"indonesian" poems
"Sorgente' " (Spring Waters)
I never knew tears could be so rough
Scratching my chest as if trying
To climb in, next to my heart.
Perhaps they would be more comfortable together,
able to fathom what my mind won’t.
I see the pain clawing on his face-
Engraved
like the tombstone we picked out for him
a couple of days ago.
All it was missing was a date…
Date the waters, watch how time will freeze them over.
Frozen in time, their memory awaits our remembrance.
It was only yesterday that we took a traditional dive
In the glistening, silkened
Waters-kissed the base
of that cold, slippery precipice. But we were gazelles that
early spring. The Impalelies and Witbietou flowers
Met rowdy cheeks and our seasoned grace.
We were Eagles, soaring to gather our prey.
Plop! To the crust of the water’s earth,
we dived uncharacteristically.
Characteristically- I, resurfaced.
You touched the Sun and the Moon that morning.
You called on God and His Son, Jesus Christ.
You said a prayer to Buddha and Indian goddess Indrani.
You kissed the fragrant air of the Jacaranda tree,
and consumed the fate of the Great Julius Caesar.
Makeda and Zulu King Catewayo,
cried in Imhotep’s arms that morning,
Tears beat upon the Djembe drum
Performing Indonesian Gamelan
We chanted the words- spero
Here I sit,
there, next to you
wondering when our eyes will meet
again.
Wondering how long you will play this game
of “who can hold their breath the longest.”
You are winning…I am crying.
My face is stained with your name,
your absent spirit, envelopes this hospital room
but your soul-
your soul will run, jump into the air,
And up there,
This time-
I will catch you.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
sugared fingers, the smell of Chanel
and I am flushed on red berry wine
and the charms of someone, dear,
who I would like to call "Valentine"
la vie en la rose
this red stains lips pink and
I see in pink, everything around me
as I dip my nose to my wrists, inhaling
*Sicilian oranges, Calabrian bergamo
Indonesian patchouli, Haitian vetiver
Bourbon vanilla andd white musk*
I giggle coquettishly and I am blushing,
For these sweet nothings
mean very much to me
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
Cardinal sun rose
blooming as the
budding flower.
Buddha chants in the
chimes of birds
ethereal caught in gradual hot wind,
Darjeeling tea steam rises on tabletop my
mind is waking over Indonesian morning.
Foreign babel as hours draw even
cacophony of hurricane horns
the Denpasar traffic drumming
chorus midst markets where
radio emitting Li Zengguang
dizi dizzily prancing into the
assortments of spice and coiling fabrics
patterns potent azure and golden
royalty brass clatter caged noise
boiling *** cries the Orient!
Overgrowth spots the charring temples
in majesty and abundance cradling the narrow
Balinese streets while tropic palm
and orchid spring swells the soils.
Ardent sun sheaths eastern archipelagos,
religious offerings canvas sidewalks
incense burning in overwhelming
bouquets of efflorescence smelling
daedal tapestries within the paradise.
Sun goes on setting the jewel easing
underneath the horizon,
butterflies sway in rest
hearts on fire
the ceremonies have finished.
Thunder shrieks against the sea
torrential rain firing on villa ceilings.
My eyes set to sleep
consciousness transitioning
between two dreams.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
That droll, little romance
was my first cigarette
an Indonesian clove cigarillo.
A year or two gone now,
but I still remember the sensation,
all the adrenaline and the drugs!
It was that nice, accurate drag,
that perfect ****
of smoke and nicotine.
Love was a potent buzz.
It had laughter.
The high.
It - the passion and ardor -
...so good.
And the subsequent addiction!
I craved it,
took more than there was.
Smoked it to the ****
so fast
it was over before I realized it.
All that remained:
the fizzle of tobacco embers,
the quick-to-dry sweat
of the uninitiated.
Then the desperation.
I wanted it to work!
I smacked my lips for more of the sweetness.
Searched desperately inside
for only a sickness in my stomach
and poison on my tongue.
I’ve stopped smoking now,
but I will always be
just a little closer
to death
than I should be.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
Twilight washes the bedlinens blue
And striped with flickering light they seem to move
And beckon us to lie in their folds,
Drawing away our clothes,
Pushing some to the floor.
Who are we to resist,
As the pretty song of strings off-key,
Winding through the forest rain
Like a goddess shedding robes,
Manipulates our minds and skins,
Only appeased by the union of
Heaven and Earth, of you and I?
Let us oblige them with our bodies,
You descending like the rain upon me
And I rising to you as the urgent river in waves
Beneath you until we are One?
If only for a night, in the Indonesian dark,
The tinkling droplets on the roof,
The flickering fires, the clouded desires.
We will send our lust into the mist and air,
So that it knows us when we are done at last,
And in every night until the world ends.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
W. S. Rendra translations
Willibrordus Surendra Broto Rendra (1935-2009), better known as W. S. Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian dramatist and poet. He said, “I learned meditation and the disciplines of the traditional Javanese poet from my mother, who was a palace dancer. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation.” The press gave him the nickname Burung Merak (“The Peacock”) for his flamboyant poetry readings and stage performances.
SONNET
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Best wishes for an impending deflowering.
Yes, I understand: you will never be mine.
I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
I contemplate
irrational numbers―complex & undefined.
And yet I wish love might ... ameliorate ...
such negative numbers, dark and unsigned.
But at least I can’t be held responsible
for disappointing you. No cause to elate.
Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
The gods have spoken. I can relate.
How can this be, when all it makes no sense?
I was born too soon―such was my fate.
You must choose another, not half of who I AM.
Be happy with him when you consummate.
THE WORLD'S FIRST FACE
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill―
both of them naked,
both consisting of nothing but themselves.
As in all beginnings
the world is naked,
empty, free of deception,
dark with unspoken explanations―
a silence that extends
to the limits of time.
Then comes light,
life, the animals and man.
As in all beginnings
everything is naked,
empty, open.
They're both young,
yet both have already come a long way,
passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns,
of skies illuminated by hope,
of rivers intimating contentment.
They have experienced the sun's warmth,
drenched in each other's sweat.
Here, standing by barren reefs,
they watch evening fall
bringing strange dreams
to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces.
They lift their heads to view
trillions of stars arrayed in the sky.
The universe is their inheritance:
stars upon stars upon stars,
more than could ever be extinguished.
Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill―
both of them naked,
to recreate the world's first face.
Keywords/Tags: Rendra, Indonesian, Javanese, translation, love, fate, god, gods, goddess, groom, bride, world, time, life, sun, hill, hills, moon, moonlight, stars, life, animals , international, travel, voyage, wedding, relationship, mrbtran
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 5:36 AM UTC
You: it is 2:10 am
Me: Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?*
Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...
You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!
Notification
I am deeply unsure.
Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?
Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of
Notifications.
*Hey ****** ******
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon*
Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.
(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)
When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
*(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)*
there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
Notifications,
they are called,
and they
Explode me.
capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary
life is groovy...
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
Of course it was the wedding
Bringing us together
With Fabian and Karen
The best wedding ever!
Historic and surprising
In the old Lloyd Hotel
Pre-wedding preparations
For a boat ride so swell
Such patterns and colors
Bricks and concrete so define
The old Lloyd Hotel with
A more modern Dutch design
Our Indonesian dinner
That whirlwind tour by Tor
Through shopping streets-The Nines-while
Sharing his family lore
I stood in line for VanGogh
2 hours of rainy skies
All worth it for the time there
His story made me cry
Splendid gardens on display
Row upon row I gazed
A cacophony of TULIPS
The Keukenhof amazed!
We walked for miles & learned the trains
The week flashed by so fast
I wish that Rose and I took time
To take a yoga class
I'd like my morning coffee
Once more before we part
Finished off with Dutch detail
A great big creamy heart
Loving those calming canals
I might go on the lam
Escape from America
I think "I Amsterdam"
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
I can bore you with talk
of women and children,
but it is simple enough to say
human beings.
