An Outpouring of Poetry

 

"There is an outpouring of poetry in Gibraltar," said Giordano Durante speaking at the Poetry Panel event during the Gibraltar Literary Festival earlier this month. As one of the founders and editor of Gibraltar's only literary journal, Patuka Press, as well as being a poet and one of the local champions for writing and literature in Gibraltar, Durante is perfectly placed to comment on a phenomenon people are beginning to notice.

I'm just going to look at Gibraltar's 'poetry scene' in the past couple of months to see what is happening to poetry here. Actually, I must pause. Even using the words 'poetry scene' would have been impossible a few years ago. To use the pandemic of 2020 / 2021 as a convenient time marker, pre-pandemic most of us who wrote poetry did so in isolation, and only a very few who had sufficient confidence, or the financial means, would self publish a small volume or pamphlet. Self publishing is not an easy feat, self promotion for some, myself included, is even harder, especially if you have to pay out for venues, advertising, a launch party and more, in the hope that enough readers will buy your scribblings so that you at least recover your costs. With poetry in particular, this is highly unlikely. 

Nevertheless, there were some published works from local authors, including from Durante himself and also Gabriel Moreno, Humbert Hernandez, Sonia Golt among a very few others. Notably, there was also an 'Anthology of Contemporary Gibraltar Poets' published in 2019. Clearly Gibraltarian poets had made small but steady and impactful efforts to expand the readership of their work and to encourage others to write and be published. All very noble, but it was post-pandemic when things began to change, and, probably the most influential factor was the launch of Patuka Press in 2023.

In Gibraltar, other than self publishing, making a bit of a splash for a day or two in the local media and hoping people read what you write and like it, there is no other way of having your work published. You can, of course, submit to international presses and publishing houses and perhaps you will be successful, but in Gibraltar itself, there is no bar set for standards, no measure against which you can pit yourself as a writer and find ways of improving. You have to do it all online, with support either paid for if you can afford an editor or a literary consultant, or through online writing groups, which can be tremendously helpful but lack the "Gibraltar" context. How might an online group based in Australia, for example, wonderful though it might be for general content in English or Australian-based content, help with a piece written in Llanito?

For years, except for small, personal friendship groups for some, and except for occasional events such as workshops or the annual poetry competition organised by the local government agency, Gibraltar Cultural Services, poets have tinkered with their art alone, to a great extent isolated, if not entirely from the world of poetry, then to a degree isolated from each other.

There was another small barrier to the expansion of poetry as an art form in Gibraltar, in my view at least, and that was the elitism that surrounds art in general, and writing in particular. I am not going into the thorny argument of what constitutes literature in this post, but until recently, coinciding with the beginnings of the 'outpouring' referred to by Durante, if something wasn't 'classic' or comparable to the great poets, it was not considered literature. With the isolation and lack of support structures as part of our cultural infrastructure, Gibraltar was unlikely ever to grow its own Heaney, or Yeats, Lorca or Whitman, Plath or Oliver. Yet, our poets are in their own class, writing our Gibraltarian themes in our voices, whether those are expressed in Spanish or English or a code-switching version of both or in the more vernacular Llanito. Perhaps it is time for Gibraltar to create its own definition and understanding of what is "Gibraltarian literature" and where its poems and poets fit into it. What I can say in the context of this particular post, is that when Gibraltar's poets opened their arms to all of poetry's many and continuously evolving forms, we found a fountain of inspiration and in Patuka Press, an outlet for our work. 

Back to my original intention which was to consider what this 'outpouring' looked like in the past few months.

The poets at the Bosom Buddies' fundraiser (with yours truly dressed in funereal black and with her eyes shut). Photo courtesy of The Gibraltar Chronicle

In September, Sonia Golt organised a poetry recital at an event to raise funds for her charity 'Bosom Buddies'. She reached out to a few of us to offer our time and talent and we all jumped at the chance, to donate that time to a very worthy cause and also to take up the opportunity of showcasing our work. The event was a huge success in poetic terms: Sonia was incredibly intelligent about the mix of styles and languages that was presented and brought together a fine sample of local poetry from the serious to the saucy, from the emotional to the humorous, and some accompanied by music.

