Puisi Isbedy Stiawan ZS

Poems by Isbedy Stiawan ZS

A Year Later, Writing Inscription

open your door, not need

widely, I immediately rushed

then a row of sign embraced

in my lips by a line of your tongue

and room that be vague

sang the beat

-whrere is your heart?-

-this is my heart

then as lover

we climbed the hill of poem

write your poem

in the fontanel 0f hill

and for flyer

wii be made into the light

forget fishes

in the sea

because in the hill of poem

we alreaady taken the form

of horse

I am a woman, you said

What ‘s need the clan?

but that poems

will be re- read

: a happening

from adam and eve

who still be have the time to suffer constantly

wut arriving in this place too

“ you said, a garden

with be planted the apple

will be picked afterwards

a year later

: we attended

for writing the inscription

17 January 2011

###

translated by Ahmad Muhaimin

Now You Have Gone

how can I forget you, you said, while combing your hair so that not tangle after take a bath that afternoon, just awhile I will leave you, and you have gone after closing again the room with lamp that be obscured, arranging the other plans, taking books, putting in order, tidying that be scattrered in table and bed, but those bedsheet and blanket you unfolded again, let it be still rumpled for witness that I have been rocked by you, and I have been received brideprice

of traveling

since on poem that I imagined

now you have returned, not forgetting all of that you have given, but only wanted to tidy up torns of body , I must can begin , you said, for repeating again in the other day with you, and I will always wait, will I poure every leaves that growing that five sheets to no-drying by wittered seasson

“you know , that five sheet- leaves is our seedling in rainy day

And you place exatcly in corner of bed, you can remember every time, then hoping to grow become the tree from your womb: a long sentence and we mean variaties of interpretation from human’s journey...” as my message that I entrust between rest of that signs, books, sentence, five of sheet-leaves, door with number of 317, also rain and lamp that holding on table, and noisy of television, call od handphone, and

fried potato for the two of us

now you have returned now you have gone seriously

17.01.2011

translated by Ahmad muhaimin

You Know I Am Fathet Of Millions Poems

That Loss The Parent After It Was Born

if you have arrived in destination city, did not knew me no more in order to send news

that stabled your comfort time, enough I knew you are a traveler

heading to sand city, but forgetting to carry comb that be leaved in my hair, a million

prayer that I attached on high sky, will pour as rain that always you longed for if it was wetest weather. that players will guarded you, that prayers cooled you when your heart was baked by hot sand

in a city on every corner the hole ber wide -opened the leftover of result of digging bu

hard hands and was sweated , the city that very formerly ever too neglectful wrote the memory for me, moreover did not want to note my address of my tomb

because I was only the outsider: stping in then going home, but having time leaved behind

my sole of foot that all along the road, going in and out market ...

if prayers which I sended was over, I waited you asking again but not for informing or wanting to know my predestination, because our destinations were different, because our fates were regulatedd by the regulator as differently, so walk you to destination city, sow dreams so that is germinated, and write when you born that children of poems, you will care for my children, willn’t you? Yoy asked, you knew I was father of millions poems which losses the parents after been born, I was the sifter forthis grain of poems , before then washing away too because the sea

because river because rain because the sun because sesons

that very

difficult was guessed

here I also dreamed every city of destination

because always saved my name and reminiscence

March, 4, 2011-7:28

translated by ahmad muhaimin

With My One Index Finger

with my one index finger thousands directions was scattered

then with what else you can afford to lie me?

bodies that was opened I have got in

in every sentence that I flew

as water that be river, water that I dug

from hills faraway from sun that you guarded

with full-love entire power

with my one index finger millions place I headed

then with which manner else you can hid myself/

roads wll get blister ships will moored

sea will be dryed after have waved

kicking all of one’s moving in sea

also yourself till dead to cast away

one index finger will be headed to millions places:

you should choose , betwen that you prefered

you will be throw till to my index finger

and asking a line of wheez

then are there manner I hurt you

you asked. confused

but your face was elegant

moka, 4311-15:01

translated by ahmad muhaimin

No time to Give Title
Because Got Hurry That Bird Leaving the Nests ,
And I Just Stared In Quiet

