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Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić, MSc Sarajevo & Bugojno, Bosnia and Herzegovina MI OBJEDINJUJEMO RAZLIČITOSTI... WE ARE UNIFYING DIVERSITIES |
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Patrick Sammut, Mosta, Malta
Patrick Sammut was born in Malta in 1968. He studied Maltese and Italian language and literature, and History, at the University of Malta, and later obtained a Masters Degree in Contemporary Italian Literature with a thesis on “The Novel of the Resistance Movement”. Between 1994 and 1996 he studied Italian literature and literary criticism at the Università degli Studi of Florence. He teaches Maltese and Italian Language and Literature at De La Salle College since 1992. He is vice-president of the Maltese Poets Association, editor of the poetry magazine VERSI, and coordinator of a literary page of a local and virtual weekly newspaper, Il-Gens illum. He writes poetry in Maltese, English and Italian. He is author of various publications: literary criticism, poetry and short stories for children. His poems were published in both local and foreign journals and magazines. In 2008 he participated in the “Progetto Dante” of Ravenna, together with Maltese poet and translator, Alfred Palma, and won a “Special Mention” in the Nosside international poetry contest. In 2011 he participated in the Gaeta Mediterranean Poetry Festival. He keeps in contact with other poets and writers through e-mail and has a personal blog: www.patrickjsammut.blogspot.com . He is married to Rosalie and father of Andrew, Kristina and Matthew.
VILLA AMIRA, Street Ante Starčevića 33,
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ODGOVORI...I PITANJA
Njegovi snovi jesu neprestano traženje. Odgovora. U pjesmi. Radi života samog. Njegova realnost je pronalazak suštine. U pitanju. Života. Pjesmom obuhvaćenog. Bogatstvo jezičkog smislenog izražaja se kod Patricka Sammuta manifestira u jakosti mozaičke scene, izrasle iz njegovog bića. Bića koje voli, tuguju, ali i nada se. Objašnjenju svega navedenog. Pričajući pjesmu. Govoreći poeziju. Snagom naslijeđa majčinog, ali izgrađenosti sopstvenog bića. Društvenog. No, ne daje finalne odgovore. Quis scit (heu, nemo, nemo quidquam scit. Fragilis est scientia! (Dobrica Cesarić, Hrvatska, XX stoljeće/Vijek)....da, Patrick, no tvoje poetsko znanje je predivan kolorit iskrenih namjera, usmjerenih nadnaravnoj potrebi da pokušamo dati odgovore na sva pitanja koja tvoja poezija postavlja. I odgovoricemo. Uz pomoc tvoje poezije, prije svega. Riječ urednika |
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS...
His dreams are constantly in seeking process. For the answers. In the song. For the purpose of life itself. His reality is the invention of the essence. Within the question. Of life. Covered with the poem. The richness of linguistic meaningful expression is manifested at Patrick Sammut within the strength of a mosaic scene, grew out of his creature. Creature who love, mourn, but also the one who has hopes. Explanation of the above mentioned. Talking with the poem. Speaking of the poetry. Strength of the mother's legacy, but with the construction of his own being. Social one. No, he does not provide final answers. Quis scit (heu, nemo, nemo quidquam scit. Fragilis est scientia! (poet Dobrica Cesarić, Croatia, XX century )....yes, Patrick, but your knowledge of poetry is a beautiful color of the sincere intentions, directed towards the supernatural need for us to try to give answers to any questions that your poetry sets. And we will respond. With the help of your poetry, first and foremost. Editor's word Sabahudin Hadzialic |
