Category Archives: Poetry

Malam Transfigurasi, Karya Richard Dehmel

Malam Transfigurasi

Oleh Richard Dehmel

Dua orang melalui hutan kering yang dingin;
bulan berlari bersama mereka, mereka memandangnya.
Bulan berlari di atas pohon-pohon ek yang tinggi;
tidak ada awan yang mengaburkan cahaya dari langit,
di mana dahan kering hitam merentang.
Suara seorang wanita berbicara:

Aku mengandung anak, dan bukan milikmu,
aku berjalan dalam dosa di sampingmu.
Aku telah sangat berdosa pada diriku sendiri.
Aku tak lagi percaya pada kebahagiaan
namun penuh kerinduan
akan kehidupan yang bermakna, akan bahagianya menjadi ibu
akan tugas; kurelakan
dengan gemetar, kutinggalkan kaumku
dalam dekapan pria tak dikenal,
dan karenanya aku diberkati.
Sekarang hidup sendiri telah membalas dendam:
sekarang pun aku telah bertemu denganmu, ya kamu.

Dia berjalan dengan langkah canggung.
Dia mendongak; bulan sedang berlari.
Tatapan gelapnya tenggelam dalam cahaya.
Suara seorang pria berbicara:

Biarkan anak yang kaukandung
membuat jiwamu tanpa beban.
Ya, lihat betapa jernihnya alam semesta berkilau!
Ia bersinar untuk segalanya;
Kau terapung denganku di atas laut yang dingin,
tapi ada kehangatan pribadi berkedip
dari kau di dalamku, aku di dalammu.
Ini akan metransfigurasi anak yang asing itu,
Kau akan lahirkan anak itu bagai anakku sendiri;
kau bawa cahaya padaku,
kau buatkan aku seorang anak.

Dia rangkul tubuh yang penuh.
Napas mereka berciuman di udara.
Dua orang melalui malam yang tinggi dan cerah.


—Richard Dehmel, Verklärte Nacht, pertama kali diterbitkan di Weib und Welt (1896)

Rujukan

Featured image credit: www.dehmelhaus.de/aktuell.html

The Indonesian Student Pledge

The Indonesian Student Pledge: “Motion of No Confidence” By WatchDoc Films

“Motion of No Confidence” (Mosi Tidak Percaya) is a short documentary film from WatchDoc Films about events around Indonesia throughout the week of 24 September 2019, and especially in the streets outside Indonesia’s House of Representatives. The film opens with students marching as they recite the Indonesian Student Pledge, first used during the 1998 demonstrations that led to the resignation of the late President Soeharto.

Sumpah Mahasiswa Indonesia

Kami Mahasiswa Indonesia Bersumpah
Bertanah Air Satu
Tanah Air Tanpa Penindasan

Kami Mahasiswa Indonesia Bersumpah
Berbangsa Satu
Bangsa yang Gandrung akan Keadilan

Kami Mahasiswa Indonesia Bersumpah
Berbahasa Satu
Bahasa Tanpa Kebohongan

The Indonesian Student Pledge

We the students of Indonesia pledge
To have one homeland
A homeland without oppression

We the students of Indonesia pledge
To have one nation
A nation that blazes with justice

We the students of Indonesia pledge
To have one language
A language without lies

Sumpah Mahasiswa Indonesia Kompas Daily, 28 October 2016

Wikipedia on the 1928 Youth Pledge and on Sumpah Pemuda.

Some writing by Muhammad Yamin. On the ninetieth anniversary of the second Youth Congress in 2018, take a look at Sejarah Sumpah Pemuda, Tekad Anak Bangsa Bersatu demi Kemerdekaan (source of the featured image) and Peringatan 90 Tahun Sumpah Pemuda.

