Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Roni Margulies

RAPPING IN AMSTERDAM

Among the grass of Rembrandtpark
a flash of colour shone in the sun
and caught my eye,

a sliver of orange peel I thought,
but no, a piece of wrapping.
I picked it up:

Falım!

Four or five boys of ten or twelve
walked briskly past me
rapping in Turkish.

Cha-cha cha cha!

A startled dog sprinted away.
They howled behind it.
The owner frowned.

Are these boys abroad? Are they home?
If we were to return, where
are we to return to?

And if we were each to buy some gum,
“Six sticks of Falım please, Ali”,
and read our fortunes,

what would they be?

RAP IN AMSTERDAM

In het gras in het Rembrandtpark
werd mijn blik gevangen door iets
kleurigs, wat oplichtte in de zon,

ik dacht aan een sinaasappelschil,
keek ernaar, nee, het was papier,
ik bukte me en raapte het op:

Falım!

Een stel jongens van een jaar of dertien
liepen vlak langs me
te rappen in het Turks.

Tsjik tsji-tsjik tsjak!

Een hond ontsnapte en ging er vandoor.
Met z’n allen joelden ze hem na.
De baas keek geërgerd.

Zijn die jongens in het buitenland? O nee?
Waar komen ze dan vandaan? Als we terug
zouden gaan, waar moeten we dan heen?

Als we nu elk een pakje kauwgom kochten,
“Zes kauwgom alstublieft, meneer Ahmet”,
het openmaakten en onze toekomst lazen,

wat zou er dan in staan?

AMSTERDAM’DA RAP

Rembrandtpark’ta çimlerin arasında
güneş vurduğunda parıldayan,
bir parça renk çarptı gözüme,

portakal kabuğu sandım,
baktım, değil, kağıt,
eğildim aldım:

Falım!

On üç yaşlarında üç beş çocuk
Türkçe rap çalarak
geçti yanımdan.

Çık çı-çık çak!

Bir köpek kaçtı koşturarak.
Güldüler hep arkasından.
Sahibi kaşlarını çattı.

Yurtdışında mı bu çocuklar?
Değil mi? Nereli? Dönsek,
nereye dönmeli?

Gidip şimdi birer ciklet alsak,
“Altı Falım ver, Ahmet Abi”,
açıp fallarımıza baksak,

ne yazar?
Close

RAPPING IN AMSTERDAM

Among the grass of Rembrandtpark
a flash of colour shone in the sun
and caught my eye,

a sliver of orange peel I thought,
but no, a piece of wrapping.
I picked it up:

Falım!

Four or five boys of ten or twelve
walked briskly past me
rapping in Turkish.

Cha-cha cha cha!

A startled dog sprinted away.
They howled behind it.
The owner frowned.

Are these boys abroad? Are they home?
If we were to return, where
are we to return to?

And if we were each to buy some gum,
“Six sticks of Falım please, Ali”,
and read our fortunes,

what would they be?

RAPPING IN AMSTERDAM

Among the grass of Rembrandtpark
a flash of colour shone in the sun
and caught my eye,

a sliver of orange peel I thought,
but no, a piece of wrapping.
I picked it up:

Falım!

Four or five boys of ten or twelve
walked briskly past me
rapping in Turkish.

Cha-cha cha cha!

A startled dog sprinted away.
They howled behind it.
The owner frowned.

Are these boys abroad? Are they home?
If we were to return, where
are we to return to?

And if we were each to buy some gum,
“Six sticks of Falım please, Ali”,
and read our fortunes,

what would they be?
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
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