Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto
Every poet has their own prestige, radiates their own charisma, spread allure as strong as their quest to copulate the live in the life. They are such as various birds filled the jungle, fused chirping, sometimes collided competitiveness, for the ear retraced the foundation of quiet aims to the high plains of testimony.
In the wilderness of word has history along with content of any kind of knowledge, followed the rotation of the earth surrounds the sun, and circled millennium of light, stayed in dark hole of humanity. Contemplation on the days of battle, among sent the news about opinion, gave the seeds of acquisition, taste the fruit, and also reward each other the news to the land he stepped on.
He who was present at the end of the century, with glittering wings on to perfect achievement of the past would be remembered long enough, though I still hesitate to call it forever. Or that could break down the embankment of impasse for beautiful face of world policy as harmonious as the essence of feeling; justice for the sake of social prosperity.
Paz, owner of the anthropological background, he was freely studying symptoms contained in the circulatory motion of the earth. His captivating reading on long history of poetry, and meet its half parts in other countries, could be summarized as certain knowledge for his soul.
I thought Paz’s style read various scientific of poetic was equal; he tried to be objectively as he could in order no resistance in the future. He cut off the policy of power, by combining strewn harmony since the debris of ancient gathered by being on the situation of self. Occupied his personality at the wide corner similar theatre men has been familiar to boundaries of the stage, and the range of the light of history he believed.
With the whole believed knowledge could transform his words to conjure. Or the self has confidence more than it, hypnotize to whom supposedly his successors as sincerely to hear every curve and turns of his words. Through his essays he scatters ideology as if he was the heir of the 20th century and previous centuries, and which gives further enlightenment.
No doubt, who immediately understood his words without any suspicion, because of attracted by values of the true of logic he performed, would feel like part of the history of his words. Attracted like the needle firmly pulled to the magnetic plate, and the result is there are a lot of poetry style of quest on the achievement of his literary.
They are beguiled and followed, working their self up to the levels appointed, such as crossbreeding of nearly similar birds produce form of sequential, the style of Paz. In here, we do not deny that the birds learn from each other, for the sake to mature the purity it assigned. But I thought a poet is not a kind of bittern, which astutely plays the voices of other birds until forget the nature of its original sound.
Yesterday I was visiting to the enshrinement remnants of the Majapahit kingdom, while this soul is covered by old land of ancestral; its dust is ancient sends the news of interwoven history that is continually heard, for the heart always cares spiritual sensitivity. I trace back who is Paz? The poet who died in 1998, where at that time I was trying hard to clear away the jungle of soul, expressed it into the words when I was in Jogjakarta.
Octavio Paz once said: “so many theories, and none is really convincing.”
And I am full of confidence on my steps along with the fate given, fascinated with the works that is maturely of its working, though from one man I didn’t read his works much. It is a face; a piece of poetry could be explored the past periods of the writer over all the power of his reflection. Then the feeling would be there when we feel his incredible testimony to be reacted alone in the body.
And at this time I quoted his poem entitles:
Semalam pohon abu
Last night the tree of ash
And somehow in what year, I make the answers to the poem with my pen carved, inked in red as below:
Your greeting hesitated me
buried the longing of
For Paz poem above, I got it in a book entitles “OKTAVIO PAZ”, Selected Poems and Essays, Translated by Arif B. Prasetyo, First Publishing, May 2002, Bentang Budaya Yogyakarta. And below, I will try to pass through a piece of his work into the formation of interpretation (which is retranslated into English would be more or less like above).
: Another voice remains unheard by the ear, but heard news delivered by the wind of approximation, weather and season of longing, the close and nearest region, but still has separator. Not distance, but it seemed like a transitional period, the translator sphere, at there Paz intended to purify poetical tradition, as he uttered:
“We’re not going through the end of the poem as some people had said, but the end of the poetic tradition that began the Great Romantic Era: a tradition that culminated with the Symbolic pets and entering the sphere of magnificent twilight by the arrival of the vanguard artists of our century. Another art is now poking at the horizon of dawn. ”
The one who hypnotizes has hope, it will be crowded by receiver. The one who sells more and more prayers would follow, and then its highest level is the soul sucked and led to the abyss of reverie. A goal hypnotized the steps of long quest, within told and incarnates the horns of a dilemma for the one whom sail boat of the light of his heart. Seekers behind are fascinated by the great glittering of the sentences, dazzled and dark to the eyes to move, knocked to forgetfulness.
Does not awareness affected to other forgetfulness? Anything accepted now is not usefully the same in handy later. Like the whisper of distant neighbors, or even doctors diagnose the patient, there is different echoes from drugs; suggestion proclaimed healing.
At the turn, the teller will be left by willing of each individual, who is not satisfied would interpret his own nation from the expert he is not known well. Then the clouds of approximation is no longer providing standpoint in reading the high mountains covered by fog. But, over all the power they turned again to pay attention dispute history of his people, as other voices (the searchers after) since the other (sound of Paz), and did not apply the same despite it is in the rhythm with.
Hence, the principal rather than principal, because of the soul is split by a number of curtains of fog that surrounds the heart of every searcher. The prophets continues the trail of the previous prophets, the echoes perfects the old existence, plants another ideology beside it.
Or echo of the universal voice is always evolving, far beyond the early existence. Through refused paralyzed sides, doesn’t have to wait for the dawn, the twilight also presents the stars. More calm and also it is essentially echoed, in the sphere of inner of other corners that are not heard.
Last night the tree of ash
: The history is preserved, myths spoken again from the mouth wanted to be paid forever, on the nature of presumed eternity. Born by the power of poetic, sweat derived from long reading, meditating to believe flash light of testimony in the cave. Then come out and felt has been undigested selfhood, which is considered capable of carrying purify to the others.
He held seed suppose grain of corn, sown on the land he thought fertile, as a store of ideas. He split the glare of fog, settled and followed the old passing, while he was creating another path for his presence; different colors for the considered enlightener of the times thereafter.
Are not we suspicious? Corn growers are also spreading the pest. Along with his hand gives desire to continue to his greetings? If we do not want to kiss the back of his fingers, although the idea was as if coming from cross idea, from the blood of the country we step on, the nuance of poetic is inhaled everyday life.
Who ever caressed and crossed the body, not an ownership rather than a sense of feeling, as he feels his own, we also enjoy. Loneliness of moon is same color with origin of the coming of attraction, but to who heard the sound before, and has the power of temptation as well.
Like a man walking on earth, is required by those beneath. Or, the death needs the throbbing of life as a witness of replies, and the testimony should not say yes.
: Paz who believe in the existence of a kind of revelation of the decline of poetry, like sabdo pandito ratu (the holy words from the king) in terms of Javanese. He (: poetry) is not the will to say something, but something that came out, and irrevocable (Octavio Paz Lozano was born in Mexico March 31, 1914, and died at April 19, 1998).
There are common sides, between the poet with a king; field of experience, the power of objects, signs, and most cold silence beyond the feeling of the loss of life, when his words were not able to move the joints of soul. Worse than has most black slave to marry; loss of dignity, because anything said did not happen.
Paz passed through the path of whispered. Down the waves of air, news of wind on the dropped leaves, then hiding and to be elusive mystery, except for a sense of its achievement feels shallow. Which is echoed by the secret of the essence of heart, dispersed and didn’t become confidentiality of poetic. As the stone is naked by the line of time, taken his words: “almost speak-”
There was another power, ghost of regret similar girl naked in a realist painting, always crammed with space-time points; cluster of fate at the end of the dagger, a hanging loose of hair with its shadow phosphorescent. So are the colors slowly retrace the secret path, the string across at front of the eyes, the sun always shines, and winking saves a disappointment.
Regret is the secret revealed by the arrogance of speaking through the words. The meaning of his life is asking rations; of mind, more forgotten. Just with another voice but equal with him we can raise. Unfortunately it had back to the beginning, so is to the point of anxiety in a sign of life to the future.
: Doubt ended. How a tremendous power, lived by a neck only, the doubts came suddenly and judge. A swing of sword shot, but before stroke to targets, there is a glimmer of light makes worry. Invisible rules; where feeling supports the energy, the heart moves lymph with the whole power into a wish.
If expressed, at the end of the path is the place of having the heart; causality of taking the heart, the causality (cause and effect) which contains both anxious and exasperation. Concentration is altercation but it also had disappeared by the wind passed, erased memories.
At the other hand, delirium history grew increasingly pushed in the night with limited lighting, continued to multiply the number in place of lightless, in the corner, in the midst of scrub that does not come out.
What he afraids of? Did he worry to disappear beneath the brightly lit? Nimble shadow sneaked, it was not the work of suggestions, or so?