Sajak-sajak Isbedy Stiawan ZS
Before the Ceremony Ends
YOU leave before
the ceremony ends, leaving
the circumcision flesh
to dry
i’ve been watching you
drink a toast. wink
at the girls, then slip away
to a quiet place
You circle the town
on a motorised becak like a king
imagining a pool
that will soon be ready
and will swim towards your body
to the distant islands
to an unknown port to smoky quite corners
you swim,
swimming towards unfettered time: - are you a poet? –
SORCERER. woman
in your mantra:
- your clutches? –
You are in her thrall, for sure!
Medan May 2007, Lampung June 2007
Finally
when you arrive in the vortex
i will be reaching the margins
because your house is enveloped by the river
i build a resting place in the field
in the water’s depths you marry
in the hollows of the forest i return
“don’t stay on dry land,” you tell me
“but i live in the forest,” i reply
“better to return to the river,” is your hope
“i want to go home to Your house,” i say
finally...
2007
Further and Further
AND SO you write of my journey
into the still-secret time
before dawn
before dawn
burns
- truly like a moan –
is it you flashing by
leaving the dark behind
forgetting the home
that was once your refuge?
now further and further
you lead me by the hand
deep into the forest
to the farthest estuary?
I am weary
although salt water spreads
between the sea and the river
every autumn
am i ailing?
2007
Floating Market
with Micky Hidayat
rain falls
on the foaming river
and you come by sampan
to take me to the shore
in the floating market
you offer me food
‘so you don’t fall ill
this dawn,’ you say
a parcel of rice
and a piece of chilli fish
fractures the sun
like tousled hair
come to this place
before the dawn
the market will be quiet
when the sun arrives
in the floating market
every dawn
will burn the skin
and the sailboats
like
beautiful dancers
await you…
Banjarmasin, 1999-2007
Your Hand
your hand
lines of poetry
that i’ve written
and i read too
about the past
and the secret fate
that awaits us
like a mirror
i hold your hand
which is filled
with
inscrutable pages
your hand
forever in my hand
traversing the streets
my fate
laid bare in your hand
in the form of lines of poetry
then i read my name
wrapped up in your name
/october 2007
Like Yesterday Evening
then your eyes filled with tears
“may i collect your tears
to fill this dry season?”
your tears flow
harder. nothing left
to wipe away
the sadness...
(like yesterday evening
i have to understand
the meaning of your tears:
comprehend every sorrow)
you begin to understand
the meaning of sadness
every time the rain
wells in your eyes
“it’s been too long,
this drought;
the plants are withering
but my heart refuses to dry up!”
may i collect
your tears, dear?
2007
With the Poet, 1
hey poet, tell those stories of love again
stories of how the beach loses touch with the sea
and of how night falls along with the drizzling rain
then of how he seems to be dead
in front of the bottles of arak
as in days gone by
repeat those sentences like a prayer
bewitch the men
who lose their way as they climb
because of you, poet
the beach still glimmers
although the sea no longer kisses it
and the rain like fireworks
will flame in everyone’s heart
by magic
because of the power of your words
With the Poet, 2
hey poet, where are your words
why don’t you come?
I am sick
i need your magic
because without
your magical words
my yearning grows
like a sick man
my body is feverish
all that matters is love and your magic
i can forget all the rest
like a drunk unable to find his way home
i no longer recognise
the first departing kiss
and the coming home embrace
but I’m not a drunk,
i’m one who yearns
who craves love:
the pure one who knows the road home well
although for years he’s been wandering
With the Poet, 3
(l)
this is all there ever is –
flirtatious shadows:
on the beach, on a park
bench under a tree,
in the street, on a hill
being crushed by melancholy
and lust
making me ill
- ah, poetry
always a mystery
hey poet, what are you doing?
in a contest or
counting streets
waiting for autumn
the restless sea
and the exhausted beach
but who has kissed you
tonight?
(ll)
It’s enough that your smile
approaches, so I can
trap it
and turn it into words
On the beach you ebb
in the money forest you rain
in which hinterland can I
harvest spices?
