PUstaka puJAngga

Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto

(I) Faust, I hear you in the noisy
the side of my spirit; the hills make line to test this climbing,
far profile on the top of snow mountain is mine.
You freeze the body of rain, the kapok assaults
your robe, whom rumpled for me is the old of your face;
watch the ancient of the world from everything exist.

(II) You are silent similar like the ice statue,
but the hot of your thunderous soul calls them,
to me will present the dancing on the stage,
when everything is sink in your judgments.
I spread the fragrant flowers on the yard of holiness,
the water copulates the rose to splash to the kingdom of light;
the happiness of live gives, special for the guiding of ransom.

(III) I be relieve to visit the bitters,
the one who double crosses, let him be happy for a while;
victory in the graveyard or hopes, this is
the heart of eternality, determining the intention.

(IV) The calling of height’s spirit of sky’s yearning,
which is composed before we mean the observance of religious duties.

(V) Roaming fire destroys the east- west
for the satisfying of sign, the craziness keeps looking for the stupidity,
until get old haven’t found yet, embroiders the time of complain;
isolation in the prison, his soul drops if only past away.
Got free from the jail, the birds don’t desperate,
because Margarete paid it with love that could kill;
her poison is delicious swallowed by the fullness.

(VI) Is it here the place, die in embittered condition,
the eagle chopping the whole body up, doesn’t miss my brain;
I fly together with it, without you realize your satisfaction.

(VII) From Faust I run after the shadow of soul to hunt the ghost,
infiltrates the tendons of my aorta, fresh blood is pouring out; who is
taking a bath in the lake of blood? The assassination on upside down street?

(VIII) I am the everlasting earth that you thrust in the seeds of paddy;
the teak trees, flowers being fragrance,
the wind gives breathing to spell the cloud on the beach.
I am alone to be stabbed by the horrible stillness,
in the frozen of time to melt the consciousness;
the crying of regret in the hole of graveyard.

(IX)The expected way of the death of opinion
on the short deal; broken of rose,
its thorn scratch the skin and light off the light.

(X) This is the quiver of soul of change;
the direction of the sailing ship is wading the hoping,
cleaved the wave on the power of seriousness.
The carcass birds flap to the edge of beach,
at the rock foreland, the stars are glittering at the end of night.

(XI) The swaying of lotus’s stalk blossoms the sheath,
on the middle of lake together with the algae and the fishes,
while the lamps of fishermen by net is shining as far as the throwing.
Morning, the dew’s dropping of leaf’s height tinkles like the chord playing,
the song of peace at the first is the desire,
then the meeting wake the courage up.

(XII) A glass of kohwa is getting to cool, as the color of white cloud the bright of
moon, inserted at the nights evict your sleepy,
leave the ever been through, walk on the looked for,
onto the slope of sweetheart’s hill, got loose away of leafs
know intimately the dark and light of the sun.

(XIII) In here is the location, all roaming are answered;
haunt the leveling building, the doors for hoping are opened.
That is the owl delivers the bats greeting,
call the heartbeat, stabbed at groin of
fingers, catch the mist to hope on the grains of lave.

(XIV) There is the one come suddenly, pound on the door of bosom,
the empty house is occupant by the spiders, the dusts get old;
at his forehead is lined regret of the sun,
doesn’t able to supply the bone, blazed of soul fire.

(XV) Walk along on the weather without ever completely,
arranges the stones as level as the wafting cloud;
that is the twilight that yet form the stupa.
Where is this place? At the height of hill,
or a kapok is released to harvest ammunition;
fly with the fast wind without mind to keep visited,
even as thin as the gravity of jealous to tie up the rope of horse.
That miracle black magic horse, its master comes the storm,
thousands rain of bullet embed without have chance to see the trace of
the happening, but the poet knows before and after.

(XVI) Where are you come from? Behind the sediment of gray cloud,
or lie down in my bosom; same faith doesn’t loose away by the flare of stone,
the faces doesn’t betrayal above the stove of the people of Mephisto,
only the dancing of sincerity, the wine of repeatedly chant part of the confession of faith flies upward
leaves the throne of meeting, more than the love and lave.

(XVII) Very black stone is split by the light of conviction;
war at the limit of skin of inner heart is as thin as the breathing of abdomen,
similar like the creating of stone of the resister, or
drops the snow off, melts at the height of ocean.
And climb up to sink the island,
as big as alley of needle, pours out heavily to the whole
corners; the limit of consciousness of faith in the throat,
therefore engage in such recitation before get into the war.

(XVIII) Faust, sometimes, you more than the angels
also lived off the grade like the mangy donkey;
deviated alliance together with black cat,
you dipped the ink then you painted it,
until the whole universe were in dark.
The carbon black cloud went in procession thickly
by the pushing of wind of east- west,
summarized without the light of moon,
only the lightning of thunderclap you assumed as the divine inspiration.

(XIX) Where the old spirit raise up to sue,
the soul be back to meet the earth get more reap,
delivers the spongy bones to the rest place.

(XX) Catch your self, the roaming soul,
whatever you like to do with casting net, or with the net of spiders,
that is much better to feel the season’s blowing;
wind and water you accept, summarized to the body.
Melt the air’s pores of flied time
as far as the feet press between the back of horse,
as strong as the aura doesn’t release the beauty face.
You fly away fast, a lance was tied up the flag of courage
with booming war dancing,
persuade the cloud to spread out the air and reap the stillness,
to the throne of maiden, the beginning of inner heart incarnates become intention.

(XXI) The one who doesn’t want to get old hunt a shoulder lifting of female coffee;
war, the wave attack the rock foreland of periods,
alike the apples almost ripe at tree of sun,
always give energy, doesn’t miss and for sure is felt,
its leafs are fell off together with forced understanding of time.

September 7, 2000.

http://www.sastra-indonesia.com/2008/11/buat-jwv-goethe-ii/

Filed under: Ballads of Too Early Destiny, PUstaka puJAngga