 has the aim to bring forward Modern and Contemporary Maltese poetry to a wider audience: from students at school to students studying at higher levels, from researchers of the Maltese language to those who simply love to read Maltese and wish to know more about the ever changing texture of our poetic tradition.

Apart from the poems, here you will also find readings of a number of poems, both by the authors themselves and also by a number of actors, stills of the poets at a moment in time in their lives, manuscripts and also interviews with the respective poets.

The project is still in its research phase, and thus this material is only a representative sample of Maltese poets and their work.

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Raħal il-Letteratura is a pilot initiative by HELA Foundation (Hub for Excellence in the Literary Arts), which aims to celebrate literature and promote it in various ways in Rabat. This initiative is spread out over three years, and has just been awarded the President’s Prize for Creativity by the Office of the President and Arts Council Malta.

The aim of the project is to gather the stories and experiences of the residents of Rabat and then share them with others, whilst raising awareness about books, both as a physical object, as well as an experience. Due to this, special importance will be given to the literary heritage of the village.

Rabat was the chosen village firstly because it’s HELA’s home, but also because it is a dynamic village which brings together the rural and the historic, the traditional and the modern. Thus, a new literary hub will be created, away from the places which usually host these events, and the businesses in Rabat also stand to gain. The events planned are targeted at people of all ages, from the young to the old, so that different generations may appreciate this initiative. The plan is to involve the villagers as much as possible, and to visit their homes so that the collaboration can be an authentic one.

This initiative is primarily a creative and cultural act but also touches upon economic aspects. Raħal il-Letteratura will be possible thanks to Studio Solipsis, Inizjamed, Malta Libraries, Merlin Publishers, the National Literacy Agency, Heritage Malta, the Malta National Archives and the Rabat Local Council.

Raħal Il-Letteratura

Raħal il-Letteratura

What are the Mdina Bastions? They are a series of fortifications around the city of Mdina, protecting it from any potential invaders. There are three types of these fortifications: the Punic-Roman walls, the Medieval walls and the Hospitallier walls. The first of the aforementioned walls were built in prehistory, and by the time the Bronze Age came about, it was already being used as a place of refuge and defense. The “original” Mdina was three times the size of regular Mdina nowadays, but very little of the Punic-Roman era remains today. The Medieval, on the other hand, was created to reduce the massive space so as to make it more easily defensible. Unlike the Punic-Romans, there are some remains of the Medieval era, for instance, the two gun loops between the gate and the Torro de Standardo. Finally, the most recent of the Mdina walls, the Hospitallier era was around in the times when the Order of Saint John took over Malta. At this point, Mdina had lost its status as capital city, that spot being taken by Birgu unofficially. When Malta became an independent country, it formed part of the defensive system along with the Victoria Lines. This excerpt that follows takes place underneath the Mdina Bastions, in the garden which was recently restored a few years ago. The name of the book literally translates to English as “Underneath the Mdina Bastions”.

It was a beautiful evening in spring. The two girls stepped out of the large house they lived in, right opposite the garden. Without agreeing on a destination, they headed towards Howard Gardens in Rabat. They lived close by, after all, on Museum Street. And, to be fair, in half an hour you are not going to get very far anyway. It was a place they both cherished. They did not mind going there every evening. They would stop by the edge of the garden wall and peer down at the ditch, where a sizeable gang of strapping young men would meet for a game of football every day, there beneath the bastions of Mdina. They were loud and boisterous, eager to let out all the pent-up energy accumulated during school hours. In the garden, right behind the girls, there was a kiosk where you could get a drink or a 

, a cream pastry or some other sweet treat. Sylvia and Monica were not interested in these snacks, however. Food was of no concern to them. Their attention was solely focused on what went on in the ditch. The Beatles song “Hey Jude” thundered from the kiosk.

Hey, Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better … nah, nah, nah …

The girls kept time with their heels and even sang along under their breath.

 (“Beneath the bastions of Mdina”) by Lina Brockdorff.

