how would you intervene
how would you caress the sun
how would you deconstruct an oil spill
how would you dance in a field of grass
how would you enervate desires
how would you imitate a tree, a pond, an idea of stillness
how would you recuperate
how would you come to me
how would you
Your family not travelling with you?
No, they just didn’t feel like it this time.
Are you staying at the usual place?
Yep, the usual. Pretty tacky. Maybe that’s why I like it. I still haven’t been to your place.
I wrote about it already in one of my poems though. I said you kept mandrake’s root under your bed and that your grandma still kept a fully-manned, gigantic servants’s quarter.
Wrong about the mandrake’s root, but the servants’s quarter, that sums up the whole place—pa-lace.
I stole the mandrake’s root from Donne.
I thought you stole it from Pan’s Labyrinth. You wrote that other poem about watching the movie with your ex-girlfriend, I thought you stole again from the same movie.
Maybe I did. In Pan’s the root is kept under the little girl’s bed, isn’t it?
It is. Seperti di puisimu tentangku.
The air was hot like always at this time of the year. The man tried to look into the woman’s eyes each time he spoke, out of both courtesy and desire. The woman sometimes returned the stare, sometimes played with the rabbit ring on her right ring finger.
aku akan memperlambat waktu
sehingga satu ditambah satu sama dengan satu
sehingga bulu bulu halus di lenganmu
perempuan separuh kelinci, separuh nafsu
menolak ajakan makan siangku
aku harus segera ke sabana, katanya
seorang raksasa t’lah menantiku di sana
ia sedang membangun istana
aku ingin membuat gaun dari tirai tirainya
I want a kind of plain-ness
Your faint, pale moustache
A cotton shirt
Turbaned around your head
I want partying
And the careful gesticulation of mad-ness
marilah berbagi intertekstualiti. mari main rock paper scissors dengan oulipoem oulipoemmu. apakah kamu bahagia pernah memeriksa the state of public laundries di rue vilin? apakah perasaanmu saat melihat stiker air gabon di jendela hamam hamam yang tak berpintu? marilah berbagi hati instead. di manakah penjaringan? di manakah muara angke? di manakah tinja tinja yang mengambang di social media? hidup yang kusenangi adalah menanti makan malam bersama istriku yang berhati rock paper scissors. rock paper scissors. hubungan yang terlalu logis. persaingan dog eat dog yang terlalu bikin miris. egoku sekarang berbalut gulali, kau tak akan bisa melukainya dengan kapitalisme. rock paper scissors. kamu rock, aku pesan satu pitcher.
kehidupanku bukan deleuze
bukan pula lavish travels in hyperreality
kehidupanku hanya supradit yang menantang takdir
di sela-sela bemper vios
dan mata yang berair di depan monitor kantor
i think its because i dont expect much from life
everything was too hard then when we first came to australia
getting up in the freezing cold morning
frost on the grass in the backyard at tante ana’s
trying to understand macbeth
i felt like i understood it
but i always felt like my understanding of the play was dumber than the rest of mankind
i liked how lady macbeth was fucking hot in the polanski version
i didnt know why i joined the woodworking class
i cant remember
the toilets were cold
i could stand in the cubicle for hours
looking at the slate grey sky through the glass ventilation window
my heart broke so many times then
but there are things that stay
though you cant always remember what they are
i dont expect much from life
it is kind
but leave me alone
it feels like we havent met for such a long time
when weve been holding hands this whole time
it feels like i havent read a single book for ages
when i just read vollmann the other day
actually i remember that
but other things i dont remember
or have only very vague recollections of
that i feel i am not living
just reenacting familiar scenes (from a home video)
the last time we really got to know each other were those nights
we traced the map of nicaragua
to help us trace our possible futures
the dead ends
that was real suffering then
bourgeois of course
they were real bourgeois tears
and that one time we hid behind a tree with our ibanez steve vai
in its hard case
taking in all the cold and humiliation
of not being able to speak a word
of having to witness real skills
ever since then i think i always look at the world in astonishment
you are always better than i thought i was
were on a different plane
im tracing lines in the sand
youre rebuilding imagination out of vectors