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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