The launch of the new book of poems by Gabriel Moreno around the topic of identity, code-switching, longing, family, death and memory.
Recital by the author with translations read by editor and translator Rafael Penas Cruz plus musical performance by Gabriel Moreno.
BIO
Gabriel Moreno is a Gibraltarian poet and singer songwriter with 13 poetry collections published in both English and Spanish. He studied literature and philosophy at the University of Hull with a year out in the University of La Serena, Chile. His poems have appeared in prestigious literary publications in Spain and in the UK including Omicron, Acumen and Annexe Magazine. In 2022 he was made Cultural Ambassador of Gibraltar heading a year of cultural events in Gibraltar and London which portrayed the intricacies of Gibraltarian literature and performance. In 2022 he established Patuka Press with other Gibraltarian writers. His previous books include Identidad y Deseo (Omicron 2010) and The Passer-By (Mundo De La Cultura, 2017), (Heart Mortally Wounded By Six Strings, 2023) and Nights In The Belly of Bohemia (Poetry Mondays 2024). As a singer-songwriter Moreno has released four studio records and has been championed by BBC 6 Music presenter Cerys Mathews.
Marlboro Man (For Mark Sanchez)
The night is black como un whiski con cola,
en el belly del estresho no se ve ná,
y tó lo que escucho son el motó y la ola
and a voice that says, ‘al peñón volverá.’
Ni la Heineken ni el viento me gana,
only the ocean will shape mi camino.
Aquí no existe ni reloj ni campana,
soy el pirata de mi propio destino.
Yes, el agua te traga sino te espabila.
Miro palante al continente Africano.
En mi lancha no traigo ni fruta ni tila.
Conchita, my love, knows of my cargo.
Niña! No llore por mí, if it ends in the sea.
Mejón en la má que con la guardia civil.
El Copacabana (For Joanne Dyer)
Tu viejo would take you al Copacabana
de shica, pa vacilá tu pronunciation:
words like chiving, chicory or churner
left your tongue como trene de un station.
Aplaudían lo borracho, ondeaban bandera,
while you, the fastest tongue in the land,
gracing the bar con una música nueva,
would fire your mantra of /ʃ’s/ and of /tʃas/.
After a while el teatro would end
y el viejo returned to his usual desmadre.
Tú, en medio del bar te ponía a leé
until la jefa llamaba to say que era tarde.
¿Where are you now, my sweet Gibraltá?
¿How many shires te haran pronunciá?
El Soneto (For Ian Duhig)
La roca is a sonnet too, with its own form.
con su ritmo de ola bestia y gaviota,
rima proveniente de la sal y del sol
y de tré lengua nacía en su boca.
Inglé, el debé, who I was taught to be.
Spanish, Italian, el idioma de mi abuelo.
Llanito, la lengua que quería descubrí
como un muerto que se arranca el velo.
En el sonnet guardo; un lagarto de naca,
un notario inglé obsessed con la luna,
el mazo azul que aún me machaca
y una historia pirata de sangre y fortuna.
De Italia, Inglaterra, Portugal y España,
un sonnet de piedra que libera y engaña.
Marlboro Man (para Mark Sanchez)
La noche es negra like a whisky and cola,
you can see bugger all in the vientre of the Strait,
And I hear nothing but the roar of engine and waves
y una voz que me dice, “you´ll be back to the Rock.”
Neither the Heineken nor the wind can ever beat me,
sólo el océano me dice the way i must go.
Out here there´s no bell and there´s no clock ,
I am the pirate of my very own fate.
Sí, wise up or the water will swallow you up
I look ahead at the shape of the African landmass.
I carry in my boat neither fruit nor camomile.
Conchita, mi amor, sabe del alijo que llevo.
¡hey, girl! Don´t you cry for me, si terminara en la mar
Better down there in the sea than in the hands of the police.
El Copacabana (For Joanne Dyer)
As a kid, to show off your pronunciación,
your old man te llevaba al Copacabana:
decías palabras como chiving, chicory o churner
que dejaban la lengua as trains in a estación.
The boozers would clap and fly up the flag,
mientras tú, la lengua más rápida del territorio
con tu presencia and fresh tunes adornabas el jolgorio
lanzando aquellos mantras llenos de /ʃ’s/ y de /tʃas/.
El show se acababa después de un buen rato
and the old man volvía a su tomfoolery habitual.
You would then read quietly in the midst of the bar
Hasta que your mother called para decir that it was late.
¿Adónde habrás ido a parar, mi dulce Gibraltar?
¿cuántos condados de Inglaterra will they make you say?
The Sonnet (Para Ian Duhig)
The Rock es también un soneto, con forma propia.
With its wavy rhythm of seagull and beast,
its rime that comes from the salt and the sun
and from the three tongues that are born in its mouth.
English, duty, lo que me enseñaron a ser.
Español, italiano, my ancestors’ languages.
Llanito, the tongue I wish to explore
like a dead man who tears up his own shroud.
In the sonnet I keep; a lizard of mother-of-pearl,
an English notary obsesionado with the moon,
the blue mallet that still knocks me down
and a pirate history of fortune and blood .
From Italy, England, Portugal and Spain,
a soneto of stone that liberates and deceives.
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