Tag Archives: Relationships

New Album: Menolak Tunduk By Wukir Suryadi

New Album: Menolak Tunduk [Refuse to Obey]

By Wukir Suryadi

Based on album notes from Bandcamp:

The uncertain situation of the pandemic due to government policies that are not concerned with the welfare and security of the people makes anyone indignant. Survival is initiated independently and collectively through community solidarity action, including protest. Ironically, community action has not been responded to as an aspiration prompting government improvement, but instead was responded to with repression. Wukir’s statement of disobedience is not only directed against the sociopolitical conditions, but also against all things that limit and restrict freedom of expression.

This attitude is reflected in the compositions on this album. It’s not as melodic as it used to be. Dark as usual, aggressive, abrasive, transcendental, and definitely tribal. The percussion element is very dominant. This emerged from his new instrument in the form of a wooden box with a line-shaped hole. This ancient-futuristic album marks a tumultuous new cross-dimensional era to affirm our stance, to disobey.

credits
released November 10, 2021

Instruments:
Kentongan serie A and B,
Guitar, Industrial Mutant, Solet, Senyawa x Benchlab Pedal serie R prototype

Recorded in Senyawa Mandiri, 2021
Mastered by Joseph Lamont

license
some rights reserved

Tags
alternative experimental indonesia Yogyakarta

Yes No Wave Music’s website

Short Story: Bitter Covid By Seno Gumira Ajidarma

Bitter Covid

By Seno Gumira Ajidarma

“Which one tastes bett’a, Kab, bitt’a coffee or bitt’a cofi’?”

Sukab grins like from ear to ear on ‘earin’ young Jali, who ‘as taken the oppa’tuni’y to rest his motorcycle taxi at the food stall, rather ‘an the endless daily roar of pickin’ up food an’ deliverin’ it.

“Ain’t you workin’ because of the lockdown, Li?”

“See ‘ere, this lockdown ‘as made online fried tofu and fish dumplin’s sell like ‘ot cakes, Kab.”

“So, how comes you is still ‘angin’ aroun’ ‘ere, then?”

“One by one them regular customers is dyin’,” says Jali, takin’ off ‘is baseball cap, as if it were outta respect. “Left an’ right, front an’ back, in every ‘ouse, there is someone depar’in'”

“Depar”in’?”

“Depar”in’ this world, Cor!”

“Oh gees, yeah, sorry. So..?”

“What people who is still at home is still bein’ infected like, lookin’ for oxygen cylinders, which is real ‘ard, see. An’ if they looks ‘ealthy, like, it turns around that they is still OTG, infech’ted but without no symp’oms.

“‘at is the gravest of dangers, i’n’t it.”

“That is when they is the most infetchious!”

“Is that why you don’t wanna go out? Ain’t motorcycle taxis right popular jus’ now?”

“Fact is, there ain’t no orders, Kab. Ain’t jus’ the people who’s buyin’ food what’s ‘eadin’ to the gates…”

“The gates?”

“Oh, Sukab! Headin’ to them pearly gates, ‘ken ‘ell!”

“Ah! Snuffin’ it! Look yous keep changin’, see!

“Yeah, not jus’ the buyers even. Plen’y of sellers it is ‘ho ‘as also shuff’led off…”

“Shuffled off? You mean croaked it again, right?”

“Yaapp! Now you knows, ok, why I been sittin’ ‘ere playin’ chess, rather ‘an run aroun’ all confused like, ‘n all not knowin’ what I outta be doin’?”

Yati shouts as she holds out a packed of fried catfish and peanut sauce. “What the hell! Deliver this. And fast. Then get straight back ‘ere, ok? It all ain’t no use neither that people sellin’ food is shippin’ out…”

“Shippin’ out? Dyin’ too?”

“Hey, stup’id, the importan’ thing is, I do not wants no people who is still ‘ealthy dyin’ o’ ‘unger, right…”

Jali grabs the packet like and climbs straight onto his mo’orcycle like a cowboy climbin’ up onto his ‘orse.

The stall was quiet again then, though the motorcycle taxis is still queuin’. Waitin’ for Yati’s food packets. With all this constant comin’ and goin’, Sukab gets to thin’in’. With bein’ down at the bottom, sure is lucky we is still makin’ a little somethin’.

“It may be goin’ all right,” he thinks, “but the worst thin’ is, Christ, them lives…”

“If there is a collapse, like, you is gonna collapse too…,” says Yati, who ‘as joined all manner of online groups. WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook, an’ Twi’er, they was all confusin’ people, an’ makin’ ’em panic, even if they was not wrong.

“The ambulance drivers is exhausted. The grave diggers feels likes they ain’t got no hands left. The preachers is all praying 24 hours a day. The  doctors is havin’ to pick from dozens of dyin’ patients layin’ all around the joint in the emergency tents. Then there’s the health workers, helpin’ theirselves to the vaccines… What else is it if it ain’t a coh’lapse… a brea’ down, a crash…,” says Sukab, as if he is in a kinda thea’re play.

It’s true everything that was happenin’. At the food stall you ‘ears every neighborhood announcement from the speakers at them mosques, the ones close by as well as the ones way off. There’s no end to the speakers wailing Inna Lillahi, etcetera, and endin’ in the news that some body or other is gonna get taken straight from the ‘ospital to the graveyard. Bodies is bein’ lost, bodies is bein’ swapped, their souls flyin’ up an’ not bein’ able to say nothin’ to their relies ‘ho is prayin’ in front of the wrong body’s grave.

Yati shakes ‘er head an’ jus’ stares at ‘er cellphone.

“It sure is like that. The people who ain’t passed says they was almost goin’ crazy jus’ because they ain’t been to the mall…”

“Pass?”

“Like, it’s everythin’ from before: croaks, goes up to that big house, goes to them pearly gates, shuffles off, depar’s this world… does I really have to say dies? Ok, so, passes on…”

Sukab picks up ‘is mask an’ takes a mouthful of ‘is corn coffee.

“What it’s called is runnin’ outta energy, from bein’ a volunteer, all the worry by itself is.., just real hard…”

“But, you ain’t gonna run out, right, Kab?”

“Of what?”

“Of what you says. Of energy.”

“Gees! It ain’t not enough to jus’ pray!” Then Sukab points to his forehead.

“Your ‘uman brain has gotta really work real good, like!”

He stands, grabs his ‘oe and dus’pan.

“Where is you goin’, Kab? Ain’t there a lockdown?”

“‘ell, who is gonna bury all them people ‘ho croak?”

***

Pondok Ranji, Thursday 15 July 2021


Bitter Covid (Kopid Pait) was published in Panajournal, 15 July 2021. (Retrieved from https://www.panajournal.com/2021/07/kopid-pait)

Seno Gumira Ajidarma, born in Boston, United States, June 19, 1958. Now serves as Chancellor of the Jakarta Institute of the Arts (IKJ). Seno became better known after writing his trilogy of works on East Timor, namely Saksi Mata (collection of short stories), Jazz, Purfum, dan Insiden? (novel), and Ketika Jurnalisme Dibungkam, Sastra Harus Bicara (collection of essays). In 2014, he launched a blog called PanaJournal (www.panajournal.com) about human interest stories with a number of journalists and professionals in the field of communication. For other work by Seno Gumira Adjidarma click here.

Kopid Pait

 

Lotus Poems: Ode to a Huge Flood By WS Rendra

Ode to a Huge Flood

By WS Rendra

Between three mountains
embracing the moon.
From a broad arm of steel
emerges one thousand hands.
……………………….
In a huge flood that is unexpected
people survive
not because of strength,
not because of intelligence,
but because of the element of chance.
Of the strong and the intelligent
many die helplessly.
The pure small children
although they are powerless
survive the disaster
And saved also are those
who once more become young children
and dissolve into the universe.


WS Rendra, Ode to a Huge Flood (Syair Banjir Besar), Lotus Poems (Syair Teratai), Sinar Harapan Daily, 19 April 1975 (Accessed from Armin Bell, Kumpulan Fiksi Blog, Collected Fiction Blog.)

Indonesian Translation Service NAATI Certified Translators
Photo by Charl Durand on Pexels.com

Lotus Poems: Emptiness is Full of Power By WS Rendra

Emptiness is Full of Power

By WS Rendra

Habit is not personality
Personality is also not a delusion
about ourselves.
Personality comes from emptiness.
When we are empty
we are agile and alert.
In emptiness,
we can respond to anything,
according to the circumstances
and not based on habit.
The full are rigid and lumbering –
often even have no power.
The empty are in fact full of power.


WS Rendra, Emptiness is Full of Power (Kosong Itu Penuh Daya), Lotus Poems (Syair Teratai), Sinar Harapan Daily, 19 April 1975 (Accessed from Armin Bell, Kumpulan Fiksi Blog, Collected Fiction Blog.)

NAATI Certified Indonesian Translators Borobudur Morning

Short Story: Bitter Covid

Bitter Covid

By Seno Gumira Ajidarma

“Which one taste better, Kab, bitter coffee or bitter covid?”

