THE POETIC JOURNEY OF MARIO AZZOPARDI

The best poetry of Mario Azzopardi, argues Professor Oliver Friggieri, went openly against the almost military organization of traditional patterns, in order to liberate form and content, in search of poetry that is authentically experienced.

Awareness that romanticism had prolonged its existence in Malta far too long started to take shape in the second half of the twentieth century, reaching its peak in the late sixties. The reproduction of sentimental motives and rigid schemes of metaphorization brought about the need for a far-reaching socio-political re-examination. A lively crop of young poets and novelists were now fully determined to transform their artistic commitment into a national controversy. They did actually succeed in making the mass media, particularly the press, discuss them, their work and the role which a modern writer was  expected to play in a newly independent country. Malta acquired independence from Britain in 1964, and this major event was doomed to bring about a radical change in the people's moral and cultural outlook.

One of the main exponents, if not the most important one, of the Maltese ‘avant garde' was Mario Azzopardi, born in 1944, a poet, painter, teacher, stage director and a freelance journalist to numerous local newspapers and magazines, as well as a co-founder of the Moviment Qawmien Letterarju (Movement for the Promotion of Literature), a society launched in 1966 with the specific aim of enhancing the renewal of literary forms and contents. Azzopardi boldly stood for a radical contestation of both subject-matter (typically patriotic, religious, nocturnal, self-indulgent) and form (the traditionally acclaimed schemes, predefined, fixed, regular) which had been unquestioningly promulgated by the previous and contemporary authors. Initially an acute cerebralist (largely influenced by the British social poets) who treated poetry as a platform for popular mobilization, and subsequently a highly evocative intimist, Azzopardi is definitely one of Malta's main poets whose merit transcends the confines of his own aesthetic sanctuary and places him among the island's most representative writers.

His earliest experiments relate him to the English and American beat generation poets, and the fact that he was responsible to a great extent for the introduction of projective verse in Maltese poetry is clearly indicative of his conscious plan to effect a radical change both in the making of verse and in the popular attitude towards it. (As a matter of fact, he not only wrote verse but produced numerous articles which discussed poetry as a social phenomenon). His new forms were intended to deform and defy. The basic reaction seems to have been formalistic; against the restrictions of accepted genres he wanted to propose the significance of the word freed of any ‘a priori' definition, ready to assume a new role according to its particular semantic environment.

 

The negation of the traditional code enabled the poet not only to create the form during the actual process of writing but also to treat the chosen word as sheer raw material, sufficiently elastic and adaptable according to the writer's own wish as a recreator, rather than as a faithful user, of language. The modern concept of deviation as well as the idea that poetic diction is necessarily different from the standard are of paramount significance in the evaluation of Azzopardi's work, a nervously involved, perpetual effort in foregrounding.

 

His incorporating jazz rhythms in poetry did not only imply a rejection, necessarily partial, of the syntactic regularity of the past, but also a conscious effort to reduce as much as possible the gap between poetic and popular language. The improvisation of jazz sought to eliminate the harmonic structure of melody, and the best poetry of Azzopardi went openly against the almost military organization of the traditional patterns. His efforts in associating jazz rhythm with the ‘artificial' rhythm of poetry are some of the techniques chosen for his social commitment as an artist. His social protest, akin to his literary anti-traditionalism, is twofold: against the people's massive alienation from themselves, and against the local type of poet, considered up to the sixties as the old-fashioned bard who dutifully keeps himself aloof as much as possible from contemporary ways of life. His poetic Maltese vignettes aim at indicating the substantial irrelevance of certain unquestionable values which the Maltese community had treasured for a very long time.

 

Most Maltese poets, like Dun Karm (1871-1961), the national poet, and the romantics who flourished throughout the first half of the twentieth century, had previously celebrated the heroic sufferings borne under the numerous colonial rules. Azzopardi systematically revisited the past to point out the hidden roots of  contemporary illusions. The grotesque element of his deceptively descriptive images betrays mistrust. Contempt and the conscious disclaiming of a whole national inheritance are central to his poetic way of being. It is an attitude, expressed literarily but sufficiently coherent to take the shape of a radical-liberal manifesto, which introduced in the island's culture the sense of unrest so typical of the English and American student life in the late sixties. The genral view with which Azzopardi substituted the previous epic material of the traditionalists is that of a collective still-life painting, a pathetic tableau of motionless unidentified creatures in search of identity.

