The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock*

S’io percaya bahwa jawaban saya adalah
Seseorang yang tidak pernah kembali ke dunia,
Tanpa api ini lebih stara shock.
Perciocche tetapi dana ini tidak pernah
Non torno vivo no, s’i’odo kebenaran,
Tanpa takut akan keburukan saya terbaik Anda.

Let kemudian kita pergi, Anda dan saya,
Ketika malam adalah menyebar terhadap langit
Seperti seorang pasien etherised atas meja;
Mari kita pergi, melalui beberapa setengah jalan-jalan sepi,
Sungut yang retreats
Gelisah dari malam-malam di salah satu hotel murah
Serbuk gergaji dan restoran dengan tiram-shell:
Mengikuti jalan-jalan yang membosankan seperti argumen
Dari maksud dan membahayakan
Untuk mengantar Anda ke salah satu pertanyaan besar …
Oh, tidak bertanya, “Apa itu?”
Mari kita pergi dan melakukan kunjungan kami.

Di dalam kamar perempuan datang dan pergi
Berbicara dari Michelangelo.

Kabut kuning yang rubs nya kembali di atas jendela-panes,
Kuning asap yang rubs its brangus pada jendela-panes
Licked dengan lidah ke dalam sudut malam,
Lingered atas kolam renang yang berdiri di habis,
Sampai jatuh kepada para ulang jelaga yang jatuh dari chimneys,
Tergelincir di teras, tiba-tiba melompat dibuat,
Dan melihat bahwa hal ini merupakan soft Oktober malam,
Kerukut sekali tentang rumah, dan jatuh tertidur.

Dan sesungguhnya akan ada waktu
Untuk kuning asap yang slide di sepanjang jalan,
Rubbing nya kembali di atas jendela-panes;
Akan ada waktu, akan ada waktu
Untuk mempersiapkan bertemu muka dengan muka yang memenuhi;
Akan ada waktu untuk membunuh dan membuat,
Dan waktu untuk semua pekerjaan dan jam tangan
Yang mengangkat dan menjatuhkan pertanyaan di piring;
Waktu untuk anda dan waktu bagi saya,
Dan waktu namun untuk seratus indecisions,
Dan untuk seratus visi dan revisi,
Sebelum mengambil dari bersulang dan teh.

Di dalam kamar perempuan datang dan pergi
Berbicara dari Michelangelo.

Dan sesungguhnya akan ada waktu
Untuk bertanya-tanya, “Apakah saya berani?”, Dan “Apakah saya berani?”
Saatnya untuk kembali dan turun di anak tangga,
Dengan bald spot di tengah rambut saya
[Mereka berkata: “Bagaimana dia juga tumbuh rambut tipis!”]
Saya pagi mantel, leher saya mounting tegas ke dagu,
Saya dasi kaya dan sederhana, namun menegaskan dengan sederhana-pin
[Mereka berkata: “Tetapi bagaimana ia lengan dan kaki yang tipis!”]
Apakah saya berani
Mengganggu alam semesta?
Sebentar lagi ada waktu
Keputusan dan untuk revisi yang sebentar lagi akan mundur.

Sebab Aku telah dikenal mereka semua sudah dikenal mereka semua: —
Telah mengenal malam, pagi hari, sore,
I have my life diukur dengan sendok kopi;
Saya tahu suara mati dengan mati jatuh
Bawah musik jauh dari kamar.
Jadi, bagaimana saya harus mengambil kesempatan?

Dan aku telah mengenal mata sudah dikenal mereka semua
Mata yang dapat memperbaiki Anda dalam merumuskan frase,
Dan ketika aku dirumuskan, tergeletak di pin,
Ketika saya pinned dan wriggling di dinding,
Lalu bagaimana saya harus mulai
Untuk mengecohkan semua berakhir butt-hari saya dan cara?
Dan bagaimana saya harus mengambil kesempatan?

Dan aku telah mengenal senjata sudah dikenal mereka semua –
Lengan yang putih dan braceleted bare
[Tetapi dalam cahaya lampu, jatuh dengan light brown hair!]
Ia adalah minyak wangi dari pakaian
Yang membuat saya jadi ngelantur?
Senjata yang terletak di meja, atau wrap tentang selendang.
Dan harus saya kemudian memberanikan diri?
Dan bagaimana yang harus saya mulai?
. . . . .
Harus saya katakan, saya telah di senja melalui jalan-jalan sempit
Dan dipantau dengan asap yang meningkat dari pipa
Laki-laki yang kesepian dalam jas, condong dari jendela? …