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Forsi mill-ġdid
Ix-xita baqgħet tgelgel staġun wara l-ieħor bħall-baħar jofrogħ u jimla u jibdel iċ-ċagħak f’ramel mikroskopiku bħax-xemx tbaskat u tikwi fuq il-ħolqien. Imma tiegħek ma baqax għelm ħlief it-tifkira li ttektek ma’ ħġieġ għajnejja spiss bla ma ddejjaqni ddewwaqni l-melħ ta’ baħar li darba kien u llum nixef. Illum baqa’ biss it-tifkira li tħabbat bla waqfien kull waqt, kull jum, kullimkien ma’ bwieb il-jien u jien minn dak il-jum sirt nara u nifhem dal-vjaġġ qasir li hu tiegħi ukoll dal-vjaġġ qasir daqs nifs maqtugħ ġirja waħda dal-vjaġġ li tiegħu biljett xtrajtli bla ma naf bla ma ridt dal-vjaġġ li se jwassalni fejn ma nafx jew forsi ħdejk mill-ġdid forsi twelidek mill-ġdid forsi twelidi mill-ġdid forsi tassew dal-ħolma-vjaġġ qarrieq li jferrħek u jbikkik isaħħek u jherrik ifakkrek u jnessik l-ilwien li xi darba fil-bogħod fil-qrib f’iswed ikanġu f’baħħ etern forsi forsi xi darba noħroġ imqarraq jew għad ikolli raġun bla ma nkun qatt nista’ nieħdu forsi... --------------------- Tifkira t’Assisi Imkeffen f’dan id-dieq ħarsti fakkarija timraħ fuq wesgħat il-widien tintilef lilhinn u titwaħħad mal-ikħal profond tal-iġbla fl-isfond. Hemmhekk biss inħossni jien, ħieles bħan-nida li tostor il-għodwa bħall-għanja li ssaħħar tat-tjur sielma bħaż-żiffa sefsiefa li tpaxxi lill-widen bħall-ibgħad u l-ogħla quċċata. Niffissa l-ftuħ etern u nisma’ leħen ġewwieni jlissen dal-kliem: ibqa’ hawn, titħarrikx, agħlaq għajnejk twarrab mill-għagħa u ħaddan il-kwiet. Ħoss, xomm, tiegħem u isma’ l-ħolqien f’taħdita mas-skiet. ----------------- TALBA Bilqiegħda hawn fuq biswit l-iskrivanija nitbissem kuntent għax naf li int hemm fuq barra mit-tieqa ma’ ġenbi ġejt iżżurni għal ftit ġimgħat int li tterraq l-univers infinit. Kull tant żmien indawwar ħarsti lejk biex niżgura li int għadek hemm tiddi b’denbek fiddien fi sfond iswed dlam. Iżda waqtiet oħra nintlaqat mid-diqa għax naf li postok hemm fuq mhux dejjiem. Naf li bil-mod il-mod tgħib, tmut, u dawlek jisfa’ fix-xejn. Hekk ukoll dawk ta’ madwari li tant ħabbewni u li tant ħabbejt u nħobb. Nixtieq nibqa’ niċċassa lejk l-iljieli kollha bla ma nagħlaq għajn. . . Ingawdi issa l-preżenza tiegħek ja kometa għax naf li ladarba tgħib int ma terġa’ lura qatt. ------------------------ Karnival solitarju F’dal-karnival kiesaħ ninża’ għarwien u nħalli l-kesħa tal-art taħkimni, immur lura fil-għar li fih xi darba fl-iljieli mbiegħda kont bniedem tassew. Naħrab mill-belt u nimxi ħafi fuq il-blat niggieżi nixrob l-ilma ġieri u nħalli għelm passejja fit-tajn frisk. F’dal-karnival kiesaħ nagħlaq għajnejja u nsodd widnejja u fid-dalma nilmaħ ilwien ħarkiena u nisma’ n-noti primordjali ’il bogħod minn dawn jiemi u mkieni banali. Nerġa’ ntiegħem il-laħam nej tal-bhejjem slavaġ waqt li nimraħ lejn beraħ ix-xagħri, l-iġbla u l-widien, hekk, weqfin quddiemi dejjiema u nberred dat-turmenti ġewwiena biex fl-aħħar nitbissem tbissima ta’ vera u nħossni ninħakem minn tal-ħuġġieġa s-sħana ’il bogħod minn dis-siegħa baħnana... -------------------------- Milied sieket... Kien hemm jiem meta n-noti tal-pjanu kienu jinfirxu mal-erbat irjieħ u jdakkru bil-hena lis-semmiegħ, jisiltu tbissima u jġorru messaġġi ta’ sliem... Kien hemm jiem meta l-moħħ u l-id kienu jistrieħu mill-ġirja-tellieqa ta’ kuljum jitbiegħdu għal waqtiet minn dak li jifnik inessu tal-arloġġ it-tektik u n-noti tal-pjanu jtellgħu fil-għoli lill-eletti li jafu bis-sabiħ jitpaxxew... Kien hemm jiem meta l-moħħ kien għadu ħieles u l-mużika sublimi kienet