Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Joko Pinurbo

God Came Tonight

God came tonight, to a dark warehouse,
inhabited by squeaking mice and lonely chatter.
He came with the grand headline:
“I have banned fear and uncertainty.
Now you can truly celebrate
your loneliness and your aloneness.”
Listen, as God passes triumphantly across
the lost pages and unread editorials.

Night scatters restless heartbeats.
In a leafy column, a calm column,
he gathers scattered letters
and joins them into an essay on peace.
The night struggles:
“Why am I so lonely?
Why can I only find peace
in noisy voices and loud quarrels?”
“Perhaps you are too attached
to definitions whose meanings never last.”
This was the answer he sought.

Truly, he was blessed that night
in the pouring rain, as he struggled
to be free of uncertainty and doubt.
He pushed the straggling hair
back from his broad forehead.
He brushed his curling moustache
and the sideburns growing around his misery.
Outside, the wind and the rain chased each other,
forming a long convoy of gloom.
Then he took his pen, sharpened it
on his wound, and wrote:
   What am I, God?
   I am the footprints of a wanderer
      across a series of commentaries in a newspaper;
   the lingering aroma of old brassieres
   the smell of semen after making love.
   I am only a heap of worries, God.
   I am only a hundred hectares of newsprint
   after a bushfire; a discarded poem
   besieged by five battalions of advertising.


And God came tonight
to a dark warehouse, underground,
inhabited by squeaking mice
and lonely chatter.
He came with four thousand troops
armed with handcuffs and rifles.
Can you hear them, banging on the door
and shouting:
“Don’t try to stop us.
Don’t try to run away and hide.
We are lonely too.
We just want to be with you
in a leafy column, a calm column.
Let us gather our weapons
and shape them into an article on fear.
Then, if we may, we’ll confiscate all that you own,
and take it away, even if it is no more
than worthless trash
and empty pages.”

   Take their fear, Oh God,
   And lead them into the land of good news.

Tuhan Datang Malam Ini

Tuhan Datang Malam Ini

Tuhan datang malam ini
di gudang gulita yang cuma dihuni cericit tikus
dan celoteh sepi.
Ia datang dengan sebuah headline yang megah:
“Telah kubredel ketakutan dan kegemetaranmu.
Kini bisa kaurayakan kesepian dan kesendirianmu
dengan lebih meriah.”
Dengar, Tuhan melangkah lewat dengan sangat gemulai
di atas halaman-halaman hilang, rubrik-rubrik terbengkelai.

Malam menebar debar.
Di sebuah kolom yang rindang, kolom yang teduh,
ia kumpulkan huruf-huruf yang cerai-berai
dan merangkainya jadi sebuah komposisi kedamaian.
Namun masih juga ia cabar:
“Kenapa ya aku masih kesepian. Seakan tak bisa tenteram
tanpa suara-suara riuh dan kata-kata gaduh.”
“Mungkin karena kau terlampau terikat pada makna
yang berkelebat sesaat,” demikian
seperti telah ia temukan jawaban.

Begitulah, ia hikmati malam yang cerau
Dan mencoba menghalau galau dan risau.
Dibetulkannya rambut ranggas yang menjuntai
di atas dahi nan pasai. Dibelainya kumis kusut
dan cambang capai yang menjalar di selingkar sangsai.
Sementara di luar hujan dan angin berkejaran
menggelar konvoi kemurungan.
Lalu diambilnya pena, dicelupkannya pada luka
dan ditulisnya:
   Saya ini apalah Tuhan.

   Saya ini cuma jejak-jejak kaki musafir
      pada serial catatan pinggir;
   sisa aroma pada seonggok beha;
   dan bau kecut pada sisa cinta.
   Saya ini cuma cuwilan cemas kok Tuhan.
   Saya ini cuma seratus hektar halaman suratkabar
   yang habis terbakar;
   sekeping puisi yang terpental
   dilabrak batalion iklan.

Dan Tuhan datang malam ini
di gudang gelap, di bawah tanah, yang cuma dihuni
cericit tikus dan celoteh sepi.
Ia datang bersama empat ribu pasukan,
Lengkap dengan borgol dan senapan.
Dengar, mereka menggedor-gedor pintu dan berseru:
“Jangan halangi kami. Jangan lari dan sembunyi.
Kami cuma orang-orang kesepian.
Kami ingin bergabung bersama Anda
di sebuah kolom yang teduh, kolom yang rindang.
Kami akan kumpulkan senjata
dan menyusunnya jadi sebuah komposisi kebimbangan.
Sesudah itu perkenankan kami sita dan kami bawa
semua yang Anda punya, sungguhpun
cuma berkas-berkas tua
dan halaman-halaman kosong semata.”