In your flowing hair
my tears are shed
In the ocean of your eyes
I surf as well
sifting the salty sand of words
: full moon…
(III)
in your hands time is crushed
into drops of dew
a sudden flash of light
shining eternally
on my lips time turns to foam
creating a world
beyond dreams
is it you who walks
in the gloom
and yet shines brilliantly
at every turn?
constantly I yearn
always rendered powerless
by words
ah, poet
what can I do
when you cast your spell
i will melunta
- yearning –
(IV)
last night he fought with the words
who would be the first to understand
and you refused to give in
tightening up each letter
right down to the most fragile ones
because as a piece of advice
even the fairies would surrender
beneath the palm of your sacred –
sentences
until you are in agony
- like a damned dog
scratching around in the rubbish bin
until cursed by daylight –
the poet will never leave
- let alone die -
he will live on in his words,
and you will be scattered
throughout his sentences
just as the morning
never cries in pain
despite being jostled by afternoon
the poet will never go home
- let alone disappear -
he will become eternal along with his words,
and you will die from his curse!
With the Poet, 4
every sentence
is a miracle
so cities bend in submission
women surrender
row after row
not feeling their fingers sliced open
i know, poet
that you possess the words
and every time a sentence is uttered
glasses of wine are savoured
in the clarity of words
the path to God
is created
every sentence
is a sacred verse
and so i read
the map of your life
Poet...
2007
Park of Leaves
there are leaves in the pupils of your eyes
the earth is green this morning
and the rain is falling
i’ll look for the map, you say,
the one that’s disappeared
because of the weather
that comes and goes
but from the pupils of your eyes
the leaves grow
taking me on a journey
into light and trembling
“give me a dawn
full of wonder
so i can transverse the sunrise
like on other mornings.”
i will pick the leaves
from the pupils of your eyes
because from the green
i traverse the dark side
and the fog, like
rainfall, like
crystal on my brow now
becomes your guiding light
like my torch
the smell of dawn stays with me
as well as the leaves that i picked
from the embrace of your eyes
“i want this leaf
to take me to anchor
on the green plain:
- Park of Leaves -
in the pupils of your eyes,
the leaves...
2007
Diggers Waroeng, Pahoman
an afternoon with a light breeze
on the slope of the hill
the sun overhead
my heart your heart in tumult
here, a quiet moment at diggers
i return
untangling the words:
into meaning
ah, i wish time
would stand still
let us meet more foten
i wish
this rendezvous was eternal
like coral
on the sand
like a flower on a leaf...
ah!
i’m fading fast
intercepted by the leaves
the sun is falling
time takes a dive
the sun shines
on your cheeks
cheeks as red and black
as pepper
i sit dazed in the chair
diggers gets quieter
i enter your cheeks
now and later
/2007
Park of Poetry
: alwy
this night you walk
a long way unlike other nights
your hair, already thin
flies in the air: - - in waves
like the sea. on it
the drunken boats
never reaching the seabed
tonight your thoughts are deep
as deep as your head
that always shines
from the fullness of your brow: - - an ocean
removed
from the din of the quay
this night you expose
the body of jengki poetry
until you reach the truth
“it’s fitting that you are like
this night, on other
days. Your road is white.”
2007
Wanting to Be a Poet
: wayan sunarta
so you let the sea wash over
and carry you off to a million desires:
i want to stay in tanjungkarang
though that means being far from karangasem
or sindhu beach, which first
tore open our story,
it was late at night
the fog settling in
the trees closing and trembling
i with my bottles of drink
that made the beach spin
you with your cigarettes
blurring your vision
‘it’s as if you were in the snow
your body sways, like
a dancer draped with fine cloth, and
the footlights reducing your body
to fragments on the bed.’
i want to stay in tanjungkarang,
you say every time we meet.
‘i want to be
a different poet in tanjungkarang
after i’ve killed off
my desire to be a man of letters,’ you whisper
but, in tanjungkarang or in karangasem
words will always follow you
wherever you hang your hat, poetry
will visit you
such is the wanderer
an adventurer in words
drunk for poetry
Who yearns
who is faithful to time!