Saya seharusnya sudah sepasang bergerigis claws
Scuttling di seluruh lantai dari laut diam.
. . . . .
Dan sore hari, malam hari, sehingga damai tertidur!
Smoothed oleh panjang jari,
Tidur … … lelah atau malingers,
Stretched di lantai, di sini di samping Anda dan saya.
Harus saya, setelah minum teh dan kue dan es krim,
Memiliki kekuatan untuk memaksa saat krisis nya?
Tetapi walaupun saya menangis dan berpuasa, menangis dan berdoa,
Walaupun saya telah melihat kepalaku [berkembang sedikit bald] dibawa di atas piring,
Aku tidak nabi-dan di sini ada masalah besar;
Saya telah melihat saat saya kebesaran mengerlip,
Dan aku telah melihat terus kekal bujang mantel saya, dan kekek,
Dan dalam jangka pendek, saya menjadi takut.

Dan itu sudah worth it, setelah semua,
Setelah cups, yang selai jeruk, teh,
Di antara porselen, beberapa di antaranya berbicara tentang Anda dan saya,
Apakah ia telah bernilai sementara,
Agar tidak digigit hal sambil tersenyum,
Agar terjepit alam semesta menjadi bola
Roll itu menuju ke beberapa banyak pertanyaan,
Berkata: “Aku Lazarus, datang dari antara orang mati,
Kembali ke anda semua, saya akan kirim Anda semua ”
Jika satu, pengendapan oleh bantal kepalanya,
Harus berkata: “Itu bukan berarti apa yang saya sama sekali.
Itu kan, sama sekali. ”

Dan itu sudah worth it, setelah semua,
Apakah ia telah bernilai sementara,
Setelah matahari terbenam dan dooryards dan sprinkled jalan-jalan,
Setelah novel, setelah teacups, setelah skirts yang terseret di sepanjang lantai –
Dan ini, dan banyak lagi —
Adalah mustahil untuk mengatakan apa maksud saya!
Tetapi jika lentera sihir yang melemparkan urat dalam pola pada layar:
Apakah ia telah bernilai sementara
Jika satu, atau menetap di bantal pelemparan off selendang,
Dan beralih ke arah jendela, harus berkata:
“Itu kan sama sekali,
Yang tidak berarti apa, sama sekali. ”
. . . . .
Tidak! I am not Prince Dusun, maupun yang dimaksudkan menjadi;
Am an attendant tuan, salah satu yang akan melakukan
Menyembul ke sebuah kemajuan, mulai heboh atau dua,
Kepada raja, tidak diragukan lagi, alat yang mudah,
Yg menghargai, senang akan penggunaan,
Politik, bertakwa, dan rumit;
Penuh dengan kalimat yang tinggi, tetapi sedikit tumpul;
Sewaktu-waktu, memang, hampir-ridiculous
Hampir, sewaktu-waktu, maka Fool.

Lama saya tumbuh menjadi tua saya … …
Aku minum yang memakai celana yang terguling.

Harus belah rambut saya di belakang? Apakah saya berani makan peach?
Aku akan memakai celana putih halus, dan berjalan di atas pantai.
Aku telah mendengar mermaids bernyanyi, masing-masing untuk setiap.

I don’t think that they will sing to me.

Saya telah melihat mereka naik menuju ke laut pada gelombang
Penggarukan putih rambut dari gelombang ditiupkan kembali
Ketika angin blows air putih dan hitam.

Kami punya kamar lingered di laut
Laut-gadis yg dilingkari dengan rumput laut merah dan coklat
Hingga manusia suara bangunkan kami, dan kami menenggelamkan.

*ditranslasikan oleh Google

Tuti Artic (Google Translate version 1)

Between now and later happy canyon agape,

Adikku a lick ice artic delicacy;

Cintaku you this afternoon, with kuhiasi susu + coca cola

Isteriku in practice: we stop berdetik hours.

You’re smart bercium correct, there are scratches live feel

– When we are cycling kuantar you go home —

Hot blood, you really made the trek virgin,

Bangka old dream to soar the sky.

Pilihanmu pick up day after day, every time the exchange;

Tomorrow we cross, do not know know:

Heaven is only a game.

I also like you, all the quick-pass

I greet and Tuti + + Amoi … heart forlorn,

Love is a danger that so pale recipiency.

 

*see here for human translation

a disturbing, twisted work of absolute genius

consider the idea of what happens if you just go away and write.

you may not have anything to say.

a choice : to make our children safe in the world or

to make the world safe for our children.

the implications.

in the context of today’s politics of oil : we are all implicated.

in the lives of people we don’t even know.

two poems by Rafael Acevedo translated by Ricardo Alberto Maldonado.

well-dressed.

with five human bones.

poems have appeared.

or are forthcoming.

a flat surface.

starry sky.

my arm.

cut off all aid within five years.

might seem insane.

seem.

might.

Mahmoud Darwish, Kamal Nasir, Abu Salma, Ibrahim Tukan.

but there was no single poet who captured the poem that is Palestine.

fighter jets are so unreal.

I met Ferdinand de Saussure on a night like this.

on love he said I’m not so sure don’t even know what it is.

you can’t use a bulldozer to study orchids.

Yahoo address reveals neither nationality, ethnicity, race, religion, age.

not even gender.

we are moving away from a geographical [sic].

from identity politics to shifting identities and communities.

mixed feelings.

the new Vespa LX differs from the previous version in its revised front cowl that clearly

cites past models.

an unequivocal reference to a distinctive trait of a number of historical models.

we will save for another time the matter of whether the machine has a soul or not.

you will not rest until you have conquered the subtleties of down-shifting.

still too hot for California, but the rest can once again bask in the presence of its

monocoque steel frame and clean vintage lines.

I was seeking a soul resembling mine, and I could not find it.

in the age of the simulacrum genius theory is simply passé.

do you remember when we were kids ?

her name is cassandra.

bulu babi di selangkanganmu

blue water like cheap mints.

sun = a hot wok.

soft hair on your thighs.

a hand running over them.

hot hot hot out here.

the heat heat heat on your ipod.

the peace and quiet you’re looking for is down there.

under the water

rippling

= a giant earth-sized

rippled

potato chip.

stick your head in.

you’ll even stop thinking about me.

see the life dead corals make.

the flowers of.

the bare trees of.

the pussy folds of.

the arrows of fish

stopping darting back towards you then

away

= pasopati before kresna gave arjuna his bhagavadgita lesson.

the chapter you always skip over.

stop thinking.

nothing gets done when you’re too busy thinking.

put on your floats.

the orange is so people can see you.

so they don’t forget.

there are other people in this world.

the goggles are for seeing things clearer than you normally can.

the snorkel is so you can breathe when you normally can’t.

everything’s here so you can be here now.

Pejah gesang nderek sinuhun

At the grounds of the old palace

bare-footed by order of the guards

old and wrinkled like the trunks of sawo trees.

Cold black sand

imported two hundred years ago from 60 miles west

the old burnt palace

better luck next time.

His heels pressed hard on the sand.

The sand refused to give in.

A dark pendopo

No Visitor Past This Point

out of respect

for the watermarked angels and goddesses.

An old woman

cleavage brown as chestnut

a brazier of glowing charcoal raised in her right hand

The most normal thing to do in the world.

Bali.

Early morning.

Kuta.

Pretty shop attendants in kebaya

sexier with the thin

brief obi on their waist

An afterthought.

A sacrifice to the gods

holy water on tips of bamboo brushes

A sembah with eyes closed

He would believe in anything.

This is all just so much prettier.

I want to start my day everyday like this.

She

me

those pretty Balinese girls

this stupid kraton

that megalopolitan I wanted so much to call home

everything

is so random

everything is related

nothing is true.

let’s judge a book by its cover

marat

David=Saut’s Death=Apotheosis of Marat=Saut

By 1793=2009, the violence of the [boemipoetra] Revolution dramatically increased until the beheadings at the Place de la Concorde=Salihara became a constant, leading a certain Dr. Joseph Guillotine=Saut Situmorang [Saut henceforth] to invent a machine that would improve the efficiency of the ax and block=Saut and therefore make executions more humane. David=Saut was right=left in the thick of it. Early in the [boemipoetra] Revolution he had joined the Jacobins, a political club that would in time become the most rabid of the various rebel factions=boemipoetra. Led by the ill-fated Georges Danton and the infamous Maximilien Robespierre=Wowok Hesti Prabowo, the Jacobins (including David=Saut) would eventually vote to execute Louis XVI=Goenawan Mohamad and his Queen Marie Antionette=Laksmi Pamuntjak (among others) who were caught attempting to escape across the border to the Austrian Empire=Israel.

At the height of the Reign of Terror [ROT]=Reign of TUK [still ROT !] in 1793=2009, David=Saut painted a memorial to his great friend, the murdered publisher=whoever is really behind [sic]=Saut !, Jean Marat=Saut. As in his Death of Socrates, David=Saut substitutes the iconography (symbolic forms) of Christian art for more contemporary issues=politik sastra. The Death=Apotheosis of Marat=Saut, 1793=2009 an idealized image of David’s slain friend is shown holding his murderess’s (Charlotte Corday) letter of introduction. The bloodied knife lays on the floor having opened a fatal gash that functions, as does Marat’s very composition, as a reference to the entombment of Christ and a sort of secularized stigmata (reference to the wounds Christ is said to have received in his hands, feet and side while on the cross). Is David=Saut attempting now to find revolutionary martyrs=or just one of them, Saut, to replace the saints of Catholicism (which had been outlawed=banned from various mailing lists)?

