Pantun - Perempuan, Isteri dan Jalang (translated to English)
perempuan, isteri, dan jalang
yang lalu tak kan berulang
tatasusila baik di pegang
jalan lurus bengkok ku tak hilang
woman, wife and whore
what has been will never be repeated
i hang on to the best experience
the road, straight or bent i will not be lost
perempuan, isteri, dan jalang
yang lalu tak kan berulang
pengalaman lurus di pegang
jalan bengkok pun ku tak hilang
perempuan, isteri, dan jalang
pergilah kita jalan jalan
hidup memang satu jalanan
buai sini, buai sana, buaian mainan
woman, wife and whore
let's go for a walk
life is actually just a walk
swing here, swing there, a swing game
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Yang Yang
Yang yang holds on to a giant phone,
Yang yangs soft voice goes on and on,
I hate you, I hate you, where did it go wrong?
Yangyang goes talking to himself on the phone.
Yang yang sends his men pebbles and stones,
Yang yang rips his women down to the bones.
I own you, I own you, so give us a song,
Yangyang goes talking to his world on the phone.
Yang yangs born with a phone cord round his neck,
Yang yang never fails to stick to his kick.
I want you, I want you, youre making me sick.
But yangyang, the chords never long enough
To reach your mommys trick.
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang, snap out,
Give up, cut out,
Tune up and join us,
Join the revolution,
Join the revolution.
No kick is good enough for lifetime substitution,
No brick will give you a lifetime consolation.
And whether you dig it or not,
We outnumber you in population.
And leave your private institution,
Get down to real communication,
Leave your scene of destruction
And join us in revolution.
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang, wake up,
Give up, cut out,
Come out and join us,
Join the revolution,
Join the revolution.
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sang Pujaan
Dia terus saja memandangmu
Gadis yang melihat dari atas jendela
Dan gadis yang berpapasan di jalan
Dia jelas-jelas mengagumimu
Gadis pembuat kue
Dan gadis anak penjahit
Tapi mungkin kau tak menyadarinya
Hatimu begitu dingin dan acuh
Dia pasti mengincarmu
Gadis putri tuan tanah
Dan gadis penyanyi bar itu
Dia juga diam-diam mencintaimu
Gadis pemalu yang tak sanggup memandangmu
Dan gadis sahabat yang ada di dekatmu
Tapi mungkin kau tak peduli
Hatimu sangat dingin dan tak tersentuh
Siapakah dia yang akan kau ajak ke pesta?
Siapakah dia yang akan kau ajak berdansa?
Gadis yang cantikkah atau biasa saja
Siapakah dia yang akan kau pilih?
Siapakah dia yang mencuri perhatianmu?
Gadis yang ceriakah atau gadis yang lembut
Seisi kota begitu ingin tahu tentangmu
Tapi kau masih saja berjalan dengan santai
Mengapa kau begitu mempesona setiap gadis?
Mengapa tak kau pilih salah satu saja?
Gadis yang kau kenal baik atau gadis yang dijodohkan
Berilah kesempatan pada para gadis untuk mendapatkanmu
Juga beri kesempatan para pria untuk mendapat gadis
Bila tak juga mencari seisi kota akan menjadi gila
Dia yang mencintaimu akan menyelamatkanmu
Dia yang kau cintai akan menyelamatkan kami semua!
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Wajah Pagi di Wajahmu yang Malam Memancar Cahaya Malammu di Wajah Pagi
Sudah berapa banyak angka dari kalender
Merawat nyeri dari luka paragraf soliloqui
Pada bangunan yang dipurbakan
Setiap jeda waktu terteriak di mulutmu
Serupa dengung tawon dalam hutan
Deru suaramu meruwat perjalanan ngilu
Ngilu: Kau ceritakan lagi pagi ini
Seperti pagi yang lalu tanpa ingata
Mungkin di pagi yang lain, insomniamu
Dan kamu akan datang lagi, ceritakan nyeri
Pada kematian di hamparan panggung teater lengang
Lalu tegang di wajahmu
Lalu tenang seolah-olah
Pada bait-bait puisi
Yang kau sesalkan sebelum tidur
Lalu mimpi buruk melumat sesal
Sembunyikan ketakutan di bibirmu
Bibirmu: Cerita ngilu di sebuah pagi
"pada akhirnya batang tubuh berakal ini
menjadi analog-analog kecil dalam satwa
yang kau juga aku mengembunkannya
pada imajinasi untuk sesuap nasi."
Kau diam sebentar, bercakap kecil
Kulihat ke dalam matamu, ada luka
"Luka itu kawan, yang membuat senyum
di kanvas pagi yang ngilu pada ceritaku
selain luka tak ada lagi untuk sebuah cerita
dan kenangan hanya maut yang tak kukenal."