/2007
Shindu
i tried to be a chair
to be a table
and you turned
your gaze to the vastness of the sea
and i transformed
my drunkenness into an ocean
in full awareness
the ships are sailing
on the undulating waves
i am my own navigator
inviting you on my journey
visiting the harbours
when night has gone
and dawn arrives
i will etch you in my memory
every syllable
of your name,
and sometime in the future
i will call you
my sweetheart
or nothing at all
(because the poet will
always come and go
with a different story
at every meeting)
then in my mind
i build a ladder
from the eleven syllables
that i pluck from your name
-and the ships sail
towards the harbours-
/2006
I am a Wanderer
we no longer simply
look at each other in the mirror
your eyes close,
and i shut the door
when your tongue flickers
my lips speak:
sentences are swallowed
where will you fall asleep tonight?
my darling, i am still lonely
between the lines of mist
our shadows have long been flirting
i part your tousled hair
you scatter the raindrops
on my body
in the cold lobby
i burn up with longing
: embrace you
at a point in time
i make you pregnant
and the result is Poetry
which hypnotises lovers
and cements their flirtatious ways
ah, darling, make me hard
pour words into the soul!
and from your womb
i want poetry to hatch
a row of pages
that transform into flirtatiousness
you release the night
i bury it
my woman, i am a wanderer
running across the savannah
we collapse together
my penis in confusion
the savannah crushed
because of love
we take our pleasure
from beach to bed
you count our kisses
i write a different essay
i blow my soul
onto your body
- - we dance - -
15 January 2007
Legend of a Pair of Lovers
and then in this garden they
transformed into lovers
picking fruit as they made eyes at each other
until they were banished to the forest,
savannah and plain
this happened again and again...
finally they were cursed to be wanderers
for years on end
visiting the gardens
from heaven, returning home to heaven
“man...”
“woman...”
they look at each other;
“the sky is our umbrella.”
“this land is our house and our grave.”
Man
Woman
at the end of time
he whispers
you embrace
“maybe this is not
the heaven we left behind,” he whispers
“and this is not the fruit
that led to our banishment,” you say softly
in a land with no forest and no beaches
the story of a pair of wandering lovers
who know neither home nor grave
is written on reams of paper
to protect you
from the devil who appears as a snake
ever goading you
written on reams of paper
until you
continue your steps
Man curses himself
Woman rues the day
Lampung 2007
I give you my Promise
full moon and the city glow
of beautified telukbetung
i paint memories for you
i tell the story of this fall
a perpetual wanderer
building a place to stay
every time i stop at the city of memories
i leave with a line of poetry
the wanderer arrives
with a pile of memories
in diggers waroeng
where you said telukbetung
over there forever glows
i give you my promise
in every line of poetry
/2007
House of Objects
you are delirious
on the rocky barren hill
you wish there was a span of sea
then you would make a toy sailing boat
with a sail made from pages of a book
and an oar from a matchstick
you imagine a prophet
cross-legged on the face of the rock: begging
for rain, until
the cities are submerged, and
you traverse the giant flood
on your paper boat
“god i fear becoming lost
so give me directions to the harbour,” your hands
raised as you rub your face
you are delirious
on the dry fields devoid of trees
you want to create, to choose your words,
to embroider sentences into spreading
lines. you measure
from the cradle to the grave
but no words
leap from your heart
the dry fields devoid of trees
except for rocks branches
of a mad person!
how you dream about a prophet
make a sailing boat in the drought
and write poetry to ward off the conjurer
you will always be lost for words
in the house of objects!
/2007
Park of Leaves
there are leaves in the pupils of your eyes
the earth is green this morning
and the rain is falling
i’ll look for the map, you say,
the one that’s disappeared
because of the weather
that comes and goes
but from the pupils of your eyes
the leaves grow
taking me on a journey
into light and trembling
“give me a dawn
full of wonder
so i can transverse the sunrise
like on other mornings.”
i will pick the leaves
from the pupils of your eyes
because from the green
i traverse the dark side
and the fog, like
rainfall, like
crystal on my brow now
becomes your guiding light
like my torch
the smell of dawn stays with me
as well as the leaves that i picked
from the embrace of your eyes
“i want this leaf
to take me to anchor
on the green plain:
- Park of Leaves -
in the pupils of your eyes,
the leaves...
