aku susun susun batu
kujadikan sebuah benteng
cukup kuat untuk beberapa waktu

malam malam ada yang mengunjungiku
datang datang memakai lonceng
cukup gaduh jadinya tidurku

coba kututup telingaku
sial! tambah keras itu suara lonceng!
sulit tidur, akhirnya kubangkit untuk cari tau

dari benteng, kuambil sepotong batu
terlihat sesosok manis tersenyum lebar
bukan main, tidak karuan hatiku


kutanya,
"kenapa kamu kesini?"
"aku ingin mengajakmu main, sepertinya akan seru"
"aku tidak mau, aku lelah"
"ayolah, nanti kita memetik buah beri liar di hutan"
"aku lelah, lagipula siapa kamu?"
"nanti kamu aku gendong. aku gabungan dari semangka dan tembakau, salam kenal"
"aku tidak tanya kamu itu apa tapi siapa kamu!"

lalu sosok itu mengambil beberapa batu yang ada di benteng
"aku gabungan semangka dan tembakau, ayo ikut!"
tanpa lama, sosok itu mengambil tanganku dan dibawanya lari menuju dalamnya hutan
lalu aku? akupun juga heran kenapa tidak ada penolakan
rambutnya yang tertiup angin hutan dan terkena cahaya matahari yang samar samar masuk dari banyaknya daun membuatku tersenyum sembari ikut berlari bersamanya

"sudah sampai!"

sosok itu tersenyum lebar dan puas

"katanya kamu akan menggendong aku, mana?"
"hehe maaf, lupa. habis saking semangatnya sih.. tunggu sini ya aku akan memetik beri"
"aku tidak ikut?"
"tidak usah, kamu istirahat di bawah pohon itu saja nanti aku menyusul"

akupun duduk dan bersender dibawah pohon besar itu
terlihat antusias sekali, padahal hanya memetik beri

"lucu"

kalimat itu keluar dengan mudah dari mulutku
tunggu, kenapa aku pikir dia lucu?
dia hanya gabungan semangka dan tembakau
itu aneh, dasar gila

"ini sudah selesai, ayo makan"

nyaman sekali berada dekatnya
senang sekali melihat matanya
iya mata itu yang sesekali ikut tersenyum saat sosok itu menatapku
aneh lagi, rasanya hatiku mau runtuh saat itu

"sudah kenyang, ayo main lagi"
"tidak mau, aku kan bilang aku capek"
"oh baiklah, sini"

sosok itu membawa kepalaku ke pangkuannya dengan lembut dan tiba tiba

"eh?!"
"sudah tidak apa apa, kamu tidur saja nanti aku yang berjaga"
"tidak mau aku takut, aku belum kenal kamu"

kecupan manis dan sedikit pahit meluncur di bibirku
tuhan! aku seperti mau meledak

"tidak usah takut, aku pemegang rekor"
"hahahaha rekor apa? ngaco!"

suaraku mulai terbata bata namun tidak ingin terlihat gugup

"sudah ya kamu tidur saja, istirahat"

kembali ia mengusap ngusap rambutku
nyaman
hangat
tenang


"brukkk!"

suara keranjang jatuh tepat beberapa meter dibawah kakiku
aku bangun melihat sekitar

"kemana?"

semangka tembakau sudah lenyap dari pandanganku
ingin kuberanjak pulang namun tertahan

"aku masih ingin menunggu"
"tunggu, untuk apa?"
"untuk temu bodoh"
"apa gunanya temu?"
"tapi aku masih ingin menunggu"
"aku rindu"

suara suara sialan itu menyeruak didalam kepala

kududuk didekat pohon besar sambil menunggu
memakan beri yang masih tersisa sedikit di keranjang


tidak terasa sudah larut
suara suara binatang, hmm ataukah monster itu sudah bersahut sahutan

"aku takut"
"tapi aku masih ingin temu"
"aku harus menunggu"

begitulah kebodohan aku
malam malam
di hutan
sendirian
menunggu orang siapa?

akhirnya aku membangun benteng lagi
di hutan itu
walau bukan di dekat danau yang banyak suara katak dan bunga lili tapi aku coba berusaha membangun benteng lagi untuk sekedar menunggu sosok itu datang

kususun lagi
benteng barupun terbentuk
cuma bedanya
sedikit tidak nyaman karena banyak sekali batang batang pohon tajam masuk ke sela sela batu
tapi aku tetap menunggu
kususun lagi
sampai tertutup
aku masih menunggu untuk temu

it's a common theme, a pastoral even... a sing-along with the words: when i was in Rotherham... i was never in England... when i was a Rotherham i was never going to imagine myself eating falafel. yes, it's that ****** ugly, which is why i'm hardly a premature ejaculator into assembling myself as bulldog Brit - use the language: well, obviously... but assemble the other bits and bobs? can't happen... it's like asking: tell a Jew to not be a Jew by sitting in one place for a long period of time... the nomad in him will evidently counter that proposal and say: **** it! see you on Mars! and to think that i could have actually invested my life into a diameter that's Poland... people still find it a bit odd: oh, wait, are they back on the map? that's us, Jews of the north... can't believe we're being blamed for the failure of the treaty of Rome: all because the English stopped flirting with the idea of Turkey being in the union: even though they dabble in a lamb kebab after binging on *****... but hey, no one want to be a hypocrite these days... that's of course provisional given your Jose Mourinho relationship: is as special as you suppose with the lady and the trump; someone tell Disney to stop writing those ****** scripts! how thoughtful of a prophet-merchant (merchant of Mecca, Shakespeare should have written that one) to have encouraged the sigma-bleaching-project: one world, one book, one something or other: either the telescope or the microscope answers: otherwise evolving into ****-naked baboons and elsewhere furry Gucci to strut the feline ****; it's not like i want to go back to the past, but i certainly don't want to experience a Monday in the year 2086 either.

i wouldn't have been one of them, their services required
a nobility, which i can partially claim,
but partially discredit as:
a family squabble, where the Eden
project would have flourished -
because of the lies -
         but you know, no biggie,
or the notorious -
one part of my family actually did
settle in america with my seven
tongued great-grandfather *sprechen güt
it's necessarily applied here:
hence it's not gút: miracles!
                     who would have thought
that trigonometry bit into the *****
of those pixy, foxy whatever clot in the
English department....
that's the thing with immigration and
integration and ethnic cleansing:
when i write,
    the desk is as rickety as a bed when
i **** a *******
and she tells me i'm a decent chap -
and says a variant of awe because i paid
£10 extra to pucker her floral arrangement
and she feels ashamed at having had
an ******: and all the feminists are
out there, in the cold, with their banter
     slogans that reach Zeno via
turtle, as snail, to compete with Achilles:
yeah, that hurt, because you enjoyed it
on the hobnob you call a job.
******* pretty enough for you now?
   well: two ***** and a smoking ****** later:
it better be!
               people think that you can just
"integrate" into a foreign land...
they coerce a foretfulfulnes that you
sometimes practice etymology -
        and find yourself a bit like a Jew
but more of a Slav, feeling at most romantic about
the land that is cleft to your ***** in terms
of language patriotism still leech-like,
because you can't forget the asking
that's already there: from the Baltic Sea
toward the Black Sea: our commonwealth was,
and could have been!
          globalisation is so Emi ******* M -
you bleach throughout, and so suddenly,
people get bothered -
         like a Cluedo but unlike who did it?
who's who?
             i write this on a rickety table,
like i might **** an Amsterdam dame of the credo
in all that's left: red -
       baby, that brickwork with your chub
layers does it for me: always a Puerto Rican to
have a laugh with...
20+ years in England and the roses are still
roses, but nettles in some obscure Greece island
designated for offshore debauchery -
hey, no one is a saint: but give a little -
   have at least the remote humanity in you
to breed the ******* Beatles rather than an antiquated
variation of Breivik.
                obviously not to be.
i payed because i wasn't getting any:
hands up, sycamore! so scythe so more -
i just feel uprooted and Jew -
  dispositioned like i have to have an inferiority
complex tattooed on my **** designated for
halal butchers -
           there's a problem though...
i have patriotism with regards to the tongue:
but to the people? a true Conrad (minus the Joseph)
would sell you out, like you already
have: to the highest Saudi bidder -
           ethnicity reemerges - strangely enough:
even after all that ethnic cleansing that's politely
called globalisation: because English cultural
emphasis is plain said: ****!
                      a bunch of fairies say i can't feel
a certain way because it will hardly become economised
and benefit an inbreeding:
so i outsourced you there,
   Dover Monsieur without his Turk and Mongol
invaders -
                   you could call it romantic:
but i'm not writing from an ivory tower within
framework of the land that needs tilling by
a familiar hand,
                 the last time i spoke to a Pollack -
it was in a shady alley at night, debating the clues
to making a living on Ebay -
                  so much for the romantics -
fair game in learning the tongue, but to attack
ethnicity? you have to be ******* me...
they call it the exotica in England:
all that coconut milk went to their heads -
   Baltic coconuts? sure... once you start eating
the pickled herrings like us: quasi-Scandi devils.
     so ******* twinned with Israel:
they said Amsterdam was the Venice of the north
they said Edinburgh was the Athens of the north
they might as well call it Tel Aviv Warsaw
and Jerusalem Krakow - too little to be said
otherwise.
             you could say Moscow and St. Petersburg:
oh sure, seen a bit of the world: ought to be
a *******...           really?
       does the world need another Golgotha
congregation? i just don't see why i require
to give more than linguistic acumen -
i'd never sing god save the queen
because i'd probably sing queen save the taxman...
and it really is a shame i can't engage in
any sort of nationalism - whether over there
or over here, it's a true shame...
           well i do have a grand history to aspire to,
variously interpreted with what gets my heart
thumping:
          ogniem i mieczem - hussaria ginie
(with fire and with sword - winged hussars die) /
          krzesimir dębski:
which i also translate in feeling within
the framework of Górecki's (3rd symphony?
fun-*******-tastic reassembling jazz's double
base, or bees, or other variations of humming
drones: anti-thesis of the crescendo)
three olden pieces, no. ii -
and yes: without cinema classical music would
be dead... the only classical music these days
is cinematic transcript -
                 the complexity of a Liszt or a Chopin
is frowned at, what has remained and endured
is a Satie yawn - a brushing of a piano like
a dustmaid: a sort of accenting the silence -
nothing with a technical claustrophobia of
smug finger litanies of the abacus:
that swamp women's feelings with eerie ahs
and yesses in would be marriage proposals.
   i wish i could be a lazy Welshman
or a Scot that forgot Celtic in order to glorify
a Glaswegian idiosyncratic-syllabalisation
    of wee, as in small: high off my rockers
on the Afghani thought train that's *****.
  i wish i were that ****** lazy...
  as to simply let go of where i was and where
i wasn't...
       as someone in Cardiff once said:
never been to London -
or as someone in Glasgow once said:
           a banch of ****** all with the Edinburgh
Judases.
              i don't think i could ever
have enough lost self-respect to not play the ethnic
joker card without a romantic agitation -
but it's still the piano that truly survives in
the modern world of pop **** trance i-wish-i-were-shot,
any other name from american beauty -
once again: the minimalism is self-explanatory.
no, i don't think i could ever fully integrate:
and happy are those who have their
lives filled with the existentially trivial:
never moved home, never descended a class below
or rise a class above their parent's status -
what a grand scheme of lotto!
                    i love these squamish pixies -
i love them so much that i experience nausea when
hearing about their lot in life...
  after which i turn to a lullaby, handpicked,
christopher young's - something to think about
from the hellraiser franchise, or as i like to call it:
i like these sort of tracks, these life infuriating
   chattering:
              like throwing yourself into either
nouns or onomatopoeias:
                           and yes, art is difficult:
because it's supposedly lazy -
                   oh the plumber in me that never was,
oh the roofer of industrial sized roofs in me that
somehow was, but then wasn't...
            the part of me that writes like Joseph Conrad
but actually wants to scream:
                       zzé skury odrzeć! (variant: ob-      +
-drzec)    to strip the skin.
                 a z tym: nadać ducha gniew alter solo
wbrew temu co mówi, czyli: razem;
                    nawet katedra św. piotra nie jest
                   minimalizm zwany: Golgota.
              (and with this: give the ghost's anger
alter solo, against that, which says,
namely: together; even st. peter's cathedral
                 isn't the minimalism of Golgotha).

Kuingat, waktu itu aku membawamu ke sebuah kedai. Sebuah tempat yang hari lalu pernah kujanjikan padamu. Dengan motor tua peninggalan ayahku, aku merasa bangga. Dengan kau di jok belakang, malu-malu mendekap badanku erat, kita melaju tanpa banyak bicara melintasi jalanan kota.

Sesampainya kita, aku menoleh kesana-kemari mencari tempat yang pas. Tempat yang khidmat untuk kita menunaikan ibadah temu, setelah lama menjalankan puasa rindu.

Masih seperti biasanya, tanpa memandang situasi bagaimanapun, kita tetap saja seperti biasa: tidak banyak mengobrol. Hanya tersenyum, basa-basi (aku dengan pernyataan pamungkas bahwa "rambutmu cantik hari ini", dan "jangan memujiku terus" adalah andalanmu ketika malu) , tersenyum lagi dan salah tingkah sejadinya. Begitu kikuk kita di waktu itu.

Kita begitu seadanya. Saling berhadapan, saling menggenggam tangan meski canggung. Kutengok dari balik jendela, hujan perlahan jatuh membasahi seisi bumi. Tentu kedai tempat kita juga. Kulihat ramai manusia mulai bergegas dan menepi menghindari tumpah ruah sang hujan.

Rinainya mulai melantun tak beraturan di jalanan, di atap kedai, di jok motorku dan di hati kita berdua. Sambil memandang keluar, aku yakin kau merefleksikan hal yang sama dengan apa yang ada dipikiranku. Bahwa keping ingatan masa lalu mulai berpendar, berputar dalam kepala. Yang mungkin selalu berusaha kita lupa.

Satu hal yang benar, bahwa hujan dengan begitu saja telah menjadi bagian dari identitas kita berdua. Kutipan bahwa hujan turun selalu membawa kenangan, bagiku sesekali benar. Dan diantara kau dan aku, memiliki kisah yang dianggap kelam.

Kita adalah dua manusia yang hatinya pernah patah dan kecewa, lalu dipertemukan dengan cara yang begitu acak oleh semesta. Atau, entahlah. Aku hanya yakin begitu. Mungkin buku-buku Fiersa Besari banyak mempengaruhi caraku berpikir soal ini.

Ditemani lagu-lagu dari Dialog Dini Hari, dan dinginnya suasana kedai sebab hujan yang menggerayangi, semakin menambah kesan romansa terlebih kopi pesanan kita datang menghampiri.

Masih ditengah hujan yang mulai menjinak, aku mengingatkanmu soal buku bacaan yang telah kita sepakati sebelumnya saat masih hendak merencanakan via telepon. Ya, benar, tujuan utamaku adalah mengajakmu menikmati buku bersama. Untukku, Ini kali pertama. Semoga saja engkau suka.

