Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Doina Ioanid

03. I’m coming over, Grandma

I’m coming over, Grandma, coming over to you . . . It’s going to be summer once again, and you’ll be hanging fly strips in the door frame. As flies are flocking to the sticky long strips, I’ll be laying my head in your lap and you’ll tell me at last what you’ve been whispering about with Tinkergypsy. Your dress will be fragrant with homemade soap and your hands will be coarse. You’ll scold me first off for having forgotten. Everything’s going to have the transparency of a glass of water, but by then I’ll be closer to death.

03. I’m coming over, Grandma

Ik zal naar je toekomen, oma. Het zal zomer zijn en dan hang je vliegenpapier boven aan het deurkozijn. Terwijl de vliegen zich in trosjes op de plakkerige stroken verzamelen, zal ik mijn hoofd in je schoot leggen en jij zult me vertellen wat je met Keteltinne, de zigeunerin, hebt bedisseld. Je jurk zal naar huiszeep ruiken en je handen zullen ruw zijn. Je zult me beginnen te verwijten dat ik dat allemaal ben vergeten. Alles zal even doorzichtig zijn als een glas water, maar dan zal ik dichter bij de dood zijn.

Am să vin la tine, bunico. O să fie vară, şi tu o să pui hîrtie de muşte pe tocul de sus al uşii. În timp ce muştele se vor aduna ciorchine pe fîşiile lipicioase, am să-mi pun capul în poala ta, iar tu o să-mi spui ce şuşoteai cu Spoicăldări. Rochia ta o să miroasă a săpun de casă şi mîinile îţi vor fi aspre. Vei începe prin a mă certa c-am uitat. Totul va avea transparenţa unui pahar cu apă, dar atunci mă voi afla mai aproape de moarte.
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03. I’m coming over, Grandma

I’m coming over, Grandma, coming over to you . . . It’s going to be summer once again, and you’ll be hanging fly strips in the door frame. As flies are flocking to the sticky long strips, I’ll be laying my head in your lap and you’ll tell me at last what you’ve been whispering about with Tinkergypsy. Your dress will be fragrant with homemade soap and your hands will be coarse. You’ll scold me first off for having forgotten. Everything’s going to have the transparency of a glass of water, but by then I’ll be closer to death.

03. I’m coming over, Grandma

I’m coming over, Grandma, coming over to you . . . It’s going to be summer once again, and you’ll be hanging fly strips in the door frame. As flies are flocking to the sticky long strips, I’ll be laying my head in your lap and you’ll tell me at last what you’ve been whispering about with Tinkergypsy. Your dress will be fragrant with homemade soap and your hands will be coarse. You’ll scold me first off for having forgotten. Everything’s going to have the transparency of a glass of water, but by then I’ll be closer to death.
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