I want you to give the title
because the bird have hurried to leave the
nest, and I just stared in quite

if you are now breathing the air in another city, remember always smell my breath which had stopped
some time. also opium smoking, fragrant of hair, or dance of my hands as a dancer on stage:
in body tha always send the city maps river wilderness of grass bird’s smile lamps
and butterfly. Remember also how I always keep the trust and you are always honesty - to
while - no matter how I know, there may still be a secret in your the pocket of shirt or
veil?

in it, I saw birds which scratch each time fylied scratcing horizon or stopped at the new branch
and unfamiliar. "Is the bird, always liked for the new branch?"

however, you always assured me, wherever the bird have flied it will be back to the nest. and you, you said
to me, was a nest of very be nest. because in my nest you sang: singing the joyful

poems - I know, though not all can you tell -.

because you're still woman, birds that chirping whereas depressed. which is always silent in the cage,
whreas you is longing nature. because do not hurt me with your peck secretly ...

let me enjoyed the whole nest and the color of your wings. even if I wounded , my blood will get to you too

2 March 2011 (at 18.30)

translated by ahmad muhaimin

Happening one morning

in long bench in front of television

on a room was still silence

finally you-I wrote poem

about friendship. ‘but

this one sentence is for love, and

a kiss is for morning that

still –passion,” you said

I magnified volume of television

and a key in your hand

danced as be moved

from inside of room that be vague

full of snore

“good morning,” you said in front of

door as signer

only morning that knew

prada hotel palembang, 16.07.2011

translated by ahmad muhaimin

Memory is

: budisantoso budiman

I took the pounding of musi to royal bed
I put to sleep to your face
who had time to floating
and waved before
when I sat on the very-edge

and flickering lights
also jukung * was nasalised
seemed to want to pull me
"let us embrace,
embrace : I am musi
that eve you've said. I am
musi have soldered
by hand of soekarno! "
said jukung

then benteng besak**
want to persuade me: go
into my yard, was pictured
or plug in pledge
"I want to kiss you again,
because I've been drinking

your vinegar ....

spicy on the tongue
warm in the body
"this is archipelago,
I look after until death
he dignity ... "I said
overlooking benteng Besak

: I carry the memories
to royal bed this evening ...

plmbng, 15/07/11; 22.59

* a kind of larger boat

** a bastion in Palembang. In seaside of Musi River

translated by ahmad muhaimin

Have You Already Forgot

to January that had the rain

did you forget the way into that space
awhile you, one day, once encaged
when rain fell near the window. and you were shivering

waiting who arrived after some time
you got in: - you play the fingers, such as
replace the needle when the slow rotating
just drive away a quiet . also fried potato snack
and a glass of cold coffee that be back to cool
like look at to you nonstop, as if
want to crush your lips first -

if you have forgotten the road that makes you

was encagedt, one time, ever want to cuddle stars
because it had been years since your evening quiet
and you sleep never was cried by baby: - make your snore be worsen,
as a boom in the staircase. step become to break
until you like as silent as the dawn –

if you really have to forget where you have moored
and dismantle all want? until now you could
return to sea with a stomach that stores
rowdy, and a thousand cries of babies: - maybe tomorrow will you spit out
as a loose bow -

if ...

2.7.11

translated by Ahmad Muhaimin

Only twillight

only twillight knew

when this meeting

was ended? Then I delivered

that little time

came out the road

that a while ago was passed

stll got taste of sweat

of your hand in my hand

still wet too

in line of my lips

‘a while ago that apple

I enjoyed it, and now

still I am tasting it....” I said

wanting to slice it again

but you canceling

to tomorrow

“in order to sweet...”