Just a few weeks later, Native Tongues was held at the Music Association of Gibraltar venue in Wellington Front. This has been organised by James Ablitt as James the Heartist, whose talent as a poet is breathtaking, and hosted by the inimitable Jonathan Teuma. Along with Patuka Press, I think this monthly gathering of spoken word artists is hugely influential. It is a small bar, a small stage, but with enormous heart and energy. Poets, singers, storytellers, rappers can take up the mic and offer up their work. It is received with interest and encouragement and I loved watching and listening and in particular, seeing young artists fish out bits of scrap paper from their back pockets, roll sleeves up over their tattoos, and read out the most tender, heartfelt words. Suddenly we (the old poets who have struggled to produce work alone in little garret rooms) felt that there was a place in this city for us, we felt part of a larger movement. It is a human impulse to belong to community and to tell stories. Native Tongues is another outlet that is instrumental in smashing open the dams and allowing that outpouring.

GBC Interview on Native Tongues

The following week, Gabriel Moreno was in town with some of his Quivering Poets promoting his new album "Nights in the Belly of Bohemia". His gigs are always a treat, always fun and always touching, because his lyrics are poems set to music and transport you from the earthy to the ethereal in a few bars. He was kind enough to ask me to recite a couple of my poems and also invited Naomi Duarte to read hers and Jonathan Bugeja added some of his own songs to the evening. I was downright honoured and loved the event, especially when unexpectedly, violinist Richard Moore, provided a backing to one of my poems "Grandmother's Hands". Amazing someone can do that without even rehearsing. I was awestruck by his talent. 

Article on the Poetry Panel courtesy of The Gibraltar Chronicle

Moving into November, the Poetry Panel was one of the later billings at the Literary Festival but provided an engaging discussion and well-attended event that caught the interest of local readers and perhaps an international audience with the presence of Trino Cruz, whose work around the Iberian peninsula and Morocco is key to Gibraltar's writers finding audiences outside not just Gibraltar, but the English-speaking world. Greek poet and organiser of Patras Word Poetry Festival, Tassos Pagliaslis, was also on the panel and he gave interesting insights from an outsider's perspective and  spoke at length about AI and the creative process. Also on the panel was Tessa Rosado Standen who went on a few days later to give a recital and discussion of her beautiful and sensitive poems. Tessa hasn't published yet but I rather hope she will, even if, like the rest of us, she has to resort to online self publishing - and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. Self published literature is still literature. Self published poetry is still poetry and a feat to be proud of.

That same evening, a group of us held the Al Margen event at the Rock Hotel. A group of poets, energised and inspired by the 'outpouring' of poetry that is beginning to make its mark in Gibraltar, and wanting to encourage and facilitate the showcasing of poetry and storytelling from the edges of the mainstream, set up a 'cabaret' of poets. What a great night it was. The event was sold out (or it would have been if we'd sold tickets but we wanted poetry to be free, on tap as it were, to be enjoyed by those with means and those without). We had poems, llanito haikus, raps and songs and serious moments and so much laughter. There was wine and food and clapping and cheers. What a great night! What a night to keep those pens scribbling with ever more intensity and passion! Al Margen was what literary festivals are all about - bringing writers and audiences closer together, the human connection without which so-called literature is dry and soulless. Here is a small taster of what it was like, with the delightful moment when Kailash Noguera stepped up to the mic after many years away from reciting his poetry (we want many more moments like that, where hitherto unfêted yet talented poets are properly heard):

Kailash Noguera's performing his poetry at Al Margen

Added to this mix there have been publications of poetry books, such as those by Joe Adamberry and Leyla Costa Gomez, and rap events at local venues - rap is in my view a form of poetry, the rhythms and rhyming skills of some rappers are banging (is that too much of a Gen Z expression for this old girl?!)

Just as I was going to publish this post, I found out that Sonia Golt, Jonathan Teuma and Patuka Press have all won cultural awards this year!

Durante's 'outpouring' of local poetry is not an exaggeration. Now the dam has been broken, the outpouring will hopefully become a flow and even a flood. Perhaps it will spawn new venues, new collaborations, more local support, from government or otherwise, more courage to publish and lay on independent fringe events, and perhaps even another literary journal or...is this too ambitious?...a publishing house of our own, a non-profit, community-based collective that works to publish locally. Long may this outpouring last.

A few images from Al Margen taken by DJD Photography:

Rebecca Calderon and her hilariously irreverent song about the principle auditor scandal

Jonathan Teuma preparando el cochinillo at Al Margen

Adrian Pisarello

James the Heartist and his drum   

Oh yes, and yours truly sans hair brush:

Lost in my own words "To Speak Your Tongue" a poem for Al Margen

Al Margen - poetry at the edges

 

I've been beating the drum and banging the gong about this event for a couple of weeks now and I make no apologies: this is an important event for poets, singer/songwriters, storytellers and for their audience. It is an important event for Gibraltar's cultural development. 