Kata-katamu menetaskan api pagi ini
Sebagaimana aksara di bibir penyair itu
Telah membakar puisi dan mengabu kini
Terhempas ke ladang-ladang petani
Terhimpit map-map plastik di kantor-kantor
Menempel di wajahmu sendiri
Pagi ini, lembut. Legam.
Kau diam kemudian
Sambil menunjuk jari ke tubuh ayam betina
Yang mencari makan sisa angin dan embun segar semalam
Jika hujan tak membawanya pergi
Dan kau tak mencolongnya untuk sepenggal diksi
"Lihatlah ayam betina itu, tenang dan tentram."
Sebab tak punyai kata-kata untuk luka
[...] Read more
poem by Selendang Sulaiman
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Puisi Sembilan Tabiat Cinta
Sembilan Tabiat Cinta
I.
Musim-musim hampiri cintaku. Padamu tak sempat kutitip rindu. Hujan pergi tinggalkan basah daunan. Aroma kembang menyemerbak ke udara. Tak ada wangi cintaku di sana. Segersang rindu di matamu akan diriku. Dahaga sepi dan nyerinya tertahan di atas sebidang dadaku. Resah bibirmu, terlampau suram kujamah warnanya. Apa kau tak mendengar degup musim menghujam jantung cintaku. Di sana rindu membiru di bibir waktu. Sebiru resahmu.
II.
Aku tulis tabiat cinta ini dengan ingatan terpenggal musim hujan. Terkambang bah di sungai coklat, terapung di selat kecil ditinggalkan para pengumpul pasir. Tak ada sauh tak ada jangkar untuk kulempar biar perahu waktu berhenti. Sebab laju perahu, nyeri gelombang lautan yang menderita di jantungku. Maka kutulis tabiat cinta ini atas nama rasa yang kurasa kesejukannya setiap embun jatuh seperti matamu menatapku.
III.
Aku mencintaimu bukan tanpa perhitungan, meski belum sepenuhnya tepat waktu. Tetapi aku tidak tergesa-gesa. Itulah sebabnya cintaku mengalir tenang. Serupa capung-capung senjahari terbang di atas hamparan padi menguning.
IV.
Cintaku hidup dari udara pagi di lembah-lembah, sawah dan ladang. Berhembus ke samudra mencipta awan. hujan deras adalah kesetiaanku padamu. Kesetiaan musim pada kesejukan. Dan apabila badai dan banjir datang itulah cemburu batinku yang sialan. Apa kau tak merasa ada kehidupan diantara jarak kita memandang?
V.
Kepadamu aku mencari kekuatan hidup dengan segala kesadaran dan fitrah kemanusiaan. Lalu cinta kubangkitkan di dalamnya dengan tangan-tangan api dan air. Hawa panas dan dingin adalah nafasku. Apa kau tak merasa hembusnya kekasih?
VI.
Tak ada kuasa untuk cinta. Jika ketakutan hadir sebab cemburu. Aku bicara dari lubuk bumi. Meski tak ada pohon bicara. Engkaulah maha pendengar kata-kata yang menjelma dedaunan dan reranting subur. Aku tersiksa oleh cinta. Kau tentu tak sudi mengurai air mata, ketika luka batinku menjeritkan nyeri letusan berapi. Tetapi, biarlah lahar panas menyulap rinduku.
VII.
Kita selalu bicara tentang cinta, nestapa, dan impian sejak pertemuan pertama. Meneguk anggur sampai mabuk, hingga kesadaran tunai di persimpangan menuju hidupmu-menemu hidupku. Kita sepakat lupakan segala, madu dan darah kita, lalu kita penuhi dengan air raksa.
VIII.
Cintaku, rasa sakit dari masa lalu, tak terasa oleh nyeri hari ini untuk masa depan.
IX.
Mari kita berdoa satu sama lain.
Yogyakarta,2011-2012
poem by Selendang Sulaiman
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IV. Tertium Quid
True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sebuah bom yang meledak bernama sunyi (Indonesian)
: Teungku Abdullah Syafii in memoriam
(1)
Bilakah ini harinya bom yang engkau lemparkan bersama
Butir udara berinteraksi memekatkan cinta
Yang dinamakan kesumat tak akan ada yang
Bisa kuperbuat kecuali
Menikam waktu dan sebuah bom yang
Meledak engkau sebut sunyi,
Dari lukakah mengalirkan darah
Yang engkau sebut cinta yang
Akhirnya menghantarkan
Pada kilatan api dalam ketiadaan,
Ketiadaan Teungku yang menemukan
Aliran darahnya, ketiadaan hamba tanpa sunyi,
Dan engkau lemparkan sunyi, engkau lemparkan
Kepada waktu:
Sebuah bom meledak bernama sunyi
Lalu aku mencatatnya dengan cinta
(2)
Teungku: duka duri semak ada di dadamu, cinta manakah
Yang hendak dikuburkan, aku tepiskan
Tanpa memilih hidup ini akan dikemanakan
Mungkin bersama bayang-bayang hujan lalu
Sunyi ini akan diberikan kepada siapa?
