21 Love Poems

bilingual edition

Worlwide Copyright Cecep Syamsul Hari Translated by Harry Aveling and Dewi Candraningrum

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Orfeus E-Books or the poet himself.

First published, 2006 E-book edition, first published, 2008

Orfeus E-Books
Jl. Raya Cibabat No. 357 Cimahi 40522 West Java, Indonesia Email: cecepsyamsulhari@yahoo.co.id Official website: http://www.freewebs.com/cecepsyamsulhari
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CONTENTS

Efrosina 5 Euphrosyne 7 Meja Kayu 9 Wooden Table 11 32 Variasi pada C Minor 13 32 Variations on C Minor 15 Anne 17 Anne 18 Ikebana 19 Ikebana 20 Molto Allegro 21 Molto Allegro 22 Ida 25 Ida 26 Syair Kemurungan 27 A Poem of Melancholy 28 Syair Kesedihan 29 A Poem of Sorrow 30 Gerimis 31 A Light Rain 32 Sebelum Makan Malam 33 Before Dinner 34

Pada Wajah Daun-daun 35 The Face of the Leaves 36 Episode Terakhir dari Kenangan 37 The Last Thing I Remember 38 Sayap Kenangan yang Terbakar 39 The Burning Wings of Memories 40 Empat Mil dari Kenangan 41 Four Miles from Memory 42 Kenang-kenangan 43 Remembrance 44 Selangkah dari Matamu 45 A Step Away from Your Eyes 46 Kedukaanmu Dikabarkan Burung-burung 47 The Birds Told Your Grief 48 Sebab bagai Angin 49 Like the Wind 50 Jaka Tarub 51 Jaka Tarub 52 Sepasang Daun Gugur 53 Two Falling Leaves 54 Translators Notes 55

EFROSINA

Ketika bangun pagi sekali, pada suatu hari, aku takjub ilalang tumbuh sepanjang betisku. Tubuhku kecut dan pasi, hujan menyiram rambutku semalaman; seseorang bermuka pucat bermahkota cahaya ke dalam cawan menuangkan cairan merah bagai anggur, seperti darah: "Untuk kesehatan kita." Kami pun bersulang, aku bersulang, dengan murung. Tapi demi Tuhan, demi dia, wajahnya jelita dan jenaka. Aku teringat ibu, lalu kutanyakan padanya telah ia lihatkah pohon di sorga muasal semua penderitaan manusia. Namun ibu tersayang terlalu jauh dan seruanku begitu rendah. Angin keras dan riuh, tersesat aku di entah. Andaikan firdaus, seandainya inferno, dapat diukur dengan kilo jaraknya dan jarum jam berputar sebaliknya. Barangkali aku menangis, ya, sendirian, bermalam-malam. Keningku rekat ke marmar, jiwaku memar. Kelopak bunga baobab berguguran dari sembab mataku.

Di kejauhan seluruh masjid bertakbir, para malaikat pulang ke tabir. Meninggalkan sayap mereka di jalan raya. Aku terikat di tempatku. Para filsuf menyebutnya dunia, aku menyebutnya penjara atau puisi atau jalusi musim semi. Seseorang dengan sinaran berputar di lingkar kepalanya menjadi kekasihku yang setia, dan pada suatu senja minggat begitu saja. Aku patah. Jatuh sakit dan ginjalku lemah. Aku menunggu, tidak, aku tidak menunggu, aku menunggu, tidak, mustahil aku menunggu, aku menunggu, tidak, ia muskil kembali, ia mungkin kembali. Wajah yang memukau menyelundup dalam mimpiku. Bagai hujan rusuh menghunjam lebuh kemarau. Di hari yang lain pusar di lidahku diliput lumut, dan mulutku pun bisu. Biji gandum liar berjatuhan dari lubang hidungku, disemaikan angin ke seluruh penjuru. Aku kini buta dan menanti. Bersandar di kursi malas seharian, setelah itu berminggu-minggu, kemudian berbulan-bulan. "Dungu!" suara asing berbisik di telingaku, "segala sesuatu berubah. Waktu tidak berlari ke punggungmu. Duduk manislah di situ, kenangkan perbuatan santun masa mudamu.

Kutuklah pawai, juga partai, atau apa pun sesukamu." Sayang, sayang, jangan menuduhku pencaci dan mendakwaku Mephisto atau Samiri. Bukan, sayang, bukan. Namaku tak jadi beban. Aku bukan Aaron, bukan setan. Aku pencinta wajah yang pernah datang dan hilang meninggalkan untaian manik cahaya, seperti lira Orfeus bagi madah Eridike yang nestapa. Aku makanan dalam ususmu, keluhan dukalaramu, aku retina dalam matamu. Hanya kudengar desir angin. Maka kepadanya aku berkata: "Kunjungilah negeri terjauh. Temukan dia untukku." Akan kutanggungkan kesedihanku merangkum ranum senyum itu. 1999-2006

EUPHROSYNE

When I awoke very early, one day, I was amazed to find grass growing along my thighs. My body was shrivelled and pale, the rain had run through my hair all night; someone with a pale face, crowned in light, had poured a red liquid into my cup, it may have been wine, or possibly blood: To our good health! We toasted each other, I toasted her and felt very sad. But by God, by her own true self, she was so cute and funny. I thought of my mother, and asked her if she had ever seen the tree in heaven that was the source of good and evil. But my dear mother was far away and couldnt hear a word I said. A fierce wind blew me somewhere I had never been before. Perhaps I was in heaven, perhaps I was in hell. There was no end to it. The hands on the clock ran backwards. I may have wept, I was so alone, my head pressed against a table, my soul was tortured. The petals of the baobab tree fell one by one.

In the distance, mosques praised the name of God. Angels flew behind the veil. Leaving their wings on the highways. I was chained in my room. The philosophers talked of the world, I called it a prison, or a poem, or the jealousy of autumn time. Someone, with the light wound in a circle around her head, vowed to love me forever, then ran away one evening. I was shattered. I became sick. My kidneys failed me. I waited, no, I couldnt wait, I waited, it was impossible, she would never come back, she might come back. An extraordinarily beautiful face snuck into my dreams. It was like a harsh rain falling during a drought. On other days, I was tongue-tied, my mouth grew moss, and I was silent. Grains of wild wheat dropped from my nostrils and scattered in all directions. I was blind, and continued to wait. Resting in a rocking chair, day after day, then week after week, and finally month after month. You fool! a strange voice whispered into my ear. Everything changes. Time no longer runs at your back. Sit here quietly and think of all the innocent things you did when you were young.

