Great-grandfather's photo # 66047
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The Picture of Great-Grandfather. Poem by Jóhann Hjálmarsson.
There is a picture hanging on the living room wall.
I'm told it's from my great-grandfather,
which I know never went to a photographer.
The picture is green in a red frame.
The man in the picture
has a lush mustache
and in a plain jacket
buttoned up to the neck.
He looks kind.
and the gaze fixed.
My father rarely comes home.
He is on a ship sailing abroad.
When he comes
he looks at the picture proudly.
He pulls out a foreign paper,
which he keeps in a cupboard
with pictures of brown-haired men
in similar jackets to the man in the picture,
although somewhat more ornate,
some of them are loaded with words.
Their names are foreign.
Among them are Tymoshenko,
Molotov, Rokossovsky,
Malinovsky, Zhukov,
Kaganovich and Voroshilov.
He tells me these men are heroes.
and the man in the picture is their leader.
His name is Joseph Stalin.
and comes from poor people
like all of us.
He reads me a poem about the goodness of this man,
the color in his field
and the onion in the garden.
There are many books in my father's bookcase,
which have never been seen in space:
Empire and Revolution, The Great Conspiracy
against the Soviet Union,
Under the guidance of the council, Spring throughout the world,
Letter to Lára, Pistilinn wrote,
Salka Valka and the People's Book.
I learn to recognize the most important ones from the others.
I proudly point to these books.
when a guest arrives.
I often look at the picture on the wall.
The war begins and sometimes we hear
in airplanes.
The British are coming. Dad often talks
with the soldiers
in a language I don't understand.
There is a picture hanging on the living room wall.
I'm told it's from my great-grandfather,
which I know never went to a photographer.
The picture is green in a red frame.
The man in the picture
has a lush mustache
and in a plain jacket
buttoned up to the neck.
He looks kind.
and the gaze fixed.
My father rarely comes home.
He is on a ship sailing abroad.
When he comes
he looks at the picture proudly.
He pulls out a foreign paper,
which he keeps in a cupboard
with pictures of brown-haired men
in similar jackets to the man in the picture,
although somewhat more ornate,
some of them are loaded with words.
Their names are foreign.
Among them are Tymoshenko,
Molotov, Rokossovsky,
Malinovsky, Zhukov,
Kaganovich and Voroshilov.
He tells me these men are heroes.
and the man in the picture is their leader.
His name is Joseph Stalin.
and comes from poor people
like all of us.
He reads me a poem about the goodness of this man,
the color in his field
and the onion in the garden.
There are many books in my father's bookcase,
which have never been seen in space:
Empire and Revolution, The Great Conspiracy
against the Soviet Union,
Under the guidance of the council, Spring throughout the world,
Letter to Lára, Pistilinn wrote,
Salka Valka and the People's Book.
I learn to recognize the most important ones from the others.
I proudly point to these books.
when a guest arrives.
I often look at the picture on the wall.
The war begins and sometimes we hear
in airplanes.
The British are coming. Dad often talks
with the soldiers
in a language I don't understand.