Chrysogonus' Translation #32 - from Kevin Brophy's "Conversation City"

Kota Perbincangan

Kita menyantap tahu Jepang dan berbincang tentang pizza Roma

Kita sepakat bahwa puisi dapat membawamu ke istana atau penjara

Kita mengenakan baju hitam, sang hari berpakaian kelabu, dan di sana

musik dari tahun 1970-an dimainkan, abad yang lain, kata kita.

Ia berbicara tentang ibunya yang perlahan kehilangan akal dan memori

ia berbicara akan pembicaraan mereka tentang kehilangan ini, dan sang ibu

ingin semua segera menjadi, menyeberang ke sisi lain tanpa tahu apa-apa

bagaikan malaikat melayang di udara meluncur tanpa rasa peduli

Kita menyantap pasta Italia dan berbincang tentang kembali ke India

Kita membahas makna kemerdekaan, termakna selalu lewat pribadi.

dan apakah selalu berarti hak bersenjata, dan apa yang dipikirkan hakim

saat mereka merenung dan kenapa, sebenarnya, prosa mereka tak tertembus.

Kita bagaikan kumpulan anak yatim piatu. Kita duduk semakin mendekat,

setuju bahwa waktu mengejar piutangnya. Kata kunci membingungkan kita,

dan ‘gelombang pembayaran’ terlihat bagai jalan tukang sulap. Komedian

tampak lebih lucu. Gurauan menjadi lebih mendalam dari puisi.

We are eating Japanese tofu and talking about Roman pizzas. 

We agree it’s true that poetry can take you to palaces and prisons. 

We are wearing black, the day is wearing grey, and somewhere 

music plays hits from the 1970s, that other century, we say. 

She is speaking of her mother slowly losing mind and memory,

she is speaking of talking to her about this loss, and her mother

wanting to have it done, to come out the other side unknowing 

like an angel in the gorgeous air hovering beyond all care. 

We are eating Italian pasta and talking of visiting India again. 

We discuss the meaning of liberty, and is it always personal, 

and must it mean the right to carry arms, and what do judges think

about when they think and why, precisely, is their prose impenetrable. 

It seems we are all becoming orphans now. We sit a little closer, 

agree that time is chasing up its debts. Passwords bamboozle us 

and ‘pay wave’ looks too much like a magician’s pass. Comedians,

though, are funnier than ever. Jokes are more profound than poems.