Poem
Goenawan Mohamad
ABOUT THAT MAN KILLED SOMETIME AROUND ELECTION DAY
“God, give me Your vote.”The silence was the silence that follows a dog’s howl when the night watchman stumbled into the corpse by the dike. Face down, as if seeking the fragrance and warmth of paddy. But the fetid smell and the cold of the man’s cheeks were contorted by the moonlight. Then came the others—flashlights, torches and fireflies—but no one recognized him. He’s not one of us, the watchman said.
“God, give me Your vote.”
Beneath the kerosene lantern in the village chief’s office they found the gaping wounds. Bustling shadows; leftover whispers on the veranda. The man had no identity card. No name. No party affiliation. No emblem. He had no one to cry for him because we couldn’t. Whatever could his religion be?
“Great Mapmaker, where is my homeland?”
The day after the next they read about it in the city paper, on the front page. Someone cried without knowing why. Someone did not cry and did not know why. A worn out child fashioned a hat from the morning paper that was later blown away by the wind. Look up! To those kites in the air, in pairs, leaning on the breeze. Later the twilight birds perched on the wires as the cranes sailed towards day’s end, crossing the wasteland and those long streaks of color, like fading smoke.
“God, give me Your vote.”
© Translation: 2004, Laksmi Pamuntjak
From: Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems
Publisher: KataKita, Jakarta, 2004
From: Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems
Publisher: KataKita, Jakarta, 2004
Tentang Seorang yang Terbunuh di Sekitar Hari Pemilihan Umum
Tentang Seorang yang Terbunuh di Sekitar Hari Pemilihan Umum
“Tuhan, berikanlah suara-Mu, kepadaku.”Seperti jadi senyap salak anjing ketika ronda menemukan mayatnya di tepi pematang. Telungkup. Seperti mencari harum dan hangat padi. Tapi bau asing itu dan dingin pipinya jadi aneh, di bawah bulan. Dan kemudian mereka pun berdatangan—senter, suluh, dan kunang-kunang—tapi tak seorang pun mengenalinya. Ia bukan orang sini, hansip itu berkata.
“Berikan suara-Mu.”
Di bawah petromaks kelurahan mereka menemukan liang luka yang lebih. Bayang-bayang bergoyang sibuk dan beranda meninggalkan bisik. Orang ini tak berkartu. Ia tak bernama. Ia tak berpartai. Ia tak bertanda gambar. Ia tak ada yang menangisi, karena kita tak bisa menangisi. Apa gerangan agamanya?
“Juru Peta yang Agung, di manakah tanah airku?”
Lusa kemudian mereka membacanya di koran kota, di halaman pertama. Ada seorang yang menangis entah mengapa. Ada seorang yang tak menangis entah mengapa. Ada seorang anak yang letih dan membikin topi dari koran pagi itu, yang diterbangkan angin kemudian. Lihatlah. Dia udara berpasang layang-layang, semua bertopang pada cuaca. Lalu burung-burung sore hinggap di kawat-kawat, sementara bangau-bangau menuju ujung senja, melintasi lapangan yang gundul dan warna yang panjang, seperti asap yang sirna.
“Tuhan, berikanlah suara-Mu, kepadaku.”
© 1971, Goenawan Mohamad
From: Interlude
Publisher: Yayasan Indonesia, Jakarta
From: Interlude
Publisher: Yayasan Indonesia, Jakarta
Poems
Poems of Goenawan Mohamad
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ABOUT THAT MAN KILLED SOMETIME AROUND ELECTION DAY
“God, give me Your vote.”The silence was the silence that follows a dog’s howl when the night watchman stumbled into the corpse by the dike. Face down, as if seeking the fragrance and warmth of paddy. But the fetid smell and the cold of the man’s cheeks were contorted by the moonlight. Then came the others—flashlights, torches and fireflies—but no one recognized him. He’s not one of us, the watchman said.
“God, give me Your vote.”
Beneath the kerosene lantern in the village chief’s office they found the gaping wounds. Bustling shadows; leftover whispers on the veranda. The man had no identity card. No name. No party affiliation. No emblem. He had no one to cry for him because we couldn’t. Whatever could his religion be?
“Great Mapmaker, where is my homeland?”
The day after the next they read about it in the city paper, on the front page. Someone cried without knowing why. Someone did not cry and did not know why. A worn out child fashioned a hat from the morning paper that was later blown away by the wind. Look up! To those kites in the air, in pairs, leaning on the breeze. Later the twilight birds perched on the wires as the cranes sailed towards day’s end, crossing the wasteland and those long streaks of color, like fading smoke.
“God, give me Your vote.”
© 2004, Laksmi Pamuntjak
From: Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems
Publisher: 2004, KataKita, Jakarta
From: Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems
Publisher: 2004, KataKita, Jakarta
ABOUT THAT MAN KILLED SOMETIME AROUND ELECTION DAY
“God, give me Your vote.”The silence was the silence that follows a dog’s howl when the night watchman stumbled into the corpse by the dike. Face down, as if seeking the fragrance and warmth of paddy. But the fetid smell and the cold of the man’s cheeks were contorted by the moonlight. Then came the others—flashlights, torches and fireflies—but no one recognized him. He’s not one of us, the watchman said.
“God, give me Your vote.”
Beneath the kerosene lantern in the village chief’s office they found the gaping wounds. Bustling shadows; leftover whispers on the veranda. The man had no identity card. No name. No party affiliation. No emblem. He had no one to cry for him because we couldn’t. Whatever could his religion be?
“Great Mapmaker, where is my homeland?”
The day after the next they read about it in the city paper, on the front page. Someone cried without knowing why. Someone did not cry and did not know why. A worn out child fashioned a hat from the morning paper that was later blown away by the wind. Look up! To those kites in the air, in pairs, leaning on the breeze. Later the twilight birds perched on the wires as the cranes sailed towards day’s end, crossing the wasteland and those long streaks of color, like fading smoke.
“God, give me Your vote.”
© 2004, Laksmi Pamuntjak
From: Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems
Publisher: 2004, KataKita, Jakarta
From: Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems
Publisher: 2004, KataKita, Jakarta
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