toffri mistrieħ bin-noti tal-pjanu ħawwiefa iwennsu l-ispazji tfal ċkejkna henjin jiġġerrew... Kien hemm jiem meta l-ġenju tal-kbar kompożituri kien jitqajjem mir-raqda mill-ġdid u l-folla titpaxxa għal qosra waqtiet tissaffa mill-aljenazzjoni u ssegwi n-noti tal-pjanu b’passjoni... Illum minn dan kollu ma fadal xejn. Għal-leħen imsaħħar tal-pjanu jixxennqu l-widnejn u bosta jistaqsu x’seħħ minnhom? għalfejn? Illum fadal biss Milied sieket u s-sema ddallam, insterqu l-kwiekeb, u n-noti tal-pjanu sfaw orfni mbikkma u ħallew lil bosta jixxennqu qatigħ dak li xi darba, ftit ilu, kien ipaxxi lill-qlub u jiżra’ l-mistrieħ. ----------------------- Jien u miexi fi triqti... Jien u miexi fi triqti hawn fl-ispazji tiegħi li nafhom sewwa ħsiebi fik li tterraq it-triqat tiegħek ’il bogħod minn hawn fl-ispazji siekta li inti taf żgur aħjar minni. Xi drabi nistħajjel ġewwa ħsiebi leħnek itarrafli kliem ħlejju minn taħt l-ilsien kliem li nifhem jiena biss u spiss bi tweġiba bla ebda sforz naqbadni nlissen kliem ħafif tajjar lilek, int fejn int, fil-bogħod imma hekk fil-qrib ukoll. Narani ħarsti fuqek, inviżibbli, waqt li waħdek tniżżel boqqa boqqa l-kafè li għamilt inti stess jew tinżel taqfel il-lazz jew tħares tal-aħħar fil-mera biex tara li kollox sew u hemm ġew nilmaħ bħal diqa f’għajnejk żagħżugħa ’mma mġarrba daqs is-swar li min jaf kemm raw matul is-snin. L-arloġġ itektek għalina t-tnejn minkejja d-distanza li żżommna mifrudin ’mma ħsiebna ħaġa waħda f’dimensjoni li nafu biha inti u jiena biss... Inħarsu ’l quddiem bit-tama li jonfħu rjieħ aħjar biex fuqhom nittajru ħfief lejn spazji-żminijiet tajjar nistaqsi xi jmiss b’ħarsitna lejn l-orizzont lilhinn minn kull bini, asfalt, konkrit sakemm naslu fuq il-pont li għal darb’oħra jarana flimkien, ġejjieni unit. ----------------------------- TIFKIRA TA’ OMM Tard filgħaxija meta jisktu l-ħsejjes u tistrieħ il-ħajja għaġġelija nagħlaq għajnejja għal xi waqtiet u nħossni ninqata’ mill-art intir ħafif ’il fuq ’il fuq u nerġa’ nistħajlek tiftaħli l-bieb ta’ tfuliti mill-ġdid tilqagħni b’dirgħajk miftuħa u bi tbissima li sserraħ minn kull inkwiet tmexxini sal-qalba tad-dar... u għalkemm naf li dan seħħ bosta snin ilu u li inti issa ’l bogħod xhur u xhur twal inħossni għal darb’oħra qribek u nibki bil-ferħ, biki liberatorju, inħoss f’dis-siegħa solitarja d-dmugħ jiżżerżaq ma’ sisien ħaddejja u leħen minn ġewwa jitolbok biex tibqa’ dejjem ħdejja fid-dawl u fid-dlam, fis-sħana u fil-ksieħ, int li kont, għadek u tibqa’ OMMI, għażiża ommi. Inħobbok, inħobbok daqs il-vojt ħondoq bla qiegħ ta’ ġo fija u li minnek firidni u seraqli kull mistrieħ. ---------------------- Hemm żminijiet... Hemm żminijiet meta bla ma rridu madwarna taħkem in-nixfa anki jekk fina jnixxu u jgelglu l-ilmjiet u dan ikiddna mhux ftit iħallina ljieli mqajmin nomogħdu d-dlamijiet li jidħlu jimbuttaw fil-labirinti ta’ moħħna. U f’waqtiet bħal dawn ninqatgħu mill-kiefra realtà biex fi ħsiebna nsalpaw fuq ibħrat l-istħajjil. Ara jiena... ta’ spiss nimmaġinani ngħum għarwien u xxamplat fl-ikħal t’għajnejk, immelles kullimkien minn subgħajk torja. U kieku int kont il-ħamrija jiena kont inkun għeruq is-siġra nikber, nimbotta u nħabbat ġewwa fik staġuni sħaħ nitimgħek ħalibi u inti ttuqni għasel l-allat... Imbagħad niftakru li r-realtà fil-fatt ftit għandha minn dawn il-ħrejjef u rridu u ma rridux, ikollna nġorru l-piż assenjat lilna. Biss ftakar hemm realtajiet virtwali, paralleli, fejn int u jien ilna sa mill-bidu nett u nibqgħu hekk sa dwiem l-eternità għoqda waħda marbutin flimkien. ----------------------------- Forsi xi darba... Id-dinja żżomm fuq ħjut irqaq