Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Afrizal Malna

little taps on the knee

i tap my knees, there is a land collapsing. listen.
this land is like a saturday night that has died.
like a river strolling across a bridge. knees are
not like cities you build in the mouths of exhaust
pipes. not the sort of happiness that rustles like a
plastic shopping bag, a place where people throw
the night away in chatter and search for a brief
embrace out of the usual loneliness. the usual
embrace. damn. like a broken dish, leaving a
black hole within. and i stand and my knees are
already gone. my knees have already left my
body. then i throw out this body without knees.
i throw it out near the window. i am alarmed.
just where am i now? outside the window or
within the window. who was thrown away? did i
throw my own body out of the window, or did
the window throw me out? how do i find my way
now apart from my body? later the cats are
partying on saturday night. they make a
country out of broken dishes. i see broken dishes
on saturday night. i see the broken pieces of
saturday night in a black hole gaining muscle. i
hear my knees suppress all of it. about a land
collapsing on your pillow. about the book of
matches in your body.

Ketukan-ketukan kecil di atas dengkul

Ketukan-ketukan kecil di atas dengkul

aku mengetuk-ngetuk dengkulku, ada tanah
yang berjatuhan. dengar. tanah itu seperti
sebuah malam minggu yang mati. seperti
sungai yang berjalan di atas jembatan. dengkul
tidak seperti kota yang kau bangun di mulut
knalpot. bukan sebuah kebahagiaan yang
berisik seperti kantok plastik, tempat orang
membuang malam dengan bercakap-cakap,
dan mencari sedikit pelukan dari kesepian yang
biasa. pelukan yang biasa. keparat. seperti piring
yang pecah dan meninggalkan lubang hitam di
dalamnya. lalu aku bangkit, dengkulku sudah tak
ada. dengkulku telah pergi dari tubuhku. tubuh
tanpa dengkul itu pun aku buang. aku buang
dekat jendela. aku terkejut. aku berada di mana
kini. di luar jendela atau di dalam jendela. siapa
yang telah dibuang? aku yang telah membuang
tubuhku ke luar jendela, atau jendela itu yang
telah membuangku? bagaimana aku menentukan
arah tanpa bersama tubuhku? lalu kucing berpesta
di malam minggu. membuat negara dari piring-piring
pecah. aku lihat piring pecah di malam minggu. aku
lihat malam minggu pecah di lubang hitam yang mulai
berotot itu. aku dengar dengkulku menyembunyikan
semuanya. tentang tanah yang berjatuhan di atas
bantal tidurmu. tentang korek api dalam tubuhmu.
Close

little taps on the knee

i tap my knees, there is a land collapsing. listen.
this land is like a saturday night that has died.
like a river strolling across a bridge. knees are
not like cities you build in the mouths of exhaust
pipes. not the sort of happiness that rustles like a
plastic shopping bag, a place where people throw
the night away in chatter and search for a brief
embrace out of the usual loneliness. the usual
embrace. damn. like a broken dish, leaving a
black hole within. and i stand and my knees are
already gone. my knees have already left my
body. then i throw out this body without knees.
i throw it out near the window. i am alarmed.
just where am i now? outside the window or
within the window. who was thrown away? did i
throw my own body out of the window, or did
the window throw me out? how do i find my way
now apart from my body? later the cats are
partying on saturday night. they make a
country out of broken dishes. i see broken dishes
on saturday night. i see the broken pieces of
saturday night in a black hole gaining muscle. i
hear my knees suppress all of it. about a land
collapsing on your pillow. about the book of
matches in your body.

little taps on the knee

i tap my knees, there is a land collapsing. listen.
this land is like a saturday night that has died.
like a river strolling across a bridge. knees are
not like cities you build in the mouths of exhaust
pipes. not the sort of happiness that rustles like a
plastic shopping bag, a place where people throw
the night away in chatter and search for a brief
embrace out of the usual loneliness. the usual
embrace. damn. like a broken dish, leaving a
black hole within. and i stand and my knees are
already gone. my knees have already left my
body. then i throw out this body without knees.
i throw it out near the window. i am alarmed.
just where am i now? outside the window or
within the window. who was thrown away? did i
throw my own body out of the window, or did
the window throw me out? how do i find my way
now apart from my body? later the cats are
partying on saturday night. they make a
country out of broken dishes. i see broken dishes
on saturday night. i see the broken pieces of
saturday night in a black hole gaining muscle. i
hear my knees suppress all of it. about a land
collapsing on your pillow. about the book of
matches in your body.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère