PUstaka puJAngga

Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Traslated by Agus B. Harianto

I’ve never know my body’s temperature by thermometer. But it can be felt; because it has brought me friendly to go everywhere. Barely a few days I did not write, I just edited the old writing that have not been solid enough with the feet of purity as creations.

How psychiatric is not disengaged from the body’s condition, it can not be ignored from braided digestion as well, which forms the character of determining steps of spiritual and also outer body.

The one who intrigues the scale of fate engenders splashes of water in front of the light produces an arch of rainbow, firms the color reached together with shadows of hope.

The world of poetry is such steam of instinct, which is sensitive to stare around its daily live. Interprets it through deep contemplation, combines among the material also the non material that must been reached by certain beliefs.

The belief is struggling in the furnace of the reality of temptation to create a figure of idea, or the kite is pulled and stretched by the threads of worried constantly.

There are blossoming such as the rising of dawn’s sun at the horizon of strait of possibility, it should be pursued by the wind sending the news of healing. As much as a dimple smiled lovely since brittle body of the day after tomorrow.

Doesn’t incident of sick similar stir the material and glue to the papers that wanted to be gathered as book. And also the balance position of the reading with listening to the song of the future.

When writing with the whole soul, unmeasured fascinated. Astonishment resembles hand gazing upward, but not a beggar begs. There are superb efforts and moaning of anxious to hope worriedly with the testimony of hanging cloud that is as black as charcoal, but it did not really want to lose the rain.

He combined the coincidences of time to support the expected. Along with a great jolt, the one that must been said born. The spelling suddenly came out from the mouth of similarities, in the psychology it shows as becoming that more than reality.

The written is just telling the testimony, not to stripe the pressure of nerves beyond the view. Enchanted by the sound of the colors of changes along with, it becomes a natural sentence of read calling. Continued to chord, the law of the beauty intimated to them and accosted above the charming position.

The poetry is deposited collection of crosses solid time and space of event, merged into a musical harmony he has. The beginning of spirit is transition from solids melt incarnates blowing wind of singing.

By it, the teller must ready to be sincere to any flared up conditions ought to sail the words, rolling like waves to rock the body to cliff of arrogance; the times of stupidity, in passing to be comforted by gold coast of triumph.

But wax and wane the melody of beauty, looking at from the distance but the nearest flashes; the heart is enchanted by sparkled of poetic that drunk by the free soul, or the seeker of subsequent generations.

Then elevated the results of his efforts or any word that spelled out as poetry, a collection of achievement of the certain gleaming corner. Luminous numbers is reflected, mildness that has charisma of time, prestige of the space of wandered centuries.

Then the light letters resembles the engagement of prophetic soul that is always exist in every era, hereditary and following the upheavals of nation he has in his self.

Moreover, the poet personality is not made, but it rises from the fidelity of life out of grade and runs the live to enlighten the human kind. It is the responsibility of life received as gift of life to the redoubled sense of sensitivity. If not performed, doors of implication shining his life would be closed.

Resembling a deadlock, the power of its reaching is not as sharp as sharpened machete, not engenders daily activities perfected his inners depth. It becomes the friction stones of feelings he hold (: principle), splashes the splash and marks the excitement of the grades before.

To add texture of this paper to be more subtle, and its breaths on to the final shape, let’s see the poetry of Charles Baudelaire below, entitles;

LE VOYAGE / PERJALANAN:

Maut, nahkoda tua! Sudah waktunya kita bertolak
Betapa jeleknya negeri ini, O Maut! Pasang layar!
Walau langit dan lautan hitam bagai tinta
Jantung kita mencat sinar-sinar merah berpijar
Curahkan racunmu atas kami agar kami tawakkal
Oleh sebab api ini terlalu membara dalam kepala
Kami akan menyelam ke dasar lautan, Surga atau Neraka
Ke daerah tak dikenal, di mana Yang Baru
menghembus dari hadapan.

LE Voyage / TRAVEL:

Death, the old ship’s captain! It’s time we left
how ugly this land, O Death! Place the screen!
Although the ocean and the sky is as black as ink
Our heart painted fluorescent red rays
Put your poison for us so that we resignation
By this fire is too much hot in the head
We will dive into the bottom of ocean, Heaven or Hell
Into unknown regions, where’s The New
wafts from the front.

[Taken from the book “Sajak-Sajak Modern Perancis dalam Dua Bahasa (Bilingual Modern French Poetry)”, compiled by Wing Kardjo, Pustaka Jaya, second edition, January 1975]. Which is retranslated into English would be more or less like above.

The poet was given the testimony beyond his era, makes witness feel eerie. Where, the journey of life, the fate of the wrinkle old earth, would be gone to face the presence of Death.

The sails screen must been opened quickly before it was ambushed by predator, although blurry shadows as black as ink above the ocean, by dark cloud above overarching feelings of anxiety.

It was still the heart interpreted the incident and implies the red light, reflected the glare of light challenged the destiny in front; the poison of destruction, pressured and horrible fear ton be gripped and expected the resignation been thicken.

Fire burning in the head burned the mind and left merely intuition, diving into the basic of impossibility, happiness and woe. Foreign areas that most terrible which used as fairytale for children of wolfs before sleep, a blowing of old hills confronts its self confidently.

Absorb the whole incident and he combined it to be the pile of the rocks of time. Injuries of fingers, gently heart is bruised beaten by the time, sliced by the happening increasingly mature interpreted the final event of death was not deterred.

The certain fall, the stems of words are born by bright destiny of believe, he devoted a poor soul for the opening of the hijab covered so far. Desiring the missed reality, and has long abandoned by teased the scales swing of the past.

If caught in the death penalty, hoping to quickly cut his neck for the sake of completing the view to the world that does not give meaning to each other, except the fallen of the dew of court.

For the arrival of truly felt, how the carrying so far been solid thrilling in every time. Down the road to sharp eyes, deafen to the ear, until the journey of his life to the Power of the entire universe.

The man of poet carries the burden that increasingly heavy because of the long hill. When got to the final destination, he was not disappointed. He gained further testimony; it had penetrated the existed layers and broke the layers of nothingness.

Down the aisle could not find another way. This is not the limit of ability speaking but the world outspreaded has united in his self. It was wanted to disappear together, hit by the light in the middle of the night right on the sprawled body, then obtained an odd pleasure that was not felt before.

As restrictions of tongue tasted flavors, the death was accepted willingly. A servant was enchanted, soon came to call the lightning and clouds. Makes leaves of air feel eerie, raising the level of prosperity in the whole spiritual of teller to The Prince.

http://www.sastra-indonesia.com/2010/07/melirik-sajak-%E2%80%9Cperjalanan%E2%80%9D-charles-baudelaire/

Filed under: Essay, PUstaka puJAngga