The following poems are from Immanuel's collection, 'KM' and are translated by Maria Grech Ganado

SELECTED POETRY

by
Immanuel Mifsud

IN THE CENTRAL SQUARE IN MARTIN (SLOVAKIA)

Am I to blame if we have never met
despite the long long journeys of my life?
I looked for you. I really did. I called for you
in every airport I went through, in every train
I caught to cross the invisible frontiers
of dates which separate us from each other.

Am I to blame if I am losing heart?
You see, after all this distance travelled,
I wish to take a long look back
to maybe chart the routes which I have taken,
mistaken roads in which I’ve lost myself,
to perhaps stop at last, a little while, and rest.

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THE STORY OF A SLOVAK LADY

She recalls August ’68:
the beginning of love by the river,
the age of sex and drugs and rock ‘n roll,
and the days on the streets with their socialist smile.

She recalls August ’68:
the long night of the armoured tanks
while she looked up at a sky full of stars
and dreamt of pillows and sheets
in a bed reeking of love.

She recalls August ’68:
the apprehensive sprint towards the square,
and the songs of protest Karel Kryl sang.

She recalls the velvet of ’89:
the fish which swam into her eyes,
the snow which fell shrouding her sorrow.

She recalls January ’93:
the dissolution of brothers’ blood turning to cousins.
Alone in her living room of memories,
She runs through the soiled film once again,
and cries.

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I WISHED TO MEET YOU HERE

I wished to meet you here
next to this window
with the sun setting not far away
in this room lingering with the songs
of Jacques Brel filling with darkness
which will soon fall
into the silence of Versailles
on yet another day tagged on to many.

I wished to meet you here,
close to this bouquet of white roses withering
next to this piano ready to love
next to this image that’s fallen from my face
next to this emptiness which sits beside me.

I wished to meet you here –
for you to meet me as a foreign wanderer
without a face turned to the future
for you to find me lost in a sea of people
walking with maps in hand
for you to find me listening
to all the tongues which have addressed me
for you to find me living this fairy tale again.

I wished to meet you here: but
you have lost the ticket meant to bring you
and I’ve forgotten how to make out your face.

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© Immanuel Mifsud
Reproduced with permission

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