Curse those who demonstrate in the streets, curse the political parties, curse anything at all. Darling, darling, dont call me a cynic, i dont call me Mephisto or Samiri . Please, darling, dont. It doesnt matter who I am. I am neither Aaron nor Satan. I love the faces which have come and gone, leaving a series of brightly shining lights, ii like Orpheus lyre as he accompanied Euridices sad song. I am the food in your belly, the lament in your grief, the retina in your eye. All I heard was the sighing of the wind. I told him: Sail to the furthest land. Find her for me. If you do, I shall endure my sorrow wrapped in the sweet bud of a smile. 1999-2006

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MEJA KAYU

Inilah rahasia senja, usia yang terbuang, maut yang mengundang dan menghindar. Laut jauh, malam pualam. Kudengar berbagai suara dari dalam. Pertempuran, tarian Mephisto, erang dan keluh, jamu yang diseduh, sedang dia memungut bayang-bayang: Luka dan prelude dari duka yang luput. Ada perempuan matang bergigi kawat, berdiri di sebuah hari, ujung tahun yang basah, di bawah pohon cemara berlampu lebat. Pengakuanku terbesar padamu: aku berhenti menemui seorang gadis, dan minum kopi lagi. Semakin jarang aku memberimu ciuman, umurku berkurang dan kesepian. Telah kuterima kegagalan dan hujatan sebagai cinta. Aku keluar, sepatuku selalu bersemir coklat, kaus kaki baru dan lembut, ah, bukankah telah lama kering rumput di halaman dan Chopin di masa silam menulis lagu pedih tentang hujan. Gerimis dan rincing uang logam, pemantik api dan pipi yang penuh, sudut kotamu terlalu riuh.
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Aku bernyanyi, jika sedih aku bernyanyi: Tepislah cintaku, dan esok pagi aku akan bangun di kamar hotelku. Sendiri. Yang kusayangi selalu pergi. Inilah rahasia senja, tanpa patahan kenangan dan kehendak memuja mitologi. Alangkah riang ketika langit terang, kereta langsir, peluit tukang parkir bagai jadwal yang mangkir. Aku murung dan kecewa, di stasiun Tugu melompat-lompat dan tertawa. Beriman, Faust, bukan bersedia keras kepala, untuk senyum seorang perawan, pemimpin yang ribut, sahabat yang memelihara serigala dalam dadanya, untuk bukan apa pun. Tidak seperti para terusir di tanah-tanah pengungsian, aku cuma sedikit kehilangan: Daun jatuh, percakapan yang berayun-ayun; dan seorang perempuan lemah melepas kerudungnya, mendedah kecupan, menata surat-surat, hadiah-hadiah remah, dan mengubur bekas pelukanku di bawah meja kayu. 1999-2006

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WOODEN TABLE

This is the secret of one twilight, of how a life was wasted, of death that invites and denies us all. The ocean was vast, the night was marble. I heard various voices inside myself: iii There was fighting, Mephisto dancing, moans and sighs, herbs soaking, as she picked shadows. There were wounds, and the prelude to some forgotten sorrow. There was a mature woman, with teeth like filaments of wire, standing at the edge of day, at the end of a sodden year, under a casuarina tree covered with lanterns. I confess in my shame: I met a girl, and we drank coffee together. The less I kissed you, the older I felt, the lonelier I became. Once, I accepted failure and sorrow, and thought that they were love. I went out, one day, wearing brown polished shoes, and new cotton socks. The grass in the courtyard had turned to straw. Long ago, Chopin wrote a sad song about the rain. The mist swirled, coins jingled, a match flared. Her cheeks were plump. That corner of the city was full of noise.
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I sang, I always sing when I am sad: Forget my love, tomorrow I will wake up again back in my hotel room, alone. Everyone I love always leaves me. This is the secret of one twilight, without any jagged memories, or the need to worship old legends. It was beautiful, the sky was bright, the train sped past, a parking official blew his whistle to remind us of some forgotten schedule. I was sad, disappointed, I jumped out at Tugu Station, and laughed out loud. Full of faith, Faust was not prepared for the smile of a young girl, a bombastic leader, a friend who hid a wolf in his chest, for no particular reason. Unlike those who had left their homelands behind, I had lost very little: A leaf fell, the dangling conversations; a soft and gentle woman took off her veil, displayed her kisses, tidied some letters, some trivial gifts, and buried my embraces beneath a wooden table. 1999-2006

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32 VARIASI PADA C MINOR

Dengan rambut licin dan tubuh bacin di halaman sebuah hotel sepasang remaja berkulit terang dihadang siang yang sinis. Terkenang tengkukmu yang tegang tadi malam, aku tak harus cemas jika mesti terdesak arak-arakan demonstran di tikungan jalan kota yang makin kotor ini. Satu atau dua kali seminggu kita selalu menyesal, dan nyaris sebal, terpaksa mandi pagi sekali. Mungkin harus kita cari cara lain menyatakan cinta yang rutin itu, barangkali dengan belajar origami atau memelihara sejenis reptil. Tentu saja agak ganjil. Bagaimana jika sesekali kita tidur di losmen, kau dan aku maksudku, dan pura-pura menjadi pasangan kawin tamasya? Seperti telah kuduga, kau tersipu di depan kompor gas yang menyala seraya melihat-lihat menu hari itu dan beberapa jam kemudian, jika aku tak sibuk dan kau tak lupa, kita akan duduk di bawah tiga puluh menit di ruang makan, menelan sejumlah pertanyaan. Lalu aku menjadi penyendiri lagi di kamar kerjaku yang angkuh dan dingin dan sunyi.
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Pikiran aneh tentang menjadi tua sebelum waktunya muncul tiba-tiba dan dengan kegilaan yang menyenangkan kubayangkan seseorang memainkan 32 Variasi pada C Minor di rumah ini, pada pukul tiga dini hari. Siapa yang hendak setia bersikap ramah kutelepon setelat itu hanya untuk mendengar telah kutulis sembilan atau sebelas baris puisi liris dan bertanya esok tanggal berapa, mau ke mana, dan apakah tak terlalu berbahaya menjadi relawan pendamping korban penculikan, penjarahan dan perkosaan di negeriku yang pendendam dan ringan tangan. Begitulah, mereka masih sangat muda, keluar dari pintu hotel dengan langkah lepas dan kulum puas. Aku tersenyum sendiri, Bercerita kepadamu sesuatu yang remah dengan perasaan pelarian yang resah, terbuang dari negerinya sendiri, pada musim orang-orang tergiur partai, bermain musik dan bercinta. Padahal kau tidur di kamar sebelah dan pekerjaan terakhirku menjelang fajar sekadar memeriksa kembali apakah telah kukunci semua jendela dan pintu rumah. 1998-2006