23-26 Juny 2011

translated by Ahmad Muhaimin

Wearing a necklace of full moon

-dzafirah adeliaputri

you had the tree wake up

you had drizzle brought in

after adzhan*, friday

that very enthusiasm

welcame each of who’s come

with tens of cry

after that you will smile

moreover toward ordeal

your torch from my oil of love

in guarding your dignity

for the sake of regardest Friday

you scraped the time that flying away

you want to embrace stickly

as woman who arrivire

in the day that light

before presence of drizzle

after your crying

moving quickly in forward

having hammer of power

wearing anecklace of full mooon

1 July 2011; 12.35

translated by Ahmad Muhaimin

* call for prayer

I DO NOT REALLY BEEN WAITING


the next you were quiet
looked at the trees
as your blaket the dusk was
while glueing your lips

"you just pour it
for growing new flower
and my body felt cold
by blow of wind ... "you said

next you move the body
as if it will blister
beside me: and I catch up
drizzle to make
you as a jewel

I like gems sparkle of gems
on your lips. "This my ear," you said
then I whispered one word
that you thinked poetry
and I added the title
but only you who understand it.

the rest just dark
straightforward way
to headed home
or be wander

"do not note tomorrow,
because I have not yet
writen the schedule, " you said

I actually never waited
because, maybe, tomorrow Iwill die
be stoned by the silence ...


28.06.2011

translated by ahmad muhaimin

ISBEDY STIAWAN ZS born and raised in Tanjungkarang (Bandar Lampung ) on June 5, 1958. Writing poetry, short stories, essays, and journalistic works that scattered in different media in Jakarta and regions namely Kompas, Koran Tempo, Java Post, Suara Merdeka, Sinar Harapan, Media Indpnesia, Suara Pembaruan, Jurnal Nasional, Horizon, Nova, Suara Karya, Pikiran Rakyat, Kedaulatan Rakyat, Lampung Post, Radar Lampung, Haluan, Padang Express , Riau Pos, Harian Global, and others.

His book that is already published some 15 books, he was among a collection of short stories Perempuan Sunyi, Dawai Kembali Berdenting, Ziarah Ayah, Hanya untuk Satu Nama (Just for One Name), Bulan Rebah di Meja Digger (the Moon was laid on the table ofDiggers) , Seandainya Kau Jadi Ikan ( If You're become Fish) , Selembut Angin Setajam Ranting ( as gentle as wind as sharp as twigs) . Collection of his poetry : Aku Tandai Tahi lalatmu ( I Marked your mole) , Menampar Angin (Slapping Wind), Lelaki yang Membawa Matahari ( The man who brings the Sun) , Laut Akhir ( The Ended Sea) , Setiap Baris Hujan (Every Line of Rain) , Kota Cahaya (The Lights City ) Anjing Dini Hari (The Early Day Dog), and the newest Taman di Bibirmu ( Garden in the Your lips ) (March 2011).

Several times invited to the literary and cultural events such as the Utan Kayu International Literary, Ubud Writer and Reader Festival, Pertemuan Sastrawan Nusantara in Johorbahru and Kedah (Malaysia), Pertemuan Penyair Nusantara (Poets Gathering ) in Medan , Malaysia, and Brunei Darussalam, dan Palembang Then Temu Sastrawan Indonesia in Jambi and Tanjungpinang, Kongres Cerpen (Short Story Congress) in Bali, Riau, and Banjarmasin, and a number of other cities in Indonesia.

Mailing address : Dewan Kesenian Lampung (Lampung Art Council) Jl Gedung Sumpah Pemuda Kompleks PKOR Wayhalim, Bandarlampung. Telephn (handphone) 081369071049 and 085658759350 email isbedyst@yahoo.com dan isbedy_stiawan@yahoo.com.

Puisi Isbedy Stiawan ZS (Bahasa Inggris)

Puisi-puisi di bawah ini diterjemahkan (ditranslet) oleh Pam Allen (Australia)

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

in the air[1] or the sea[2]

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