Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Monica Martinelli

54

I stare at my fingernails and do not recognize them,
a distant ornament of a kinder hand,
their growth is stunted
while I feel I’m already too grown up
and I long for the age that passed by
when time wasn’t weighing on me
while now it travels ceaselessly.

My new fingernails,
fragile, unaware of the void,
offer themselves to an unknown space.
I’d like to dig them into the flesh of your thoughts,
to make you scream out a curse
in this tightened corner of time,
a galaxy in movement
where our bodies revolve
in opposite directions
and not even this makes sense.

And I despair for what we’ll never have
for what we have lost
and what we’ve secluded elsewhere.

54

54

Guardo le mie unghie e non le riconosco,
distante ornamento di mano più gentile
stentano a crescere loro
mentre io mi sento già troppo grande
e ho nostalgia dell’età trascorsa
quando il tempo non mi stava addosso
mentre ora viaggia senza tregua.
 
Le mie nuove unghie,
fragili ignare del vuoto
si offrono ad uno spazio ignoto.
Vorrei infilarle nella tua carne di pensieri
farti gridare una maledizione
in questo ridotto angolo di tempo,
una galassia in movimento
dove i nostri corpi ruotano
in senso inverso
e neanche questo ha un senso.
 
E mi dispero per ciò che non avremo
per ciò che abbiamo perduto
e relegato altrove.
Close

54

I stare at my fingernails and do not recognize them,
a distant ornament of a kinder hand,
their growth is stunted
while I feel I’m already too grown up
and I long for the age that passed by
when time wasn’t weighing on me
while now it travels ceaselessly.

My new fingernails,
fragile, unaware of the void,
offer themselves to an unknown space.
I’d like to dig them into the flesh of your thoughts,
to make you scream out a curse
in this tightened corner of time,
a galaxy in movement
where our bodies revolve
in opposite directions
and not even this makes sense.

And I despair for what we’ll never have
for what we have lost
and what we’ve secluded elsewhere.

54

I stare at my fingernails and do not recognize them,
a distant ornament of a kinder hand,
their growth is stunted
while I feel I’m already too grown up
and I long for the age that passed by
when time wasn’t weighing on me
while now it travels ceaselessly.

My new fingernails,
fragile, unaware of the void,
offer themselves to an unknown space.
I’d like to dig them into the flesh of your thoughts,
to make you scream out a curse
in this tightened corner of time,
a galaxy in movement
where our bodies revolve
in opposite directions
and not even this makes sense.

And I despair for what we’ll never have
for what we have lost
and what we’ve secluded elsewhere.
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
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère