e viene il vento, u jvenven iż-żmien,
the same clock ticks and tocks for those who bear and rot,
siempre y nunca durmiendo, iduru mingħajr tmiem.

Le flou il est partout, no why, no who, no what,
la hawn, la hemm, la llum, la waħdi, la flimkien,
no existe el ayer, tomorrow is but a plot,
e siamo tra qua e là, u qatt ma nkunu mkien.

Così in città mi sto, no space or time to think,
donde un millón de muertos la nada van buscando,
perdus dans ses cages noires de sol a sol sin fin.

Hawn kien ix-xejn ta’ ħajti, and here the missing link:
sapere che lontano la vita in me cercando
fis-sliem bla tmiem ta’ raħli il-ħajja vera nsib.

In the city

All ephemeral is, and yet at once is not, and the wind comes and goes, and time bellows, the same clock ticks and tocks for those who bear and rot, always and never sleeping, circulating without end.

The void is all around, no why, no who, no what, nor here, nor there, nor today, nor alone, nor together, yesterday does not exist, tomorrow is but a plot, and we are between here and there, and we are never anywhere.

Thus in the city I am, no space or time to think, where a million deceased go searching for nothing, lost in their dark cages incessantly from sun to sun.

Here was the nothing of my life, and here the missing link: to know that afar, life in myself seeking, in the endless peace of my village true life I find.