Dan hujan, adalah diluar dari rencana. Aku tersadar, bahwa ia membantuku banyak kali ini. Untuk memeluk hatimu kian erat, untuk menghempas keluh-kesahmu jauh tak terlihat.

Kita mulai mengeluarkan bacaan. Dari ranselku, dari tas jinjingmu.

Aku dengan Tan Malaka, kau dengan Boy Candra. Begitu kontras, namun kutau bahwa ada bahagia dengan harta yang masing-masing kita miliki itu. Yang bahwa kita membacanya karena terpana dengan mantra disetiap kata-katanya—atau juga karena pemikiran kritis yang disulap menjadi sebuah goresan pena pada setumpuk kertas oleh sang aditokoh. Kagum dengan warisannya—dalam tulisan, mereka benar-benar kekal selamanya—dalam ingatan.

Kita tenggelam jauh kedalamnya, jauh kedalam setiap paragrafnya. Mata kita beradu sesekali saat fokus tergoyah, saling melempar senyum karenanya. Lalu pada satu waktu, kita mulai menutup buku, mengartikan temu, menyempurnakan rasa hingga waktu tenggelam berlalu.

Berlalu... Benar, semuanya berlalu sejalan dengan gerak sang waktu. Tak terkecuali kita didalamnya.

Aku menyayangimu, sebagaimana keberlakuanku pada buku. Aku merindumu, sebagaimana bumi merindukan hujan. Dan episode-nya bagiku selalu saja menyajikan wangi yang sama, sebagaimana wangi petrichor yang tersisa, dari rinai yang pergi meninggalkan bentala.

Kita menjadi "pernah", lalu lestari selamanya.

teruntuk atau kepada
engkau atau kamu
tersayang atau terkasih
taukah kamu?
bulan berdesir pelan
menyelusup ke sela- sela kabut hitam
malam yang pekat
aku tak sendiri, ada sepi yang mememani
aku mengisahkan padanya
perihal perih tapi tidak sakit,
tentang rindu yang tak berujung temu
aku ingin memberitahunya
aku senang jika ia mendengarkan cerita- ceritaku
aku akan menunggu
biar waktu yang akan membawamu
disini aku memelukmu
dengan mantra sakti yang aku miliki

Banyak hari telah kita lewati bersama
Aku mengamatimu cukup dalam, entah dengan kamu
Dari mulai caramu membuka mata setelah bangun dari tidur,
Caramu memperhatikanku ketika sedang berbicara,
Caramu tertawa ketika aku mengatakan sesuatu konyol,
Dan hal-hal lain yang kuanggap obat dari segala masalahku.
Aku tahu, kita dekat bukan dalam hal lumrah dalam sepasang manusia yang saling memiliki rasa cinta.
Aku hanya mengagumi.
Menjadi pengagummu adalah pilihanku.
Mencintaimu dim-diam hanya sebatas itu kuasaku.
Tak meminta apa-apa darimu
Bahkan ketika rindu meminta temu.
Maaf jika aku menjadi pengagummu
yang mungkin membuatmu merasa bersalah akan hal itu,
Tapi tak apa.
Asalkan kau baik-baik saja, akupun begitu
Terimakasih pada waktu yang telah memberikan kenangan cukup indah tentan aku yang bersamamu kala itu.

Help me stop consuming
that which won't fill the need
the binging and short-form content
Temu, sugar, greed
i can't wait for forgiveness
the kind one gives themselves
For consumption to be sunshine, partners, languages--
Literature, walks and
making things-- as a behavior
I want my voice and life back
to feel beautiful and strange
Not absent, hungry, listless
The way these days have been...

drugi zór sie ma w gębie - prosty chłopie -
              a nie: w gwle!
   a ten pierw: w glebie...
          czeka czeka... gdzie ja?
         smród mi od: sau-sau-dzes -
       tymian?              
                   ni wim... albo:           bins!
              widze sikha! to chyba
anglia! ale tylko chyba?
        nie... naprawde: napewno!
oi ty! polaczek polaczek...
      patrz! na wygnaniu: ja!
bym osmrodził swy bogaty
                          naród układem, tym:
            leze... no to leze: i niet winikati!
od roku 1945, i jan pawlik drugi...
tu ani koran... ani ta jebana "ewangelia"
tzn. kłamstwo! pierdolony
da nogi nawet, by skubać tego hebrajskiego
huja!
                masaz? masaz? pyrhh!
                                              huja tobie!
i temu i tej golgocie, czyli... miejsce kości...
tzn. tym kościołom! jak marcin luter!
    ogłaszam bankructwo tym instytucją;
      ale tak naprawde?     jednym słowem?
                                 spier.... dalaj:
         sam se wsadź swój,        w swą dupe!
tanz! tanz! tanz dann...
                        dann tanz!
                                 lassen uns
                                       auferstehe die tot.

