Contact: sampei@onvol.net
Logo of the Maltese Poets’ Association Event poster
Same as last year, we, members of the Maltese Poetry Association showed our commitment towards a change for the better in our environment by holding a session of poetry reading. This was held in conjunction with the other 115 countries and 800 events held in the rest of the world who, like us, put in their cents worth towards the cause. Whilst other countries added other generes like theatre and painting, we preferred to focus more on poetry and music. We held ours on the 28th at the Main Hall of the Birkirkara local council who generously lent us their premises to be able to keep up our work towards this cause. The vibes were good, the readers prepared, the music related to the theme. The event started with the President, Charles Magro’s speech explaining the aim of the organisers and the importance to save our environment and keep it healthy socially and politically. Peace is the all important ingredient for harmony in the workplace, the home, and the country and added that he was happy that the Maltese Poets Association was adding its name to the list of participating countries since everyone had a duty to promote peace. Several poems in Maltese and English were read with musical intervals provided by Analise Schiriha who sang Vacanze Romane, Pod Moskovniye Vechera, Nella Fantasia and Running. The event ended with a picture of all the poets together and a little reception for the poets to socialize in a healthy environment. We hope that our aim is reached through literature and until then our commitment remains firm and forthwith. Many thanks to all who participated.
The Association’s President, Mr Charles Magro addressing the audience.
The poets present.
Ms Miriam Ellul, our compare.
Ms Analise Schiriha, our singer for the night.
Mr Salv Sammut reading his poem.
Mr Omar Seguna during his reading
Mr Patrick Sammut, Vice President
Mr Godwin Cini
Group photo
U ALLA ĦARES ’Il BARRA MIT-TIEQA
Salv Sammut (2008)
U Alla ħares ’il barra mit-tieqa
tat-tabernaklu nfinit u divin
waqt li titwila ta lil galaksija
fit-tidwira stellari ġos-smewwiet.
Infirxet ħarstu fuq dinja kaħlana
u ra l-umanità f’konflitt qerried.
Għaddielu l-ħsieb jekk għandux b’nefħa waħda
mill-univers itajjar dil-pjaneta.
Imbagħad ra x-xemx tiela’ ħamra mix-xefaq
fuq baħar nir fi kristalli leqqiena;
il-mewġ ileqq f’esmeraldi fiddiena
huwa w jofroq mix-xtajta kennija;
il-weraq aħdar tas-siġar jitħarrku
donnhom isellmu ’l għodwa ġdida tbakkar
maż-żiffa ħelwa li stenbħet bikrija.
Intebaħ bl-ajkla tmattar ftit ġwinħajha
Fuq il-quċċata tal-muntanja għolja;
il-gawwija għarriexa fuq il-mewġ;
il-qroll sabiħ fil-qiegħ tal-oċejani;
l-għasfur tal-bejt itir ifittex loqma;
u r-rożinjol iferraħ bl-għana tiegħu;
Quddiemu deher l-iljun jistira ġismu;
il-ġiraffa fil-għoli tmattar għonqha;
il-kelb iħuf, jiġri wara qattus;
u l-fenek jaħrab beżgħan mill-ballottra.
U meta Alla ra dan kollu, tbissem
u lissen, li dan kien sewwa-w xieraq.
Ħaseb li għal dawn biss, hu ma jonfoħx
dik in-nefħa li ttajjar il-pjaneta
minn dik il-galaksija.
TNABAR
(Kantaliena tal-oppressati)
Therese Pace
Isktu, tnabar, isktu
mir-ritmi tal-ġewwieni
katarsi m’hemmx għalikom
f’dal-kalzri tal-ġejjieni.
Tliġġmu, tnabar, tliġġmu
leħenkom għoddu fnieni
jinkini u jittantani.
Xejn biss hemm jistennieni.
Battu, tnabar, battu
ħlewwitkom mhix għalija
għalija dil-kundanna,
dir-rifsa: il-mewt bikrija.
Tħannu, tnabar, tħannu
fil-friex li tħejji ċ-ċaħda;
jeħtieġ li l-ħolm jintesa’
u jgħib sal-inqas waħda.
Ilbtu, tnabar, ilbtu
imbikkma mit-theddida
biex forsi tnabar qalbi
isibu paċi ġdida.
Orqdu, tnabar, orqdu
minn ħabbkom agunija,
l-artal mixgħul bit-tniebri,
il-vittma ġa mħejjija.
Ibku, tnabar, ibku
lill-qabar ta’ ġo fija,
‘l-ispirtu fgat ġo demmu
u l-irmied tal-poeżija!
