Participation to Poetry in Potato Bags, a unique project focusing on the exchange of language poetry and potatoes in the framework of Valletta 18, European Capital of Culture.

 

Friefet u patata

 

F’dawk il-ġranet imtappna

ta’ Settembru

ġol-għalqa twila

tan-nannu Pawlu,

kulħadd kien imedd idu.

Il-bagħal abjad griż

jaħrat radda wara radda.

Wasal iż-żmien li l-patata titla’ f’wiċċ l-art,

tintelaq f’kannestri ħodor

imgeżwra fil-kisja fina tal-ħamrija.

 

Serbut twil ta’ zijiet u kuġini

jitbaxxa jaqla’ u jerġa’ jqum,

jitbaxxa jaqla’ u jerġa’ jqum,

minuta wara minuta,

sigħat twal iktar mis-snin.

 

Sadattant,

jien, jien biss,

niġri wara l-friefet.

Il-friefet isbaħ mill-patata.

Il-friefet ma jżommhom ħadd

jiddakkru minn peprina

għal oħra.

Mill-fidloqqom

għall-Ingliża.

Ġwenħajhom iperpru

fi spazji bla tmiem,

jiftħu bieb wara bieb,

u jien irrid nitgerbeb ġo fihom,

induq fwejjaħ oħra,

nitkebbeb ġo dar il-bebbux,

insoff qtar ix-xita

jiżżerżaq fuq weraq bellus.

Il-patata għeruqha hawn,

imma jien il-friefet irrid,

irrid nintilef

f’mikrokożmu kuluri.

 

Is-serbut għadu għaddej

radda wara radda.

Kulħadd kien imedd idu,

kulhadd kien jobdi,

kulħadd barra jien!

 

Butterflies and Potatoes
(translated by Claudia Gauci)

 

On humid September days

everyone’d be bent over working

in grandad Paul’s long field.

The white-greyish mule

would plough it

furrow after furrow.

Harvest has come

potatoes lie idly in green wicker baskets

snug in a fine coat of soil.

 

A long line of aunts, uncles and cousins

stooping down, pulling and getting up again,

stooping down, pulling and getting up again,

minute after minute,

hours longer than years.

Meanwhile

I chase butterflies

alone.

 

Butterflies are lovelier than potatoes.

No one pins them down.

From poppies and borage

to the Ingliża*,

they fly for nourishment.

Their wings flutter

in endless spaces,

opening doors

for me to stumble in,

taking in other scents,

curling up in a snail’s home,

sucking on rain drops

sliding off velvet leaves.

 

This is where the tubers lie,

but I only want butterflies,

I want to get lost

in a microcosm of colours.

 

The line goes on

furrow after furrow.

Everyone at work,

everyone complies,

everyone except me.

 

*the English plant commonly found in Malta