Clooney or Mum
Translated by Agnes Marton
While downloading some seasons of ER
featuring the young George Clooney,
I was thinking how I could contact him,
and after binge-watching the whole show
I started to do a search. Idris Elba
is on Instagram, what if Clooney’s there too?
But all I could find was ten official fake profiles.
I gave up. The idea came to my mind:
I should write a poem to him. Another
poem of mine, ‘Noah,’ had been published
in an American lit mag. There was a roundtable
organized on young authors, this poem
was snarled at there for being too funny,
not fitting in my collection, the Family Guy
was brought up too, this is when I got fed up
with TV-series, and thought it would be
something, the top of my career if Clooney could
read my poems in English, and I could tell mum
prohibiting me from watching TV had been in vain,
I did everything she worried about even if I was
afraid, like during the never-ending process
of downloading, ten seasons, almost.
Since then, Clooney has grown quite old,
so has my mum. A disturbing thought:
does Clooney read poetry at all? Would it make
sense to write to him, would he get it,
what if he prefers films? The poet, after all,
that’s me.