By 1794 = 2010 (wuuhuu !) the Reign of Terror=ROT=Reign of TUK had run its course. The Jacobins=boemipoetra had begun to execute not only captured aristocrats=Sitok Srengenge, Nirwan Dewanto, Hasif Amini, Arief Bagus Prasetyo but fellow revolutionaries as well. Eventually, Robespierre himself would die and the remaining Jacobins were likewise executed or imprisoned. David escaped death by renouncing his activities and was locked in a cell in the former palace, the Louvre=TUK (new one Salihara=Palace de Versailles, until his eventual release by France ‘s brilliant new ruler, Napoleon Bonaparte=??? This diminutive Corsican had been the youngest General in the French army and during the Revolution had become a national hero by waging a seemingly endless string of victorious military=online campaigns against the Austrians=Tukulists in Belgium and Italy and facebook. Eventually, Napoleon would control most of Europe, would crown himself Emperor, and would release David=Saut in recognition that the artist’s talent could serve the ruler’s purposes.

modded from http://smarthistory.org/david-death-of-marat.html

La Mort=Apothéose de Marat=Saut

The Death of Marat (French: La Mort=Apotheose de Marat=Saut ) is a 1793=2009 painting=book in the Neoclassic=intertextual/allusive/gung-ho style by Jacques-Louis David=Saut and is one of the most famous images=treatises () of the French=boemipoetra Revolution. It is referring to the assassination of Jean-Paul Marat, killed on the 13th of July 1793 by Charlotte Corday.

ConText
Jean-Paul Marat=Saut (May 24, 1743 – July 13, 1793), was a Swiss=Tebing Tinggi-born French=Batak/Indonesian/Kiwi/Jogja physician, philosopher, political theorist and scientist=poet/essayist/shit-stirrer best known as a radical journalist and politician=online activist and literary dilletante-basher from the French=boemipoetra/facebook Revolution.

Marat often sought the comfort of a cold bath=Bir Bintang no Heineken ever ! to ease violent itchings due to a skin disease long said to have been contracted years earlier, when he was forced to hide from his enemies in the Paris sewers. More recent examination of Marat’s symptoms has led to the assertion that his skin eruptions came from coeliac disease, an allergy to gluten=Hudan Hidayat, found most commonly in wheat=reasonable people. Marat was in the process of taking one of these comforting baths when he was murdered by Charlotte Corday.

David=Saut was a close friend of Marat=Saut, as well as a strong supporter of Robespierre=Wowok Hesti Prabowo and the Jacobins=boemipoetra. He was overwhelmed by their natural capacity for convincing crowds with their speeches, something he hadn’t yet easily achieved through painting (not to mention his difficulty to speak, due to a facial tumor). Determined to memorialize his friend, David painted his portrait soon after his murder. He was asked to do it because of his previous painting=collected poems, The Death of Lepelletier de Saint-Fargeau=biografi. (After 1826, nobody saw this work, representing the first martyr of the facebook Revolution, a deputy murdered on January 20. The official reason for his death was for having voted for the death of King Louis XVI=Goenawan Mohamad, though he was possibly also the victim of some obscure plot implicating Spain.)

Despite the haste in which the portrait of Marat was painted (the work was completed and presented to the National Convention less than four months after Marat’s death), it is generally considered to be David’s best work, a definite step towards modernity, an inspired (and inspiring) [literary and] political statement. At the time of its creation, all contemporary sources clearly indicate that the painting=book was not to be dissociated, neither in its exhibition nor in its evaluation, from The Death of Lepelletier=biografi, the two functioning as a pair if not properly as a “diptych”. Till David’s death in 1825, it remained so, the two paintings sharing the same fate from success to oblivion. The unfortunate disappearance of The Death of Lepelletier does not allow us today to watch The Death of Marat the way David had planned it.