The Basilica of St Paul in Rabat is considered to be one of the parish churches in Rabat. The church is built on part of the site of the Roman city Melite, which included all of Mdina and a large part of present-day Rabat. The present church was built to replace a church which was completed in 1578. The new church was built with funds provided by the noble woman Guzmana Navarra on plans prepared by Francesco Buonamici. The church building commenced in 1653 was completed by Lorenzo Gafà in 1683. Annexed with the church of St Paul is a smaller church dedicated to St Publius which was rebuilt in 1692 and again in 1726 by Salvu Borg. The church was elevated to a Minor Basilica in 2020. The sight of this illustrious Church would make anyone gasp in awe, even if you did not know its history. But with the knowledge of the history, it makes it even more awe inspiring. We chose this place because of the fact that Sister Antida Vella was from Rabat!

Before making our way to the hospital where Sister Antida works, we had the opportunity to walk around the streets of Haifa and climb Mount Carmel in order to visit the church of Stella Maris and the large garden of bahá’í close by. From time to time, we stopped for a glass of mint tea or a small snack, until it was time to go to the hospital, Sister Antida’s workplace.

“I am from Rabat,” she tells us. “Before joining the order, I used to work for Vexillina, the printers and stationers.” She went to school in Hamrun, with the Franciscan Missionary Sisters of Egypt. That’s where she started feeling drawn to the idea of becoming a nun. She left Malta at 18 to enter the novitiate in Italy. Upon completing that, in 1978, she travelled to Brazil, where she spent ten years. She learned the language and took a nursing course for three years, thereafter specialising in Rome. In 1988 she was sent to the Holy Land.

Today Sister Antida is the Head Nurse in the operating theatre. The hospital welcomes everyone; where patients are concerned, politics takes a backburner. “The patient first and foremost,” she tells us. She talks a little about the conflict. 2006 was the worst year for them, when bombs came crushing down from Lebanon, right across the border. “We were not brought up during the war and, unlike our parents, knew nothing about it.” But life goes on, and although they would be startled by the wailing of sirens, they still felt protected by the sturdy building they worked in, with its double walls. Sister Antida is happy here. This is her home, her hospital, there is always something to do. In the evening she’s exhausted, for she works from seven to seven and sometimes even longer, as long as is required. She assists during operations and sometimes even stays by the patients’ side after surgery. “You have to be brave”. She is used to it now. She had always wanted to be a nurse. She does not rest much, Sister Antida. “It’s just the way I am,” she says. “I cannot rest while there’s work to be done.” No surgery is scheduled on Saturdays and Sundays. On those days she helps out at the sanctuary of the Mount of Beatitudes, in the souvenir shop. That way, she meets the pilgrims and gets a break from hospital routine.

Sister Antida does not travel much; she is too busy with work. But when the Ambassador calls a meeting of Maltese residents somewhere close by, such as at the Mount of Beatitudes, she enjoys the day out and a chat with fellow countrypeople. For the most part, however, her place is in the hospital with the patients. She still has some photos of herself when she was younger, with her family, but on occasion she gets rid of them. How long can you hold onto such things for? She does not bring much back with her from Malta either. She visits her siblings and nephews and stays with her sister in the old family home not far from the church of Saint Paul. “I was the one who chose the life of a missionary and this means that my family is close to me in prayer rather than physically.” Which is also why she tends to let go of objects that bind her to her family, in order to focus solely on her mission. In spite of this, Sister Antida speaks fondly and gladly of Rabat.

“I loved the mission in Brazil. And I love this one. I’ve always worked in hospitals. That is where I started out, and I stayed on.” Yet she still feels a bond with Malta, or rather with Rabat. “I’m from Rabat too,” says Gilbert. “Let me tell you who my folks are,” he goes on. “And let me tell you where our house is,” the Sister replies ...

At that point they plunged into a conversation which Nathalie and I could not follow, with nicknames and families we had never heard of, streets we did not know, places that were dear to them but that were only a speck on a city map for us ... But this was Sister Antida’s moment, a time for her and her memories, memories of her childhood in Rabat, where she was born and raised, where she worked and where her sister still lives, in the old family home ... I am from Rabat, born and bred ...