Mewġ Lubien
John Mallia
Il-mewġ lubien tela’ jinbixli sieqi
biex jistedinni nqum min-ngħas ħalliem
li mexxa bla waqfien it-tmun ta’ ħajti
kif jibqa’ jagħmel sa taż-żmien it-tmiem.
Ħelu ħelu ħallejt il-friex ħamrani
sa ntlaqt mistrieħ fuq baħar żaqqu ratba,
u smajt mill-żdid fil-labirint ta’ moħħi
dik l-għanja li bexxqet ta’ qalbi x-xatba.
Ċafċaft ‘il barra qadfa wara qadfa,
fittixt niltaqa’ ma’ xbihat tfuliti,
u rajthom resqin lejja mewġa mewġa,
il-jiem l’ għaddejt fin-nisġa ta’żgħożiti.
Rajt ħlejjaq sbieħ rekbin fuq dniefel bojod
deħlin imlebbta lejn ramliet dehbin;
laqgħuhom żgħażagħ somor jarmu s-saħħa,
magħhom imxew id f’id f’triq id-destin.
Rajt ramel jidfen xi tamiet bikrija
li xemx qerrieda nixxfet bla ma bkiet;
jinqasmu rajt fuq xfar ta’ blat iniggeż,
il-qlub mużugħa li batew fis-skiet.
B’għajnejja mdemmgħa b’melħ ir-raxx leqqieni,
għaddast dirgħajja tqal f’baħar xejn bnin,
sakemm wasalt u tlajt fuq ċagħak sewdieni
xħin ballun aħmar nar ix-xemx bdiet tnin.
Intlaqt mifni sa rajt dell ħajti jgħosfor
fi ħbub iroxxu t-tama tal-żejjien;
u l-mewż lubien tela’ jinbixli sieqi,
stedinni tal-ħolm nitlaq l-isqaqien.
LIS-SULTAN TAL-PAĊI
Joseph Bonnici
Twelidt sultan iżda fqir,
mhux ta’ l-art imma tal-Ġenna;
dan ingħata lilek dmir,
li minnek il-Missier stenna.
Ma giex hawn biex jigwerra,
iżda biex isalva lill-ġnus,
biex sliem fostna jitferra’,
u lejn ftehim in-nies issus.
Ġejt hawn biex toħloq kalma,
ħalli l-għaqda tikber bil-kwiet;
biex b’kelmtek lilna mgħallma,
jitneħħa għawġ li ġab l-inkwiet.
Mibgħut għalina b’wegħda,
ħalli tkun għalina ta’ ġid,
billi tgħinna bla heda,
nitolbu lill-Missier is-sid.
Il-paċi ġejt biex twassal,
u tiġdid għalhekk jinbeda;
tagħlim tiegħek ridt tfassal,
biex mill-qerq in-nies tinfeda.
Għax ħabbejtna bniedem sirt,
biex ittemm il-ġlied bejnietna;
iċċekkint biex ħażen ħfirt,
u b’hekk nodfa minn dnubietna.
Għalhekk int milqugħ fostna,
għaliex iġġorr l-hena miegħek;
l’int magħna huwa gostna,
għax timlina bil-ferħ tiegħek.
Bombi
Joseph Sciberras (B’Kara)
Niżlin,
dejjem niżlin
f’qillithom merħijin
il-bombi qerridin
u qattelin…
Dejjem niżlin
imwaddba mingħajr rażan fuq xulxin
mill-aħwa miġġildin.
Imbikkmin
f’qoxrithom imdaħħlin
iħarsu l-meħlusin
u jilmħu ‘l-għeżież tagħhom
midrubin,
imbiċċrin,
maqtulin,
u d-djar tagħhom
meqrudin.
Id-demm
sar semm
lid-dinja mela bl-hemm
u ta’ kull ħin
joqtol lil ħuh Abel
Kajjin.
Il-Ħajja, l-Idejn u l-Ħuta
Emmanuel Attard Cassar
Il-Paċi hi l-ħajja nnifisha.
Il-ħajja bla paċi x’inhi
jekk mhux il-mewt,
jekk mhux it-telfien?
Bla paċi n-nifs tal-ħajja jinqered.
Bla paċi jitlef għaqlu l-moħħ.
Il-paċi hi par idejn
li joffru milli għandhom
u meta jirċievu jaqsmu.
U ma jridux jieħdu biex jinvestu.
Iridu biss
il-ħtieża tal-lum.
Il-paċi hi par idejn beżlin, għaqlin u altrwisti.
Il-paċi hi xogħol.
Il-paċi hi għaraq, mhux kliem,
paroli għal udjenza.
Il-paċi hi prinċipju
miksub bis-sagrifiċċju.
Il-paċi hi bħal ħuta mlewwna u sabiħa
li trid l-ilma ta’ madwarha biex ma tinqeridx.
Kultant l-ilma jiddardar
kultant jiksaħ, kultant jisħon.
Kultant jevapora u jiżi lura bħala xita.
Kultant iħossu taħt periklu
ta’ xi bomba li weħidha tisparixxi l-ilma kollu.
Il-paċi tibża mix-xbieki qarrieqa
li jistgħu jaħtfuha.
Il-paċi f’idejna.
Il-paċi hi l-ilma tal-ħajja.
Il-paċi hi frażli daqs ħuta.
DESERT WINDS
Godwin Cini
The tortuous winds are blowing,
Cold from the southern lands,
Shuttering violently,
Conveying the desert sands.
The gusty winds are blowing,
Destroying all that lasts,
It cries loud for the future,
A change moving so fast.
The thunder winds are blowing,
The windmill of revolution,
Changing the course of history,
Searching for a solution,
The wind is out for weeping,
Striking in the dark,
Busting the air all over,
Leaving along its mark.
To where is this wind heading?
Will ever this night end?
The world is anxiously watching,
Attentively concerned.
IL-FRIEGĦI TAS-SLIEM
Marlene Saliba Toledo
Friegħi taż-żebbuġ
miġburin madwar emblema
ta’ dinja globalizzata,
jinqalgħu minn posthom,
jittajru bħall-ideali,
jitkarrbu, jitkaxkru,
mat-tvenvin ta’ riefnu rrabbjat,
ta’ progress stinat, għajjien,
bin-nuqqas ta’ Sliem.
Tinstema’ din l-eleġija,
ukoll mill-gawwi u t-tajr abjad safi,
jitħabat, jissielet għall-ideali,
’il fuq mill-mewġ setgħan, felħan,
wara dulluvju t’argumenti, konferenzi,
wegħdiet fil-vojt li ma jaqtgħu qatt
u jkissru t-tamiet għas-sliem max-xatt.
U f’rokna weħidha, imbikkija,
bħal fil-pitturi tal-Karavaġġjo,
imdawra, maħkuma fi drama imdemmija,
il-Paċi ddoqq fuq vjolinċell kiebi,
imħabbta, titkarrab, tixxennaq,
imdawra għalxejn bil-friegħi magħquda,
iżejnu għalxejn emblema ta’ sliem,
għax mill-qiegħ qalb il-bniedem,
ħierġa ferita t’ebusija akkanita,
li titfejjaq biss
b’rispett reċiproku,
b’maħfra sinċiera
u b’solidarjetà imbierka bl-indiema.
VIEN NATALE!
Maurice Mifsud Bonnici
Vien Natale!
Vien tale quale!
Vien Gesù piangente
per consolare la gente –
raggio di sol ridente!
Vien per i bimbi d’Africa,
denudati come l’Antartica!
Bimbi affamati,
anche loro nati
in un mangiatoia
ma senza ricevere loro
ne incense ne oro,
soltanto mirra
per profumare la bara.
Vien per i popoli interrati
dal terrorismo sciupati.
Vien a vedere
ciò che dà il mondo crudele!
Bimbi morendo,
con mosche agglomerando
le sponde degli occhi
e delle labbra
come la sabbia
prolifera la spiaggia.
DACHAU 14/08/2012 9.45-10.45 a.m.
(Translated from the Italian Original on 8/09/2012)
An unplanned visit
this at Dachau.
Heavy air
hangs from a
hundred thousand cypress trees.
I pass from the main gate
white as a ghost
and in front of me opens
a wide space, cemetery like,
a monument that shouts in silence:
Shame! Shame! Shame!
Pain! Pain! Pain!
Peace! Peace! Peace!
My footsteps echo the sound
of past footsteps
which tread on these dismal corridors
and on the pebbles, millions of them,
I’ve read the names of millions of unfortunate souls.
Today I am only a passer-by
alive and kicking;
yesterday one got in here but not out!
I walk head bowed
I breathe slowly as a sign of respect
I want to cry, despair…
Every pebble has a name and a voice
whispering words and prayers
exhorting today’s mankind
to remember, not forget,
create a future canvas in colour
no more in grey and black.
I wish that the assassin chimneys
emit rainbows,
no more ashes and black smoke!
IL-PAĊI
Charles Magro
Forsi din hi kimera
illi timla l-atmosfera
hekk kif tiftaħ il-purtiera
w tidħol xemx t’għodwa sinċiera?
Tgħid dan huwa xi trofew,
xhieda turi kemm jiswew
il-konflitti li feġġew,
illi qatt, u xejn, sewwew?
Qisha din biċċa qubbajt
illi naħtaf, kieku stajt,
biex nagħtiha lil min rajt;
’hekk f’elf biċċa jien qattajt.
Din xi tkun? Kulħadd iridha.
Tgħid għax ngħixu lkoll f’taħwida
li twassalna ġo tagħsida,
li għal ħafn’hi ħajja ġdida?
Dat-teżor ilna nfittxuh;
qlibna d-dinja ħa nsibuh.
W’qafna qatt ngħidu “rriduh”;
’mma tgħallimna kif nagħżluh?
Kull tfittxija tittradina,
u bil-għatx dejjem tħallina.
Riżultat aħjar tagħtina
Jekk infittxu l-ewwel fina.
XEWQAT
Joseph Sciberras (Ħ’Attard)
Il-bniedem jgħix bit-tama F’xi rokna nara warda,
ta’ ħolm, ta’ ħsibijiet. sbuħija tal-ħolqien.
Xewqat li minn ċkunitu Nilmaħ qronfol mill-isbaħ,
jgħaddulu bil-mijiet. mimlija kollha lwien.
Xewqat, xewqat mill-isbaħ U nara l-ġnien ta’ xewqti
ta’ dawn it-tfal ċkejknin mimli kollu bin-nies,
li tant jixtiequ jsiru ta’ razez differenti,
x’ħin jikbru, ferħanin. bla konfini u bla qies.
Tara xewqat l-adulti Kulħadd ferħan u jidħak
jaħsbu fi bżonn kulħadd. jieħdu b’idejn xulxin
Jixtiequ ssir ġustizzja għax għandna Missier wieħed
sabiex ma jbati ħadd. li Hu bil-wisq ħanin.
Jixtiequ jkunu huma Nara xi tifel Lhudi
tal-ewwel, fuq quddiem maġenb Palestinjan,
biex jagħmlu dak li jistgħu it-tnejn jilagħbu f’daqqa,
biex ngħixu wkoll fis-sliem. it-tnejn bil-wiċċ daħkan.
U din hi x-xewqa tiegħi: Nara dal-ġnien jinbidel
Li ngħix ħajti ġo ġnien, ġo dinja kollha ferħ
fejn nimraħ qalb il-fjuri fejn wieħed jgħix bi kwietu
u qatt ma jgħaddi ż-żmien. u fejn isib is-serħ.
Inħares lejn is-siġar, Din hi ix-xewqa tiegħi,
mimlija ward u ż’har għalkemm tinsab ‘il b’għod.
u vaska kollha ħdura, Ejjew inkunu aħna
miksija b’ilma ċar. nibdew bil-mod il-mod.
TRIBUTE TO A TURTLE ON MATURA BEACH
Jonathan Balzan
I enjoyed you below the stars in pitch darkness
phenomenal reptile of ancient,
touching your spine, the rudder that divides waters
which drag you to and fro
while swimming relentlessly, no moaning and groaning,
in waves raging today, serene tomorrow.
Your weeping eyes in silent suffering
fighting it out against the blowing dust,
your bitten flippers and heavy breathing
procreate pity before an infinite ocean.
Your body rinsed by sand
laying eggs with motherly pain,
deprived of seeing your offspring live
as even upon deliverance,
at night you must retrace your steps,
land is not your kingdom,
to the mysterious ocean and its deep waves
embarking on your next journey.
So you live and reproduce but
do not refrain from visiting this nesting beach
as on the day you cease to mate
plight will strike your generation’s offsprings.
Until another deliverance day, if ever I see you again,
will I myself watch and be your nest’s guardian angel.
I shed tears as the last wave engulfs you out of my sight
remembering the last time I kneeled on your shell
before a shining moon called you back in the wild.
In my thoughts of you as a turtle of gallant wisdom,
patience and beauty, nobility and strength,
I beg you keep alert from famished nets
as they strive to obstruct your way ashore.
In every night stars lighted the Milky Way
pointing out the path amidst stems in sand
for you to choose a suitable patch as a fitting nest,
like a tired pregnant mother’s breathing,
eager to give birth to the child she bears.
How I longed to scrap the wrinkles off your shoulders,
and get carried away in your underworld!
You have become another entrusted lover of mine,
And I shall cuddle you in my heart from far across.
From here in my country when the night closes in
Shall I remember our deeds with beam,
In my room your sculptured token I do treasure
As I hail you o queen of Matura with dignified pleasure.