2007
Vanished
when you fly
i want to be your wings
when you drown
i want to be a lifebuoy
when you disappear
i prepare my tears
and my breath
“where has she gone
in which dark corner is she hiding?”
My love...
2007
Your Footsteps Remain in the Sand
every time i visit the beach
it’s as if your footsteps remain
in the sand
along with a row of lips
that i receive as a poem
in sanur in tanah lot
your footsteps merge
then separate
but the pages of the letter
containing our photograph
cling tight
“the sea cannot take
our love away”, you say, and
i smile:
“the sea is our sweetheart too,
always bringing love
although in the end
he sends it back
into his deep dark blue.”
and i don’t want
to let you go, to burn
the bruised photograph
you wrote a poem
on the pages of a letter
and brought to life a row of lips
that i read as a poem
eternal longing
21 January 2007
I Read your Body
but actually
you never leave
although the city
has imprisoned you
because i will always
read your body
even all the marks
that cement in my mind
the first time you greeted me
and i called you
as morning approached;
- - we share the same fate,
cursed by words –
your words write a rainbow
- - we share the same solitude,
stoned by dreams –
my answer touches the rainbow
because i will always
read your body
as morning approaches,
and so i search the city
that has imprisoned
your body;
in pieces
naked
in this valley
we’ve become a pair of rocks
not finished with our sweet talk
actually you
never leave
except to return
as a Princess
21-22 January 2007
On Neruda
neruda[3] is the poet i admire
but you are the poet i love
so don’t shy away from words
because that’s where the poetry is
don’t run away from poetry
because i am inside it
thrilled when you come
bringing me Love
it’s poetry that immortalises it
but in the quiet times
alone in my room
is it poetry i will reach for
while your body
seems set to leave?
i want to embrace you
so that words surrender
and the poetry comes
Love grows too
a flower bud that i place forever
on my heart, longing washing over me
press your body to my words
:is that love? – I long for ir –
(that wound, neruda, that i touch
from the days without poetry
bloodied Love,
a wolf crying
because of longing,
because of love too?
ah i’m speechless,
shivering in a shroud of chaos)
so i wait for your answer
but so many minutes have passed
so many bends in the road
and you remain silent
no message
no kisses either
a fleeting farewell
then i cover everything
that will receive
- - your arrival - -
(are you sound asleep,
am I then sound asleep?)
what’s happened to you
to make you silent?
night and day
like a shy princess
invisible by day
unsmiling by night
what’s happened to you?
perhaps you’ve been wounded
by the bamboo blade: words..
no doubt your nights are starry
but is there a flash of shadow
cloudy and dizzying?
while i’m here at the edge of anyer beach
just enjoying the pounding of the waves
and the sky is so dark
suffusing me with loneliness
the rhythm of the music and the singers of poetry
i dance i dance
(only you, because of you
I am intoxicated
cursed by words)
and you greet this dawn
the poetry never dies
you come with a smile
i too have a smile pasted on my wet lips
there are drops of dew
remnants of my disturbed sleep!
En route Cirebon-Banten, 2007
Bachelor
chooses solitude
rather than stoning
finds a park
watching over a valley
centuries come
a deserted home
ah!
Ceremony 48
i still remember
braided hair
an evening visit
the garden still quiet
i danced
welcoming your arrival
and I told you
“i fell in love
when I was still young.”
then the day sped past
like a stallion
so swift
and from its feet
billowed clouds of dust
my eyes your eyes
felt so intense
making me forget
the way there the way back
for years love has been brooding
forgetting the braided hair
the evening visit
my hair your hair
finally turning white
my cheek your cheek
becoming hollow
now in my head
dawns a twilight sun
bathed in light:
White…
do you know
for how long
i have been tending it?
soon it will ripen
stay for a minute then leave
It’s Been Half a Century
from your eyes
i pluck a light
to guide me
to your house
is the sprawling garden
still there
for the flowers
in bloom
planting
reaping…
it’s been half a century
the garden has changed too
it’s filled with trees
flowers of all colours
: i want to stay
not just look
but pick them again
choose the buds
new stories bring
different hopes
in the garden
it’s been half a century
you plant
i reap…
- the past beckons -
There are no Signposts
there are no signposts
or names of dead-end streets,
so just follow the white line
and the roadside marker. till you get tired,
sleepy
or breathless
“if you can no longer walk
wait on the footpath
until the day reveals itself
and you remember your address.”
there are no signposts
in the big wide world
be prepared to lose your way!