I am from Rabat and Rabat still dwells within me.

(“The Land of Words”)written by Clare Azzopardi (a project in collaboration with Nathalie Grima and Gilbert Calleja).

The place you are situated in at present are the St Paul’s Catacombs. These are a symbol of early Christianity in Malta, as they depict where St Paul had allegedly come to Malta to spread the word of God. They are suspected to have been once connected to the St Paul’s Grotto, also found in Rabat. These were used as cemetries in Roman times (approximately the 7th Century and maybe even 8th Century AD). Although much smaller when compared to the catacombs of Rome and other large Roman centres, the catacombs of St Paul are a good example of the Maltese underground architecture which reveals Malta’s true history to the point where these can be considered proof of our religious roots. Another return to our religious roots is the following poem by Marlene Saliba, which emphasizes the importance of time and memories in relation to our spiritual selves. Marlene Saliba’s poems relate to our archeological heritage and us beings in relation to the cosmos.

another consciousness that instills in us

a dear friend who seems equally intuitive

with the aspiration of bringing back here with us

Yet with the landing we appear to have changed too.

to tell another tale of great harmony and joy,

First formed in Toulouse, France in 1216, the Dominician Order is still an influential force on Christianity to this day. O.P., standing for 

is normally carried after the names of friars and priests in this order.The Dominicans arrived in Malta from Sicily in 1450, presumably on the initiative of Fr Pietro Zurchi, a Maltese friar from Mdina attached to the vast Dominican priory in Sicily, Malta finally joining the ever growing list of countries currently signing their membership over to this order. One of the most famous people living in Malta who was also part of the Dominician order, was Mikiel Fsadni, O.P.; in this case forming part of the sector in Rabat. He was also an author, mostly of non-fiction works. In this extract, he recounts the experience of how he and a fellow researcher, Prof. Godfrey Wettinger, had found the Cantilena, a crucial part of Maltese history, as it was a poem written in Medieval Maltese.

Despite the paucity of references to the Maltese language, the few we had did prove that Maltese was spoken and that efforts had also been made to write it, at least when it came to place names. Just as we had started giving up on finding more evidence, on 22 September 1966 we were astonished and baffled by the unexpected finding of a very old poem written by Pietru Caxaru. We jumped for joy and cried out “This is a discovery we would have never ever hoped for.” This was our reward, Wettinger’s and mine, for all our efforts. I went back to Saint Paul’s Bay, where I was on vacation, and told my friends “We discovered something big, very big.” They wanted to know what it was; they would have to wait for a reply, because it took us a while to publish our first study of it, which featured in the book “Peter Caxaro’s Cantilena – a Poem in Medieval Maltese”.

The moment we found it, we tried transcribing it; to no avail. It is true that at first glance the Song appears to be written in intelligible letters – after all, it was written down by Notary Brandanu de Caxario in his finest calligraphy; and yet we were at pains to decipher certain letters and words. As a result, after a second futile attempt at transcribing it, we decided to photograph it; we could then work quietly and take our time. None of us was a photographer; on the other hand, we did not feel we could leave such a task to any outsider. I decided to take it upon me. I borrowed a good camera from Father Ġużepp Gauci, O.P., requested the necessary permit from the Chief Notary to Government, and three weeks later I set out on my first photographic mission! That day, my heart beat faster than usual; I was a little edgy. I tied the camera to a table close to a ventilation grille, I placed the register on the floor, reduced the aperture, focused well. The rest was the work of the automatic camera; in a few minutes the job was done. Just as I was about to start taking photos of the poem, Wettinger asked the clerks – as agreed beforehand – to bring another notarial register. They brought it and I took some shots of other sheets. In that way we dissimulated as well as we could the sheet we were truly interested in, the one that contained the poem. Wettinger took care of developing the film and making copies at a photographer’s studio. Luckily, all the negatives were in focus and sharp. We could put our minds at rest; we did not need to go back to the first register of Notary Brandano de Caxario, which is home to the famed poem […]