nie potrzebuje jakiegoś głupiego
IRLANDZYKA by mówił sortia:
mowa i ten kelt niby Słowan -
o tu ochota
                    raczejbońka:
kaliber od chyba: więcej
wina; czy z Polakiem czy bez -
mam serdeczie dość - tyle jest wieków
znad prostym kiwaniem
                 o chęć - i o ile mniej niż
to co znaczy Izrael: tak samo
serdecznie krew Paltestyny: z wersją
Kroata: o o pomocy i temu oczekiwaniu
            zwane: ledwie.
                     idiotic Irishman:
there plenty more Guinness where
your dumbfounded look came from:
culturally inadequate to recognise being rude,
and readied for extermination like vermin.
                              aversions to the golden mean?
well... that's what built Dublin;
                                          ******* paddies;
******* potato patties.
   how english could you ever become...
you can, quiet easily, simply hating
the Leprechauns Clover Saints:
they're born to be hated.

apa khabar?
kembali ke kotamu, apakah kau bahagia?
apa kau temu, sesat yang dahulu?
habiskah meneroka? mencari yang kau bilang ingin di cari
--?

dan,
dunia takkan pernah habis..
indah - indahnya awan hari ini akan menenggelamkan
sunyi sepi mu semalam tadi

dan
aku harap kan kau temu bahagia
apa kau cari, akan kau berhenti mengejar
kerana dunia takkan pernah habis
kau bakal lelah.

seperti kita, mencari alasan
bila - bila kita tidak setuju
tapi lupakah kau
kita sudah tertulis dan..
semoga kita setuju kelak

dan dalam menuju ke saat itu,
akan aku sering doakan mu

256pm // 2/7/20

Sikorki tchnienie w locie musnęło ziemię,
Kresy, wrzosy, suche liście też na wietrze.
Na sykomorze dalekiej Arabii ustała,
skulonego u jej korzeni tego, co sonety
o Aleppo układał, wysłuchała,
i przeto myślami po raz pierwszy
swe osmolone smogiem skrzydełka przetarła:

"Ku czemu się wykluwałam? Ku czemu latałam?
Swym trelem, uwagi skinieniem, czego mam być wyrażeniem?"
Nagle poczuła w każdej małej kości:
"Odpowiedź jest jedna: Miłości"

Że ma ona twarz wszystkiego, niczego, spojrzenia naszego:
Dwóch samców złączonych łabędzia czarnego,
Smutku dla szczęścia innego znoszonego,
Sekretu czule z łzami deszczowi wyznanego
I drzewa z grzyba korzeniem splątanego.

Że ku temu radość innym daje, że tego jest formą,
Wszystkich uczuć, chwil i wrażeń zmową.

"Dziękuję", na tą myśl światu odpowiedziała,
z wdzięczności dla poety z dołu
korę drzewa pocałowała,
i z nową tęsknotą, ku niebu Syrii,
odleciała.

.before i am done with this escapade, i will try to stick travis' - walking down the hill on repeat for a while... to settle for the mantra... something that needs a repetition in the background, before the final collage... and before... what settles as dust from burnt old father oak and my body too... or perhaps... the inter-connectivity that's shared between ethnic minorities: the kashubians, the sorbians, the navajo, the dene suline, the inupiaq, zuni hopa and the dogrib... the Łacinka & Łatynka (belarusian and ukranian) respectively... Łacina: Latin... as it is known on the vicinity of the old capital of Cracow... simply from a shared letter... no more a hello than a plain disregard for twitter poetics... or instagram: captions... sometimes you just want a chicken drum-stick of words... and the bone and the cartilege and the heads filled with marrow... which is more... than some toothpick escapade... well... Winchester is so old for anyone to remember... and London is so nuanced that even Warsaw makes the count... but Cracow sits... humbled... when snow falls... there's the actual snow... and there's the mistaken snow of the ash from auschwitz.

once - when i was much younger - and my voice
was but a crude and feeble whimper -
nothing that could compare itself to a butterfly
in haiku - i would be found trying to forcibly imitate
anything immediately read -
what a naive misadventure upon every turn...
every poem became: as if an act borrowed from
Macbeth - quiet simply - a young man's jealousy...

i can only now gratify myself and the audience that...
i have matured beyond that hot-headedness... former...
now? i rather simply translate the work -
as i am sure that something will be lost -
however good the translation might be...
or the original text...
here's my first attempt...

zbigniew herbert - kaligula (1st attempt
and the last ettempt)

/
          while reading old chronicles, poems and biographies
Mr Cogito sometimes experiences feelings
of a physical presence of the people long ago dead

Caligula (is speaking / speaks):

from among all the citizens of Rome
i loved only one
Incitatus - a horse

when he walked into the senate
the unblemished toga of his fur
shone immaculately among that of
the cowardly murderers' sitched with purple

Incitatus was full of advantages
he never spoke
a stoic's nature
i think that at night in the stables he read
philosophers

i loved his so much that one day i decided
to crucify him
but his noble anatomy objected to this

he accepted the dignity of consul indifferently
he held authority the best
in that he didn't hold any authority

attempts to persuade him to have permanent
****** relations with my dear wife Caesonia failed
therefore a line of caesars - centaurs
was never created

which is why Rome fell

i decided to appoint him as a god
yet on the ninth day prior to the days of February
(chaerea) cornelius sabinus and other fools
obstructed the intentions of this godly work...

he accepted the news of my death peacefully

he was thrown out of the palace
and sentenced to exile

he endured this blow with dignity

he died without any hiers
slaughtered by a thick-skinned butcher from the vicinity
of Anzio

