Photo by: Thomas Langdon / vsg
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More poetry from Malta
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Simone Inguanez
Translated by Maria Grech Ganado
Sometimes we merge our ghosts
for dusan
sometimes we merge our spirits you and i
— you say words you don’t possess and stun me
you say words you don’t possess and leave me speechless
tell me yourself why they echo round the rooms
— this wind you raise when you breathe in
this night-long jangling of bones when you leave
your body’s heat that stays with me — steaming
—sometimes we merge our ghosts, you and I
even your photos have faded
for myself because i wish it weren’t so
fine dust has settled on the windows
of my home
— and webs over sills and ceilings
i stick to the floor
and nobody knocks at the front door
here inside the air is heavy, breathless
— the walls are damp
my bed’s a mess— night and day
the day ignites no fire — what has been has been
there’s only what the heat’s left in the shade
— or frost
saint anthony / muttering
i lost my soul a long time ago
— in the incense of your eyes in your breathlessness
in the catch of your passionate voice
and the shiver which passed from your body to mine
without my knowing why
without my being able to flee stay return
and i sought it in the tubes of burning farmland
in the smell of wet trees
in the flower’s heart
in broken wings
in stagnant pools
under the threshold
epitaph for a small boy
who came out to peep at the war
i know
— that some day you’ll wake
to play in the dust again
— the same night which buried your body
will seek it and find it once more
i know
at some point you’ll recall your old bed
you’ll escape
we’ll lock up
spend the night telling tales
— and laugh aloud
so that no one will fall asleep
transformed by the night into blossoms
i’ll stay
i don’t know where i’m from
but i fit into your shores,
their yellowing on the wind
doesn’t hurt
nor does their green rustling softly in my ear
or their salt on the wave —to and fro, to and fro.
i don’t know where i’m from
but if you let me i’ll stay.
little by little
you’re the word which stuck
to the tip of my tongue for years
years in which i sought you without relief
in the pain it took you to take shape
— little by little