Al Margen is a 'cabaret of poets, writers and troubadours'. I love that phrase, a great way to describe a gathering of writers, 'cabaret' both as a collective noun and as a scene-setter. That's what we will have at the Rock Hotel on Wednesday evening (12th November) a scattering of tables, waiter service, low lights and high ambience, a small stage, lights, music, song and poetry. And wine, because what would a gathering of poets and troubadours, writers and songsmiths be without unas copitas de vino? Wine and song is as much sustenance to poetry as air and water.

We have gathered from the edges of Gibraltar's cultural life, from those border lands between the mainstream and 'other ways', between conscious writing and the words that sometimes stream from our subconscious and arrive without warning, giving no hint as to where they came from but simply that they are and they are here, now. We have emerged from our shadowy twilight to bring our thoughts, wrought into rhymes and rhythms and verses, and what we have to say adds that little bit more colour to a cultural landscape dominated by visual arts. From the margins we bring a sharper edge, touch of darkness, we speak of the unspeakable, shake the apple tree of complacency till the apples fall into the ground and root into new creations.

Poetry in Gibraltar is in a growth stage. Not that this is new - Gibraltarian poets have been writing for years. What seems a bit different recently, and maybe more so this year, is that poets are suddenly getting a readership, people are talking about the poets and their work. They are sitting up, pricking their ears up and listening. Not least academics, literature experts and linguists from across the world.

There have been more books, including poetry books, published in the past few months than in some past years, mostly well-received, although we do tend to like a book launch in Gibraltar - the spectacle as much as the contents. I didn't have a launch party for my poetry book Beyond the Blue, but it's worth a read:

Beyond the Blue by Jackie Anderson

There have been readings for charity: I took part in one to help raise funds for the charity Bosom Buddies, back in September, organised by the inimitable Sonia Golt, also herself a writer of stories novels and a poet. Gabriel Moreno (a true troubadour, methinks) came to Gibraltar to promote his new album, the rather brilliant Nights in the Belly of Bohemia (treat yourself to a copy; it really is good, as much musically as lyrically) and gave some local poets the mic as part of his gigs. James the Heartist runs a monthly spoken word event called Native Tongues at the MAG venue at Wellington Front and writers and rappers and story-tellers are welcome to come and pick up the mic and try out their words on willing and highly receptive audiences. Jonathan Teuma has been performing his brilliant brand of slam poetry, mixing this up with llanito haikus, in various events around Gibraltar, notably at Native Tongues and at the Cabana en el quari. Que bueno!

Gabriel Moreno's Night in the Belly of Bohemia

The Literary Festival is taking place this week and a poet's corner has been carved into this by organisers, Gibraltar Cultural Services, which places Gibraltarian poets almost shoulder to shoulder with international writers. It certainly provides a good platform from which to continue to showcase Gibraltar's talents. The Poetry Panel also on 12th November (what a day for Gibraltarian poetry!) will treat the audience to a sample of Gibraltar's poetry and a discussion of where poetry this might be heading, its development and what we can look forward to.

Poetry Panel - Gibraltar Literary Festival

This is what Gibraltarian poetry has needed for years. It's all very well sitting in a lonely room dipping the quill in ink and trimming the candles, but when you write poetry, you want to communicate something, you want your voice to be heard, your words to be read and to bear some meaning to the reader. 

Poets are emerging from the shadows of the margins of life and this is a good time to pick up their work, read it and re-read it and, because this is Gibraltar and we are small and friendly and love chatting over a cafelito or two, reach out and talk to us about our work. Engage. Be the audience we need you to be so we can grow and create more. Draw us out from the margins from time to time and help us link Gibraltar to the rest of the literary world. 

See you at the Rock Hotel on Wednesday 12th November. This cabaret of poets, writers and troubadours is waiting to meet you, entertain you and maybe even challenge you.

My Language and I

I was leafing through The Haw Lantern by Seamus Heaney again this morning over breakfast. Yes, I read poetry over breakfast sometimes and it beats checking my phone and getting caught up with emails and the utter rubbish spewed out on social media. 

Anyway, back to Heaney, I read A Peacock's Feather which Heaney wrote for his niece, Daisy Garnett, in 1972. In it he talks about her christening in Gloucestershire and ponders his background and hers being so different; hers orderly, almost courtly, and his, in another country, rougher, and he talks of how he has modified himself to fit into her world:

I come from scraggy farm and moss,

Old patchwork that the pitch and toss

Of history have left dishevelled.