inviżibbli u ddur u ma tiqafx għax hemm tfal ċkejknin li ta’ kuljum joħolmu ħolm l-anġli jitbissmu b’għajnejhom magħluqin u minn fommhom qrolla joħorġu klejmiet ta’ paċi li jifhmu biss il-ftit u drabi l-istess tfal ċkejknin tarahom jitqallbu u jitkagħwġu ibatu għal waqtiet jitqabdu mal-forzi tal-ħażen waqt l–iljieli twal, fis-skiet. Id-dinja żżomm fuq ħjut irqaq inviżibbli u ddur u ma tiqafx għax hemm xjuħ ħbieb is-solitudni maqfula fi kmajret talbhom ’il bogħod mill-moltitudni li jqasstu mijiet u mijiet ta’ rużarji jgħarrqu għajnejhom fuq brevjarji li llum tgħallmu bl-amment u jgedwdu bla ma jieqfu orazzjonijiet u ġakulatorji hemmhekk fis-skiet li drawh daqs l-akbar ħabib u jbatu bla ma nafu mitt elf uġigħ li ebda duwa ma taf isserraħ. U intant il-bqija medhija bil-ħan u l-ġlied bħal xjafek bla mistrieħ nintilfu fil-labirinti bliet u drabi, uħud minna, nieqfu għal ftit mumenti niftakru f’meta konna kuntenti f’imgħoddi li llum insejna għax infnejna b’elf tagħbija u nkwiet. Fejn marret l-innoċenza ta’ meta konna trabi? Fejn huma ż-żminijiet meta t-talb tagħna kien ħabib? Qed negħrqu sewwa fil-ħama bla ma nafu biex forsi, xi darba, inqumu fuq riġlejna, u nindafu minn dan kollu mill-ġdid! --------------------------- Manhattan - 11 ta’ Settembru 2001 It-toroq imdemmija u sħaba sewda tostor il-qirda u l-mejtin. Jibku s-sireni u l-folla bejn miblugħa bejn imherwla ma tafx fejn se ssib il-kenn. Sa ftit ilu qalb il-belt kienet qed tħabbat u t-toroq ifawru bħal dejjem bin-nies u l-karrozzi. . . I\d’issa f’tebqa t’għajn iġġarfet il-ħolma u minflok il-ħmar il-lejl (li laqat darba, darbtejn, tlieta) ta’ bini mġarraf u t-tmiem ta’ eluf. Is-sod safa fix-xejn u maħsuda minn għeruqha l-belt li qatt ma torqod tistenna muġugħa, midruba. . . Issa t-toroq de\ert ta’ skiet mutrabi. Għalissa x’nistgħu nagħmlu? Nitolbu għal dawk li m’għadhomx magħna nistabru bid-diskorsi preparati tal-mexxejja.    |
Perhaps Once Again
(translated from Maltese by Joseph Sant) Incessant rain poured down throughout the rolling seasons like the endless ebb and tide that pulverise the pebbles to microscopic sand or the relentless scorching sun that parches all creation. Yet what remains of you is but a flickering memory that often strikes against my glossy eyes with imperceptible sadness. You made me taste the salty sea that once existed but which has since dried up to its last drop demisted. To-day merely your memory survives knocking persistently – each moment, each day, wherever – against the portals of my very being: and from that ominous day it clearly dawned upon me that this short part-time passage, in which also I partake, this fleeting period is but a breathless spasm after an exhausting race. You booked for me this voyage without my will and knowledge leading to a doubtful destination or to your bosom it leads me back again or perhaps to your rebirth... to my rebirth... indeed, perhaps. This deceitful nightmarish voyage that offers – joys and tears strength and frailty memories and amnesia – hues that in the long or short duration will melt into the eternal pot of darkness and oblivion perhaps, who knows may be, one day will prove me wrong or else, perhaps, I am proved right and yet unable to savour satisfaction. ------------------- Recollections of Assisi (translated from Maltese by Joseph Sant) Confined in this claustrophobic cubicle my mind’s eye wanders over the immense valley plains and, lost in the horizon, unites itself with the dark blue hue of the mountain range beyond. Only there my whole being feels as free as the mist that clothes the dawn; as the enchanting bird song that