We still had to overcome many obstacles before we could hope to unravel the mystery of the Cantilena. We had to resort to new methods for this. These were found by my friend Wettinger, who is not one for giving up. Among other things, he had the idea of analysing the Maltese orthography that Notary Brandanu de Caxario had used when writing place names in his acts. This was no easy feat. We had to leaf through more than sixty registers – sheet by sheet – of the said notary and extract hundreds of names of places written in Maltese; in this way we got an idea of the notary’s orthography, which matches that of the Cantilena. Moreover, the Cantilena is written in very old Maltese; some of the words it contains hail from the Arabic spoken in the Western part of North Africa, primarily in Tunisia. Wettinger could make sense of them because he speaks Arabic. He therefore looked up the meaning of words that feature in the Cantilena but that do not belong to the Maltese language, in various dictionaries of Arabic and there he found their literal meaning. This is how we could decipher the meaning of the poem in a way that was much praised by scholars. Among others, Professor J. Aquilina in his foreword stated:

“This is indeed a very scholarly detailed analysis of the oldest poem in what one might describe as Medieval Maltese.”

(“Experiences of a Writer”) by Father Mikiel Fsadni.

Witness my predicament, my friends (neighbours), as I shall relate it to you:
[What] never has there been, neither in the past, nor in your lifetime,
A [similar] heart, ungoverned, without lord or king (sultan),
That threw me down a well, with broken stairs
Where, yearning to drown, I descend the steps of my downfall,
I climb back up and down again, always faced with high seas.

It (she) fell, my building, its foundations collapsed;
It was not the builders’ fault, but the rock gave way,
Where I had hoped to find rock, I found loose clay
It (she) fell, my edifice, (that) which I had been building for so long.

And so, my edifice subsided, and I shall have to build it up again,
You change it to the site that suits her/it
Who changes his place, changes his fate!
for each (piece of land) has its own shape (features);
there is white land and there is black land, and red
But above all, (what) you want from it is a fruit

5. IL-KNISJA TA’ SAN BASTJAN/TRIQ IL-KULLEĠĠ

Mikiel Spiteri, more familiarly known as Kilin, was a Maltese author. He was born in 1917, in the village of Rabat. First writing at the age of 33, one of his most popular works is 

, first published in 1973. The following excerpt describes the time when he had his first Holy Communion.

Now I have also done my First Holy Communion. Aunty Jane sewed a fine straw-coloured suit for me, with shorts. She pinned a white strip to my left sleeve. As soon as she was done dressing me, it was time to head to Saint Paul’s. My father did not attend the ceremony because he was on guard duty, and my mother could not leave the children alone. She brushed my hair thoroughly, dusted me down one last time, straightened my bow tie and said:

“Go. And make sure you don’t get dirty.”

I walked carefully until I got to the water pump, but as soon as I turned on College Street I broke into a run, jumping from one doorstep to the next like a little lamb. And indeed, I felt as light as a lamb in my new, fresh suit. My heart was brimming with joy. For this was a truly joyful day. Not the kind of boisterous happiness replete with laughter and gleeful shouting – like when I got a box of colours or when the headmistress praised me and gave me a prize for being first in class, or even when our school won the Empire Day Cup. It was a quiet joy that cannot be explained. A bliss that comes from within perhaps. I cannot describe it; it was an overwhelming joy. The neighbours threw a big party for their daughter, like a baptism party, with guests and food and drink and a gramophone. My mother did not have that kind of money, so she baked a cake and covered it with chocolate, and I shared it with my siblings.

 (“Life in the environs of the Saint Sebastian water pump”) by Kilin.

A death sentence was commonplace in Malta, especially in the times when the English ruled over the land. One of the emerging places where executions by the method of the gallows took place was in fact the place where you are standing on right now, Misrak Forok. In English, this translates to a square where people were condemned to death by the gallows. For those who do not know, the gallows are a method of hanging by rope. One poem that mentions this piazza is “Seven days of snow”by Glen Calleja.

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