Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Roni Margulies

THE PHOTOGRAPH AND THE WATCH

It is the year nineteen sixty-five, I have
one hand in my granddad’s and a balloon in the other.
Machka, the bus stop at Tashlik, clearly a cold winter’s day.

A frown on my face. Odd – when my wishes were his command.
Perhaps the balloon wasn’t quite the colour I wanted,
perhaps it wasn’t a balloon I had demanded at all.

The unhappiness would have lasted but a minute or two.
I may have wept, put him in a fluster, and we would then
have sauntered, smiling, down the sloping streets.

Yet now unhappiness stays remembered. It endures. Rankles.
I turn thirty-four today listening with a weary smile
as it ticks with unflinching regularity:

Granddad’s old timepiece:
International Watch Company.

DE FOTO EN HET HORLOGE

We schrijven het jaar negentienzestig, mijn opa houdt me
bij de ene hand, in de andere heb ik een ballon.
We staan bij Matsjka, de bushalte in Tasjlik - het is kennelijk winter.

Ik kijk somber. Dat is vreemd - want mijn wens was zijn bevel.
Misschien was er geen ballon in de kleur die ik wilde,
of misschien was een ballon wel niet wat ik eigenlijk wilde.

Maar dat leed zal hoogstens een paar minuten hebben geduurd.
Misschien had ik gehuild, was mijn opa bezorgd geweest, daarna
waren we vast vrolijk van de heuvel naar beneden gekuierd.

Toch weet juist dat leed zich in het geheugen te nestelen.
Maar nu ik vandaag vierendertig ben geworden,
hoor ik aan mijn pols een monotoon getik:

het is het oude horloge van mijn opa,
International Watch Company.

FOTOĞRAF VE SAAT

Yıllardan bindokuzyüzaltmış,
bir elimden dedem tutmuş, birinde balon.
Maçka, Taşlık durağı - belli, kış.

Surat asmışım. Garip - bir dediğim iki edilmezken.
Belki istediğim renk balon bulunamamış,
belki de balon değilmiş istediğim zaten.

Üç dakika sürmüştür o mutsuzluk olsa olsa.
Ağlamışımdır, telaşlanmıştır dedem, derken
yokuştan aşağı inmişizdir güle oynaya.

Unutulmak bilmiyor artık oysa mutsuzluklar.
Otuz dördümden ilk günü alırken şimdi,
Kolumda tekdüze bir tıkırtı:

Dedemin eski saati,
International Watch Company.
Close

THE PHOTOGRAPH AND THE WATCH

It is the year nineteen sixty-five, I have
one hand in my granddad’s and a balloon in the other.
Machka, the bus stop at Tashlik, clearly a cold winter’s day.

A frown on my face. Odd – when my wishes were his command.
Perhaps the balloon wasn’t quite the colour I wanted,
perhaps it wasn’t a balloon I had demanded at all.

The unhappiness would have lasted but a minute or two.
I may have wept, put him in a fluster, and we would then
have sauntered, smiling, down the sloping streets.

Yet now unhappiness stays remembered. It endures. Rankles.
I turn thirty-four today listening with a weary smile
as it ticks with unflinching regularity:

Granddad’s old timepiece:
International Watch Company.

THE PHOTOGRAPH AND THE WATCH

It is the year nineteen sixty-five, I have
one hand in my granddad’s and a balloon in the other.
Machka, the bus stop at Tashlik, clearly a cold winter’s day.

A frown on my face. Odd – when my wishes were his command.
Perhaps the balloon wasn’t quite the colour I wanted,
perhaps it wasn’t a balloon I had demanded at all.

The unhappiness would have lasted but a minute or two.
I may have wept, put him in a fluster, and we would then
have sauntered, smiling, down the sloping streets.

Yet now unhappiness stays remembered. It endures. Rankles.
I turn thirty-four today listening with a weary smile
as it ticks with unflinching regularity:

Granddad’s old timepiece:
International Watch Company.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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