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32 VARIATIONS ON C MINOR

With their hair smooth and bodies fragrant a young couple stand in the yard of a hotel facing the cynical day. I remember how the hairs of the black of your neck stood up last night, I shouldnt have worried when I was jostled by the demonstrators at one of the crossroads in this increasingly dirty town. Once or twice a week we should feel sorry, and almost regretful, and purify ourselves early in the morning. Perhaps we should find another way to express the routines of our love, perhaps we should learn origami or look after lizards. Which is of course rather strange. What if we sometimes slept in a cheap boarding house, you and me I mean, and pretended to be newly weds on our honeymoon? As I expected, you sat shyly near the bright gas stove and looked at todays menu and then a few hours later, if I was not busy and you didnt forget, we went to the dining room for almost thirty minutes swallowing our questions. Then I would be lonely again in my proud, cold, and silent study.

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Strange thoughts about being old before my time suddenly appeared and in some delightful madness I would imagined someone playing 32 variation on C minor in my house, at three oclock in the morning. Who would be kind enough to listen to me on the telephone when I said I had written nine or even eleven lines of a poem and when I asked what tomorrows date was, where were you going, and wasnt it rather dangerous volunteering to be with people who had been kidnapped, attacked or raped in my bitter and indifferent land. Of course, they are still so young, and they leave the hotel with a light tread and happy smiles. I smile too, tell you something trivial, feeling like a nervous refugee, excited from his own country at the time when people are crazy about politics, music, and making love. While you sleep in the next room and my final task before dawn will simply be to see whether I have locked all the doors and windows. 1998-2006

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ANNE

Anne, dengarkan pohon-pohon berbisik, "Bukankah Listz sungguh cerdas dan pencemas?" Waldesrauschen dan kulitmu pucat dan hawa pengap mengajari rasa takut dengan keberanian yang bekap. Di kota ini aku mudah jatuh hati pada gadis beralis gerigis, seperti keluhku padamu, pada langit warna biru. Malam bertambah panjang seperti ranjang yang bimbang. Tak masuk akal jika seekor ikan terperangkap rok dalam. Biarlah keanehan tetap milik setia tiran tua atau Ahasveros yang celaka, katamu. Di kota ini aku akan terus jatuh hati pada gadis berbibir tipis, seperti sayangku padamu, pada serdadu tak berpeluru. Dengarkan pohon-pohon itu berbisik, "Bukan. Ini tarian perang." Seseorang meniup lilin ulang tahun dan kau jilat leherku dan kurangkum ranum dadamu. Tidak, seperti cinta, keajaiban milik semua orang, juga demonstran yang hilang di jalan, dengan tangan kekal mengepal.

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Anne, dengarkan pohon-pohon berbisik, "Dengarlah, demi Tuhan. Ini tangisan negeri yang malang." 1998-2006

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ANNE

Anne, listen to the trees whispering, Why did the clever Liszt worry so much? Waldesrauschen. Your pale skin and the stuffy air taught your fear to be brave. In this city I could easily fall in love with the girl with sharp eyebrows, you complained to me, or to the blue sky. The night grew longer and longer like a restless bed. It made no sense that a fish was caught in your petticoat. It sounded strange but it really belonged iv to ancient tyrants or poor Ahasveros, you said. In this town I will always fall in love with the girl who had small mouth, that is what I like about you, you told the soldier who had no bullets in his rifle. Listen to the trees dancing, No. This is a war dance. Someone blew out the candles on the birthday cake and you lit my neck and I touch your full breast. No, like love, miracles belonged to everyone, even to the demonstrator who vanished down the road with his face still held in the air.

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Anne, listen to the trees whispering, Listen. By God, you can hear this wretched land weeping. 1998-2006

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IKEBANA

Pot itu terlalu buncit. Di tepi meja sempit ia seperti perut kurcaci, dan Puteri Salju itu tertawa geli. Merangkai daun pakis dan mawar merah dan gladiul, pada pukul tiga dini hari, bukankah majnun? Tapi ia berkata, "Adakah cinta tanpa sesuatu yang gila dalam kulum lidahnya." Dua sendok gula kau susupkan ke dalam cangkir teh panas itu. "Di ujung bawah singletmu telah kusulam huruf awal namamu," katamu. Bercakaplah dengan desir angin, dan kutub jendela dan sepatu berdebu itu. Sebab di pagi hari ketika sejumlah orang masih sembunyi, mungkin dalam mimpi, ia akan pergi dan melupakan sikat gigi di atas meja pucat, di pinggir kasur lipat, menindih sepucuk pesan singkat, "Terimalah seluruh keluhku dan rangkai bunga itu dan peluhku yang masih melekat di liat lehermu. Esok aku kembali. Menjemput sepasang sekam matamu dan membacakan sebuah puisi." Esok, begitu pilu janji itu. Sebab mungkin berarti sebuah senja, di tahun berikutnya, ketika hujan pertengahan bulan penghabisan akan menyentuh alismu dan payung basah dan kau menangis sendiri di malam yang resah.
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Kau pun menulis di halaman sekian buku harian, dengan kesedihan yang enggan. "Ia datang dengan mata yang tajam. Kata-kata yang menggetarkan tubuh telanjang dan nafas tertahan. Ia datang dengan lambung yang sakit. Cinta yang rumit. Seperti tekstur wayang kulit." Setelah malam itu, dari langit-langit kamarmu, kerap wajahnya menghimpit sesak dadamu. 1997-2006

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IKEBANA

The pot was too full. It stood at the edge of the table like the belly of a walrus and the snow Princess laughed. He arranged the ferns, the red roses, and the gladioli at three oclock in the morning, wasnt that crazy? But he said, Is there ever a love which doesnt speak in madness? She put two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup of tea. I have embroidered your initials at the bottom of your singlet, she said. He spoke to the rustling wind, and the window and the dusty shoes. Because in the morning when some people would still be hiding, perhaps in her dreams, he would go and leave his toothbrush on the pale table, beside the folded mattress, placing a short letter there, Receive my weariness and the flowers I gave you and my sweat which still clings to your beautiful neck. I will come back again tomorrow. To find your dark eyes and read you a poem. Tomorrow, the word sounded so sad. Perhaps because it referred to a sunset next year, when the rain in the last month would brush against her eyelids and wet her umbrella and she would cry alone on that restless night.
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She wrote with reluctant sadness in her diary. He came with his sharp eyes. His words shocked our naked bodies and made it hard to breath. He came with pain in his belly. Love is complicated. Like the texture of a leather wayang puppet. Since that night, his face often bore down from the ceiling against her breast. 1997-2006