hails the morn; as the whistling breeze that soothes the ear or as the farthest topmost peak. Firmly I gaze towards the eternal void and listen to the voice within: abide here longer, motionless, world-blind turn your back to the hectic turmoil of daily life and embrace the sound of silence... Feel, smell, taste and listen to natural creation softly engaging in mute dialogue with silent stillness. --------------- REFLECTIONS (Translated from Maltese by Joseph Sant) An inward joy pervades me While silently I sit in my study Smiling to myself. And, like a heart in love, Your greetings I feel in the heavens above Whence you came exhibiting your presence On your long and scheduled flight Along the infinite paths of the universe immense. At times a glance sky-bound again Assuring myself you there remain Trailing your shining silvery tail Against an unfathomable dark curtain. At times your brilliance I rediscover With heartfelt sadness With deep awareness.... Your presence here, alas, is not for ever. Slowly but surely you disappear Your flame disintegrates And dies in tears As will all those who love me now To whom my heart I owe somehow Gladly I stay awake all night Admiring your beauty and your light Relishing your present glow.... My lovely comet. Full well I know once you recede and vanish No hope remains for me to see you back and cherish. --------------------------- A SOLITARY CARNIVAL (Translated from the Maltese original by poet and translator Alfred Palma) On this cold carnival I shed my clothes and let cold ground possess me, and go back to the cavern where once in nights of yore I was a man indeed. I flee the town and barefoot tread the prickly rocks drink of the running brook and leave the imprint of my steps in the fresh mud. On this cold carnival I close my eyes and plug my ears and in the dark behold the moving hues and hear the notes primordial farther from these mine days, from this mine place so banal. I’ll taste once more raw flesh of the wild beasts roam to the open plains, mountains and vales, before me standing eternal, and soothe these inner torments so I could smile at last, without the slightest need of affectation. ------------------------ A SILENT CHRISTMAS… (Traduzzjoni mill-Malti ta’ Milied sieket..., minn Alfred Palma) There were days when the strains of the piano dispersed to the four winds, instilling joy in those who heard, evoked a smile and bore forthwith messages of peace… There were days when mind and hand rested awhile from the long-running race of every day, bouts of detachment from the hectic sway, that draws attention from the ticking clock, and piano strains raise to a higher plane, effects that in things beautiful obtain. There were days when the mind was still free, and sublime music was a means to rest, the piano notes wafting away, befriending open spaces, like little children running about in play… There were days when the art of great composers was reawakened from its profound sleep, and yet the crowds delighted for a time, cleansing itself anew, from alienation, follow the piano strains with rapt elation. Today all this is gone, none of it left. Ears still yearn to hear the piano’s bewitching voice, and many ask anon, wonder about it, wherefore, and yet why? All that is left today’s a silent Christmas: the sky’s grown dark, the stars pilfered away, the piano notes are much like dumbstruck orphans, who have left many yearning all along for what, till just some time ago, was sheer delight to each and every heart, and brought along serenity of mind! ------------------------ AS I WALK ON MY WAY (Translaton from Maltese