Human beings
run in gathering storms
of concrete dust;
run from misting
of meat.
Explosions are sudden fatal therapy
for human beings
suffering dissonance,
and there's nothing quite
the same as losing words.
All of these
human beings,
cut-off
quick
in Tourette syndrome
****
Pu.nc-tu-a.tion.
Caught in the concrete cloud
darker than Krubera Cave,
lost out on a betrayed Silk Road,
as bloated blue bodies
wash up on Indonesian shores.
This city of centuries
built by human beings,
has now become
almost-five thousand corpses
who dangle their toes
out of shrapnel windows.
Pieces of me sweat
away in an instant of swaying black burqas,
rocking on knees at a cemetery.
I’m standing in Beirut -
nineteen-eighty two.
I watch towers fall.
There has to be
a way to make the world relate,
even if it takes
nineteen years.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
Empyrean ocean
sifting silken under moonlight.
Pure and dawn the memory of bonfires
and hymns passing like fading auras
echoing into the firs.
I sit on a lawn chair whiskey in hand
head loosely let back
while we wait for the end of one year
and the start of another.
Drunken voices speak
faint topics inside the cabin a few meters off,
it's silent here a picture settling
over our temporary breath of history,
smoke escaping our lips and entering
the haze of reminisce.
Fire crackling contained roars warmth
like freckled arms laced around our skin
and eyes heavy set in the sheath of heat
resounding the field
while winter's dew is pollinating the lawns.
Celebration on all corners of the world
Big Apple bumper to bumper
metropolitan hysteria
TEN
I'm smiling
NINE
the crowds gathered around palettes burning
to ash like the universe
EIGHT
sparklers lit small stars
fizzling dancing midst the embers
SEVEN
I'm dying beautifully
SIX
You are too
FIVE
Indonesian Summer on the horizon it's all
so hopeful and you can't help but think idealistically in times like these
FOUR
take a break from the bombs and the wars
for oil or in the name of god and let the air soak through your lungs
refreshing the world refreshing our youth
THREE
we have so much time soon to be so little
it all goes by too quickly somehow
TWO
our eyes are gleaming
lips wide in radiance
kisses kissed hearts lifting
up in flame
ONE
what will we be another year from now?
where is it we cry next?
who and where is our next great love?
how do we hurt and when?
what does it take to recover?
I'm sure we'll find a way
it's only a few hours to morning now
always is somewhere I suppose
and here starts a new odyssey,
everything is getting older
and newer all at once,
the fire is still glowing.
Nirvana goes on dancing
inside us.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
President Joko Widodo.
Indonesian symbol Garuda
is a mythical type phoenix
akin to Icarus both extinct.
Joko Widodo also known
as the bird-man of Bali
told Abbot go fly a kite.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
How they flutter
through the air, those feet;
like a butterfly’s wings;
though it is said
in Science
an action so small as the flick
of butterfly wings
may cause a catastrophic disaster
half-way round the world,
were the newscaster to announce today
that an earthquake
has pulverised Tokyo,
or that another tsunami
is invading the Indonesian coast,
or that, so long now quiescent,
Mount St. Helen’s is spouting down
once more
on Washington,
for their beauty,
I could not wish
the quelling of their flight;
could order
no net cast over them,
not those feet
like a butterfly’s wings.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
If you cannot let go of your past, you won't be able to embrace the future. I wrote this one for a boy whom I used to like a lot.
May you live for another 70 years
like your grandmother
May you influence young people,
inspiring them to follow their dreams
May you help thousands of people,
making them happy
May you eat all those Indonesian food
you like most
May you see a sky with five billion stars with
someone you love (someone is not me)
like your friend who visited Greece
May you get wrinkled, inked and loved.
I will keep you in my heart.
Goodbye.
2018.12.19
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:21 AM UTC
I can see how I thought it would always be mine.