But here, for your sake, I have levelled

My cart-track voice to garden tones,

Cobbled the bog with Cotswold stones.

(from The Haw Lantern by Seamus Heaney, Faber and Faber (London) 1987)

It is rare I read Heaney without something resonating and this passage has been hanging around in my head all day. In Gibraltar, we have just celebrated another National Day and the city and its people have been festooned in red and white - clothes, bunting, flag, banners, shop window displays, you name it, there's a red and white version of it - but this poem got me thinking: where do we come from, when we say we are from Gibraltar?

As a people, Gibraltarians talk proudly, and rightly so, of the Rock, of its centuries' old fame for impregnability in the face of conflict, of holding fast, physically and metaphorically, to its values. We are proud of much of our history although this is more often than not the white-washed version passed down to us by our British imperial masters, written in their language, using their terms, their memories. It has only been in relatively recent years, that a Gibraltarian culture and identity has begun to emerge. Even then, it is still seen by many people outside of Gibraltar as "Britain in the sun" because we cling onto our Britishness as if that was the only thing worth holding on to, or we are looked at as Spanish but trying to be British, or as nothing of any importance at all, some kind of mongrel race that is neither here nor there, or this or that.

So, having pondered that passage by Heaney and having spent a couple of days at the University of Basel immersed in matters of language and Gibraltarian literature with acadmics and writers from across Europe (link to information below), I took to thinking about what we do as Gibraltarians with our voices.

 Language and speech is how we communicate with others and how we speak, the sound of our words, the tone of voice, in fact, everything about speech is as revealing about us as individuals and as a culture as our flag and our British post boxes and our delight in churros in the morning and calamares fritos en el bar en Eastern Beach por la tarde. We know that regional accents tell us about where people are from in a country and if in England, then whether the person speaks with received pronunciation tells us a lot about their social class, or their aspirations to a higher class (this is a very British thing, class) or even their level of education.

Gibraltarians and their Language

Gibraltar International Conference 3 in Basel

Do we make changes when we speak when we encounter people from other cultures, I wonder? In Gibraltar, do we 'cobble the bog' of our speech? I think the answer is 'yes, we do.' I have listened to Gibraltarians in Spain trying to pronounce the ends of the words (we don't do that in Gib that much and nor do Andalucians). It sounds awkward. I find myself trying to do it, especially hardening the 'r' and putting the 'th' (I do not have a clue about phonetics, so any linguists reading this, please forgive me) in the right place in a word. I end up battling with my own tongue and giving up. Or not speaking at all, which is a poor option - every attempt at speaking someone's language is a sign of respect for them. Much better to speak in Llanito and explain the odd, errant word that is unique to Llanito (I spell it with a 'll" and am not going to argue about it!) than get into a muddle trying to be something that I'm not.

Same with the speaking of English. I have an English accent having lost my llanito accent as a child growing up in England. It was jolly handy because the racist bullies were mercilessly picking on me because I had a sing-song intonation to my voice and added 'bueno' at the start of most sentences and ended them with 'no'. I double-cobbled my own bog with south-east England tarmac.

Then there's also the matter of tone and pitch. I find Gibraltarians are loud. Seriously, if excited, we are endearingly but 'hurt-the-ears' loud. I missed that effervescence of speech when I lived in England but I made sure that I toned down my propensity to arm waving and volume increase when overly enthusiastic about a conversation; in a girls' grammar school of the seventies, all that continental passion simply 'would not do'. 

I wonder if I should have just been myself. I'm neither English in England, and, after over thirty years away, I am not particularly Gibraltarian in Gibraltar, and it is through language and the way I speak that my identity, or lack of it, generates assumptions in others. This is why I found the linguistic biographies collected in Gibraltarians and their Language published by the University of Vigo last year so enthralling and instructive. Language and how we use it in Gibraltar is fascinating, in particular the cultural and sociological connotations that are exposed when we speak it, and it is hugely reveealing about us as a people and about how we are evolving as a culture. 

These days, the attempt at rescuing our language from oblivion is gathering pace. There is a good deal of information online and the push for accepting greater use of llanito, of using it to write and produce literature is gathering pace. Just check out the work of poets Gabriel Moreno, Giordano Durante and Jonathan Teuma just for starters, and others, such as Rebecca Calderon with her landmark introduction of 'Bloomsday' in Gibraltar, are showing the world that small as we are, we do have a place in the world of literature. 