Siapakah pembunuh waktu yang tak mengerti:
Luka ini berasal juga dari Cinta
Cinta berasal muasal dari duka keabadian
Mungkin kita ini bangsa yang lupa
Bahwa bendera kita bukanlah kemenangan
Tetapi kekalahan berkepanjangan
Sebagai hamba Duli Paduka, cinta manakah?
Bagai berondongan pertanyaan ini menyergap
Dan Teungku: dekaplah damai keabadianMu
(3)
Duka sergap kematian ini semakin lekat, bila moncong menganga
Selalu berarah kepadamu, kenangan apakah
Jejak bayang-bayang hujan terlalu samar
Untuk siapakah engkau kirim kegelisahan ini
Senyap rerumputan memagut lelapmu
Sungai berdiri diam bisu
Menorehkan sederet kebahagiaan
Lewat peluru, mesiu dan bayang-bayang
Mawar, cinta dan kematian
Tak ada yang lebih menarik lagi
Tak ada yang lebih menarik lagi
[...] Read more
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Padam
Apa yang kau dapatkan, hargailah
Apa yang dipinjam, kembalikan
Sebelum semuanya menghilang
Dan api di dalammu padam
Apa yang kau simpan, rawatlah
Apa yang kau buang, relakan
Bila api di dalam dirimu telah padam
Kenangan pun tak lagi bisa membakar
Mimpi pun tak bisa lagi bersinar
Jadi jangan berhenti dulu
Sebab dewa masih memberimu waktu
Sebelum semuanya memudar
Dan api di dalammu padam
Apa yang kau inginkan, kejarlah
Apa yang kau takuti, hadapi
Sebelum semuanya menghilang
Dalam kegelapan yang kelam
Apa yang kau jaga, sayangilah
Apa yang kau benci, tangisi
Karena bila api yang ada telah padam
Ingatan pun tak lagi berarti
Jalan yang lebar pun tak lagi menarik
Jadi jangan mencemaskan hal yang tak perlu
Sebab meski terlihat tak ada waktu
Dan angin tak mau membantu
Kobaran di dadamu masih belum padam
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Feast
Mari kita memulai kisah
Tentang sang raja dan sang singa
Anak manusia dan penguasa rimba
Dari padang rumput mereka terlahir
Dengan kebanggaan dan harapan
Dengan bahaya dan cobaan
Jauh, jauhkan dahulu kedengkian itu
Kita buka dengan babak penuh kedamaian
Menghisap embun pagi yang sama
Menatap dunia baru dengan mata terbuka
Alangkah manis pemandangan mereka yang tak berdosa
Lalu perjumpaan sederhana di tepi kolam
Di mana surga dan neraka amatlah tipis bedanya
Tempat kau mengangkat taring untuk musuh
Atau mencakar lembut tangan sahabat
Bermain bersama di sela-sela semak
Berguling penuh debu di bawah sinar matahari terik
Sungguhkah mereka akan menjadi raja dan singa
Tubuh yang tumbuh menjadi sempurna
Pikiran yang terjalin menjadi pemahaman
Gerbang kedewasaan mengantar mereka pada perpisahan
Peraturan istana dan insting liar
Demi kekuasaan dan harga diri
Mereka tidak berpisah dengan air mata
Karena mereka diajari untuk tidak menangis
Mereka berpisah dengan darah
Tradisi dan perburuan
Pembantaian dan penghinaan
Sang singa mengaum dengan keras
Dengan surainya yang kini lebat terurai
Sementara sang raja terpencil
Di tahtanya yang dingin dan sorak sorai penonton
Mereka merindukan masa-masa itu
Masa saat mereka bertatapan tanpa penuh kebencian
Dan bilamana bulu keemasan itu tiba di pangkuan sang raja
Sang raja menandai pemerintahannya
Dan sang singa mati demi sahabatnya
Ini bukanlah cerita yang perlu diratapi
Baik sang raja maupun sang singa
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Canterbury Tales; the Wyves tale of Bathe
The Prologe of the Wyves tale of Bathe.
Experience, though noon auctoritee
Were in this world, were right ynogh to me
To speke of wo that is in mariage;
For, lordynges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,
Thonked be God, that is eterne on lyve,
Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve-
For I so ofte have ywedded bee-
And alle were worthy men in hir degree.
But me was toold, certeyn, nat longe agoon is,
That sith that Crist ne wente nevere but onis
To weddyng in the Cane of Galilee,
That by the same ensample, taughte he me,
That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.
