PUstaka puJAngga

Translated by Agus B. Harianto

[THEATRICAL OF SOEKARNO IN ENDEH, FLORES]

Watching the moss peeled off the skins
from meat of coral by the rip of the sun.

Rock hurled to be dumb and hot
forged by steel of horseshoe onto the streets.

Farther his pain was such as widows,
coconut leaves stricken by the wandering wind.

Paralyzed the dust of dry season
its crying toward the grass of
island of Flower.

Panting breaths by the air clogged
solid slab of the clouds
stranded onto the legs of evening.

Stepping on the coastal of headland
on the old and faded sank
in intention of the thorns of night.

Ignored to the stars
the moon sprucing on the ocean
when lake of his eyes
made as the estuary.

[BENGAWAN SOLO]
To Gesang Martohartono

Your stream tells the story of old man
sitting on the cluster of clay.

Staring at the rolling of waves
the fog and the sun caressing.

Nets of the wind pulses
as strong as bosom of suspiciously fishermen by net.

Exploring the depth of character
singing the keroncong of soul.

Anonymous flowers from the village,
soul communion of the season of silent.

Reaches boat of thousands ages
cleared by tears as strong as teak tress.

Your songs and ballads flow the longing
to penetrate the limit of bile.

________
*) keroncong is a kind of old Javanese song, usually sings with special pitch of the singer, and now it’s no longer popular.

[INTERPRETS SHADOW]
For Suhrawardi

The shadow came to tantalize the night
stroke by the light was hunting the rotation.

Pursuing shriek distance of conscience
wandered the quiet and silent clay.

Movement of nervous breath became heavy
as faint as the sentence of nothingness came
gave the back dagger of eagle.

Presumably contemplation of meaningless searched
wisdom of deceit and retraced the origin
as such the trees disengage leaves onto the lake.

[SELF PORTRAIT]
For Van Gogh

Seeing you, my heart beats so hard
railed at my mind and blustered jealousy.

Are there evening slowly paid the age?
While your words are doubtless.

Dry sketch of your brush crushed the world
as the vibration of clouds buffer moves.

Mix of your color blown about the stone
the eyes of thorn’s scraping blunts daggers.

Van Gogh, grant me the strong willing
: to cut off your another ear.

[NYAI LORO KIDUL]
(Putri Lara Kadita)

Oh, come in fully tenderness
as fragrant as tuberose flowers
which been waiting at the across of ocean.

The wind tells about the hill of eternity
the coast dim as much as a kiss of the moon
a stalk of wood just left to be daydreaming.

Lapels hair of acacia crashed
passionate bosom take heart of silent
let the separation of Prabu Siliwangi.

The golden marched rolling the clouds
followed the desires of spring to dance,
penetrated prosper century since the past.

Stars allied with mature bud
close the door for your eyes asleep
when woke up, the dream in the arms.

Singing of insects is the style of wedding
heart part of bamboo groans eternals,
left the sorrow blown by the fog of yearning.

[TO ANYONE FEELS]

Say the greeting of motherland
recites rain of the ancient,

voice to hear for the human
sings the song of twilight of the heart.

Expression of the night meant indeed
torches lighted up the road
:
naked to the altar of conscience.

Lead the jingle of souls
since intoxication of the old century.

Sparkling in the cities of valley
pier showered by the light of full moon
as much as the joking of stars in the space.

The sun spreads flower pistils
the whole sea hear the mighty fish.

Don’t be complacent
for wind shall not rip the sail
:
sheets of time reach the secret,
such as meaningful combines the sense.

[RECEIVES LAKE OF BALLAD]
To W.S. Renda

Greeting came into the valleys blend in the fog of switch over
led by path of old hill picking the wind of light.

Birds chirp tells about blue nest, the dew caromed
to keep the promises fell onto the hall marble floors which absorbs.

Boy’s sweat sings the song about missing to the home page
and grasses greeted to the morning and wetted the sheets of heart.

In drizzle falls getting heavy, beat of eagle across the firmament
mighty wings as voice of the reaching story of this country
: People in crowded to the gates of the city swallowed up by the color.

Stare at it when in doubt, it would be shown sweet love
tears of quiet soul receives lakes of ballads,
and hurricane leaves land parts to be fertile.

Filed under: Poetry, PUstaka puJAngga