It's -
My chocolate stain on the beige carpet,
The black hair shed and left on the bathroom wall,
How the fridge opens smelling like traces of Indonesian fried chicken,
My body curves stamped unto the bed mattress,
Lavender incense that first greets my entrance,
The shoe rack that is never big enough for all my shoes,
The box of nostalgia under my bed.
That is until I had to leave.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
Happy birthday, Dad.
You're …. 54, 55, 56?
I think I'm still jealous that you get to share your birthday with the earth.
I think I'm still a little sad that I never asked you if you enjoyed that.
I don't know why I am talking about you like you're gone; when you're only 17 steps down the stairs in your arm chair with the news on your lap and a glass of indonesian tea on your left.
I walked by you and you were standing there and I almost hugged you.
Almost.
You were proud that I listened to Etta James.
That made me beam but I didn't let you see it.
So many people take my light from me.
I think the only place that I can go to rekindle that light,
is the notion that maybe one day you won't be disappointed in me.
Or my lack of ability and motivation in school.
Or my lack participation in this family.
Or the notion that I won't be scared of you, scared of everything anymore.
Scared of loving people and then putting too much of myself into that person because I don't know how to love properly.
I didn't even know how to breath properly.
I had to go to a doctor and they had to tell me to take deeper breaths because I wasn't getting enough air.
Ever.
My breaths were shallow, and guarded, and hesitant.
I have invested hope in the day I won't exercise for an hour and a half every day for a week straight until my body can no longer function properly.
That I won't take a long shower, with water too hot and knees pulled up to my heaving chest.
Or maybe I won't drink too much and try to feel something with someone.
Or even stop tanning because I am literally burning from the inside out.
Maybe that way people will see how I truly feel on the inside.
Burnt out.
Tired, fatigued. Unworthy.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
Louis took a cold shower
after sleeping in all afternoon,
thinking about those sweaty
summer bedsheets from last year.
Her skin was always soft
and he used to run his thumb
downward along her hip-bone,
setting vibrations along fault-lines
and stifling any sound with a kiss.
He turned on the radio
and brushed his teeth, removing
the taste of sleeping pills and
last night's cigar.
A mono-brow was forming beautifully
and he had finally grown a beard.
Now it's beer for dinner,
wine for dessert, and John Coltrane
rasping loneliness in stereo.
Louis admired his backside
with the retractable mirror,
reminding himself that old lovers
could never forget that ***
He reminded himself of his poetry,
his dog; his back-catalogue trivia
of white-boy lyrics was sure
to make him a desired object,
far away from her loving arms.
He turned on the ceiling fan
and dried out to the jingles and adverts
that interceded the music
he'd never cared to listen to before.
The sad guitar and Indonesian flute
spun webs of memories in hypnotic
circles, keeping pace with the motor above.
The picture ran clear in the half-lit room.
Louis burned all his notebooks,
for all the good it would do.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Tears fell....
They say you sang Amazing Grace as you found eternity.
Goodbye.
Eyes open wide.
Rehabilitated sinners.
Sons and lovers.
Hoping you felt no pain.
Years of thinking time.
Repented at leisure.
Did the crime.
Did the time.
Staunchly viewed became abuse.
Free now.
Became legally supported ******
Indonesian people, Indonesian President.
A plea to thee for clemency.
Unheard.
Too late.
Rest begrudgingly in peace.
(c) OLIVIA KENT MMCV
I disagree with drug smuggling, but,to keep these people incarcerated for so long before execution is barbaric.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
And you know, you never told
Of the time we took the old
Man to watch the sunrise over the lake
For the very last time before his Great Ache
I never heard you talk about
Last year, when we were out
Of town, and we brought
The tents to a dry hill
Overlooking the windmill
And all we did was drink and talk
And you clumsily sang “I Am A Rock”
So, did you ever mention when
We both sneaked into an ***** den
And the Indonesian woman stole you wallet
Right after you’d won that ridiculous bet?