   Tuhan, mereka sangat ketakutan.
   Antarkan mereka ke sebuah rubrik yang tenang.
Close

God Came Tonight

God came tonight, to a dark warehouse,
inhabited by squeaking mice and lonely chatter.
He came with the grand headline:
“I have banned fear and uncertainty.
Now you can truly celebrate
your loneliness and your aloneness.”
Listen, as God passes triumphantly across
the lost pages and unread editorials.

Night scatters restless heartbeats.
In a leafy column, a calm column,
he gathers scattered letters
and joins them into an essay on peace.
The night struggles:
“Why am I so lonely?
Why can I only find peace
in noisy voices and loud quarrels?”
“Perhaps you are too attached
to definitions whose meanings never last.”
This was the answer he sought.

Truly, he was blessed that night
in the pouring rain, as he struggled
to be free of uncertainty and doubt.
He pushed the straggling hair
back from his broad forehead.
He brushed his curling moustache
and the sideburns growing around his misery.
Outside, the wind and the rain chased each other,
forming a long convoy of gloom.
Then he took his pen, sharpened it
on his wound, and wrote:
   What am I, God?
   I am the footprints of a wanderer
      across a series of commentaries in a newspaper;
   the lingering aroma of old brassieres
   the smell of semen after making love.
   I am only a heap of worries, God.
   I am only a hundred hectares of newsprint
   after a bushfire; a discarded poem
   besieged by five battalions of advertising.


And God came tonight
to a dark warehouse, underground,
inhabited by squeaking mice
and lonely chatter.
He came with four thousand troops
armed with handcuffs and rifles.
Can you hear them, banging on the door
and shouting:
“Don’t try to stop us.
Don’t try to run away and hide.
We are lonely too.
We just want to be with you
in a leafy column, a calm column.
Let us gather our weapons
and shape them into an article on fear.
Then, if we may, we’ll confiscate all that you own,
and take it away, even if it is no more
than worthless trash
and empty pages.”

   Take their fear, Oh God,
   And lead them into the land of good news.

God Came Tonight

God came tonight, to a dark warehouse,
inhabited by squeaking mice and lonely chatter.
He came with the grand headline:
“I have banned fear and uncertainty.
Now you can truly celebrate
your loneliness and your aloneness.”
Listen, as God passes triumphantly across
the lost pages and unread editorials.

Night scatters restless heartbeats.
In a leafy column, a calm column,
he gathers scattered letters
and joins them into an essay on peace.
The night struggles:
“Why am I so lonely?
Why can I only find peace
in noisy voices and loud quarrels?”
“Perhaps you are too attached
to definitions whose meanings never last.”
This was the answer he sought.

Truly, he was blessed that night
in the pouring rain, as he struggled
to be free of uncertainty and doubt.
He pushed the straggling hair
back from his broad forehead.
He brushed his curling moustache
and the sideburns growing around his misery.
Outside, the wind and the rain chased each other,
forming a long convoy of gloom.
Then he took his pen, sharpened it
on his wound, and wrote:
   What am I, God?
   I am the footprints of a wanderer
      across a series of commentaries in a newspaper;
   the lingering aroma of old brassieres
   the smell of semen after making love.
   I am only a heap of worries, God.
   I am only a hundred hectares of newsprint
   after a bushfire; a discarded poem
   besieged by five battalions of advertising.


And God came tonight
to a dark warehouse, underground,
inhabited by squeaking mice
and lonely chatter.
He came with four thousand troops
armed with handcuffs and rifles.
Can you hear them, banging on the door
and shouting:
“Don’t try to stop us.
Don’t try to run away and hide.
We are lonely too.
We just want to be with you
in a leafy column, a calm column.
Let us gather our weapons
and shape them into an article on fear.
Then, if we may, we’ll confiscate all that you own,
and take it away, even if it is no more
than worthless trash
and empty pages.”

   Take their fear, Oh God,
   And lead them into the land of good news.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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