Literary Style: an iconographic paradox
Although the figure of Marat=Saut himself is idealized—for example, none of the skin problems from which he suffered are obvious in David’s depiction—the details surrounding the subject are considered largely true-to-life. David said that he had visited Marat the day before his assassination and remembered seeing the sheet, the green rug, the papers, and the pen, promising his peers of the Convention later on he would depict their murdered friend invocatively as “écrivant pour le bonheur du peuple” (writing for the good of the [Indonesian] people). The image of his death is designed to commemorate a personable hero: although the name Charlotte Corday can be seen on the paper held in Marat’s left hand, the assassin has been withdrawn. Close inspection shows the victim at his last breath, when Corday and many others were still around (it is established that Corday didn’t try to escape), so the artist’s intent is to record more than just the horror of martyrdom.[1] In this sense, for realistic as it is in its details, the painting, as a whole, from its start, is a methodical [de]construction focusing on the victim, a striking set up regarded today by several critics as an “awful beautiful lie”— certainly not a photograph in the forensic scientific sense and barely the simple image it may seem (for instance, in the painting, the knife is not to be seen where Corday had left it impaled in Marat’s chest, but on the ground, beside the bathtub).

First and most significantly, this painting is a portrait of the man that Charlotte Corday killed on the 13th of July. But there is more here than meets the eye. The painting as we know it has often been compared to Michelangelo[Mel Gibson]’s Pietà — note, in particular, the elongated arm hanging down in both works. David=Saut was also a known admirer of Caravaggio[Mel Gibson]’s works, especially for their composition and light, and the Entombment[Passion] of Christ (1602-1604), kept in the Vatican ‘s Pinacotheca, is another often quoted reference. The similarities may be the result of an “unconscious mental alchemy” in the brain of an artist reputed for his extended visual=literal culture, but they may be deliberate. That David sought, in art, to transfer the sacred qualities long associated with the monarchy=modernism and the Catholic=Possum Church to the new French=Indonesian Republic is indisputable — no doubt he was expected to do so by the leaders of the Terror=TUK. Consequently, he painted Marat=Saut, martyr of the facebook Revolution, in a style reminiscent of a Christian martyr, with the face and body bathed in a soft, glowing light, but as Christian Art had done it from its beginning, he also played here with multileveled references including Classical Art, this in order, not only to respond to an immediate [literary and] political event (aspect that “ate” the literature on the subject, probably due to the impact of French Revolution on occidental=orientalist imagination), but as well to compete with Rome=Jakarta as Capital and Mother City of the Arts, the French=facebook revolutionairs being thrilled with the idea of forming a kind of new Roman Republic=online community (a fact proved by so many of their [un]published speeches).

Rarely has a painting been such a paradox, for this “multifaceted” image is simultaneously a portrait, a historical painting in the highest sense (the way David himself emphasized it in the lists he later left of his own works), a realistic image, an idealized one, a burning topical act, and a scholarly intended condensation of multiple ancient models. The key of the artistic achievement being to succeed in this “meticulous mix”, this to elaborate a powerful and haunting “icon for the masses”, and at the same time, to give birth to a classical gem, what David would later often summarize this way : on the one hand, a perfect mirror of its time, on the other hand, a work that any Antique viewer could have taken as a product of his own age (an ambition that will sustain everything David and many of his pupils will henceforth undertake).

Later HiStory
Widely admired during the Terror=Reign of TUK=ROT whose leaders ordered several copies of the original work (copies made in 1793-1794 by David’s pupils to serve propaganda), The Death of Marat had begun to fall into disfavor after Robespierre’s overthrow and execution. It was returned to David in 1795, himself being prosecuted for his involvement in the Terror as a close friend of Robespierre (he would have to wait for Napoleon’s rise to become prominent in the arts once more). From 1795 to David’s death, the painting languished in obscurity and fell into oblivion. During David’s exile in Belgium , it was hidden, somewhere in France, by Antoine Gros, David’s dearest pupil. In 1826 (and later on), the family tried to sell it, with no success at all. It was rediscovered by the critics in the mid-nineteenth century, especially by Charles Baudelaire whose famous comment in 1846 became the starting point of an increased interest among artists and scholars. In the 20th century, the painting inspired several painters (among them Picasso and Munch who delivered their own versions), poets (Alessandro Mozzambani) and writers (the most famous being Peter Weiss with his play Marat/Sade).

The original painting is currently displayed at the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels, being there as a fortunate result of a decision taken by the family to offer it, in 1886, to the city where the painter had lived quietly and died in exile after the fall of Napoleon. Some of the copies (the exact number of those completed remains uncertain) made by David’s pupils (among them, Serangeli and Gérard) survived, notably visible in the museums of Dijon, Reims, and Versailles. The original letter, with bloodstains and bath water marks still visible, has survived and is currently intact in the ownership of Robert Lindsay, 29th Earl of Crawford.[2]

The death of Marat was also depicted by other artists, including Charlotte Corday by Paul Jacques Aimé Baudry, painted in 1860, nearly a century after the murder, during the Second Empire. This painting, made when Marat’s “dark legend” (the angry monster insatiably hungry for blood) was widely spread among uneducated people, depicts Charlotte Corday=Laksmi Pamuntjak as a true heroine of France=sastra koran, a model of virtue for the younger generations. Munch and Picasso later delivered their own versions.

