Russell Edson: Prosa atau Puisi?
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| Russell Edson |
Siapa pun belum pasti nak letak di mana tulisan orang tua aneh dari Amerika ini. Russell Edson sendiri rasa tulisannya adalah "puisi". Tetapi nampaknya Lydia Davis tidak bersetuju: baginya, tulisan Edson lebih menyerupai "cerita" daripada "puisi." Alasannya adalah Edson banyak bermain dengan naratif berbanding kata-kata. Hanya tulisan yang setia dengan kata-kata layak diangkat sebagai puisi. Tetapi bagaimana dengan tulisan Lydia Davis sendiri? Dia adalah seorang "cerpenis" di mata pembaca; tetapi bukankah tulisan mikronya itu juga banyak bermain dengan "kata-kata' berbanding menyampaikan sebuah "cerita" ?
Mungkin Davis sebenarnya akan lebih puas hati kalau pengkritik meletakkan tulisannya dalam sangkar puisi bersama Russell Edson, James Tate, dan Charles Simic (ketiga-tiga orang penyair ini menulis puisi prosa). Tetapi Davis tidak perlu pun panik. Dia adalah mutant dalam lapangan prosa, sama seperti Russell Edson adalah mutant dalam lapangan puisi. Cuma kalau Davis lebih menyerupai serangga-berkepala-Montaigne, maka Edson adalah monyet-berkepala-Socrates.
Saya jarang membaca prosa pendek (ya, ini label saya pulak terhadapnya!) Edson kerana saya takut dikejar oleh kata-katanya. Dia bukanlah monster yang mengerikan. Tidak. Dia adalah badut sarkas yang mempunyai mainan-mainan bahaya dalam saku seluarnya. Kalau saya berani, saya akan biarkan Edson menembak saya dengan pistol api atau biarkan dia lastik saya ke bulan. Ia menyeronokkan. Tetapi ia juga akan buat saya ketagih kerana apabila kita sudah mula membaca Edson, kita tidak mahu meninggalkan sarkasnya. Kita akan jadi gila dan kita ingin terus jadi gila. Bahaya betul orang tua badut ini.
Silalah baca kalau tidak percaya.
The Academic Sigh
Some students were stretching a professor on a medieval torture rack. He had offered himself to show them how an academic might be stretched beyond his wildest dreams like a piece of chewing gum.
And as they turned the wheel the professor was getting longer and longer.
Don’t make me too long, or I’ll look kind of goofy, sighed the professor as he grew longer and longer.
Suddenly something snaps.
What happened? sighs the professor from the rack.
We were just stretching an academic when suddenly something snapped; you may have heard it ...
Yes, I was there. Don’t you remember? sighs the professor.
And then we heard an academic sigh ...
Yes, I heard it, too, sighs the professor, it seemed to come from the rack where I was being stretched beyond my wildest dreams like a piece of chewing gum ...
And as they turned the wheel the professor was getting longer and longer.
Don’t make me too long, or I’ll look kind of goofy, sighed the professor as he grew longer and longer.
Suddenly something snaps.
What happened? sighs the professor from the rack.
We were just stretching an academic when suddenly something snapped; you may have heard it ...
Yes, I was there. Don’t you remember? sighs the professor.
And then we heard an academic sigh ...
Yes, I heard it, too, sighs the professor, it seemed to come from the rack where I was being stretched beyond my wildest dreams like a piece of chewing gum ...
The Adventures of a Turtle
The turtle carries his house on his back. He is both the house and the person of that house.
But actually, under the shell is a little room where the true turtle, wearing long underwear, sits at a little table. At one end of the room a series of levers sticks out of slots in the floor, like the controls of a steam shovel. It is with these that the turtle controls the legs of his house.
Most of the time the turtle sits under the sloping ceiling of his turtle room reading catalogues at the little table where a candle burns. He leans on one elbow, and then the other. He crosses one leg, and then the other. Finally he yawns and buries his head in his arms and sleeps.
If he feels a child picking up his house he quickly douses the candle and runs to the control levers and activates the legs of his house and tries to escape.
If he cannot escape he retracts the legs and withdraws the so-called head and waits. He knows that children are careless, and that there will come a time when he will be free to move his house to some secluded place, where he will relight his candle, take out his catalogues and read until at last he yawns. Then he’ll bury his head in his arms and sleep....That is, until another child picks up his house....
But actually, under the shell is a little room where the true turtle, wearing long underwear, sits at a little table. At one end of the room a series of levers sticks out of slots in the floor, like the controls of a steam shovel. It is with these that the turtle controls the legs of his house.
Most of the time the turtle sits under the sloping ceiling of his turtle room reading catalogues at the little table where a candle burns. He leans on one elbow, and then the other. He crosses one leg, and then the other. Finally he yawns and buries his head in his arms and sleeps.
If he feels a child picking up his house he quickly douses the candle and runs to the control levers and activates the legs of his house and tries to escape.
If he cannot escape he retracts the legs and withdraws the so-called head and waits. He knows that children are careless, and that there will come a time when he will be free to move his house to some secluded place, where he will relight his candle, take out his catalogues and read until at last he yawns. Then he’ll bury his head in his arms and sleep....That is, until another child picks up his house....
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