You Come Back to this Town
you come back to this town
a town filled with temples
and ever-present gods
like witnesses
“how many times
have you sinned today?”
does every beach, temple and
hotel seem to
grab you,
seize you?
The roar of the waves
An explosion
The mantra of the monks
on the sprawling
naked
beach
you sprinkle love
then you and he
frolic in the sand
“what can’t you get
beneath the sun?”
even in an isolated temple
you wouldn’t find a spear!
from kuta to sanur,
tanah lot to sangeh,
or kintamani to sukowati
just god just god
extending his hand
keeping you safe
A Strand of Your Hair
give me a strand of your hair,
now. I will turn it into
a bridge to reach the clouds
after a season of disaster
and a cacophony of love
if you give me that strand
of your hair, and
i can pass beyond the clouds
then tomorrow at dawn
you will see me blossom
in the form of a rose
in a garden
you will come
on butterfly wings
- and make love -
Standing on Bukit Batu[4]
“don’t tell anyone about it
so they will look for
the secret
as far as the wide blue sea,”
you said
after the first creation
then we all went searching
in the leaves of old manuscripts
in the pages of books
in the lines of God’s word
to find out who
is behind all this?
“don’t say it,”
you stressed when
I almost
revealed the secret
then I stood in silence
on bukit batu
my face turned towards the sky
and I said,
“if you exist,
give me a sign!”
and then in a symbolic way,
through a drumming
in the sea in the mountains
in the forest
you sent that sign
“don’t say it,”
you ordered. so then
I wrote the secret
in fields
at random
just to
record your existence…
“don’t tell anyone about it,”
you said. so after that
I looked for you
in all the verses
that fill the pages
of these books. - textbooks,
history books,
and my blood vessels too –
“don’t tell anyone…”
Suffering Forest
but you must forget
all the things
you’ve been through
ignoring the past
does not mean
thinking about going home
after a long easy walk
like a bird in the sky
that forgets its nest
and just pauses to rest
on an electric cable
or a shadeless tree
and then
flies off again
in search of shade
where do you keep
your whole past
when the road home
is getting so dark?
lost amongst the artefacts,
the street names,
the river current,
and, you say,
the forests that used to be there
have written your age
on every strand of hair
covered in moss
- when you’re on a long journey
home
seems so far away
the village of your childhood
gets starker and starker
making you tremble
it confuses you:
“where am I?”
you whisper
the deep river
the suffering forest
never reach
inside themselves!
The Rain is Talking
i venture into the night
under soaking rain
and you cling
to the shophouse wall
like a statue:
unbending, rigid
time crawls by
too slowly,
as the rain
talks
about halting
footsteps
effortless love
breathe in the soaking rain
it’s like kissing
time. cold…
when will the rain stop?
i laugh,
the children come
from the traffic lights
hide behind the rain
beneath the dark of night
with shivering bodies
stranded
children abandoned
in this country
imagining home
remembering school
so far away
ah, the best thing to do
is huddle together
by the shophouse wall
until the rain subsides
and we move along
to where?
You go down to the Valley
in your veil
as the sun crests the horizon
you go down to the valley
to the beginning of the story
the wine of your lips
makes the leaves flutter
and the river dances
wanting to embrace the rustle of your shoes
you were destined to be an angel
but you live your days alone
in the valley of all love
immortalised in a legend
this valley holds
the memories of all the pilgrims
who have no lover
: sad and alone
you understood
that i am a pilgrim
i will soon be gone
I have remembered
the terrible stories
now left behind or washed away
that people then
want to immortalise
[1] a victim of AdamAir
[2] a victim of KM Senopati
[3] Pablo Neruda
[4] Translator’s note: Bukit Batu Rigis is a mountain in Lampung province, Sumatra
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