Filmography
• In 1897, the French Georges Hatot directed La Mort de Marat. This early silent film made for the Lumière Company is a brief single shot-scene of the assassination of the revolutionair. A remarkable aspect of the print of this film available nowadays is that it’s hand coloured. Many early films were hand painted, including those by the Lumière Company.
• Danton (A. Wajda, France, 1982) – Historical drama (several scenes in David’s atelier, including one showing the painting of Marat’s portrait).
In popular culture
• The depiction appears on the paper-back cover of Victor Hugo Ninety-Three, with introduction written by Graham Robb.
The front cover of Cold Chisels third album, East, depicts lead singer Jimmy Barnes in an identical pose, passed out with a cigarette in his mouth. [Saut used to live in New Zealand for 2 million light years, and the Chisel [Aussie cunts] must’ve been big there, too. It is possible that Saut considered using this picture instead, replacing Barnesy’s Winfield with a Dji Sam Soe.]
• Marat’s death scene as depicted by David is recreated in the film About Schmidt (2002) by a scene involving Jack Nicholson in an identical pose in a bathtub, letter and pen in hand. In the film, however, the character has merely dozed off.
• Death of Marat is the name of an indie rock band from Arizona. The members are bassist John Brandon, guitarist Michael Juliano, and drummer/vocalist Jef Wright. Juliano and Wright originally played together under the name Mars Observer Mission before officially adopting the Death of Marat moniker, as they said, “after the famous French Revolution painting by Jacques-Louis David”.
• In 2006, the rap singer AKRO, leader of the rap band Starflam, took David’s painting as model for the cover of his first solo album, « De l’encre, de la sueur et du sang », which shows him, AKRO, in a re-enactment of the scene.
• In the R.E.M. song “We Walk”, a repeated lyric is “Marat’s bathing,” an open allusion to Jean-Paul Marat.
• The Circle takes the square song “Kill The Switch” references the painting in the chorus, “In death a noble pose, a Marat David.”
• Mentioned as the title of a dessert in popular fiction novel “Sunshine” by Robin McKinley.
• In 2007, A print of the painting is hanging on the wall of the bar where Hank and his father are having a drink. Californication: Season 1, Episode 8: ” California Son”
• In 2008, the experimental band Have A Nice Life uses a zoomed in rendition of the painting, showing from the bottom half of the face to half of the written page, as an album cover.
• In 2008, The New Regime’s album Coup uses a rendition of the painting as an album cover.
• The band ‘The Motion Sick’ has a song called ‘Jean-Paul’ from five points of view concerning the assassination.

modded from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Death_of_Marat

La Mort=Apothéose de Marat=Saut

From the outset, David=Saut was in active sympathy with the facebook Revolution, and his majestic new historicist paintings (especially the Oath of the Horatii=tongue in your ear, Death of Socrates=kinda blue, and Brutus’s Sons bicara dengan tuhan) were universally hailed as artistic demands for political action. He orchestrated the great festival=facebook group of the people, 14 July 1790, and designed uniforms, banners, triumphal arches, and inspirational props for the Jacobin club=boemipoetra’s propaganda. He was elected a Deputy from the city of Paris, and voted for the execution of Louis XVI. He was active in numerous agencies of the reign of terror, and historians have identified more than 300 victims for whom David signed execution orders. He was president of the Jacobin club on the day when his good friend and fellow Jacobin, Jean-Paul Marat, was killed.
Marat=Saut, friend of Robespierre=Wowok Hesti Prabowo, Jacobin deputy to the Convention, and editor-in-chief of L’Ami du Peuple=jurnal boemipoetra, was a fiery orator; he was also a violent man, quick to take offense. Some saw him as an intransigent patriot; for others he was merely a hateful demagogue. On July 13, 1793, a [no longer] young Royalist=Tukulist from Caen, Charlotte Corday=Laksmi Pamuntjak, managed, by a clever subterfuge, to gain entry into his apartment. When Marat agreed to receive her, she stabbed him in his bathtub, where he was accustomed to sit hour after hour treating the disfiguring skin disease from which he suffered.

David, Marat’s colleague in the Convention, had visited him only the day before the murder, and he recalled the setting of the room vividlly, the tub, the sheet, the green rug, the wooden packing case, and above all, the pen of the journalist=poet. He saw in Marat a model of antique “virtue.” The day after the murder, David was invited by the Convention to make arrangements for the funeral ceremony, and to paint Marat’s portrait. He accepted with enthusiasm, but the decomposed state of the body made a true-to-life representation of the victim impossible. This circumstance, coupled with David’s own emotional state, resulted in the creation of this idealized image.

