Elegy for the Morning Odours

Morning, with dews and the odours of dawn
Vegetables and fruits laid on the street
Colorful sight for the sore eyes.

Morning, to the fishes that saying: “Hello! Hello!”
To the people that always waiting
At street corners and on the road.

Sweating, for the small and big stuff
For all the stuff that ever changing and repeating.

Swearing, against the day that breaks
Thousand promises and plans.

Morning,
Hopes to see you again.

S. Parman-Slipi, 5 Sept. 2005.

Cough inside the head

have I learn anything from this trembling that shook the tremor out of me? To read the subliminal thoughts and hidden messages that spread troughout my veins? The pale color of my masochistic fiesta, runs like cheap stocking that I wear to hid my real countenance. I greet thee welcome o sorrow of the gloomy heart. Why does the quest only spread to catch more and mere questions? So sunk me in again in soliloquy, kinky, like Ike when he hits Turner on the face like a ramshack. I know I should and I could yet I still would.. Not. Now there’s a statement of a lame feet. Afar from real goal, aside from mentions. So where does all this neglectments went, o man with wench tits?

Humaine brain: no limitz!

why there’s a spot for the spotless? Because everyone’s too aware for themself. And to prove that, try have as many followers you can gather, and sooner or later your senses are growing more acute to the sound of soundless tambourinas. No longer spake any taboo, no more glitch on typhos, and hence: you started to write burden with your thumb. You started to feel that you are no longer mortal. You feel like you’re a naivette angel fought on the highest level of mortal kombat with the lowest form of avatars.

The burntdown of sass

There’s a gap in our horizon
No welcoming doormats
Swords are no pen and vice versa
So why those pages still burned to dust?

There’s fear in lonely caves
And who’s the cavemen?
The doors are shut and locked
Guarded by two smoking barrels
The windows are smashed
Thrown by stones of the stonehenges’ mind.

There’s a price for certainty in life
No thoughts, no dreams, turns are forbidden
And we learn as we get along
That no peace could stay for long.

**
–Udo. Late 2007–

Epilogue (Penutup)

–tulisan ke-4 dan terakhir dalam gelaran ‘A Few Nights with Ezra Pound’. Untuk tulisan 1 s/d 3 bisa dibaca di notes FB Udo Indra. Tulisan ini tidak disertakan di sana sebagai hasil kompromi dari sebuah dilema.–

“O chansons foregoing
You were a seven days wonder,
When you came out in the magazines
You created considerable stir in Chicago,…”

Kau pernah jadi kidung indah yang tak seorang pun menduga kehadirannya. Dulu kau sempat pula terhitung sebagai salah satu keajaiban dunia. Tampil dengan rupawan untuk sebuah perioda nan gemilang. Saat pertama kali wajahmu yang lugu muncul di beberapa media, semua ramai membicarakan. Teman-teman, baru dan lama, hadir dan menyalami tanganmu yang sempat gemetar menyambut semua. Kemudian lambat laun keluguanmu hilang dan kau mulai terbiasa menghadapi segala imbas kejayaanmu. Parasmu, luar dan dalam, perlahan mengeras.

“And now you are stale and worn out,
You’re a very depleted fashion,
A hoop-skirt, a calash,
An homely, transient antiquity…”

Namun lihatlah dirimu kini: seperti nasi basi yang ditinggalkan bahkan oleh kucing lapar. Semua kegilanganmu bagai lentera yang meredup, menjelang saat padam. Semua yang dulu menjabat akrab mulai pergi menghindar. Seperti tak pernah kenal sahaja. Mereka kini melihatmu seperti model busana tahun silam, tiada lagi yang mau memakai. Kau sudah jadi pakaian kisut yang siap dilempar ke panti sosial atau lapak baju di pasar bau. Begitu cepatnya perubahan, rutukmu, saat tempatmu di transportasi massa telah berpindah ke atap kereta. Semua orang melihatmu tak lebih dari sebuah kisah jaya sederhana di masa lalu yang hanya bertahan untuk sementara waktu.

“Only emotion remains.
Your emotions?
Are those of a maitre-de-cafe.”

Hanya pendaman emosi yang tersisa (pun tersia) pada dirimu kini. Tenaga batinmu terkuras untuk menerka-nerka: dari istana hantu mana sisa emosimu itu berasal? Sampai nyaris hampa. Daya hidupmu terhisap oleh kenangan mengenai gemebyar rutinitas yang telah silam. Meninggalkan geram tanpa redam. Menampuk dendam. Lantas kau coba lampiaskan semua itu dengan merajai waktu jeda di ragam resto dan kafe. Pada singgasana kulinaria kau berharap: agar semua kegelisahanmu tertutupi oleh timbunan lemak.

*puisi yang ditampilkan pada tulisan di atas adalah puisi karya Ezra Pound yang berjudul ‘Epilogue’. Tulisan singkat ini terinspirasi dan didasarkan pada puisi tersebut.*

your word are eternal

houww..! How I still, and always, remember.. All the time when we get the tantrum of words.. How we cling to the air, for any salvation.. All the movement are in pure freedom.. We started our own personal kingdom.. Where all are kings and kins.. To kindly let all goddess to jump happily atop our belly.. never compromise any promises.. All kisses are journals of the long lost hope.. We are pope.. Of pop-art and immaculative poetry.. We keep on whirling, and dancing, and.. All poems be.. The weapons and tunes.. Of solitude madness.. All words are spawns of future sanctuary.. We know, we flow.. Eternally.

TRIWIKRAMA SANDYAKALANING

I throw up so damn much today. After being naked on the open field of hope. I vomit.. A lot of that shit that I never knew I had inside me. My chess is bare, and it bleeds.. Its keep on bleeding. No one to share my wounds.. Heck, I am the wound receiver.. Like some broken radio, with dried-up batteries. No listener around. My waves are so weak, while having abundant things to share.. I should jump right now, from a sharp-stones cliff.. Instead I cry like baby.. I am a pig, ready to be slaughtered.. relax your meat, I’m not here to eat.. A sudden vegetarian that suddenly lost in the attempt of opening the self at a shelve at a brim of nocturnal erruption.. Care not about this feeling anymore.. Pride has taken over.. I must admit.. I am dead, a victim, a fool.. How can I be such.. Sucked dry to very last bone.. I am raging mad, and yet I forgive.. But I have to go.. So you can go.. So we can find anew.. So long, so fuckin long, so gibberishly long…… I am long for that sweet scent of natural grapes, squeezed at the altar.. This is my blood.