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MOLTO ALLEGRO

Seperti Neruda lelah menjadi manusia, malam itu aku pergi dan memanggil taksi. Ke mana? Ke mana saja, jawabku. Aku pun lewat di depan rumahmu. Namun telah lama kau pergi dari rumah itu, rumah itu, begitu saja, seperti dulu kau lari dari mimpi-mimpiku. Dari balik jendela, kota sungguh sepi. Bagai gunting di atas genting. Ajaib benar jika tiba-tiba bertemu Tuhan dan Tchaikovsky di sebuah persimpangan jalan. Tetapi perempuan-perempuan aneh itu terlalu berani memamerkan tato mereka, di bahu yang terbuka. Aku takut sepatuku berdebu, jadi kuberi mereka lambaian tangan saja. Berhenti di depan Fame Station seraya mengucapkan terimakasih pada sopir yang mengerti kesedihanku. Asia-Afrika, kau tidur seperti bayi. Bangun dan peluklah Don Quixote malang ini, pengembara penuh duka, jatuh cinta berulang kali pada perempuan yang sama. Perempuan yang sama. Orang dewasa yang selalu takjub pada kemurungan tak terduga.

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Setiap satu langkah, kulihat makam ibuku, lembab oleh tangisan masa kecilku. Seperti Neruda lelah menjadi lelaki, aku berpikir mengakhiri dengan paksa hidupku di sini. Namun kutemukan Mozart di kamar sebuah hotel dekat Simpang Lima. Molto Allegro. Molto Allegro. Adakah juga kekasihku menunggu di situ? Perjalananku berakhir di atas single-bed yang nyaman. Aku tertidur seperti buaian dan dalam mimpiku perempuan bersayap menyelasar tubuhku dengan ciuman-ciuman. "Sungguhkah kau lelah menjadi lelaki?" bisiknya, ringan bagai udara kamar. Pagi, kutemukan jawaban kesedihanku malam itu: Risau atau murung atau kehilangan sepasang alismu yang tebal. 1997-2006

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MOLTO ALLEGRO
v

That night, like Neruda, who was tired of being human, I went and called a taxi. Where to? Anywhere at all, I replied. I drove past your house, but you had left long ago, long ago just as you ran away from my dreams. From the window, the town looked very lonely. It seemed suspended above the tiles. It would be a miracle if I met God and Tchaikovsky at the crossroads. But strange women flaunted the tattoos on their shoulders. I was afraid that my shoes would get dirty, so I only waved at them. When we stopped at the Fame Station I thanked the driver for understanding my sorrow. Asia-Africa street, you were sleeping like a baby. vii You woke up and embraced this poor Don Quixote, the miserable traveller who always falls in love with the same woman. The same woman. The adult who is always amazed at endless sorrow.
vi

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With each step, I see my mothers grave, wet with my boyhood tears. Like Neruda who was tired of being a man, I wanted to end my life violently. But I met Mozart in the room of a hotel near Simpang Lima. Molto Allegro. Molto Allegro. Is my lover waiting there? My journey ended in a cradle and in my dreams a woman with wings attacked my body with her kisses. Are you really tired of being a man? she whispered, as lightly as the air in the room itself. In the morning, I found the answer to my last nights sorrow: I was worried or sad or perhaps I had lost your eyebrows. 1997-2006

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IDA

Hanya harum rambutmu yang mampu membangun kamar-kamar sunyi dalam batinku. Karena matamu, malam menepis cahaya, kelam menjauh dengan takut dan cemburu. Sejarah risauku mencatat nama-nama lara bagimu. Namun bagai janji kau tetap setia pada pagi hari, meluruskan untukku baju hari itu, dan aku pun pergi ke riuh yang jauh (setelah kau cium punggung tanganku). Di ujung hari di ruang tunggu, kamar-kamar hotel, dan kedai-kedai kopi, bersama daun dan duka kutulis berlembar-lembar puisi dan kubakar kembali. Senyummulah puisiku. Di meja makan, tiada yang lebih indah dari percakapan-percakapan. Kucuri semangkuk kenangan, di tengkukmu, di bahumu, di bibirmu yang lembut karena malu. Di keriangan meja makan ini kusembunyikan sepuluh tahun ketakutanku pada malam hari dan cinta dan maut yang rahasia. Dini hari sudah. Kukecup pelan keningmu, di situ mimpi dan bayang-bayang Mengerutkan kisah masa silammu.

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Kepada harum rambutmu aku selalu kembali, membuat beberapa pengakuan, menulis sejumlah syair kesedihan. Ida, Ida, kaukah Antonia dalam tubuh Yuraku yang terluka. 1997-2006

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IDA

Only the smell of your hair can build silent rooms in my heart. Because of your eyes, the night pushes away the light, the darkness disappears with my fear and jealousy. The history of my doubt writes a list of sad names for you. But promise me you will be faithful to the morning, straighten the new days jacket, and I will go to the distant tumult (after you have kissed the back of my hand). At the end of the day in a waiting room in hotels, in coffee shops, with the leaves and my sorrow, I will write many poems and burn them all. Your smiles are my poems. At the dining table, nothing is more beautiful than our conversation. I steal a plate full of memories from your neck, your shoulder, your shy soft lips. In the laughter of the dining table tonight I hide ten years of fear, love and secret death. Dawn has come. I softly kiss your forehead where dreams and shadows shrink the story of your past life.

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I always return to the fragrance of your hair, make my confession, write sad poems. Ida, Ida, are you Antonina in the wounded body of my Yura? 1997-2006

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SYAIR KEMURUNGAN

Menulis puisi pada sebuah malam yang sedih. Seseorang bersenandung. Kemurungan riang berpendaran menangkap cahaya pada tirai jendela. Langit mewarnai malam seperti coklat yang meleleh. Kutunggu kedatangan seorang kawan dengan kata-kata tajam, keluar dari pintu kepiluan. Sia-sia. Sepasang payudara bergetar, baling-baling berpusing dalam kamar. Seseorang bergumam bagai desah penujum di depan bola kristal. Tubuhmu pun beserpihan dalam gelap menjadi butiran-butiran cahaya. Seluruh kesedihan berawal di sini. Pada ujung helai rambutmu yang runcing. Kabut dini hari matamu, segelas sirup markisa dan cinta yang kucium dari hembusan sunyi nafasmu. Kubaca halaman terakhir buku cerita negeriku di ruang tamu. Di sebuah tempat, lemari es berdengung dingin, begitu pun dadamu. Seseorang, mencium leherku. Ringan bagai mimpi. Kutampung tubuhmu yang beserpihan. Angin menyelundup dari lubang pintu, menerbangkan separuh sayap kupu-kupu. Menyayat separuh tubuhku. 1996-1999
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A POEM OF MELANCHOLY