I do not come from a 'scraggy farm and moss', I come from a 'craggy land of rock, battlefield that the pitch and toss of stormy sea has left dishevelled, but here, for your sake, I have levelled my fish-wife voice to subtler tones, smothered the self, betrayed my bones'.

Not having a clear identity, not having a sense of complete belonging is odd. But perhaps it is ideal for creativity, for writing, for poetry.

Durante's essay on written Llanito

Calderon on Bloomsday

Gabriel Moreno

Jonathan Teuma

Pondering Poetry

Pondering Poetry

Pondering poetry is something I do from time to time: I like to read poetry, I like to read about poetry, think about it, play about with the sound and feel of poetry. I sometimes even have a go at writing poetry, but all too frequently emerge from my scribbling and pondering feeling at worst frustrated at my pathetic effort, and at best flat, staring at my attempt much as a fishing enthusiast will gaze at a tiddler with a sense of emptiness after an eight hour stint by the water.

This feeling of inadequacy at my own clumsy attempt at stringing words together was heightened this weekend, when, browsing my bookshelves, I found a copy of Seamus Heaney's The Haw Lantern and decided to indulge myself to an afternoon of poetry in a shady corner, away from the hullabaloo of the beaches and the scorch of the August sun. By the time I had read to page 3 and the closing line of the first poem, "Alphabets", I was close to tears: tears of joy at experiencing again the genius of Heaney, and of melancholy that try as I might, I know I will never have the skill to even come close to displaying a fraction of similar talent. What an imposter you are, Anderson, I chastised myself at the presumption that I, too, could even attempt to call myself a poet. Not even a modest writer of poetry (is that different to a poet? Does the reordering of those words add a subtle layer of meaning that distinguishes the true poet from the writer of poetry - something to be discussed at length over several bottles of fine wine, perhaps?).

Besides sheer pleasure, reading poetry also serves to help a poet learn; how to build an image, how to express emotion, how to use rhyme, rhythm, pace, line length, enjambement and other techniques. A good poem stops you in your tracks, gives you a hitherto unknown insight into the world, into humanity. It makes you question, it makes you think, it ignites emotion. A great poem will leave you breathless. It may even inspire you, which is how I felt at the close of The Haw Lantern.

Inspired, because, of course, my poetry will never equal Heaney's in standard. Nor will it reach the beauty of Lorca's images, the wisdom of Neruda, the poignancy of Yeats, the passion of Byron. But every clumsy attempt at shaping up a set of words, at moulding meaning into them, at distilling down an image, or an emotion or a moment in time into its pure essence and conveying it with precision and music and beauty, takes me a step closer to producing something that might be worth reading.

Knowing my shortcomings is what makes it so difficult to decide to submit a poem for publication, or for peer review, or to collect and publish my own work. Who do you think you are, Anderson, yells my imposter syndrome voice at me (she's far louder than the quiet muse of inspiration that gently nudges me into persisting).

This is why I was quietly delighted at reading The Crooked Timber by Giordano Durante and Gabriel Moreno, two writers whose poems I read, enjoy and admire. In this slim book, the two Gibraltarian poets discuss not just the craft of poetry, but what it means to be a poet in Gibraltar, a place where there is not yet a tradition of poetry, where the Gibraltarian poem has not quite emerged but is being birthed slowly, laboriously under the pens of those Gibraltarians who study and write it and who dare to consider themselves poets. There is a good deal of material in The Crooked Timber to spark discussion, but this section resonated with me. Moreno is writing about feelings of frustration at what he calls "the limitations of our genius" and how easy it is to feel diminished in the presence of the great poets and he says:

"It is on these occasions that I repeat to myself, like a mantra: they felt the same awkwardness in respect to their masters. The were equally ashamed and terrified even if they would not admit it!

"And it is with this exercise in self-delusion that I am enticed to continue to type and thread words on my computer screen hoping that, one day, they might reach someone who actually needs them." (Durante and Moreno, Pg 13).

En serio, Durante and Moreno, with their musings on poetry, have managed to rescue me from the depths of a despair so deep that I almost burned pages and pages of poetry that I deemed worthless. (Actually, that's a bit extreme; I probably would only have deleted them off my laptop, not actually chucked my MacBook on a bonfire).

And maybe, just maybe, when I get my breath back from the brilliance that is Heaney, I might just start pushing and pulling words around my computer screen to see if I can shape a half-decent poem out of them.