I think you kept the secret memory
When you stormed out the car in fury
When your Beetle broke down on Lucky lane
And all we did before repairing was done
Was kiss and play knock-and-run
And I don’t mind at all
How we make our times together look dull
But what I love is that they won’t know
How our nights and mornings go
How the caresses from the moonlight
Over your face fill me with delight
The hummingbird kisses while we’re still asleep
And your callused fingers that linger and creep
And the love poems made out of moans and sighs
The love cage of our tangled arms and thighs
Along with the Oasis vinyl dying out…
They won’t know what we've been on about.
p.t.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
i hate you
you concrete jungle
broken and jagged roads
that bear their rusted metal rods like ribs
the smells of sewerage always beneath your steps
smog and absurd dreams circulate through the veins
of infants who smoke clove cigarettes and ask with neutral stares
why are you afraid to die?
why can't you just live?
I will die asking why I love this city so much!!!
I will ask that my dead body be unceremoniously laid under the red Indonesian clay where countless unknowns were laid before me
bury me in Jakarta.
tell the single mom with the face I've always wanted to kiss
that I was only trying to feel loved for the very first time
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
He don’t have a clue
But says he’s blacker than you
And while it might be true
Cuz there’s another way he grew
That tested his metal
He grew up in the ghetto
In a single parent home
By himself all alone
It was like day and night
Even though you both are bright
But it’s true you grew up white
And your mother took a flight
But she did her best to please ya
Rearing you in Indonesia
With an Indonesian mister
The father of your sister
And it looks like he will fail
On the presidential trail
But he took time to assail
You are not a true black male
Because in his sight
Your mother was white
And although that’s all right
You lack true black insight
He’s entitled to his opinion
But it doesn’t have dominion
Cuz his father was a Kenyon
So his head right now is spinning
Because he can relate
Having also dealt with hate
And I need to also state
It’s still an ongoing debate
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
I woke up today, thinking 'bout my life,
And my past,
It runs up to me like a panther,
And I stutter,
Arranging the words that I have to say,
So that people won't ask questions and I don't have to mention,
How ****** up
I feel inside
I'll just put it aside
And let it collect duest
Trust - that I won't be okay but I'll say I am
And you'll believe me
That eventually I'll just become a memory
A past, a present that you'd slide in a conversation
No future
For me to participate in - I don't mind feeling like ****
It's something I'm used to I admit
I miss all of my friends but they're fine without me
And life is so funny
I feel like a joke that people keep missing the punchline
I'm in the line - queuing up for happiness
Instead what I got is the opposite
I'm sick and tired of all these misery
I feel like an old tree waiting to be cut down
And when I'm down
I lie there on the ground
Cupping my hands and say a prayer
Like a sailor I feel lost at sea
You see
I'm only 23 there's still so much for me to learn
Even though I yearn for some sort of serenity
I sling words on stage to keep my composure
Cuz I'm sure, that as I come of age
I need to learn from my mistakes
And make my scars the stepping Stones of new beginnings
And as I lie there on the ground feeling down
I gotta fill these empty cups
So I gotta get back up
And I gotta keep walking
And swim up when I feel like sinking
See I got two younger siblings
My brother he's only 20
There's still time for him to figure out who he's meant to be
And my sister she's only six I'm no example
Maybe an example for them to learn from
Even though I wanna be her Superman but man I'm just a man
Full of mistakes and flaws
I take that after the old man
But I'm not my dad
And I don't wanna be that
I'm just a man
Full of mistakes and flaws
That I gotta work on and move on
And I'll try to be a better man
**** man. I miss my grandma
I miss evenings with her watching Indonesian telly dramas
And my mama, she slaves herself away
She's always away to provide a meal on the table
And I wanna be able to make her proud
She thinks I will no doubt
And I will God's will
No matter how long it'll take me I'll keep hustlin'
Bustlin' through this mad city
You see
I'm only 23
Talking like I know ****
But I don't know ****
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC