Antoine Cassar

мальтийский

Antoine Cassar

английский

Tak, jako pták


Este nervio enroscado, estas escamas de ayer,
und die Erschöpfung folgt. Giù per gli urbani paschi,
dal-ġisem tqil li nġorr għal għonq it-triq tal-maskri,
flux d'encre qui se sclérose entre âpres fibres de fer,

song perched in the leaves drowned by engines scratching the air,
skrataċ, skariġġ, skorfini, scorbuto venduto in fiaschi,
–můj mozek je mozaika, jak rozházené oblázky–,
Angst mit hungrigen Zähnen, escombros por doquier,

ah, les entrailles des choses! Voilà qu'ils souhaitent un vers
–yes, with a wistful sigh, a voice gone sombre and dusky,
b'geddum, b'għadab mirqum, b'tixbiha ma’ wiċċ Laskri–,
dites-moi, combien de fois dois-je dire «la mer», «la mer» ?

So, like a bird to fly through sky unseen unheard,
a word free from its form, a sound in beauty blurred,

a volo, ’il fuq, là-haut, sul vento me ne vo,
sa delli twil imneżża’ mal-ewwel xefaq jgħib...

glisser sur l'oreiller du soleil mouillé couchant,
refuge jusqu'à l'éveil, die Welt ein Schlummerreim.

© Antoine Cassar
Из: Mużajk. An Exploration in Multilingual Verse
Edizzjoni Skarta, 2008
Аудиопроизводство: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin 2009

So, like a bird


This screwed-in nerve, these skinflakes of yesterday,
and the fatigue continues. Down through the urban pastures,
this heavy body I carry along the street of masks,
flux of ink hardening between harsh fibres of iron,

song perched in the leaves drowned by engines scratching the air,
cartridges, heavy baggage, nuts, scurvy sold in flasks,
-my brain is a mosaic, like a chaos of pebbles-,
angst with hungry teeth, rubble all around,

ah, the entrails of things! Here they are requesting a line of verse
-yes, with a wistful sigh, a voice gone sombre and dusky,
with a sulky chin, refined anger, a simile with the face of Lascaris-,
tell me, how many times must I say 'the sea', 'the sea' ?

So, like a bird to fly through sky unseen unheard,
a word free from its form, a sound in beauty blurred,

in flight, upwards, up there, on the wind I go,
until my long undressed shadow with the first horizon disappears…

to slide onto the cushion of the damp setting sun,
refuge until the awakening, the world a cradle-rhyme.

Translated by Antoine Cassar