Taticus is silent
about the posthumous fate of his meat
                                                                ­               /

perhaps looking at the original -
would help... oh more surely...
but prior to the original...
i can see that certain peoples of asia...
who have a culinary superiority complex...
who hide behind a spice grenade...
have an aversion to cabbage...
and it's like that irish love potatoes
and the slavic people love cabbage joke...
don't mind me morphed into a pawn...
the persians abhored and still abhor spicy
food from bengali bush monkey regions
of the raj...
persians have a palette for sour foods...
can you imagine eating a hot-dog...
without choked onions, chillies...
sauerkraut and some sweet gherkins...
mustard and ketchup?
i can't... then again: a cow is more than just
milk... mother goat...
but there comes a time when you can...
appreciate the culinary superiority of the blue indians...
then a minute later call it: a kitchen of black cardamom
stink!
believe me... black cardamom stinks...

but a problem with sauerkraut is a problem
with persian tastes...
sour... sooner rather than later i'll see...
sauerkraut added as the german delight...
in an ottoman kebab wrap...
the sourness could cut through the fatty mustang
of the lamb... somehow...
because the pickled chillies are not enough...
and the raw spanish onions do very little...
the blue indians throw "beef" around
an appreciation of sauerkraut... i just give them
the one-liner: black cardamom and...
the ultimate dye... turmeric...
it will stain, anything... plastic, metal,
ceramics: oddly enough no... and glass...
spice barons, eh?  

the original... but it's not exactly the original...
since... i do borrow from"elsewhere":
sound distinction that exfoliate in the meaning...

after all... i did graffiti the original with
some cyrilic...
sz = š = ш = (sh)ape ≠ ś = sie- prefix: if śιe
cz = č = ч = (ch)urn ≠ ć = cie- prefix: if ćιe
ż (= rz) = ž = ж ≠ ź
(also noted in french: via je suis...
   oddly enough... it sounds like жe swée...
but looks like: je suis ce et cette)...
ń ≈ ñ
ch = x
nonetheless...
or more importantly...
c = ц ≠ c = s = ç...
an no... there's no translation
of a cedilla A(ą) nor a cedilla E(ę)...
a bit easier when it comes to...
ł = w
            but... w = v...
so ł(h)en... the surd hatch...
eyes closed: mouth agape!
no "v" given how the greek upsilon (υ)
was sharpened into (ν):
i always thought: cute acute ó = ω: tool...
while omicron was more grave (ò)...
and up! upsilon! the u was first acute
before it became the ω in the german
umlaut (ü)...

otherwise: there's mOre to what's
later a mOvie... the elongation of:
tool... the distinction: thus pronounced...
wants to be recognißed -
the s to z to s to z interchange within
the ß: es'zett... yes... the apostrophe is "somehow"
necessary...

if the hebrews have their vowels in niqabs...
we can have our...
exfoliation of consonants and vowels...
fully exposed... nonetheless included!
with: details of the frontier!
and in them: i mark my finger in the sand
and skull among the cavern,
the rocks the... ghostly whispers that
shadows should profoundly speak...
but never do...
my shadow my ghost...
my first avenue turned should i be thinking
about a Hiroshima selfie... shadow glued
to the ******* wall... move it: chess-***...
bullet to the head...
and then two weeks... trying to die...
in a prison cell...
with one nightmare overtaking the previous
nightmare... in how...
your brain will never be:
the eyes-connected to the sponge:
mr. chikatilo...
the sponge: sorry... nothing but shrapnel...
perhaps some eyes...
but your eyes are consistently closed...
let's not mind them...

and what's because, what?
finnegans' wake: no diacritical markers...
because, what? low on ink?
if low on ink... can't help you...
but if not enough paper?
¶ (pilcrow) all the paragraphs! sardine words
onto the page!

the god awful truth was that i smoked
marijuana in england...
and... the ******* is free! upon the pretence
that you don't own a brothel...
elsewhere: namely Amsterdam...
while in Amsterdam i had a thought:
what about ******* a siamese twin
in some vacant... Tehran nightmare come true?
gang-bangers are treated better than i...
in terms of "treatment":
the best they ever gave me...
was to be left: to my own devices...
when i should have been learning german...
they sent me to the window-licker class
of c.v. writers anonymous...
because: m'ah hanging-leash of in and leash
was a bad, spotty E... with a tail!
devil's spawn... or something that would
always come from the warsaw pact...
or... coming from one: under the iron curtain...
would show... and cover the current brood...
with a change of element...
from under the iron curtain...
then unto: under the silicon curtain..

i'm sure the people have chosen their chess
pieces prior to this: *******-ramming
of the anger itching from the cranium
of a castrated bull...

mash up... no interludes...
let's keep it staccato... and... fits the purpose of...
how best lodged into form...

                   because the iota and the j are...
let's face it... forced diacritical cage-masters...
i graffitied the original...
because... it became obsolate to simply
translate and become overtly pedantic
as to why: ****** grammar was not going
to fit anglo-slav grammar...
never mind the anglo-ßaß grammar: "native"...

