Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
John P. Portelli, originally from Malta, is a professor emeritus in the Department of Social Justice Education at the University of Toronto. He has taught in Canadian universities since 1982. He has published ten collections of poetry (three in Maltese and English, one in English and French, and another in English, three in Maltese, and one in Greek and Italian). He also published two collections of short stories (one translated into English and published as Everyday Encounters), and a novel, Everyone but Faiza (Malta Horizons and Burlington, ON: Word and Deed, 2021). His literary work has been translated into many languages. His latest collection Here Was (2023) has been translated and published in Romanian, Arabic, Farsi, and Turkish. It has been recently short-listed for the Canadian Book club Award. Five of his books have been short-listed for the Malta Book Council Annual Literary Award. He now lives between Toronto and Malta, and beyond! Email: [email protected]
HERE, AMONG THE DEBRIS
Frolicking amongst this and that,
captivated by the pointy breast
of a young woman
her hair swaying
in the wind
in the suburbs of eternity;
a bronze and beautiful face
Nawrat
from Umm il-Faham you ran away
too pretty to stay
and today we weep
we gaze at this tranquil sea
in Haifa
reciting the divine ballad
of Darwish
as we sip Arab coffee
under a palm tree
spellbound by the sweetness of cardamom
here
among the debris.
WHEN THE FULL MOON SHINES
To Nibal Khalil
When the full moon shines on the Dead Sea
and its shadow sticks to the heavy water
everything comes to a halt —
even the snatching of a country —
and only the cry of Amman and Al-Quds is heard.
The footsteps from the door of Damascus
echo in the night
and the sweet cry of the women
who sell mint glued to the hard walls
the moon that shines there too
awakens the gaze of prophets,
voiceless today.
And the olive grove,
where people toil by day,
is now filled with sleeping cats
bathed in the redness of the full moon,
soon bleeding.
Enough is enough!
TO PESSOA, AT THE CAFÈ BRASILEIRA, LISBON
When the soul thinks, it exists
Fernando Pessoa
Here
at Cafè Brasileira
my soul does not think
does not,
most likely exist
though it feels
and understands,
perhaps the sorrow
you felt
when the heart pursed
in merciful silence
sought shelter
exited
the ditch.
The thought
is occasion for anguish,
a rain that’s tame
and slippery.
I feel only the beat
of a heart’s dream:
hungerless and tearless
even if not —
it stays
a final ennui.
NOTHING
Nothing carries me or makes me carry an idea: not longing and not promise.
Mahmoud Darwish
What would I do without the sea
melancholy and wild
silent and taunting?
Without it there would be
neither desire nor promise.
Its azure vastness
sucks me in
then spits me out
where it pleases
when it pleases
as it pleases.
What would I do without the sea?
Every day it talks to me
gently
enticing me
promising me
what I do not want
what I would die for
what I lust for.
Without the sea?
Without it, no thoughts
no words
no inspiration
no motivation.
The sea?
Its nothingness shatters me
I am defeated.