The Crooked Timber, annotated and tabulated and highly recommended

References:

Heaney, Seamus, The Haw Lantern (1987), Faber and Faber Limited, London.

Durante, Giordano and Moreno, Gabriel, The Crooked Timber: Letters between two Middle-Aged Poets (2025) Patuka Press.

Gibraltar's short stories 2025

I've been slowly (very slowly) reading the winning entries in this year's Gibraltar Spring Festival short story competition. No excuses, I am busy, but I also like to take my time with these matters, savour the stories slowly, a good while after the publicity machine has lauded the writers, the judges, the event, the government and everyone else that played a part in it. Taking my time and above all, ignoring commentary and social media, means that I can make my own mind up about the stories I read.

As in other years, this year's batch of entries was numerous and that is a positive; it shows that there is an eagerness in the local community to write, to read and to take part in this initiative. After over a decade either taking part myself or generally just enjoying the fruits of others' story telling, I still think that it is a good thing that there is a local competition that arouses in the community the will to write down their stories, whatever those might be. It is still the case that there are few stories in the world that are Gibraltarian stories, by Gibraltarian authors. By this, I don't mean stories about, or set in Gibraltar, but those works of fiction or poetry that open a window to a place, a time, a zeitgeist. 

What is encouraging, however, is that this small number of works is growing year on year. Not just because of the short story competition - a short story competition is a small element in helping focus attention on literature as part of a community's culture - but because every year there seems to be another flurry of publishing by local authors and therefore a greater number of works available to build up that picture of a place. Whether a thriller by a Gibraltarian author is set locally or set in a far off country, in another time, or place or galaxy or dimension, that novel will still say something about the writer and their provenance, about the place where it was written, or the place that influenced the write. That is one of the joys of indulging in reading; the discovery of the other: the other place, the other perspective, the other world of imagination. 

Back to this year's batch of winning entries, which I very much enjoyed reading. The link to the Gibraltar Cultural Services website page is below and I would encourage everyone to drop by and read at least some of them. Firstly, they are worth those five or ten minutes each, perfect coffee break reads. Secondly, it is wonderful for writers to know that their work is being read. Sometimes it doesn't even matter if the reader doesn't like it - just the knowledge that someone has taken the time to read your work and respond to it is good enough. No-one is going to like everything anyway.

2025 Gibraltar Spring Festival Short Story Competition Winners.pdf      

I love that these days there is a Llanito category. It is a difficult language to write. Given that it is mainly oral, there is a tendency to need to 'hear' it and so the written version must somehow 'sound' true. That is a tough call and I am not entirely sure that this year's winners quite mastered this aspect of it. But they gave it a good go and in many ways, that is good enough for me, because it means that there is more Llanito out there written and published and therefore skills in writing it will only improve. No apologies for being critical - criticism is much needed in the literary sphere - and no apologies for not writing in Llanito myself. I speak it but writing it is just not my bag. At least, not for now.

I also loved the variety of themes and settings. Sometimes writing to a theme is a great discipline and perhaps the competition organisers might give that some thought for a future competition, or create a themed competition for a special event. It helps focus writers and it makes them hone their writing far more carefully than an open theme. What I do like about an open theme is the variety of stories that it produces. This means that this year's batch included work on mental health, on memory and migration, on desire and danger, on family and loss among other themes, some are set in Gibraltar, in the present, in the past, in Tangiers, in La Linea, in the upper town, at the border...you get my point.

My favourite...so hard to choose. The overall winner, I think, was a great story: The Rock in my Tea Cup by Daniel Francis Brancato. It caught me up in the first sentence and held me to the end. Loved it. I also really enjoyed Stephen Perera's Shining a Light on the 70s...I loved the humour and the language and it took me right back to familiar days of the 70s (el gordito siempre acababa de portero...bueno, y la gordita igual!). But all the stories are worth a read and they open a window on Gibraltar and its writers in 2025. 

A brief word about the entries by the school children. This is a category that I particularly enjoy because it gives us a glimpse into the future. I haven't done any research but I do wonder if any of the finalists of previous competitions have gone on to be writers. I think Louis Emmitt-Stern stands out; I remember him winning at least one poetry competition and he may well have won more - Louis, if you read this, let us know in the comments! I hope this year's entrants keep writing; there is talent lurking there.

If you haven't already read this year's short stories, please do. It is not enough just to read Instagram and Facebook and what these say about who won with what story. It is important to support local writing and the best way this is done is by reading local writers.