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Marie Gion: Għax id-Drogi Sbieħ. Self-published, 2013. 65 pp.
If you’re expecting a moralistic, sanctimonious, holier-than-thou lecture, this isn’t the book for you.
The Nirvana quote preceding the forward (My heart is broke/but I have some glue/Help me inhale/And mend it with you, from their iconic Dumb) sort of gives you ample hints.
The beauty of this book, in fact, is that it eschews the typical judgemental attitude that would normally be taken by a local author or poet tackling this subject. Don’t let the title of the book mislead you – whether you choose to take it ironically or not – this is neither an ode to drugs, nor a crusade against those who make use of them.
Rather, the poet takes on the role of narrator, sometimes as an outsider, an observer. At other times as a protagonist. Each poem is a journey, a window leading to a world that may be frightening for some, mysterious for others, familiar for many and even comforting.
The beauty of this book, in fact, is that it eschews the typical judgemental attitude
However, neither is it a comprehensive look at this world. Instead, it focuses almost exclusively on a particular section, that of clubbing, more specifically trance and psy parties. The result is a schewed vision, and one not everyone will necessarily identify with.
This is, of course, the writer’s prerogative. But it remains a shame, given that for the majority this scene is a passing fad that hardly depicts the true desperation of the real thing, of the drugs that are consumed not as part of a party scene but as part of no scene at all.
Still, Għax id-Drogi Sbieħ in its own way presents a coming-of-age journal that starts with the clichéd landscape of supposed depravity that is painted in Il-Bandli.
For many, hanging out at the swings is the street life, such as it is in Malta, a time that typically precedes the clubbing years.
Il-Bandli renders the idea, with “riti sataniċi, is-sess, is-siringi abbandunati bil-ħajta demm infettati bl’HIV”.
In short, we are given the typical monster-under-your-bed stories our grandparents used to try to scare us with to try and put us off going to Paceville.
This is contrasted by the poet’s substantially more realistic experience, the reality of “ninqata’ fi spazju familjari” and the realisation that no amount of clichéd warnings are enough to stop her from becoming one of the monsters in the cautionary tale.
But maybe these monsters are not really monsters at all, but mere human beings, with their own problems and mundane worries, like the dealer in Tlieta u Għoxrin, who, even as he passes the “djamanti ħomor tad-demm” cannot help but worry about his weight, because maybe the monster is made of flesh and blood.
The poetry runs the whole gamut of stereotypified situations. There are the lines that, unashamedly, find their inspiration in countless previous works. Who hasn’t heard some variation of “id-DJ qassis/il-mużika Alla” (Tribu)?
And who hasn’t gone through a bad case of hero worship, with the hero eventually revealing feet of clay? Or, as in the case of Katrin and Rock Star Tmut, chipped nail polish? These are the swan songs of a 100 love stories dying a predictable death,when the glamour has run out.
As with every self-respecting coming-of-age story, there are also the funnier moments. Well, blame it on a warped sense of humour, but yes, I found the idea of trying to down a vile-tasting mixture in the continuous search for that ever-elusive high hilarious (ħażin dawgħa l-cocktail/trid tkun mhux ħ*** biex tibilgħu/trid tkun f***ing iddedikat – Cocktail biex Tiġi Stilla).
All throughout the book, the theme of love – or its closest cousin, lust – is ever-present. From the quasi-desperate sensuality of Taħt Ħalqek to the lust that borders on obsession of Forsi Nilħqek, to the humiliation and subservience depicted in Il-Kannella Mweġġa’ tal-Għajnejn to the cold and cynical Jieklok bħad-Dud and the initially triumphant Naqgħu fid-Dnub...
What does all this have to do with drugs? Well, nothing much really. Unless you choose to interpret that it is the actual drugs the writer is making love to. Then again, aren’t both love and lust the ultimate drug?