by Alfred Palma) As I walk on my way here in the spaces I know so well, I think of you as you go your own way, so far from here, in the silent spaces you know better than me. At times I seem to hear inside my mind your voice a-murmuring sweet words, words that only I can understand, and oft, in an effortless reply I find myself a-muttering soft words to you, wherever you may be, so far and yet so near too, I see myself all eyes on you, unseen, as you sit all alone and sip the coffee you brewed yourself, or bend to tie your laces, or give one final glance into your mirror to see that all is well, and I therein I notice all the pain that haunts your eyes, so young and yet world-weary as walls besieged by time. The clock ticks on for both of us, in spite of all the distance that us parts; yet our thought is one, in a dimension only we do know… we look ahead and hope for better winds on which we could alight to spatial times anon… I ask myself what’s next, as we scan the horizon, away from urban towns, asphalt, concrete, until we reach the bridge which once again will see us both together, one future for us both! --------------------------- REMEMBERING MOTHER (Translated in English by Alfred Palma) Late evening when all noise is still and silent and hectic life seeks out its own repose I close my eyes for a few moments and feel myself a-rising from the ground and fleetingly go up and further upwards, and see you once again upon the doorstep of my own childhood days, and once again you greet me on with open arms and that endearing smile that eases all unrest, and guide me on right to the very heart of what was home… and though I know this has been years behind me, and you have been away for months on end, once more I feel you here and I am near you and weep with joy, hot liberating tears, and feel in this lone hour more teardrops falling sliding in silence down my pallid cheeks, an inner voice inside me soars and begs you to stay forever here, forever near, in light of day, in dark of night, in warmth or coldish times, you, who just were, still are, and will forever be my own, my mother dear, you whom I love, as much as the void chasm, nay one bottomless pit, which has lain here, inside me, has kept me far from you and stole from me each vestige of repose. ---------------------- THERE ARE TIMES… (Translated from the Maltese original by Alfred Palma) There are times when in spite of ourselves a drought will reign supreme around us, though inner waters will gush on inside us… and this takes us to task, keeps us awake at night a-chewing on the darkness that haunts the labyrinths of our minds. And so we take a break from crude reality to then embark on seas of fantasy. As for myself… I oft imagine I am swimming naked fully at leisure in your eyes’ clear blue, your tender fingers roaming on my body, caressing through and through. And if you were the earth I’d be the tree’s root system, I’d grow and push and beat inside of you for seasons without end, I’ll make you drink my milk and you will feed me the honey of the gods… we’ll then recall such fables are non extant in our real life, whether we like it or not, we still shall have to carry onwards the load assigned to us. Remember this, however: there are virtual realities, parallel ones at that, where you and I have been since the beginning, and still will be unto eternity, bound to each other in one single knot. ------------------------- Maybe some day…(Translated from the Maltese original by Alfred Palma) The world hangs on, on wispy threads invisible to the eye, rotates incessantly, for there are children who, day