The poems published in this anthology were created as part of the Bjuda project. Can you tell us a little more about that project and the poems that made it into the anthology?

Bjuda was (and I guess still is) an interdisciplinary project that explores the colour white through poetry, photography by Giola Cassar, and music by Kenneth Sacco. I have been fascinated with the colour white for quite some time – it is a colour (or not) of possibilities, changes, and transformations. It can become whichever colour one likes, and above all, I feel it is not just a colour. It symbolises many aspects and milestones in our lives – it is present, even when we don’t think about it. Imagine a wedding, or the clouds, or milk. It is present in the mundane as well as the extraordinary.

The poems I’ve written explore these facets from a collective point of view but also from a personal one. This project was financed by Aġenzija Żgħażagħ (the Maltese Youth Agency) and so the youth were at the core. We moved backward to explore the colour white of childhood as a memory and then moved forwards to explore the colour white of old age as a likelihood. The poems ultimately found home in this anthology in the shape of a box that opens up to a collection of postcards, cards, and posters that the reader could piece together and read as they please.

The bilingual anthology (with poems translated to English by Albert Gatt) was accompanied by an exhibition curated by Elyse Tonna that took the shape of a pathway audiences could go in and out of and explore in their own time. I hope Bjuda (Whiteness) came to mean something else to those who experienced the exhibition and also kept on experiencing the book (as an object in itself).

I have the impression that the Maltese literary scene is very lively, and judging by this anthology, poetry is written more than prose. Is that so? How would you describe contemporary Maltese literature?

I would describe Maltese literature as an infant. The oldest Maltese poem that we know of dates back to the latter years of the 15th century and after that, there is a draught of two hundred years. The Maltese language itself is a “young” language with a history of just over a thousand years. There is a strong tradition of Maltese poetry through oral literature, rhymes, and the local Maltese għana that takes the shape of a folksong. 

Through the years, we could count the women poets on one hand but things changed so much in this regard. At the moment, we have a lively scene of poets who are experimenting with genres and defying them or trying to blur the lines between genres. Some seek to perform their poetry (be it slam or in song form). We have numerous women poets, and I think (biased as I may sound) they have some of the most powerful poetic voices of our generation. 

You teach Maltese at the Junior College, and creative writing at the University of Malta. How important is that teaching work for your literary work? What is their relationship?

I always say that if I had to do one job that would be writing. But I do love my teaching work and working with students. They give me so much energy and I get the privilege to discuss ideas and see what's trendy and what's not. I usually ask them about the way language develops among them and they laugh, because they know I might be using that information in a novel for youths, or two. I believe that teaching is ultimately about exchanging ideas and thus I don't think it is a one-way street. I learn from them too. Lecturing creative writing at University is different and yet a very fulfilling experience that I never get tired of. Some sessions fuel me to write more and write differently. Ultimately, I think different roles feed into each other and that I write how I write because I am a teacher as well, not despite it.

In this anthology, all the poetry is translated from English, not from Maltese, because there are no translators from Maltese into Croatian/Serbian/Slovenian/Bosnian (any of the languages in the entire ex-Yugoslav region). Looking at your official website, I noticed that a lot of your works have been translated from English to other languages (so-called bridge translation). Since you yourself translate into Maltese, how do you see the translation process, especially when it comes to poetry? Are you afraid that something will inevitably be lost, especially in bridge translations?

Yes, I do believe that some things are lost, but others are won. I think it is a process of negotiation where you lose some and you win some. I find I learn the most about my native language when I teach foreign students and when I translate. Translation pushes me to find the exact word and thus explore different possibilities in my own language. It pushes me to reinvent the language with the tools at hand. Translating poetry is not an easy feat but nonetheless rewarding because it is a creative process in itself. I do believe the translator to be a co-creator at times and there are times when I read a poem I've written in Maltese translated to another language and I cannot believe it is mine ... in a good way!

In your interview with Clare Azzopardi for the Times of Malta, you say: "The Mediterranean Sea is very much part of our fabric as Maltese writers, whether we like it or not. (…) For instance, it [the sea, op.a.] can be poetic and political.” Can you explain a little more how the Mediterranean Sea is woven into the prose and poetry of Maltese authors?

The Mediterranean Sea has often been referred to as the cradle of civilization. Through the years Maltese people have often preferred to see themselves as Europeans rather than Mediterranean … but the truth is, we are surrounded by the sea and history has shaped us the way it did because we are in a strategic position within that Mediterranean Sea. This means that it is difficult for Maltese writers to escape the sea. So for some, the sea is a passive source of inspiration; it becomes an image that metaphorically symbolises something else, a subtle reference. But for others, the sea is explicitly at the core; it becomes a space of contestation, a preoccupation, and a leitmotif explored in different ways. Some poets poeticise the sea as a lover and therefore explore the theme of love, others explore the underwater landscapes, while others write about it for what it has become – a graveyard of immigrants who were seeking a better life elsewhere. So, be it just a reference to the sea, an allusion to a myth related to it, or the sea as a protagonist, the readers can often find its presence.

Following on from the previous question, thousands of people, especially in the last few years, die in the Mediterranean Sea near Malta, looking for a better and safer life, the Central Mediterranean being the deadliest migration route in the world. You yourself touch on this topic in the poem "white privilege" [“bjelačka povlastica ili mi koji nikamo nismo stigli čamcem”]. What is the role of poetry and literature in general in this context? Do you think that literature can actively contribute to some social changes?

I believe that poetry is political to some degree or another. We constantly make choices that relate to what we write and how to write about it. We constantly make choices about what not to write about. If we decide not to write about something, that is a political choice in itself. Therefore, poetry, while retaining its poetical features, and shying away from manifestos and legalisms, can still leave its impact, purely because of it is poetry and still making a point. Poetry does not need never-ending sentences. It can still pass the same sentiment in a distilled way. Through the years, poetry has become an act of protest in the hands of our poets. Poets in the Modernist period started to protest about an ill-functioning society, about buildings eating away our natural landscapes, about wrongdoing by politicians, about outcasts and solitude; today our poets write actively about what was prophesised by our previous generation of poets. What the previous generation of poets warned us about, happened and is still happening. Whether it will contribute to social change or not, I doubt it. Most of the time I shift between being hopeful and cynical. I wish poetry can make a change ... and I hope it does. In reality, maybe it won't. No legislation will be altered because of poetry. But on some level it might ... I may be naive, but if poetry touches the heart of at least one person, that person can go on to touch others ... and some change, yes, might be able to happen.

The 2022 Review of Small Literatures was dedicated to the literature of Iceland, and authors, especially those of the younger generation, often emphasized intergenerational solidarity and the support of older, established authors and the generally very close relationship between the writers of the Icelandic literary scene. What is the situation in Malta?

I’ve been to Iceland in 2015 and ever since then, I have found more and more reasons to love the country, especially its literary scene. I cannot help but compare Malta to Iceland hoping that Malta learns from another country with almost the same population. In Malta, I am a part of Inizjamed, an NGO that works in the field of literature, and often we try to create spaces of dialogue for people from different generations, but also from different countries and cultures and with different languages. One such project is Niġru Ġrajja (Run a Story); this project works to bring together migrants, children, and the elderly to bring out their narratives.

Leanne Ellul interviewed by Ivana Drazic

The Croation version of the interview can be found here.

The introduction to the book by Adrian Grima can be found here.