POETRY

Fl-għalqa xiħa

Milwija ggrunċjata, għexieren ta’ toqob, imsakkar fihom il-misteru
ta’ meta tħares lejn ix-xemx billejl.
Lixxa bin-nemex, ċara, imperrċa ftit għall-beraħ
ħa tilmaħ farka ikħal mill-baħar t’hemm fuq
tipprova tibilgħu ħa tisbieħ naqr’oħra, taħseb.
Fil-ħerba mbenġla mis-skiet, ma titħarbatx –
f’dik l-għalqa xiħa
wiċċha mtebba’ b’kull xorta ta’ laqx u azzar u ħsejjes strambi
u demm, taħsbu ħamrija.
Tisponta ’l barra, ftit, bajda, trankwilla
hemm sieq qed tokrob biex jiġu jiġbruha, jidfnuha suret in-nies
dawk li xi darba bkewlha biex ma tmurx.
Ma jiġi ħadd u l-moffa tielgħa minn taħt bħal demonju.
Żewġ għasafar jinżlu jistrieħu fuq is-seba’ l-kbir
u qegħdin jinnamraw.

 

 

 

 

In an old field

Crouched bent, studded with holes that carry the mystery
of looking at the sun at night.
Smooth, pale, freckled, it stretches out to the vastness
catching a glimpse of the blue swimming above it,
gulping it, thinking it would feel better.
In the devastation, it does not falter –
In that old field
its crops scarred with shrapnel and lead and strange noises
and blood. It looks like soil.
Budding out a little from the earth, white, tranquil –
a foot moaning for someone to pick it up and bury it properly
those who once begged it not to leave.
No one came and mold is creeping from below like a demon.
Two birds fly by.
Perched on the big toe they mate.

Translated by Claudia Gauci

Yn in âld fjild

Yninoardûkt, besiedde mei gatsjes dy’t it mystearje drage
fan it nachts yn de sinne opsjen.
Glêd, bleek, fol skeinspruten, leit it útstrekt oant yn it ûneinige
en heint it in glimp op fan it blau dat derboppe swevet,
it yndrinkend, omdat it tinkt dat ’m dan better fiele soe.
Yn de woastenij, jout it gjin belies –
Yn dat âlde fjild
dêr’t de risping skeind is troch granaatskerven en lead en frjemde lûden
en bloed. It sjocht derút as grûn.
Justjes út de ierde sprutend, wyt, fredich –
in foet dy’t kjirmjend freget om fatsoenlik begroeven te wurden

oan dejingen dy’t him oait smeekten om net fuort te gean.
Der kaam net in mins en skimmel krûpt fan ûnderen omheech as in demon.
Twa fûgels fleane foarby.
Sittend op de grutte tean pearje se.

Oerset troch Ate Grypstra