Sukab grinned from ear to ear hearing young Jali who had taken the opportunity to park his motorbike taxi at the food stall, instead of the usual daily roar of collecting and delivering food.

“You not working because of the lockdown, Li?”

“Look, the lockdown makes online fried tofu and fish dumplings sell real well, Kab.”

“So, why are you still hanging around here?”

“One by one the regular customers are croaking,” said Jali, taking off his baseball cap as if out of respect. “Left and right, front and back, in every house there’s someone who’s departing…”

“Departing?”

“Departing this world, gees!”

“Oh yeah, sorry. So?”

“The people who are still at home are still getting infected, searching for oxygen cylinders which is real hard, and if they look healthy, well, it turns out they’re O.T.G., infected with no symptoms.

“That’s the most dangerous, right.”

“That’s when they are most infectious!”

“That what’s making you feel like not going out? Aren’t motorbike taxis real popular right now?”

“The fact is, there ain’t any orders, Kab. It ain’t just the people buying food who’re heading to the gates…”

“The gates?”

“Oh, Sukab! Heading to the pearly gates, hell!”

“Ah! Passed away! Look you keep changing!

“Yeah, not just the buyers. Heaps of sellers have also shuffled off…”

“Shuffled off? You mean died again, right?”

“Yesss! You know now, ok, why I’m sitting here playing chess rather than running around confused not knowing what I should be doing?”

Yati shouted out as she held out a package of fried catfish and peanut sauce. “What the hell! Deliver this, and fast. Then get right back here, ok? It ain’t good neither that people selling food are shipping out…”

“Shipping out? Dying too?”

“Hey, stupid, the important thing is I do not want people who are still healthy dying of hunger…”

Jali grabbed the package and climbed straight up onto his motorbike like a cowboy climbing onto his horse.

The stall was quiet again, though the motorbike taxis were still queuing, waiting for Yati’s food packets. With all this constant coming and going, Sukab got to thinking. Being down at the bottom, it’s lucky we’re still making a little.

“It may be going all right,” he thought, “but the worst thing is, gees, the lives…”

“If there’s a collapse, well, you’re gonna collapse too…,” said Yati, who had joined all sorts of online groups, WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. They were all confusing people and making them panic, even if they weren’t wrong.

“The ambulance drivers are exhausted. The grave diggers feel like they’ve got no hands left. The preachers are prayers 24 hours a day. The  doctors have to choose from dozens of dying patients scattered all around the place in the emergency tents. Then there are the health workers, helping themselves to vaccines… What else is it, if it isn’t a collapse… a break down, a crash…,” said Sukab, as if he were in some drama.

It was true everything that was happening. At the food stall, you heard every Neighborhood announcement from the speakers at the mosques, the ones close by as well as the ones a long way off. There was no end to the speakers blaring Inna Lillahi etcetera and ending in the announcement that some body was gonna be taken straight from the hospital to the graveyard. Bodies were being lost, bodies were being swapped, their souls flying up not able to say anything to the relatives who were praying in front of the wrong person’s grave.

Yati shook her head as she stared at her cellphone.

“It sure is like that. The people who haven’t passed say they’re almost going crazy just because they haven’t been to the mall…”

“Pass?”

“Well, it’s everything from before: croak, gone to the big house, gone to the pearly gates, shuffled off, departed this world… do I really have to say died? Ok, so, passed on…”

Sukab picked up his mask and took a drink of his corn coffee.

“What it’s called is running out of energy, from being a volunteer, all the worry by itself is, really very hard…”

“But, you can’t run out, right, Kab?”

“Of what?”

“Of what you said, of energy.”

“Yeah! It’s not enough to just pray!” Then Sukab pointed to his forehead.

“Your human brain has got to really work!”

He stood up, grabbed his hoe and dustpan.

“Where are you going, Kab? Isn’t there a lockdown?”

“Well, who’s going to bury the people who pass?”

***

Pondok Ranji, Thursday 15 July 2021


Bitter Covid (Kopid Pait) was published in Panajournal, 15 July 2021. (Retrieved from https://www.panajournal.com/2021/07/kopid-pait)

Seno Gumira Ajidarma, born in Boston, United States, June 19, 1958. Now serves as Chancellor of the Jakarta Institute of the Arts (IKJ). Seno became better known after writing his trilogy of works on East Timor, namely Saksi Mata (collection of short stories), Jazz, Purfum, dan Insiden? (novel), and Ketika Jurnalisme Dibungkam, Sastra Harus Bicara (collection of essays). In 2014, he launched a blog called PanaJournal (www.panajournal.com) about human interest stories with a number of journalists and professionals in the field of communication. For other work by Seno Gumira Adjidarma click here.

Kopid Pait