Other background that may of interest includes: Abdullah, Taufik. and Cornell University. Modern Indonesia Project.  Schools and politics : the Kaum Muda movement in West Sumatra (1927-1933) / Taufik Abdullah  Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, Cornell University Ithaca, N.Y  1971  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7822864-schools-and-politics; Yamin, Muhammad. Tan Malacca, Bapak Republik Indonesia: Riwajat-politik Seorang Pengandjoer Revolusionér Jang Berfikir, Berdjoeang Dan Menderita Membentoek Negara Republik Indonesia. Djakarta: Berita Indonesia, 1946. Print.


Featured image credit: Sejarah Sumpah Pemuda, Tekad Anak Bangsa Bersatu demi Kemerdekaan, 28 October 1928 in the grounds of the Indonesische Clubgebouw, Jl. Kramat 106, Jakarta. Visible seated from left to right among others are (Prof.) Mr. Sunario, (Dr.) Sumarsono, (Dr.) Sapuan Saatrosatomo, (Dr.) Zakar, Antapermana, (Prof. Drs.) Moh. Sigit, (Dr.) Muljotarun, Mardani, Suprodjo, (Dr.) Siwy, (Dr.) Sudjito, (Dr.) Maluhollo. Standing from left to right among others are (Prof. Mr.) Muh. Yamin, (Dr.) Suwondo (Tasikmalaya), (Prof. Dr.) Abu Hanafiah, Amilius, (Dr.) Mursito, (Mr.) Tamzil, (Dr.) Suparto, (Dr.) Malzar, (Dr.) M. Agus, (Mr.) Zainal Abidin, Sugito, (Dr.) H. Moh. Mahjudin, (Dr.) Santoso, Adang Kadarusman, (Dr.) Sulaiman, Siregar, (Prof. Dr.) Sudiono Pusponegoro, (Dr.) Suhardi Hardjolukito, (Dr.) Pangaribuan Siregar and others.(Dok. Kompas)

Language, Nation

By Muhammad Yamin, 1921

“What you have inherited from your fathers, earn over again for yourselves or it will not be yours.” Goethe

While still small and young in years
The little child nestles in her mother’s lap,
Singing soft songs and lullabies her mother
Beams over her child overflowing with joy;
She rocks lovingly night and day,
Cradle hanging in the land of her ancestors.

Born to a nation with its own language
Surrounded by family to the right and the left,
Raised in the customs of the land of the Malays
In grief and in joy and in sorrow too
A sense of togetherness and unity flow
From her language with its sweet sound.

Whether in wailing tears, or in rejoicing
Whether in times of joy or in adversity and danger;
We breathe to maintain our lives
In the language that embodies our soul,
Wherever Sumatra is, there is the nation,
Wherever the patchwork island is, there is our language.

My beloved Andalas, land of my birth,
From the time I was young,
Till the time that I die and am laid in the earth
I shall never forget our language,
Remember, young people, oh unhappy Sumatra,
Lose your language and your nation is lost too too.

February 1921


Bahasa Bangsa was irst published in Indonesian in the Dutch language journal Jong Sumatra : organ van den Jong Sumatranen Bond, Batavia, February 1921. Also in Sandjak-sandjak Muda Mr. Muhammad Yamin [The Young Poems of Mr. Muhammad Yamin]  Firma Rada, Djakarta 1954, p. 9. Republished in Jassin, H. B.  Pujangga baru : prosa dan puisi / dikumpulkan dengan disertai kata pengantar oleh H.B. Jassin  [Pujangga Baru : prose and poetry / collected and accompanied by an introduction by H.B. Jassin] Haji Masagung, Jakarta,  1987, p. 322.

Other background that may of interest includes: Abdullah, Taufik. and Cornell University. Modern Indonesia Project.  Schools and politics : the Kaum Muda movement in West Sumatra (1927-1933) / Taufik Abdullah  Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, Cornell University Ithaca, N.Y  1971  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7822864-schools-and-politics; Yamin, Muhammad. Tan Malacca, Bapak Republik Indonesia: Riwajat-politik Seorang Pengandjoer Revolusionér Jang Berfikir, Berdjoeang Dan Menderita Membentoek Negara Republik Indonesia. Djakarta: Berita Indonesia, 1946. Print.; Van Miert, Hans. “The ‘Land of the Future’: The Jong Sumatranen Bond (1917-1930) and Its Image of the Nation.” Modern Asian Studies, vol. 30, no. 3, 1996, pp. 591–616. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/312984. Accessed 22 Feb. 2020.

Haters

Haters

By Kotak

Hey, my hater, don’t hate me
You’ll just hurt yourself
Hey, my hater, don’t spy on me
You’ll just be disappointed

I’m having a good time, enjoying my life
Why are you the one who ends up
Hurting, disturbed
Because of me?

You claim to be happy
But in reality, you’ve got problems
Problems seeing, seeing
That I’m happy.. that’s your tough luck.

Hey, my hater, don’t hate me
You’re just wasting your energy
Hey, my hater, the more you hate me
The sadder your life becomes

I’m having a good time, enjoying my life
Why are you the one who ends up
Suffering, disturbed
Because of me?

You claim to be happy
But the reality is, you’ve got problems
Problems seeing, seeing
That I’m happy.. that’s your tough luck.

What’s wrong, see, you want your life to be difficult
Always finding fault, so you can criticize
I’m over it, wow, friends even, what’s the point?
What there is, is you’re disappointed, when I’m having fun
Criticize here, criticize there, you don’t like anything
You don’t even provide, but you’re the one who gets mad
Me, well, I don’t have a problem, but you get stressed
Always wrong, better if I just party
You hate, but I get motivated
For me it’s better, you though, are getting angrier
We’ve stopped being friends, we’re, true, not enemies?
Pull your life together, don’t throw everything away

You claim to be happy
But the reality is you’ve got problems
Problems seeing, seeing
That I’m happy, ohhh..

Claiming to be happy
But the reality is you’ve got problems
problems seeing, seeing
That I’m happy, that’s your tough luck

Short Story: The Poetic Journey of a Contract Hitman

The Poetic Journey of a Contract Hitman

By Surya Gemilang

It’s kind of strange because the person who needs my services this time is a teenage high school boy, not a government official, or someone like that, quite apart from how he finds out where I live, or where he gets the sort of dough he needs to pay me. And also the person I have to bump off isn’t an important person, not someone who if he get killed is going to seriously destabilize some country for example. Instead it’s an Indonesian language teacher who teaches my teenage customer’s class.

“Why do you want this guy bumped off?” I ask sharply, because I think this kid has turned up here not so serious. “Don’t tell me just because you got hung out to dry in the schoolyard, or because you got a bad exam score.”

“His crime was much worse, Mister Hitman,” says the high school kid, obviously with an expression that shows me clearly how badly he wants this guy bumped off. “He stole the poems I submitted for an assignment.”

“Hah? What do you mean?”

The teenage kid explains more or less like this. A month ago, the Indonesian language teacher told his students to write three poems to be submitted the following week. Like a good student, my young customer does the work and hands it up on time. Funny thing is, three weeks after he hands it up, he come across his three assignment poems published in the writing column of a national newspaper, in the name of the Indonesian language teacher!

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for my poems to be published in that newspaper…” he continues, his voice is getting, like, real emotional.

***

The day after the high school kid gives me the address of the Indonesian language teacher’s home, straight away I go to the address; not to bump him off, but first to check out the joint non-stop for a few days. As a professional hitman, of course, I have to figure out how to pop the teacher as neatly as possible, how to get away from the neighborhood where he lives without getting seen by nobody, anything I have to be careful of around the place, and things like that.

I conclude that knocking the Indonesian language teacher off is not going to be that hard, in fact, it’s going to be much, much easier than taking out some random mayor, minister, president, or such like.

My target is only a 40-year-old teacher who, aside from spending ordinary days at school, is always busy at his house correcting student papers, reading poetry books, and writing poetry until he starts to cry. This is serious. He doesn’t have any children or a wife. I think all he wants to do is “give” his life to poetry. And, also, the housing complex where he lives is very quiet.