Writing a poem one sad night. Someone is singing. A happy melancholy scatters catching the light from the curtain. The sky colours the night brown like melting chocolate. I wait for a friend to appear through the door of sorrow bearing harsh words. It is futile. Two breasts tremble, fan spins in the room. Someone mumbles like a fortune teller whispering in front of a crystal ball. Your body disintegrates in the dark and becomes splashes of light. My whole sadness begin here. At the end of your sharp hair. The morning fog of your eyes, a glass marquise syrup and the love I smell in your lonely breath. I read the last page of the story of my country in the living room. Somewhere else and fridge hum froze coldly, like your breasts. Someone kisses my neck. As soft as a dream. I pick up the pieces of your body. The wind sneaks through a hole in the door, blows away one the butterflys wings. Slices my body two parts. 1996-1999
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SYAIR KESEDIHAN

Kusadari malam itu, matamu kata-kata. Pohon cemara sendiri dalam hujan, mengubah kelopak-kelopak airmata jadi permainan cahaya. Aku melihat seorang anak perempuan pada matamu yang ragu. Mencoba helai demi helai sayap rapuh kupu-kupu; bermimpi menyihir batang cemara jadi sepotong coklat raksasa. Hidup dan mati seorang penyair berkawan kata-kata. Kata adalah ruh dan keajaiban; keriangan dan kesedihan. Sebab matamu kata-kata malam itu, aku menjadi seorang pencinta. Kutanggalkan tubuh penyairku dan kuciumi wangi kerudung rambutmu. Dari dunia yang murung, Zamzam berkata, "Penyair tidak sedih karena ditinggalkan." Tidak. Penyair adalah pemburu kesedihan. Bagi penyair, kesedihan yang sempurna sorga yang dijanjikan. Hanya pencinta yang tidak pernah bersedih karena ia tahu kelak akan ditinggalkan. Seorang penyair dan seorang pencinta mengembara dalam tubuhku.

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Maka biarkan kuiris matamu dengan puluhan kecupan. Lukai aku dengan kesedihan. 1996-2006

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A POEM OF SORROW

That night, I realised your eyes are words. Casuarina trees, alone in the rain, turned the petals of your eyes into games of light. I saw a young girl in your restless eyes. Testing the wings of the fragile butterfly. Leaf by leaf; dreaming how to change the trunk of the casuarina tree into a huge block of chocolate. The life and death of a poet is intimately related to words. Words are spirit and miracles; joy and sorrow. Because your eyes are words I fell in love with you that night. I took off any poets body and kissed the perfume of your veil. From the sad world, the holy Zamzam spring said, A poet should not be sad when he has been left alone. No. Poets love sadness. The heaven promised to poets consists of perfect sorrow. Lovers are the only people who are never sad because they do not know that they will be left alone one day. A poet and a lover wander together in my body.

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Let me slice your eyes with a thousand kisses. Wound me with sorrow. 1996-2006

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GERIMIS

Di sudut sebuah perpustakaan yang mengandung angin basah pada bingkai-bingkai jendelanya, aku menemukan kembali wajahmu yang gaib itu. Mencair dari kebekuan kenangan dan malam-malam penuh siraman cahaya bulan purnama. Aku ketuk pintu terkunci itu, hujan hari terakhir bulan Desember menyisakan butir-butir embun berpendaran pada ujung rambutmu yang jauh. Begitu sukar memahami dirimu sebagai pertemuan biasa atau kebetulan saja. Aku kesepian dan tak mengerti. Wajahmu memandangku di mana-mana, menangis tanpa airmata. Aku susuri jalan darahku sendiri. Takjub menemukan kepingan-kepingan luka membangun dunianya sendiri. Di sudut sebuah pura desa yang disapu gerimis sepanjang hari, kukecup kedua kelopak matamu dengan seluruh hatiku. Dosa begitu manis dalam lidahku, barangkali seperti khuldi.

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Dari pagi berkabut itu aku memulai pengembaraanku yang abadi. Mencari sepucuk pesan dari kata-kata yang tak sempat kau ucapkan. 1994-2006

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A LIGHT RAIN

In a corner of the library which held the wet air against the glass of the windows, I found your mysterious face again. Frozen memories melted and the night was full of light from the rain in the full moon.

The door was locked, I knocked and the last rain of December left dew drops shining on the tip of your long hair. It was hard to know whether meeting you was a coincidence or nothing unusual. I was lonely and did not understand. Your face looked at me everywhere, weeping without tears. I followed the road of my blood. Astonished to find that the fragments of my wounds made their own world. In a corner of the village covered in a light rain all day long, I kissed your eyelids with all my love. The sin was so sweet on my tongue, it was like eating the apple in the garden of Eden.

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On that wet morning I began my eternal journey. Looking for a letter written in words you never spoke. 1994-1999

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SEBELUM MAKAN MALAM

Kita cuma bisa bersandar pada waktu, Afuz. Tertegun-tegun menunggu kekuasaan tumbuh dewasa: Tanpa peluru, sepatu berlumpur darah itu, dan belajar membaca manusia sebagai kumpulan keinginan dan kesedihan. Bukan fosil atau gambar separuh badan sebagai sasaran tembakan. Seperti engkau, aku lahir dari sebuah sejarah yang lecak dan selingkuh. Tetapi kita mencintai negeri yang sama, yang senyumnya bagai impian, seperti pada masa remaja kita mencintai wanita yang sama, yang senyumnya bagai buaian. Cinta dan kekuasaan bersandar pada waktu, Afuz, seperti babad rambutmu yang menipis dan hikayat luka dalam aliran darahku. Segalanya menjadi selalu mungkin: Barangkali karena ada rumah kanak-kanak dalam batin kita yang penuh senyum dan gelak tawa. Bahkan ketika pecahan mortir dan kenangan menderas dari jauh dan jatuh dua kaki dari lubang persembunyian, juga impian, kita yang rapuh. Seperti Peter Pan, Tom Sawyer atau Bimbilimbica, kita menunggu hadiah ulang tahun bukan saja dari pasangan paman dan bibi yang tambun dan riang.
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Tetapi juga dari sahabat khayalan, Tuhan, serdadu yang mulutnya penuh roti, sepasang granium, tiga grasia, dan peri-peri riuh di hutan-hutan jauh. 1994-2006

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BEFORE DINNER

We only rested from time to time, Afuz, my friend. Awkwardly waited for the power to mature: Without bullets, shoes covered with blood, and learned to read people as a collection of desires and sorrows. They are not fossils or targets at a shooting range. Like you I was born from a dirty corrupt history. But we love the same country, whose smile is like a dream, just as when we were young we loved the same girl, whose smile was like a cradle. Love and power rested on time, Afuz, like the chronicle of your hair growing thinner and the legend of the wounds in my blood. Everything comes to one possibility: Perhaps there is a house for children in our soul where people smile and laugh. Even when the canon and dreams roared and the memories screamed from the distance and fell two foot away from where we were hiding, we were so vulnerable. Like Peter Pan, Tom Sawyer or Bimbilimbica, we waited for birthday presents, not just from our well-fed aunts and uncles.

