3 good novels to be read

This summer I had some free time dedicated to reading fiction. I really had fun reading THE RELIGION (2006) of Tim Willocks who has been to Malta in July to sign copies of his novel. It's about the Great Siege that took place in Malta in 1565. It's a novel about war, violence, courage, freedom, love, loyalty, treason, and much more.

The second novel is PORTRAIT IN SEPIA of Isabel Allende, who was born in Peru and bred in Chile. It's a novel about woman emancipation, values, and the confrontation between traditional and modern societies.

Presently I'm reading WAR TRASH of Chinese writer Ha Jin. It's about the Korean War in the early 1950s and also about the life of Chinese and Korean POWs. Like the previous two novels WAR TRASH is about humankind, regardless religion, colour of skin, ideology and nationality. Ha Jin writes about the individual in a world where the individual means nothing and where world power and politics mean everything.

An elegy in Italian

I wrote this poem thinking of my mother who died of cancer exactly three years ago. Here I imagine myself a cancer patient. Indirectly I express my love towards my mother who dedicated big part of her life for her family, me included. A mother dies but is never forgotten.

ULTIME RIGHE NEL DIARIO DI UN MORIBONDO

Sono arrivato al capolinea
Ho appena sputato sangue
O era un pezzo di carne insanguinato?
Sono diventate secche le mie vene una dopo l’altra
Con tutta quella chimica che ne passa
Son trascorsi lunghi mesi, anzi anni
Da quando ho intuito l’inizio della discesa
Era un giorno come gli altri
Con una sola novita`:
la notizia m’era arrivata fredda, indifferente
m’avevano assicurato che non era niente di grave
solo un piccolo intervento
e poi svaniva tutto il male
ma di dentro non mi convincevo...

Mesi dopo il male era ricresciuto
Quella volta m’avevano suggerito
La radioterapia
E poi la chemioterapia
Lunghe ore d’attesa solitaria
Lunghe ore di tacita sofferenza
Io e la macchina
Io e l’odore di medicina
E dentro i pensieri che esplodevano
A migliaia
La paura della fine
La puntura di un ago minuscolo
La sostanza ambigua
che si mescolava col mio sangue
I momenti di panico
le grida dentro la fredda stanza
Sdraiato su un letto a fissare il neon, rimbecillito
Le visite settimanali dallo specialista
Con il suo sorriso ambiguo
Le sue parole ambigue.
Al reparto incontravo tanta brava gente
Con il male dentro pure loro
Ognuno con il proprio peso della croce
Alcuni la portavano da dieci anni,
altri di piu`, altri di meno
e io mi sentivo forte tra certi poveri Cristi
malgrado il dolore, le crisi interminabili...

Stasera ho appena sputato sangue
O forse era un pezzo di carne insanguinato?
Una voce nascosta m’ha detto che
Ero al capolinea
Quelle ultime due fiale di speranza
M’hanno tolto ogni speranza
Bruciato dall’interno
Cazzo che inferno!...

M’hanno portato di corsa all’ospedale
Un infermo
Seduto su una sedia a rotelle
Il dolore era talmente grande
Che supplicavo la morfina
La morfina, amica morfina...

Adesso supino disteso sul letto
Guardo il mondo attraverso un velo di nebbia fitta
Riesco a seguire le parole degli altri talvolta
E talvolta gli rispondo persino
La gola e` secca, un deserto, mi fa male
pero` m’hanno sconsigliato di bere
ho la bocca una ferita aperta
mi siedo sul letto e a intervalli
m’aiutano a fare qualche passo
con la macchina della morfina che fa tic tic
anch’essa a intervalli
e mi segue come un’ombra
mi da` fastidio la corrente
e chiedo di chiudere la finestra che da` sul porto
e chiedo di rimettermi disteso sul letto
mi sento stanco, sfinito
e chiudo gli occhi
mi s’annebbiano i sensi
ma sento ancora le voci lontane
e qualcuno mi tiene la mano calda...

Sono arrivato al capolinea
È ora di fare le valigie
Metaforicamente
Balbetto una mezza preghiera in segreto
Il fiato si fa piu` raro
Sono tranquillo, molto tranquillo
M’avviluppa il peso del sonno
E uno dopo l’altro s’interrompono i sensi
Si spengono gli interruttori
Mi sento leggero, molto leggero
E so che sul mio volto che non è piu` il mio
S’e` formato un bel sorriso, tranquillo...

Photos from Comino (sister island of Malta)

Some days ago I and two other teachers spent a day on the island of Comino. Reason: to take photos and collect information for a European project we and some students are working on this year (SPEAR Project). Comino is so small an island, yet with many beautiful corners to see and fall in love with!

This is an elegy I wrote last February 2007, dedicated to a colleague of mine, Olaug Vethal, teacher of art and artist.

Eternal peace and rock and roll

Saturday evening
I was holding my child ten months old
looking into her eyes full of life
her smile innocent.
And at the same time I was thinking of you
yet no more.
It ticked in my brain continuously
people die and people are born
people come and others go
it’s naturally so.
But do all leave so strong a mark behind?

I’ve seen you there in bed immobile
breathing your last instants of a life so meaningful
a heavy mist in your eyes
and human voices echoing at a distance.
I’ve seen you at ease, praying hand in hand,
I heard you whispering that “Everything’s ok”
while waiting silently and patiently
to embrace, alas, eternal moments of peace
and let time tick for us who stay behind.
I’ve asked myself while holding your hand, warm,
why you, not me or he or she, or him or her
but you?
A painting once so bright, today a chiaroscuro?
Is this an early winter or a late spring?

Monday morning
while we bid farewell
I thought that for me you were no mother
but only a friend
with whom at times I shared thoughts, verse
and green tea.
But I’ve also been a son again that day
I cried and prayed with your son
(you used to talk about so much these last months).

Alas!
I bow to destiny
and leave all shades apart
to remember nice moments lived together
your smile so genuine
your laugh a roar...
For us your presence was paint and brush alive
you left your colours bright on our canvas-hearts.

This morning
you rest in eternal peace
while life outside is rock and roll
once more...

Breakfast and tv

This is a poem I wrote on the second day of 2007.

Breakfast and tv

New year’s day two
but nothing’s new for breakfast
a glass of cold bloody killings
and a burned toast of scattered bodies...

His monotone voice announces the daily menu
neverchanging
and in the background
a much known music made up of
machine-gun fire and unending cries
of vengeance or grief...

Presidents, primeministers, generals and ambassadors
serve us the usual plates
their shiney impeccable smiles
and us, with cannibal forks and knives,
savour the raw delicacies
while engaging in annoying nonsense
playing the part of god
condemning the bad and evil
upholding the good and just
(I’m always asking myself where do
these two exactly stand?
Are they friends or foe?)

Many years have fled
since the year of peace was announced
but still black clouds cover our eyes
and cold winds blow in our hearts
and the usual killing notes knock incessantly
at our ears’ doors...

Almost unknowingly
I see myself stand up and walk
towards another room
whistling a happy tune...