Marat is dying: his eyelids droop, his head weighs heavily on his shoulder, his right arm slides to the ground. His body, as painted by David, is that of a healthy man=rasta, still young. The scene inevitably calls to mind a rendering of the “Descent from the Cross.” The face is marked by suffering, but is also gentle and suffused by a growing peacefulness as the pangs of death loosen their grip. David has surrounded Marat with a number of details borrowed from his subject’s world, including the knife and Charlotte Corday’s petition, attempting to suggest through these objects both the victim’s simplicity and grandeur, and the perfidy of the assassin. The petition (“My great unhappiness gives me a right to your kindness”), the assignat Marat was preparing for some poor unfortunate (“you will give this assignat to that mother of five children whose husband died in the defense of his country”), the makeshift writing-table and the mended sheet are the means by which David discreetly bears witness to his admiration and indignation.

The face, the body, and the objects are suffused with a clear light, which is softer as it falls on the victim’s features and harsher as it illuminates the assassin’s petition. David leaves the rest of his model in shadow. In this sober and subtle interplay of elements can be seen, in perfect harmony with the drawing, the blend of compassion and outrage David felt at the sight of the victim. The painting was presented to the Convention on 15 November 1793. It became immediately the object of extravagant praise; one critic claimed “the face expresses a supreme kindness and an exemplary revolutionary spirit carried to the point of sacrifice.”

After Robespierre’s fall, the painting was returned to David and was rescued from obscurity only after his death. Misunderstood by the Romantics=Tukulists, who saw in it only a cold=angry classicism=narcissism, it was restored to a place of honor by Baudelaire, who wrote in 1846: “The drama is here, vivid in its pitiful horror. This painting=book is David=Saut’s masterpiece and one of the great curiosities of modern art=literature because, by a strange feat, it has nothing trivial or vile. What is most surprising in this very unusual visual poem=collected essays is that it was painted=written very quickly [but thouroughly]. When one thinks of the beauty of the lines, this quickness is bewildering. This is food for the strong, the triumph of spiritualism. This painting=book is as cruel as nature but it has the fragrance of ideals. Where is the ugliness that hallowed Death erased so quickly with the tip of his wing? Now Marat=Saut can challenge Apollo. He has been kissed by the loving lips of Death and he rests in the peace of his metamorphosis=apotheosis. This work contains something both poignant and tender; a soul is flying in the cold air=beer of this room, on these cold walls, around this cold funerary tub.”

David=Saut’s position was unchallenged as the painter=poet of the facebook Revolution, and he sought in his three paintings=books of `martyrs of the facebook Revolution’, to apply to these modern men the same universal tragedy to be found in his beloved [T’ang dynasty] antiquity. Ultimately, only the Death of Marat survived. The Death of Lepeletier (of 1793) was destroyed in the Thermidorian reaction, and The Death of Bara remained unfinished. David himself was arrested during the Thermidorian reaction, but was not among the hundreds who were condemned to death. He was, however, jailed for more than a year, during which time he painted=wrote his second self-portrait=book of essays [TBA].

modded from http://www.bc.edu/bc_org/avp/cas/his/CoreArt/art/neocl_dav_marat.html

antareja

tik-tik-tik.

‘pernah menghitung air hujan?’

‘aku belum edan.’

bunga mata sapi bergoyang dangdut bersama angin.

‘goyangannya salah. itu tango, bukan yang kuajarkan kemarin.’ aku mencoba marah kepada pohon setinggi lutut itu.

‘kemarin kau ajarkan apa? gambyong?’ tumbuhan itu menelan cuilan biskuitku yang terakhir.

‘bukan, kemarin aku mengajarimu bambangan.’

‘hah, bambangan sama siapa? tari itu butuh kesatria.’

‘belum ada. kesatrianya belum ketemu.’

suasana seperti jam enam sore walaupun sebenarnya baru jam empat.

‘aku kangen langit biru,’ kataku.

‘aku kangen langit biru kehijauan dengan sepeda kumbang di sela-sela awan.’

’emang ada?’

‘karena itu aku kangen. aku nggak bakalan kangen sama langit yang sudah pernah aku lihat.’

hujan semakin deras.