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But also from our imaginary friends, God, soldiers with their mouths full of bread, two geraniums, three muses and the noisy fairies dancing in distant forests. 1994-2006

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PADA WAJAH DAUN-DAUN Zlata Pada wajah daun-daun senja yang lembab itu kulihat engkau sendiri menari. Lambaian demi lambaian telapak tanganmu menciptakan pusaran angin, menjelma badai batinku. Di negeri tak lagi bernama, malam menggigil dalam pelukanmu. Ah, seperti liebestraum, gumammu pada angin sambil menyebut sebuah nama. Barangkali Liszt, Anne, Alice, atau sekeping bunyi muntahan mortir pecah pada dini hari berkabut negeri porak-poranda itu. Di sini cinta, katamu di masa lalu, kekal pada kesunyian kayu salib dan bulan sabit. Namun pada senja yang lembab itu, kulihat engkau pada wajah daun-daun. Sendiri menari. Riang dan kekanak-kanakan; seperti sejarah negeriku.

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Kerlingan demi kerlingan bola matamu menciptakan pusaran duka. Dalam batinku. 1994-2006

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THE FACE OF THE LEAVES Zlata One damp twilight, I saw you dancing alone across the face of the leaves. You waved your hands creating a whirlwind, a storm in my soul. In an unnamed country night shivered in your arms. Ah, liebestraum, you whispered to the wind, calling someones name. Liszt, maybe, Anna Frank, Alice, or perhaps it was a distant fragment of cannon fire exploding at dawn in some far chaotic land. Here, you once said, Love lives between the silence of the cross and the sickle moon. But one damp twilight I saw you on the face of the leaves. Dancing alone. Happy, like a child, like my new nation.
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The movement of your eyes created whirlpools filled with silence, created sorrow in my soul 1994-2006

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EPISODE TERAKHIR DARI KENANGAN

Ketika waktu berhenti, kota-kota menghapus jejak airmatamu dengan keheningan kenangan. Aku tak lagi mampu mengingat kapan kisah cinta itu dimulai, kapan selesai. Barangkali pada sebuah senja di bising kota asing dan kumuh, pada beranda sebuah hotel di ujung jalan riuh. Atau dalam kafe tanpa nama, tanpa daftar menu. Kota-kota berangkat tua dalam batinku. Namun senyummu abadi seperti sebaris sajak Po Chu-i. Senja yang kusimpan dalam ingatan kini lapuk dan berlumut. Tetap saja sukar kubedakan keajaiban dongeng dan kepiluan masa silam. Ketika waktu berhenti, kukenang kembali airmatamu yang menari: Di situ senja yang tak terlupakan diciptakan. Dan cinta, disapa dengan ribuan nama. 1994-2006

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THE LAST THING I REMEMBER

When time stopped, the cities wiped away the footprints of your tears with their silent memories. I can no longer recall when the love stories began, or when they finished. Possibly one twilight in the whispers of a strange and dirty town on the veranda of a hotel at the end of a noisy street. Or in a caf with no name, no menu. The cities left late in your heart. ix But your smile is eternal, like the poems of Po Chu-i. The twilight I remembered is now broken and covered with moss. But I can hardly distinguish between wonderful fairy stories and past sorrows. When time stopped, I remembered your dancing tears: The twilight was unforgettable. And love was welcomed with thousands of names. 1994-2006

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SAYAP KENANGAN YANG TERBAKAR

Empat puluh mil dari kenangan. Bulan jatuh ke dalam lubang kelinci. Di negeri ajaib ia mengaku bernama Alice dan menulis sepucuk surat cinta pada sebuah tempat tanpa nama, barangkali, kenangan. Angin menerbangkannya ke negeri-negeri jauh di Timur; tempat anggur dan matahari, syair dan malam hari, berdegup dalam jantung Li Po dan Sa`di. Berabad-abad sesuatu yang mengaku sejarah menyimpan surat itu. Sayap burung-burung Attar menyampaikan ia padaku. Kupesan ratusan cermin. Tetapi cermin tak sejernih sungai yang mengalir dalam hutan pagi hari. Kelopak-kelopak air memantulkan sepasang alismu yang menari. Alice, akhirnya kutemukan engkau di situ. Empat puluh mil dari kenangan. Bulan keluar dari dalam lubang kelinci. Di negeri sepatu serdadu dan selongsong peluru kau tak mengaku bernama apa pun, kepada siapa pun.

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Tak mungkin kau tulis sepucuk surat cinta lagi. Sebab kedua tanganmu tertinggal di negeri tanpa peta. Dan kedua matamu jadi ribuan lentera di negeri tanpa cahaya. Kubuang sejarah dalam diriku untuk mendekap dan mengecup keningmu berulang-ulang. Tetapi kenangan melebar ribuan mil, dan sayap burung-burung Attar terbakar dalam batinku. 1994-2006

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THE BURNING WINGS OF MEMORIES

Forty miles from memory. The moon fell into the rabbits hole. In wonderland she called herself Alice and wrote a love letter to place which had no names, perhaps she only imagined it. The wind took the letter to Eastern land far away; a place of wine and sunlight, poetry and hard night, beating in the heart of Li Po and Sadi. Century after century something which called itself history kept that letter. Attars birds brought it to me. I ordered hundreds of mirrors. But the mirrors are never as clear as the rivers which flow in the morning forests. Petals of water shine on your dancing eyebrows. Alice, at last I find you there. Forty miles from memory. The moon comes out of the rabbit hole. In the land of soldiers boots and bullets you tell no one your name.