/ чytając stare kroniki, poematy i жywoty Pan Cogito
doświadчa czasem učucia fizyчnej obeцności
osób dawno zmarłych (tampering with a lox ness)

mówi Kaligula

spośród wszystkich obywateli Rzymu
kochałem tylko jednego
Inцitatusa - konia

kiedy wшedł do senatu
nieskazitelna toga jego sierści
l'śniła niepokalanie wśród obшytyx purpurą
tchórzliwych morderцów

Inцitatus był pełen zalet
nie przemawiał nigdy
natura stoiцka
myśłe ze noцą w stajni čytał filozofów

kochałem go tak bardzo жe pewnego dnia
postanowiłem go ukrzyzować
ale sprzeciwiała się temu jego szla(ch)etna anatomia

obojetnie p(rz)yjął godność konsula
wła(dz)e sprawował najlepiej
to znaczy nie sprawował jej w'cale

nie udało sie nakłonić go to trwałych związków miłosnych
z drogą жoną moją Caesonią
więц nie powstała niestety linia cesa(rz)y - centaurów

dłatego Rzym runął

postanoviwem mianować go bogiem
lecz (dz)iewiątego dnia p(rz)ed kalendami lutowymi
(Ch)erea Korneliusz Sabinus i inni gwupcy p(rz)eшko(dz)ili
tym zboжnym zamiarom

spokojnie przyjął wiadomość o mojej śmierci

wyrzucono go z pałacu i skazano na wygnanie

zniósł ten cios z godnością

umarł bezpotomnie
zaшla(ch)towany przez gruboskórnego rzeźnika
z miejscowości Ancjum жшчčšц

o pośmiertnych losach jego mięsa
milчy Taцyt       /

no... no Helmut will help you with: dość! enough!
some casanova Nikita might - with:
szczypta: pinch - via... ш + ч = щ: vague - i know...

ah! the calendar's days of february...

already i see that this poem is "unspectacular" -
everything what was supposed to be lost
in translation is, lost -
the jealousy fizzles out and it's plain
as a shadow at noon on a sunny day
that it was never inteded to be there - to begin
with...

perhaps it's not the direct translation -
but how certain words just: sound more appealing -
and add toward the grandiosity...

i don't see how a poem can be translated
without something being lost...
after all: i want to lose: rather retain something
in / from a poem...
i want language to... freely...
"inter-racialiße" itself:
modus operandi - the lingua franca...
the l'ingelese of the modern chapter...
as the greeks would point out:
if the english tourists will not speak our tongue...
if the english tourists will not speak our tongue...
then we will speak their tongue...
and speak it was belgian speak it...
which is, better, than these nativistic half-breeds
of: 3/4 empire pride riddled...
1/4 rotherham bewildered...
we will not out-breed them...
we will: simply talk over them...
and their accents...
which we will learn and thereby:
insinuate over: via diacritical markers
and exceptional surd status reminders
of the raj: H...

i will claim that poetry is where i "paint"...
**** it. collage...
rude importune and most obscene...
a thesaurus cascade of synonyms!
impromptu one off...
it's not a hosonnah in the highest...
but a sitar in the bellowing detphs of the ebb...
it's a growling escapade...
something that ****** a yeti from
the carpathian mountains...
something that would require otherwise
to give it shackles, chains and a non-existent
lunatic asylum!

why dooes picking up... an alive cat...
make you succumb to an affair less...
bothersome... when you are indeed picking up /
handling a dead cat?
don't know...
a quasi-symbiotic affair between
matter and anti-matter?
borrowed terms.... outside of physics's disneyland
pretty irrelevant...
a corpse of a dead cat is always more
heavy than... the animated corpus of
a cat still outside the schrödinger
brackets:    cat[                            ];
what'­s death then? a colon, a semi-colon;
a hyphen or an apostrophe?
notably? an apostrophe without having
to be inclined to be used in a:
possessive article 's "scandal"?

i will escape with this language: i learned,
i acquired... i will leave the natives with
nothing but leather for skin:
that i will mark as an armchair...
i will entertain no more than
a genghis khan would have...
when the tanks started rolling...
and the luftwaffe was extinguished...
because... an invasion of an island...
no tanks, no bullets, no bombs...
diacritical markers... instead...

these letters are still: ROME!
came late to the party... had the vaguest notion
of coming late: but also becoming
the d.j.!

old mother: Cyrylica...
will and always helped...
the "natives"...
understand the reins and you can surely
translate... all the old paintings
with: we rode bulls into battle...
we didn't ride horses...
what does an army that that rides bulls
have as compensation compared
to an army that rides horses into battle?
well... a lance with a sharp point is...
replaced with the horns...
and a vector signature of red tied
to the end of a stick...
the horns replace the lance... the end...

somehow: and as the polytheistic gods
came as surprise material in:
goat-******* and bull-******* and swan-fiddling...
the monotheistic god came as...
the lowest of men...
because:
     Δ and... ∇: when nabla met delta:
the son of david was born:
which was called by surname: astar...
david astar...
       the phenomenon of...
when the father would become jealous
of the son: solomon...
or... rather... the son would never look up
toward the archetype of father...
because the father has his psalms...
while the son had the harem sonnets
of... sparrow-hoarding ****** of the onomatopoeia...

