Come on, your laces are undone, tuck your sweater in, it will be cold,
what’s in your pocket, where did you pick it up, chuck it, go, how do you feel
look into my eyes, Mum loves you, Galip, you come here too,
Mum loves you, Dad is proud of you, just one hour of sea, and then you will meet other children, tomorrow we will sleep
in a new bed, Europe, Canada, bigger beds,
of course, a sip of water, drink, be careful not to get wet, you’re all covered with sand, we’ll wash our hands,
that’s it, perfect, let’s go
The picture is permitted.
It is permitted to see the picture. Permitted not to see the picture. To say that you had not seen. That you could not. That you did not have to.
It is permitted to publish the picture. Permitted to blur the picture. To share. To say I like. To say I do not like.
It is permitted to talk of shots. Of discretion and confidentiality. It is permitted to talk of pictures.
It is permitted to see the picture again in your mind. In similarly-laid out clothes. On a bedspread that is a shore of better fortune.
It is permitted, in front of the picture, to say yes, but. Have both feet planted in the sand. Not move a step. Sink.
It is permitted to forget the image. To close your eyes. Deny. While still
what happens in the picture
(has happened, will happen)
The state of health or disease of the so-called faith is not such that
a father forced to carry home three-quarters of what was his family
a father previously forced to take from home the same family by hand (wife and two sons
of whom a picture remains taken on the games chair at the exact center of a double-smile
despite the storm raised (in clothes not unlike those soon to be returned)
against the rising tide of history) towards the final shore
(himself accused of having overturned the boat)
a father who still prays while burying himself along with
I said, the state of preservation of this unexpectedly strong
faith that meanwhile in Kobanî is on the verge of swallowing itself once and for all
I said, it is not such that
requiem aeternam dona eis
translated from Italian by Patrick Williamson
I do not know what I was saying