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You cannot possibly write any more love letters. Because you left both your hands in the land with no map. And your two eyes are thousands of lantern in a land without light. I throw history deep inside myself so that I can embrace you and kiss your forehead again and again. But the memory spread thousands of miles, and the wings of Attars birds burned in my soul 1994-2006

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EMPAT MIL DARI KENANGAN

Sepasang angsa di sudut taman pom bensin: Kusaksikan keajaiban dongeng dan biografi bersatu di situ. Seperti Wilde yang murung di depan sajak Ginsberg dan Rendra. Kota-kota tanpa patung "Happy Prince" menyimpan dendam dan keinginan diam-diam pada kematian. Bagai puisi Malna dalam saku celana kekuasaan. O, ke mana orang-orang pergi begitu bergegas pada dini hari yang riuh ini? Di luar jendela para penyair, borgol dan selongsong peluru mengubah dirinya menjadi bahasa. Sayangku, di sebuah tempat dalam kenangan, Sa`di kehilangan lentera, Tardji kehilangan ngiau, aku kehilangan engkau. 1994-2006

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FOUR MILES FROM MEMORY

Two geese in a garden near a diesel engine: I see strange myths and biography unite as Oscar Wilde sits sadly reading x xi the poems of Rendra and Ginsberg . Cities have no statues The Happy Prince is angry and wants to be left to die alone, with Malnas poetry in his pocket to give him courage. It is dawn, why is everyone in such a hurry? Outside a window, poets, wearing handcuffs and bullet-belts, turn themselves into words. My darling, somewhere in my memory, xiii Sadi loses his lamp, xiv Tardji loses his miaow, I lose you. 1994-2006
xii

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KENANG-KENANGAN

Bagaimana harus kuucapkan pengakuan ini: Aku jatuh cinta berulang kali pada matamu, danau dalam hutan di negeri ajaib yang jauh menyelusup dalam ingatan itu. Berabad-abad yang lalu, kuucapkan selamat tinggal pada apa pun yang berbau dongeng, atau masa silam. Tetapi cinta, bukan sebotol coca-cola. Atau film Disney; di sana tokoh apa pun tak pernah mati. Juga bukan Rumi yang menari. Sebab pada matamu bertemu semua musim, sejarah, dan sesuatu yang mengingatkan aku pada suatu hari ketika waktu berhenti, dan kusapa engkau mesra sekali. Kini, bahkan wajahmu samar kuingat kembali. Haruskah kuucapkan pengakuan ini: Aku jatuh cinta berulang kali pada matamu, danau dalam hutan di negeri ajaib yang jauh menyelusup dalam ingatan itu. Tetapi cinta, bukan sekotak popok kertas. Atau sayap sembilan puluh sembilan burung Attar yang terbakar. Cinta, barangkali, kegagapanku mengecup sepasang alismu. 1994-2006
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REMEMBRANCE

How can I tell you: I fell in love with your eyes, over and over again. They were like lakes in a forest in some distant wonderland that flowed through my mind. Centuries ago I renounced everything that seemed like a fairytale, or even history. But love is not a bottle of coca-cola, or a Disney movie, in which no one ever dies. It is not Rumi, endlessly whirling. In your eyes, the seasons met, history, together with something that reminds me how time stopped and we greeted each other like lovers. Now I cant even remember your face. I must tell you: I fell in love with your eyes, again and again. They were like lakes in a forest in some distant wonderland, that flowed through my mind. But love is not a box of disposable diapers. Or the wings of the ninety-nine birds that burned in Attars poem. Love is, perhaps, the way I stuttered when I kissed your eyebrows. 1994-2006
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SELANGKAH DARI MATAMU

Ketika laut tumpah ke dalam matamu, cerita tentang bulan, matahari dan hapalan ilmu bumi bergegas kusimpan di rak buku. "Akulah Sinbad, si penakluk alam dongeng dan bajak-bajak samudera!" seruku pada daun pintu, dinding kamar dan lambaian rambutmu. Lalu kugulung kain layarku dan mendirikan kemah-kemah jauh di seberang laut itu. Berumah di balik bukit membangkitkan pengalaman asing dan kenangan. Tapi bau lezat rambutmu mengenalkan petualangan yang lain. Segera aku menjadi pendongeng: Di mataku berpasang-pasang mata kanak-kanak beribu pada laut matamu. 1993-2006

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A STEP AWAY FROM YOUR EYES

When the ocean falls into your eyes, I put a story about the moon, the sun and everything I learned in geography, on my bookshelf. I am Sinbad. I conquered world of fairy tales, and fought all the pirates! I shouted at the door, the wall of the bedroom and your curly hair. Then I took my sails and turned them into tents on the other side of the sea. The houses behind the hill offer strange experiences and memories. But the sweet smell of your hair provides another adventure. Now I tell a different story: In my eyes I see thousands of childrens eyes in the depth of your sea eyes. 1993-2006

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KEDUKAANMU DIKABARKAN BURUNG-BURUNG

Sejak kau tiba-tiba enggan menyapa bunga-bunga daun-daun gugur lebih cepat dari biasanya dan embun pergi diam-diam tanpa sepucuk pun pesan kedukaanmu dikabarkan burung-burung pada angin dan senja, mengalir bersama arus sungai-sungai jauh ke kebisuan samudera Sejak kau enggan bermain bersama kepik-kepik lagi pagi gelisah di depan pintu sepi rindu gelak tawamu yang lepas bagai kanak-kanak yang gembira menemukan mainannya kembali kedukaanmu dikabarkan burung-burung pada angin dan senja, mengalir bersama arus sungai-sungai jauh ke kedalaman hatiku 1992

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THE BIRDS TOLD YOUR GRIEF

Because you suddenly refused to greet the flowers the leaves fell more quickly than usual and the dew departed silently leaving no message the birds told the wind of your grief and the twilight, flowed with the rivers down into the silent sea Because you refused to play with the fireflies the morning was restless outside your lonely door it longed for your happy laughter like a child finding a lost toy the birds told the wind of your grief and the twilight, flowed with the rivers down into your heart 1992

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SEBAB BAGAI ANGIN

Jangan pergi. Sebab bagai angin aku selalu bersama arah. Tak ada yang bisa sembunyi dari rindu batinku. Jangan pergi. Sebab bagai angin kelak aku sampai di negeri yang ditujumu. Mungkin lebih dulu. Biarkan kulabuhkan sampan lempungku di tepian telaga bening matamu itu. 1991-1992

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LIKE THE WIND

Dont go. Because like the wind I am always moving in the same direction. Nothing can hide from the longing of my heart. Dont go. Because like the wind I will be in the land to which you are going. I may even be there before you. Let me anchor my clay boat at the edge of the lake of your bright eyes. 1991-1992

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JAKA TARUB

Tentu, itu bukan taman. Pagarnya telah patah-patah pagar bambu tua lusuh dengan cat yang mengelupas. Saksi bagi banyak peristiwa. Juga bagi duka. Tak ada Mawar di sana, begitu pula Anggrek dan Melati. Di sudut diam letih bekas batang pohon kertas. Dulu banyak bunganya. Di sudut itu pun ada bekas kolam. Sekarang tak ada airnya. Pernah kolam itu menjadi tempat bermain yang menyenangkan. Bagi ikan-ikan mas dan mujair. Dulu, selagi penuh airnya, sering aku membayangkan diriku menjadi liliput. Bersama semut-semut mengarungi kolam itu. Bersampan daun-daun. Segalanya tumbuh di sana begitu saja. Bergantung pada angin dan musim. Tentu, itu bukan kebun bunga. Meskipun tumbuh Anyelir di tengah-tengahnya. Warnanya semburat kuning. Bagai warna layung. Mereka bagai puteri yang tersesat. Di hutan lebat. Sayang kolamnya tak ada airnya. Jika ada, mereka tentu mandi di sana. Sekuntum Anyelir kupetik tadi pagi. Kusimpan di jembangan bunga. Kelak ia bakal pulang ke negeri asalnya. Entah di mana. Seperti Jaka Tarub, aku kembali sendiri. 1991-1999

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JAKA TARUB

xv

Of course, it was not a garden. The fences were broken old bamboo fences with the paint peeling off. It had seen many things. And much suffering. They were no Roses, no Orchids and no Jasmines. Only tired paper branches in the corner. Once there had been lots of flowers. Once there was a lake. Now it was dry. Once it was a playground. For fish. When it was full of water, I imagined myself living in Lilliput, crossing the lake with the ants on a boat made of leaves. Everything just grew. Depending on the wind and the weather. Of course, it was not a garden. Even though Carnations grew in the middle of it. Tinged with yellow. Like the twilight. They were like princesses lost in the forest. Regrettably there was no water. Otherwise, they could have bathed. I picked a Carnation in the morning. I put it in a vase. Some day it will return home. Somewhere. Like Jaka Tarub, I was alone again. 1991-1999

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SEPASANG DAUN GUGUR

Bagai sepasang daun gugur kita bacakan bersama puluhan puisi angin sebelum akhirnya tiba di rumah kekal kita Kita hamparkan sajadah rerumputan saling membasuhi luka pada sisa-sisa air hujan yang menggenang di Timur fajar kizib menahmidkan pagi Dalam cahaya kugenggamkan mahar lempungku pada kedua telapak tanganmu O, dengarlah! dadaku gemuruh sungai yang bersyukur 1990-1992

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TWO FALLING LEAVES

Like two falling leaves we read dozens of poems written on the wind before we finally reach our eternal home We spread our prayer mats on the grass and wash each others wounds in the flooding rain in the east the early dawn praises the morning In its light I place my clay into the palms of your hands Can you hear how my heart thunders like a grateful river 1990-1992

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Cecep Syamsul Hari was born in Bandung, West Java, Indonesia, May 1, 1967. As a poet, his early reputation rested on Kenangkenangan (1996, Remembrance) and Efrosina (Euphrosyne, first published in 2002, reprinted in 2005). His works also internationally published in several journals and anthologies such as: Heat Literary International (Sydney, Australia, 1999), Beth E. Kolkos Writing in an Electronic World: a Rhetoric with Readings (United States: Longman, 2000), Harry Avelings Secrets Need Words: Indonesian Poetry 1966-1998 (United States: Ohio University Press, 2001), Wasafiri (London, England, 2003), Orientierungen (Bonn, Germany, 2/2006). He had translated several books. Among of those are: Para Pemabuk dan Putri Duyung (selected poems of Pablo Neruda, 1996); Hikayat Kamboja (selected poems of D.J. Enright, 1996); Ringkasan Sahih Bukhari (compilation of Bukhari's hadis, 1997; 1100 pages); Rumah Seberang Jalan (selected short stories of R.K. Narayan, 2002). Hes also editor of Kisah-kisah Parsi/Persian Tales (C.A. Mees Santport and H.B. Jassin, 2000); Horison Sastra Indonesia/A Perspective of Indonesian Literature (with Taufiq Ismail, et.al; four volumes, 2003); Horison Esai Indonesia/A Perspective of Indonesian Essays (with Taufiq Ismail, et.al; two volumes, 2004). In 2006, he stayed in South Korea as as a Writer-in-Residence. He was invited by Korea Literature Translation Institute (KLTI) and the Korean Ministry of Culture and Tourism (ACPI). Since December 2007 until February 2008 he has staying in Selangor, Malaysia, as a writer in residence by Rimbun Dahan Arts Residencys invitation. Currently, Cecep Syamsul Hari is editor of HORISON, a monthly literary magazine, Jakarta, Indonesia.

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Translators Notes:
i

According to the Koran (20:86-88) the Samiri made the golden calf which led the people astray during their journey through the wilderness under Moses leadership. According to Greek legend, Orpheus was a great poet and musician; he descended into Hades to rescue his wife Euridice, but lost her again when, at the last moment, he turned back to look at her. Mephisto (or Mephistophiles) was the name given to the Devil, or one of his associates, in the European legend of Faustus. Ahasveros was one of the names attributed to the figure in medieval European literature who insulted Christ on his way to the crucifixion and was cursed, as a punishment, to wander the world until Jesus return. Pablo Neruda (Naftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, 1904-1973) was a prolific poet, as well as being a diplomat and politician. He received the Nobel Prize in 1971. Pytor Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) was a major Russian composer. Don Quixote was the major character in the parody Spanish romance (1604-1614) written by Miguel de Cerevantes Saavadra (1547-1615). Frans Liszt (1811-1886) was a great pianist and composer; Cecep refers to two of his works Liebestraum (in The face of the leaves) and Waldesrauchen (in Anne). Po Chu-i (772-846) was one of the greatest Chinese poets of the Tang dynasty. Rendra (born 1935) is a major Indonesian poet and dramatist. Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) was a major American beatnik poet. Afrizal Malna (born 1957) is a major Indonesian abstract poet. Sadi (1184-1292) was the greatest didactic poet of Persia. Sutardji Calzoum Bachri (born 1942) wrote a number of important concrete poems in Indonesian (including a series on cats) during the 1970s. Jaka Tarub is a figure in Javanese mythology. He spied on seven heavenly nymphs when they came to earth to bathe and, by stealing the shawl of the youngest one, Nawang Wulan, prevented her from returning to the sky.

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