teach? teach? i am this close to...
correcting what has already been written...
however impossible...
claustrophobia and james joyce esque...

why not ж = rz...
and... ž = ż...                  half a caron: źrenica:
pupilla...
a back catalogue of a bilingual bank of vocab
is: the reason i "solve" and "crosswords"
on a blank canvas... like so...

and how do you think i learned a little bit
of greek: if... ovερλaππινγ?

remaining examples where: ц wasn't used...
well... the diacritical marker hovering above iota
like a halo: should it be used?
in a ciasto (dough) example...
well... debate: ćιasto... or ciasto?
in the confines of ciasto: the "c" is not a ц...
because of the proximity of the iota
as "suffix"... but not as a "prefix"...

    цerkiev... цytat... цытaт: citation...
sigh: tate modern is 20 years old...
but 20 years old will not be...
commemorated with the glass ceiling and:
Olafur Eliasson's 'the weather project' -
which is a great shame -
but who am i to judge?
let it be 'maman' by louise bourgeoise...

the same goes with the acute s...
even... imploring: prosić -
  otherwise... imploring: prośιć...

                   siano vs. śιano: hay
                   śnieg... snow...

i've been advocating the necessary guillotιne
for the iota... and the ȷazzy shιt ιn between...

and so much of my life could be deemed
simple... but how i can complicate it with a scrutiny
of language...
the best escape plan i can find -
and this is language: outside the realm of
academic rubrics - that it might borrow from
an international phonetic alphabet
of the linguistic dept. it will not...

it will consolidate two languages: dig two trenches...
and then borrow a third language or a fourth
to dig a tunnel or two between the two trenches...

well that's that for sharpening an arrow
and shoving it up cupid's ***...
to make him walk back smothered by knuckles
and recount to his parents:
Eros and Aphrodite... some of us would much
prefer uninterrupted work /
sifting through archaic words...
and leaving: the currency of vogue be:
something that only attracts:
panic is worse than fascism...
panic disorientates large crowds...
which... fascism is... unlikely to do...
so says the universal mantra of cheese grating:
smiles.

O da, bila sam bas debelo dete u jednom periodu detinjstva. Moji bas nisu bili takticni, umesto prvo da me posalju u zagorje a posle na more da se malo istrosim plivanjem, oni bi me prvo vodili na more a onda davali babi.A tamo u zagorju u jednom selu blizu varazdinskih toplica sve domace. Vrhnje sa sirom, mlad kackavalj baba pravila od komsijskog kravljeg mleka koje sam inace pila svakog dana i to tek pomuzenog sa temperaturom krave. Domaca jaja, domaci hleb, slaninice, kobasice, razne pite i slatke i slane pecene u sporetu na drva. Iz baste paradajza, krastavca i paprika. A davali su mi i da popijem po malo vina domaceg koje je babin brat pravio i koje je stajalo u nekoliko bacvi u podrumu kuce, a koje su me cesto slali onako da povucem na crevo pa pretocim u flasu. Verujem da je mami bio sok kada bi me videla nakon mesec dana u promenjenom obliku, zapravo bila je besna na svekrvu poprilicno. Kod kuce bih uglavnom doruckovala ili vecerala sama za stolom, i to je bila prilika za mastu, a mastala sam da imam sestru ili brata. Napravila bih sendvic za sebe a i sendvic za imaginarno drustvo, naravno oba sendvica bi zavrsila u meni. S kim ti sada jedes? Rekli mi a da nisam ni pitala nego doslo samo po sebi na temu BG Kaze: "imamo dve sestre koje stalno dolaze ali ne pricaju".

*mh sep 2017

Pecah sudah kebisuan malam oleh cahaya rembulan. Namun, 
Tak satupun yang mampu pecahkan kebekuan si gadis
Tatapannya sadis dan sinis, tapi 
Tetap terlihat manis 
Ya malam itu, saat pertama
Mata kami saling temu

kamu menjauh.
itu bukan salahku
aku tak lagi rindu
aneh.. tapi nyaman.
dingin, sunyi tapi aku suka.
ketidakpastianmu aku tak rasa lagi
aku sudah aman pastinya..
tapi, ada beberapa pertanyaanku tak kau jawab
.
.
sudah kau jumpa tempat nyamanmu?
apakah sama empuk bahu itu?
apa kau menangis lepas seperti dulu?
apa kau jumpa rumahmu?
ketawamu sudah girang?
bagaimana hatimu?
baikkah orang-orang disana?
indahkah permandangan tempat barumu?
apa kau tak lagi sedar?
.
.
tempat nyamanmu bukanlah rumah, tapi orang yg memberi kau rasa cinta.
empuk bahu itu bukan tentang siapa, tapi nyaman yg kau rasa.
menangis lepas itu bukan tentang malu, tapi jujurkah kau pada dirimu sendiri?
apa kau tak lagi sedar?
.
.
.
takkan kau temu kan apa yang kau cari selagi kau tak berbaik pada semesta
.
berbaik hatilah

napisacu jos koju rec na tu temu kasnije


mh