Room on the Sea: Three Novellas by André Aciman

Room on the Sea: Three Novellas

by André Aciman

Ci Vediamo in Agosto by Gabriel García Márquez

Ci Vediamo in Agosto

by Gabriel García Márquez

Translated by Bruno Arpaia

Verklärte Nacht - a short story in Maltese

Verklärte Nacht

I occasionally feature on this blog some of my writings in Maltese... such as this short story. Verklärte Nacht was first published on the Facebook page of the literary organisation Għaqda tal-Malti - Universita' after a Valentine's Day call for writings on the theme of love.  It is a ghost story of sorts, whose protagonist is haunted by the spirit of his ex-lover who, in a departure from the tropes of the genre, is still very much alive…  The illustration is by Pascal Campion whose  contemporary pop-inspired works I really love.

________________________________________________

"Tell Me the Truth About Love: 13 Tales from Couples Therapy" by Susanna Abse

 

Tell Me the Truth About Love

by Susanna Abse

Trust by Domenico Starnone

Trust

by Domenico Starnone

translated by Jhumpa Lahiri

Trysting by Emmanuelle Pagano

 

Trysting

by Emmanuelle Pagano (translated by Jennifer Higgins and Sophie Lewis)

A book review 

"Love" by Roddy Doyle

"Love" by Roddy Doyle

A book review

A Reluctant Love Song

A Reluctant Love Song

First Love: Atlantic Winds by William Prendiville

First Love

A review of William Prendiville's Atlantic Winds

Judging by the quality of this debut novella and Omar Sabbagh’s Minutes from the Miracle City (which I reviewed earlier on this blog), the second wave of “Fairlight Moderns” from Fairlight Books promises to be something to really look forward to.     

Unlikely cult classic: "Madonna in a Fur Coat" by Sabahattin Ali

"Madonna in a Fur Coat" by Sabahattin Ali

(translated by Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe)

Review of an unlikely cult classic

Rebels: A Poem

Victor Agius: "Amarantine" (2009)

Rebels

We were rebels once,

fists raised to heaven

feet trampling the earth

hearts like forest fires,

builders of a brave new world.

Until the world recast us in its image,

kissed us with its scented breath

and when its work was done

we, newly conflicted,

fell silent one by one.

We were prophets once,

preachers of a living God;

Long-bearded mystics,

trembling at ecstatic visions;

the anointed few.

Until, with voice grown hoarse,

we became purveyors

of facile absolutes

and traded our sheepskins

for designer suits.

We were poets once,

bards of beauty

lips cleansed by flaming coals;

Painters with our brushes dipped

in soil and sea and stars.

Until our sight grew dim

and we were lost for words;

our palettes ran dry, 

the willows took our lyres,

And no one heard us cry.

I avoid your eyes

burning with reproach,

lest embers long since cooled

rekindle once-familiar flames.

Don’t look at me,

for we were lovers once

but can no longer be.

Abstract Art

Abstract Art

A painting on display at a local museum in the English town of *** sparks musings about love and life.

Wedding Blues - A Poem

Amedeo Modigliani - Portrait of Lunia Czechowska

Wedding Blues

I must admit that,

after all those years,

spotting you beside the canapés

gave me quite a start.

I mumbled an excuse,

retreated to the bar

and now stand hidden in the crowd

nursing an indifferent Jack and Coke

and a scar

I’ve just discovered,

right below my heart.

How long has it been?

I flip the curl-edged pages of my life

and find us.  Early college days.

Future yet unmapped.

Shared mates, shared classes,

breaks in the canteen.

Bumpy bus-rides all around the town

on evenings when the sun refused to set.

One night, a coy techno-haloed fumble,

and back to our daily selves.

Then, as in a sepia print,

that morning when you stopped seeking me out,

and a mutual friend, whose name I can’t recall

ventured an unsubtle hint

that some guys are heartless, play too hard to get,

or are just too dumb

to know they have struck gold.

It was then it dawned on me

that our manoeuvres in the dark

which I considered a good-natured lark,

might actually have been

that strange, elusive thing called Love.

All told,

I have since then compiled

a trove of such goodbyes -   

an album to dip into on rainy afternoons.

It should have been so easy, then, 

to walk right up to you,

pluck useless, well-worn phrases

out of the fan-cooled air.

“What a surprise!

You getting along?”

“You haven’t changed at all!”

“Looking great, my dear...”

(All true, this, by the by)

Instead, I plan a quick escape,

greet the bride and groom

and head back to my car.

I hold your silhouette and a budding song.

It will, I guess, suffice.