“I’ve checked it out enough,” I explain to the high school kid when he arrives again at my house to nail down the way I work. “Tomorrow night he’s going to die horribly. And as a bonus, I’m going to take some of his poetry collections for you.”

“Thank you, Mister Hitman. But, if you don’t mind, as well as dying horribly, I also want him to die poetically.”

Even though I don’t completely get the phrase “die poetically” I reply, “Even though I ain’t no poet, the jobs I do are always more poetic than poetry.” I myself don’t really understand the phrase “more poetic than poetry”, but I say this on purpose just so it sounds poetical, and so it makes my young customer happy.

***

That night the Indonesian language teacher is writing poetry on his laptop, and I am standing behind him without him knowing it. I have equipped myself with a ball of nylon thread, instead of the silenced pistol I used to use. In fact the hit I am about to do will be a little harder, but that will just give it a feeling that is more poetic. And, just as the high school kid asked, as the Indonesian language teacher struggles to take his last breath, I am going to say the lines of the poem I’ve been memorizing since yesterday in his ear:

In a moment the last guest will arrive
who you will welcome joyfully:
death

You will open the door for him
a second after there’s a rough knock
then you’ll both exchange smiles

It was one of the poems written by the high school kid that he composed for his assignment — for some reason, I can’t remember the title — the poem that is expected to make the Indonesian language teacher realize immediately at the last moment, why he is being murdered.

I think this is going to be my stupidest job, and not so manly… But what the hell.

I step slowly closer to the teacher to snare his neck from behind when suddenly he turns around and spits right into my face. Damn! Like out of the blue, I’m so shocked that I freeze for a moment while I feel the saliva between my eyes, saliva cold like the ocean at night.

“Feel the spit that is filled with poetry,” the teacher says.

My heart is suddenly pounding so hard, like it’s going to explode. A sensation spreads quickly from my face to my whole body. I don’t know what the right word is for the sensation. What is clear, after the sensation stopped spreading, suddenly…

the hand of the wind smashes the windowpane
and crashes into my heart
the clock that beats calmly
grips my stomach
until the words expressing pain
erupt from every pore in my body

suddenly someone knocked on the door
at my back, with
an unusual tenderness:
him, the last guest

My whole body is so weak that I cannot do anything except lie on the floor, staring…

the ceiling laughs aloud
to see my withered body
from its mouth is visible
a shower of spears that soon arrive

I’ve almost been killed a couple of times while doing a job, but this time it feels very different. I don’t feel suffering, but instead, I enjoy it! Damn it!

Then the Indonesian teacher squats down beside me. He laughs, then says, “And now the last guest arrives who you welcome joyfully: death.”

***

The next morning, when the high school teenager finds a sheet of A4 paper on the ground at the front door of his house, he almost accidentally steps on it in his school shoes. For a moment he squints as he stares at the contents of the sheet of paper before bursting into tears. No. He’s not crying out of sadness. He is just so moved to see the hitman’s corpse wrapped up so poetically.

 


Surya Gemilang, The Poetic Journey of a Contract Hitman (Perjalanan Puitis Seorang Pembunuh Bayaran) was published in Koran Tempo daily newspaper on 7-8 March 2020. [Retrieved from https://lakonhidup.com/2019/10/13/menembak-ati-tujuh-orang]

Surya Gemilang was born in Denpasar, Bali, on March 21, 1998. His books include: Chasing Shooting Stars (Mengejar Bintang Jatuh) (a collection of short stories, 2015), How to Love Monsters (Cara Mencintai Monster) (a collection of poems, 2017), A Taste of Death (Mencicipi Kematian) (a collection of poems, 2018), and Looking for a Head for Mother (Mencari Kepala untuk Ibu) (a collection of short stories, 2019). His other writings can be found in more than 10 mixed anthologies and numerous media publications.

Featured image credit: Mother’s Prayer by Mark Chaves