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Poems by Immanuel Mifsud Translated by Ruth Ward


Bergamo

Italy – 18th March 2020

How lonely sits the city once

so full of people. The princess,

now turned slave, is endlessly weeping.

The doors are shut, the windows stand ajar;

somewhere a radio’s playing funerary marches

amidst strains from some opera — a mournful aria.

The children are draping colors all over the balcony

hoping they’ll spring to life as a tree with large branches, 

blossoming wooden toys 

and bundles of sweets. 

But still, they start asking: how … and why …

And their father stays mum; and their mother falls silent.

 

Tonight, many soldiers will descend

to carry death through the main roads.

Tonight, we’ll send our kids to bed early,

lull them to sleep by reading them a story.

Then we’ll cover the windowpanes with our own wet faces,

with eyes spilling sorrow at this, our spectacle:

some fifty military trucks … full of coffins,

full of years yielding to flame. 

 

 

 


Metropolis (4)

 

Your eyes are louder

than the city in early morning.

Come barefoot. You told me:

look at my feet, naked, walking

with you toward nowhere.

See them pounding dust and sand;

getting scratched, scraped away by asphalt;

melting in the water after rain.

See them leaving their prints,

drawing a new map.

 

**

 

Look at my clothes spilling onto the floor.

Take me to dance.

There’s a city waiting for us.

 

**

 

So we walked.

Our eyes open windows,

curtainless.

 

Our feet transported us;

they took us where they pleased.

They whirled us all around

and then slowly started to crumble.

One day we’ll look at them

and find them in pieces.

After that,

these windows will close

and we’ll draw the drapes.

 

**

 

For the time being, though, we shall go on.

Our hands have decided to join us:

sometimes wielding the keys of great doors;

to spring them open, to lock them;

at other times palpating mud,

to better feel the beginning —

what was

what is, what is still, what remains.

 

Going on

we’re finding the city

swimming in its blood;

deducing the wind

caught in laundry-line sheets

caught in the flags of the republic

 

we go on

 

don’t be afraid if you get lost

all the roads take you to where

you began

don’t be afraid if they talk and talk

and still you understand nothing

here everyone’s always muttering the same

word

don’t be afraid if you see everyone walk past 

not one of them has eyes just a

face

 

take which street you like

whisper which word you please

if you have a pair of eyes 

close them

 

 

 


Bergamo

18 ta’ Marzu 2020

 

Kemm waħidha sfat il-belt illi kienet

miżgħuda bin-nies. Dik il-prinċipessa

li saret issa lsira dejjem tibki.

Kull bieb spiċċa magħluq, ftit twieqi mbexxqa,

xi radju qed idoqq il-marċi funebri,

xi arja minn xi opra kollha dieqa,

it-tfal idendlu l-ilwien mal-gallarija

bit-tama li jibidlu f’siġra kbira

mnejn jinżlu l-ġugarelli tal-injam

u ħafna boroż kbar mimlija ħelu.

‘Mbagħad jibdew jistaqsu l-kif u l-għala

u ommhom tilbet u missierhom jiskot. 

 

Illejla se jiġu ħafna suldati

ħa jġorru l-mewt mit-toroq prinċipali.

Illejla ndaħħlu t-tfal f’kamrithom kmieni,

ngħidulhom storja ħalli jfittxu jorqdu

biex niksu l-ħġieġ tat-twieqi b’wiċċna mxarrab,

b’għajnejna jerħu d-diq f’dan l-ispettaklu:

mal-ħamsin trakk tal-militar mimlija

twiebet, mimlija snin lesti għall-ħruq.

 

 

 


Metropolis (4)

 

Għajnejk jgħajtu aktar

mill-belt filgħodu kmieni.

 

Ersaq ħafja. Għidtli:

ara saqajja, nudi, ħa jimxu

miegħek il-mixja lejn imkien. 

Arahom jisħqu t-trab u r-ramel,

jinbarxu, jingirfu mal-asfalt,

jinħallu fl-ilma ta’ wara x-xita.

Arahom iħallu l-marki warajhom,

ipinġu l-mappa l-ġdida.

 

**

 

Ħares lejn ħwejġi jaqgħu fl-art.

Ħudni niżfen.

Hemm belt tistenniena.

 

**

 

U allura mxejna.

Għajnejna twieqi miftuħa

bla purtieri.

 

Mexxewna riġlejna –

ħaduna fejn xtaqu,

dawruna d-dawra kollha

u bdew jinkisru bilmod.

Xi darba se nħarsu lejhom

u nsibuhom biċċiet.

 

Nistgħu, imbagħad,

nagħlqu t-twieqi

u nġerru l-purtieri.

 

**

 

Imma għalissa nkomplu.

Idejna ġew magħna.

Ukoll.

Ġieli jdawru l-imfietaħ

ta’ bibien kbar

biex jiftuħuhom, isakkruhom

Ġieli jteftfu fit-tajn

ħa jħossu l-bidu –

dak li kien

dak li hu, li għadu, li baqa’

 

ħa nkomplu

nsibu din il-belt

ngħumu f’demmha

nifhmu ’r-riħ

maqbud fil-lożor minxura

fil-bnadar tar-repubblika

 

inkomplu

 

tibżax jekk tintilef

it-toroq kollha jeħduk minn fejn 

bdejt

tibżax jekk ikellmuk

u ma tibda tifhem xejn

hawnhekk kulħadd jgħid dejjem l-istess 

kelma

tibżax jekk tara lil klħadd jibqa’ għaddej

hawnhekk ħadd m’għandu għajnejn

f’wiċċu

aqbad liema trejqa trid

lissen liema kelma togħġbok

jekk għad għandek par għajnejn

agħlaqhom

 

 

 


Immanuel Mifsud is a European Union Prize for Literature recipient published throughout the UK, Europe, North America, and the Arabic-speaking world. Novelist, poet, playwright, and translator, Mifsud lectures in literary theory and Maltese literature at the University of Malta, with an academic focus on the depiction of the body in literature. 

Ruth Ward is a writer of poetry and prose and translator in the arts and literature. While she is based in the US, her creative collaborations center on the Mediterranean. Her ties to Malta span more than a decade.


1 April 2022



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