after day, dream oft angelic dreams, smile on with sleep-closed eyes and from their crimson lips echo sweet words of peace, which only few can understand; and these same children can be seen at times tossing and writhing in the crudest pain, in intervals of woe grappling with evil forces during long nights, in silence all forlorn. The world hangs on, on wispy threads, invisible to the eye, rotates incessantly, for there are dear old people friends of sheer solitude, locked in the tiny confines of their prayers, far from the multitudes, reciting holy rosaries by the hundreds, straining their eyes on prayer books, which now they know by heart and murmur on and on a string of prayers long and short, there in the silence they have grown accustomed to as a great friend, and suffer without knowing pain galore, which no known medicine can otherwise appease. And in the meantime others engage in wickedness and wars, like evil fiends we’re lost incessantly in cities much akin to labyrinths, and oft, a few of us, will stop for a respite recalling when we knew true happiness, in days gone by we now almost forgot, exhausted as we are with troubled loads. Where is the innocence of our childhood days? Where are the days when prayer was our friend? We’re well embroiled in mud unconsciously, maybe, one day, we’ll rise back on our feet, and cleanse ourselves of all this muck, anew! --------------------------- New York - 11th September 2001 (Translated into English by author himself) The streets are bloody black clouds conceal death and destruction sirens crying in distress the crowd half way between shocked and maddenned not knowing where to seek shelter. A while ago the city’s heart was beating the streets flowing as always with humankind and machines. . . But now the dream has come to an end abruptly replaced by a nightmare (that struck once, twice, three times) of ruined buildings and thousands dead. Steel foundations melted into nothing and, knocked down, the sleepless city awaits wounded, in pain. . . The streets unreal, a desert of silent sobs. What can we do right now? Pray for those who are no more Console ourselves by presidential vows. |
Patrick Sammut and Sabahudin Hadžialić (Gaeta, Italy, April 2011.)
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Yacht Med Festival - Il Mediterraneo in poesia - Il viaggio della parola - Gaeta, Italy 15/16.4.2011.
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Copyright © 2014 DIOGEN pro culture magazine & Sabahudin Hadžialić
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Freelance gl. i odg. urednik od / Freelance Editor in chief as of 2009: Sabahudin Hadžialić
All Rights Reserved. Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić
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Contact Editorial board E-mail: contact_editor@diogenpro.com;
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Pošta/Mail: Freelance Editor in chief Sabahudin Hadžialić,
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Dr. Wagner 18/II, 70230 Bugojno, Bosna i Hercegovina
Design: Sabi / Autors & Sabahudin Hadžialić. Design LOGO - Stevo Basara.
Freelance gl. i odg. urednik od / Freelance Editor in chief as of 2009: Sabahudin Hadžialić
All Rights Reserved. Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić
WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.com
Contact Editorial board E-mail: contact_editor@diogenpro.com;
Narudžbe/Order: orderyourcopy@diogenpro.com
Pošta/Mail: Freelance Editor in chief Sabahudin Hadžialić,
Grbavička 32, 71000 Sarajevo i/ili
Dr. Wagner 18/II, 70230 Bugojno, Bosna i Hercegovina
