Three poems by Nadia Mifsud translated from Maltese by Miriam Calleja
+5
abracadabresque
this silence spreading sorrow
from one building to the next
in this tangled town
today it wasn’t the streets
that roused hoarse
gasping for breath—
but us
muttering erratic antidotes
against the black crows
arrogantly marking territory
from roofs
we cringe when we hear them
snitching on us
their cries
tearing the mocking blue sky
they spread their wings in warning—
and immediately the groans
of an ambulance—
our irritation for them grows
we eavesdrop the gossip
of birds telephoned
from branch to branch
from tree to tree
from rooftop to rooftop
beautiful blues and greens
on the magpie’s tail
we are envious of the deadbeat doves
wriggling on the waterspout
we lean on the edge, let down our hair
enjoy the feel of it
plaiting in the wind
we admire the yellow and violet dance
of tulips and irises
in empty yards
tomorrow, love,
we’ll perch at the window again
wave at our neighbor across the road
beckon to the wind and the swallows
and maybe, who knows,
glimpse a few butterflies
from six storeys up
+5
abrakadabresk
is-silenzju li nfirex ilment
minn binja għal oħra
f’dil-belt għoqda
illum ma kinux it-toroq
li stenbħu maħnuqa
jissieltu għan-nifs –
imm’aħna
inweswsu antidoti bl-addoċċ
kontra ċ-ċawl
jgħasses iswed supperv
minn fuq iċ-ċmieni
niddarrsu nisimgħu
l-għajta tiegħu
bħal gażja
ċċarrat in-nir nebbiexi
jifrex ġwinħajh twissija –
u fis tfiġġ imqanżħa
it-tħambiqa t’ambulanza –
numbrawh ftit aktar
nissemmgħu s-seksik
tal-għasafar impespes
minn fergħa għal oħra
minn siġra għal siġra
minn bejt għal bejt
sbieħ il-blu u l-aħdar
fuq denb iċ-ċawluna l-bajda
ngħiru għall-ħamiem ċerċur
jiżżegleg fuq il-qattara
nixxabbtu ftit, inħollu xagħarna
nieħdu pjaċir inħossuh
jitħabbel twil fiż-żiffa
niggustaw iż-żifna safra u vjola
tat-tulipan u l-iris
fil-btieħi battala
għada, ħanini,
nerġgħu nixirfu fit-tieqa
inxejru lill-ġara ta’ faċċata
insejħu lir-riħ u lill-ħuttaf
u forsi, min jaf,
nilmħu ftit friefet
minn sitt sulari għoli
+42
everything seems recorded
in knotted sepia—
a groan I’ve suppressed so long
that it’s almost unmade me
this sour-faced sky
has nearly smothered me, my love
its silence
weighty as lead
you hear me muttering
against a backdrop of pouring rain
sadness strung like fairy lights
on my lashes
—where have the colors gone?
who said they’re gone? you tell me
they are just hiding
let’s go seek
+42
kollox bħal donnu maħżun
taħbila sepja –
karba li tant ili nrażżan
li għoddni żżarmajt
kważi ħanaqni, ħanini,
das-sema mqit
iqandel skiet
tqil daqs mażżra
tismagħni ngemgem
fuq sfond xita qliel
bid-diqa tissensel
fuq xfar għajnejja
– fejn ħarbu l-kuluri?
min qallek li ħarbu? tgħidli
dawk jistaħbew qegħdin
tlaqna nilagħbu noli
+57
After Gymnopédie 1 by Eric Satie
silence stirs and shakes
as the twittering of birds
grows chaotic
carving at the dark
the city comes awake
in a daze
and in the emerging light
hollow faces
drained eyes
reappear
peeping cautiously
from behind doors
which open row by row
like a yawn
spreading
from doorstep to doorstep
+ 57
Imnebbħa mill-Gymnopédie 1 ta’ Erik Satie
titriegħed il-ħemda lubiena
hekk kif għanjet l-għasafar
tixxenxel rewwixta
tnaqqar id-dalma
u l-belt terġa’
tistenbaħ strumblata
u jerġgħu jfiġġu
fid-dawl bati
l-uċuħ imqaxqxa
l-għajnejn imbewqa
jittawlu kawti
minn wara l-bibien
jitbexxqu ringiela ringiela
bħal f’titwiba twila
tittieħed
minn għatba għal oħra