 

Since featuring in Dwal fil-Persjani (Light in the Blinds), 1972, a shared anthology representing four other authors, Azzopardi started to develop modern lyric poetry of a very personal nature, and to free himself gradually and consistently from the previous attitude of an apparently self-asserting extrovert.   This new direction began to  manifest  itself in  Demghat tas-Silg (Tears of Ice), 1976, and Passiflora, 1977. Throughout this phase, definitely more mature and self-disciplined, his metaphorical field revolves around the central figure, obsessively present, of himself as a mystic

traveller. It is an inward voyage, as Novalis would have called it, towards a universe of transparency, since his new images normally contribute towards the construction of a mysterious omnipresent vision, vague, indefinite, full of uncertainties. In this way Azzopardi went on to live the paradoxical moment of tranquillity, not necessarily peaceful but inevitably gratifying in its search for unknown, perhaps unknowable truth:

 

I died a thousand deaths

I died in narrow streets smelling of urine

and under the feet of speculation in tails

I once died in protest

and resurrected thanks to black gorillas

     crying out in an orgy with virgins

another time I died heartbroken and to rise

      from the dead I nursed on the sour milk of a gypsy

      who nourished me passionately from her left breast

I died a thousand deaths I died in traffic collisions

I died under the blade of the guillotine

I died with sacraments and holy water on my brow

and I died cursing and damning hatred

I died throbbing with love

I  died under the hands of surgeons who had hoped

     to change my heart

last time I died they woke me up to feed me cockroaches

     and they told me I cold go back to death –

so far I haven't listened to them

     but I understand they are setting for me

a time bomb attached to the car keys.

                                              

(I died a thousand deaths, translated from the Maltese by Grazio Falzon)

 

Both content and form indicate that  the poet is experiencing the serenity of contemplation attained in a particular stage of his own endless voyage, the ‘historical' discovery of the lyric of the ‘sea'. The sea, a main figure in Malta's whole artistic production, is never described for its own sake, as a neutral view, by Mario Azzopardi. It does not make part of an objective scenery far removed from the subject, and is always felt, experienced in such a way as to give sensible form to an intimate perception. Like many other elements of nature, far from being just a primary characteristic of a Mediterranean island, the poet's sea is actually an image of a recurring state of the soul. Inner reality is projected in an impirical manner. In most cases the psychological motive is self-identification, understood in its national, individual and cosmic significance.

 

All this explains and justifies the prominence given to ritual, to the regular use (perhaps systematic and fully conscious, as a structuralist analysis may amply prove) of symbols and physical gestures which together form a new liturgy. Here as well one is provided with a modern example of how a poet may partly construct his aesthetic world by revisiting traditional media. The fundamental conclusion is that the poet has gone beyond controversy and has finally accepted reconciliation. Protest and dispute have now assumed the form of detached contemplation. Caricature is not spectaculur or baroque-like any more, and has become almost surrealistic: it deforms without offence and is the end-result of a painter rather than of a sculptor. In certain moments, however, touch and sight give way to the sense of feeling, and the transition from the outer to the inner level of consciousness is complete. Even disapproval or detachment, previously conducive to provocation (a direct influence of the typical attitude of the beat generation poets and of the American group known as The Lost Generation), is now lyrically sublimated. Even human action is essentially religious, and the new obsession is femininity.

 

The harmonious fusion of Christianity and other different religions (an assimilation of the poet's varied experience in foreign countries and of a major trend in Euro-American contemporary culture) is frequently evident. It recalls a man still remindful of his childhood, the adult who is destined to go on living his primeval infancy. In itself this is manifestation of the internal strife within the poet himself between his Maltese upbringing, which in his earlier work he at times tended to disclaim,  and the cosmopolitan adventure, the latter being amply illustrated by his lexical and metaphorical choices. In Azzopardi's recent phase everything seems to centre around the need of self-fulfilment through the man-woman rapport. The poet and the feminine figure he evokes are always co-present because the world is substantially a woman, a sexual figure, at times representing death, at times embodying the god of reincarnation. Monokordi (Monocords), 1984, and Noti mis-Sanatorjutal-Mistici (Notes from the Sanatorium of Mystics), 1995, both confirm that his long and consistent poetic journey had a deep sense of direction. 

  

Demghat tas-Silg and Passiflora constitute the two phases of socio-cultural  disclaiming (1971-1976) and the solitary retirement respectively (1977), an arduous passage from action to meditation. Tabernakli (Tabernacles), 1979, is a further stage in the same path leading to a paradoxically mystic life (a unique example of a search for renewal through Orientalism) in which Azzopardi has discovered for the first time the power of creating his own interior world alongside the empirical one (the centre of alientation and the point of departure of the traveller). Monokordi and Noti mis-Sanatorju tal-mistici somehow complete the complex  world view proposed by the poet. 

 

Departing from the early anti-romanticism, the self-expressing soul found out a modern lyric. It succeeded in proving that sentiment is actually new according to its time-factor, and that when it is authentically experienced (as content) it may be creatively externalised (as form). Even in this light this line of development shows an inherent dialectic: instead of the previous Anglo-American temperament Azzopardi, now being much truer to himself, has rediscovered his own Mediterranean identity which, however conscious of Eastern cultures, goes beyond geographical barriers to recognize better the universal spirit. After all, this was his initial bone of contention.

 

Oliver Friggieri