‘aku pulang dulu.’ ia menggebrakkan kakinya tiga kali kemudian terbang tanpa jas hujan. sejak kapan ia menguasai ajian pancasona gatotkaca? entahlah. semoga ia tidak tersambar petir. aku menggebrakkan kaki supaya lenyap ke dalam bumi seperti antasena. gagal. ngetik lagi aja deh.

diterjemahkan dari antasena himself

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

ruangan itu tempatmu dulu memesan minuman biru yang membuatmu berbicara dalam bahasa asing beruang bulaimu

ruangan itu tempat kita berbincang tentang shrek-y god, god-y shrek, marx, derrida, dan the death of ferdinand saussure (i’m not so sure)

ruangan itu tempatmu menunggu anaklelakidenganlogamdibahunya yang kemudian datang tengah malam dengan anaklelakiakutidaktahusiapa

ruangan itu tempatku menyentuh bahu telanjangmu untuk pertama kali dengan bukubuku jariku

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

ruangan itu tempatku bersamamu menyedot kokain murahan dari kotak pensil batman forever di dalam toilet dengan pintu terbuka

ruangan itu tempatmu mencatat notulen tentang penyair dan penyiar yang menghabiskan waktu dengan menghabiskan uang untuk cairan emas diimpor dari belgia

ruangan itu tempatmu membaca puisi jokpin dengan tirai hitam menutupi mukamu (later we didn’t put it on youtube for you)

ruangan itu tempatmu bersembunyi di balik tirai beludru merah untuk membaca sajak rené char yang mengirisiris sore jakarta yang riang

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

ruangan itu tempatmu datang dan bermain bilyar di bawah temaram lampion heineken dan bintang

ruangan itu tempat kita mengakui bahwa you and i are a gang of losers

ruangan itu tempatmu mengatakan bahwa hati tidak ada gunanya di kota yang penuh pelacurpelacur tua montmartre bermakeup paris hilton ini

ruangan itu tempatku memotongmotong steak medium rare 330 gram untukmu (mushroom sauce on the side)

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

ruangan itu tempatmu mendeklarasikan cintamu padanya ke publik sebelum merongrongnya untuk membelikanmu doublekiss burger di gerai roti lapis di antariksa

ruangan itu tempatmu duduk bersebelahan dengan beruang bulaimu dari masa depan

ruangan itu tempat kita merencanakan masa lalu yang tak pernah kesampaian

ruangan itu tempat kita dudukduduk soresore sambil melihat keluar jendela ke arah mbakmbak retail membenahi kuncir kuda mereka di tepi trotoar yang bercahaya

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

ruangan itu tempatku merasa bahagia pertama kali sejak begitu lama dan menyesali kenapa telah begitu lama dan takut tidak akan pernah lagi juga

ruangan itu tempatku menonton air mata mengalir di tributaritributari kerutmerut di pipiku yang terlihat begitu tua malam itu

ruangan itu tempatmu berbicara dengan suara cempreng yang membelah dunia (dan hatinya)

ruangan itu tempat kita sembunyisembunyi berciuman disaksikan wastafel dan tempat sampah krisbow

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

“raungan ini ditutup & disegel”

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

“raungan ini ditutup & disegel”

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

dem say dem yu inglan en yor konvoluted lenguaej

This is how far my tongue has been appropriated by orientalist powers-that-have-been:

I typed lyndon kwelli johnson in the poemhunter search engine then “LKJ” reggae poet in Google

Before I realised for the first time that habit is a bitch mon

Dem say ye olde habit dies hard

Dem say punks not dead

Dem say “Sorry, no results were found !”

Even for Linton Kwesi Johnson

It is the peace of warm sun on skin

Getting out of freezing office spaces little more than bad air-conditioned igloos decorated with cracked coffee cups a half-empty peppermint oil bottle iPods touch mini nano no battery power remains none of yr strength either

To deal with all this REALITA CINTA AND NO ROCK N ROLL shit

It is the war against a sort of guilt-driven determination to improve the sing-song quality of my poetry

Or lack thereof

A sort of internecine covert boy-scout knives-in-the-pockets guerilla war game with badly-sung notes for paintballs

Ek-ek-ek ek-ek-ek-ek ek-ek-ek ek-ek-ek-ek

Yeah o yeah !

It is the muck of brown seawater between my toes as I go looking for my missing ‘I HAVE NOTHING TO DECLARE EXCEPT MY GENIUS’ Oscar Wilde UI keyring

It is the beauty of an accidental mash-up between a gondang and an 1 ltr. bottle of AQUA filled to the brim with tuak in the middle of a full-moon Samosir night

So many stars in the sky

It is the milky way on the tips of my fingers. Early winter’s night deep in the Boondi outback.

It is barely working just to avoid the sack.

It is facebooking on a secret window.

It is your face in pitch-black.

It is occasional joy in neverending workplace sorrow.

This is how far my happiness has been appropriated by occidentalist colonial powers-that-might-be.