Oliver Friggieri, the island’s foremost Maltese novelist, poet and literary critic, who went to meet his maker on November 21, was given a State-organised funeral, and Heritage Malta has been commissioned to erect a monument for this “giant in Maltese literature and national identity”. If anybody deserved this lasting honour, surely it is Oliver.
Whichever literary genre Oliver studied, his honest, probing mind and writing skills produced a work of lasting value.
He was indeed rara avis, a rare bird soaring high, allowing his readers to take in the beauty of whatever he chose to entrust to print, and his extensive bibliography is a true palimpsest of the local literary scene, from the traditional masterpieces of our national poet Dun Karm, to its most recent offerings as in Mario Azzopardi or Achille Mizzi.
He was always honest, always probing, always offering a feast for the mind as he worked unceasingly in the shifting light and shadow of his University office or his home.
Only when satisfied that his lexical structures and vocabulary reflected his vision, as near to perfect as possible, would Oliver commit to print.
As we often used to say: words are like birds, free beautiful and dangerous, soon they are on the wing and away… That is why Oliver was always careful with words.
I would sometimes e-mail Oliver the scribbles of one of my poems in my seventh draft and wait for his reaction. He never changed a single word but would invariably urge me to send it to our mutual friend and poet Victor Fenech, our unofficial editor for publication.
In my mind I used to refer to such to-ing and fro-ing as our game of literary Scrabble. To Oliver, such a description would have smacked of heresy. To him, the word was sacred, and the poet the sacred weaver of words.
If one were to carefully examine his own works and his literary criticism, one would sense that Oliver was out to discover the truth of words undefiled. Ever since his poems were published in Dħaħen fl-Imħuħ in 1967, readers could sense the arrival of a new voice and a new sobriety to follow on a path that had already been hewed by Victor Fenech’s shared anthology, Kwartett, in 1965.
Oliver, I hope we may one day openly play Scrabble together in heaven
The reception of Oliver’s poetry then was admired unequivocally, affording him the impetus to involve himself in literary criticism, which he realised was one of the best tools in his silent crusade to improve literary standards of Maltese literature.
That is why in the 1970s, he threw himself heart and soul into the publication of Kittieba ta’ Żmienna, Ir-Ruħ fil-Kelma, Rużar Briffa, Il-Ġifen Tork, and Fl-Għarbiel, a meticulous work; examined and sifted examples of modern Maltese poems.
Other works related to literary criticism followed, confirming Oliver’s growing stature and his acumen in assessing standards in Maltese and international literatures. His novels Il-Gidba and L-Istramb showed Oliver’s skill as a weaver of dark narrative.
Mekkaniżmi Metaforiċi f’Dun Karm in 1978, and Saġġi Kritiċi, a year later, broke new ground and further established Oliver’s reputation as the foremost literary critic of modern Maltese poetry, together with Professor Peter Serracino Inglott.
Dun Karm il-Bniedem fil-Poeta in 1980 and L-Idea tal-Letteratura in 1986, further confirmed his standing.
In 1986, his book Fil-Parlament ma Jikbrux Fjuri, which attacked the corrosive prejudice prevalent in Maltese society caused by blind partisan politics, made the headlines and propelled Oliver as a person of political integrity and gravitas in support of reason and against tribalistic divisions. I have a fond recollection of this novel even though it almost landed me in hot water with Malta’s touchy parliamentarians!
However, Oliver was a larger-than-life person; larger than the sum of all his admired publications in Malta and abroad. He was a person of great intelligence, possessing an encyclopaedic memory and a philosophic mind focused on the crafted beauty of the word and of the truth, wherever it may be found; always ready to share his discoveries with students, colleagues and academics.
Now, at the age of 73, he has moved away, shuffling oh so slow, but his words are still ringing in our ears.
On the day of Oliver’s funeral, the great footballing legend, Pelé, uttered this tribute to another footballing icon, Diego Maradona: “One day, I hope we can play football together in the sky.”
As a great admirer of the Brazilian wizard, without sounding too sacrilegious, I hope I may borrow his words for my tribute to Oliver: “Oliver, I hope we may one day openly play Scrabble together in heaven.”
From the hurt to the free. Your friend, Daniel.
Daniel Massa, poet, academic and Friggieri’s long-time friend