Herkne eek, lo, which a sharpe word for the nones,
Biside a welle Jesus, God and Man,
Spak in repreeve of the Samaritan.
'Thou hast yhad fyve housbondes,' quod he,
'And thilke man the which that hath now thee
Is noght thyn housbonde;' thus seyde he, certeyn.
What that he mente ther by, I kan nat seyn;
But that I axe, why that the fifthe man
Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan?
How manye myghte she have in mariage?
Yet herde I nevere tellen in myn age
Upon this nombre diffinicioun.
Men may devyne, and glosen up and doun,
But wel I woot expres withoute lye,
God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;
That gentil text kan I wel understonde.
Eek wel I woot, he seyde, myn housbonde
Sholde lete fader and mooder, and take me;
But of no nombre mencioun made he,
Of bigamye, or of octogamye;
Why sholde men speke of it vileynye?
Lo, heere the wise kyng, daun Salomon;
I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon-
As, wolde God, it leveful were to me
To be refresshed half so ofte as he-
Which yifte of God hadde he, for alle hise wyvys?
No man hath swich that in this world alyve is.
[...] Read more
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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II. Half-Rome
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)
Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Buat Apa
Buat apa uang berlebih
Jika tak dapat menikmati
Buat apa harta yang banyak
Jika keluarga tak dekat
Buat apa menyombongkan diri
Jika bukan usaha sendiri
Buat apa berdoa dan memuji
Jika tak setulus hati
Buat apa kekuasaan besar
Jika tak membela yang benar
Buat apa umur yang panjang
Jika kebahagiaan tak kau rasakan
Buat apa mengejar kejayaan
Jika akhirnya terlupakan
Buat apa bermain-main dengan kata
Jika tak ada sesuatu yang nyata
Buat apa kekuatan dashyat
Jika dendam terus kau ingat
Buat apa menjadi yang terbaik
Jika tak membuatmu menarik
Buat apa mati-matian mengolah raga
Jika kesehatan tak dijaga
Buat apa terus memperluas
Jika diliputi rasa tak puas
Buat apa berteman
Jika untuk mencari keuntungan
Buat apa memberi kesempatan
Jika selalu mencari kesalahan
Buat apa membuat pilihan
Jika dari awal tak pernah ada lain jalan
Buat diliputi kemujuran
Jika tak mendapatkan apa yang diinginkan
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Menatap lurus matamu (Indonesian)
lalu belajar mengerti dari awal,
membaca kembali ejaan yang tak pernah kau berikan,
karena sebagaimana pengertian dari awalnya
bermula dari keterpaksaan,
penderitaan yang dijalani,
akar tunjang yang membelit tumbuh
di pokok batangnya,
rumput yang tumbuh
di segala musim,
kerelaan yang tumbuh
dari bola matamu,
memperkaitkan sepi pada pengertian,
alam benda-benda yang ada di kerajaan hati,
entah berapa kali aku mengemis padamu,
jangan buatkan sarang laba-laba yang menjebakku,
jadi magsamu,
terpikat masuk ke bola matamu,
terjebak sukma ruhmu,
melewati aliran nadi,
memenuhi hasrat,
pelajaran apalagi ini?
bermula dari kekosongan mengisi setiap rongga jiwa,
penderitaan adalah awal persetubuhan,
persetubuhan yang akan menjadi puing-puing
kenangan dalam matamu,
hendakkah kau buang,
bagi matamu yang penyair,
barangkali akan tinggalkan sebagai kata,
yang kembali dieja dengan apa saja judul puisimu,
tetapi tetap saja persetubuhan kita tak kekal,
hanya kekal dalam matamu dan mataku,
suatu kali kita bangun kerajaan dalam semalam,
aku puaskan membangunkan pualam istana,
cuma dalam matamu,
setelah kekeringan yang punah,
dibakar, apalagi ini?
lalu belajar mengerti kembali…..
(2001)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Setelah Perayaan
Terpuruk ku di sini
Di antara debu sisa-sisa kembang api
Awan di langit malam yang gelap
Kabut asap yang mengambang
Dengan bau mesiu habis terbakar
Tak ada lagi bunga yang berpendar warna-warni
Tak ada lintasan cahaya yang bersahutan bernyanyi
Bagaikan sebuah orkestra tanpa suara
Lalu aku kembali pada kesendirian
Keramaian lamat-lamat meninggalkan diriku
Yang terlalu lamban bergerak untuk mengejar mimpi
Yang kupunya hanya hasrat yang telah mati
Menunggu sejumput percikan api
Mengenaiku kembali
Dan aku akan melesat di tengah hitamnya langit malam
Berpendar dengan membakar seluruh diriku
Lalu aku akan menghilang dalam hujan bunga api
Berharap seseorang melayangkan pandang sekali
Diriku yang telah telantar dan dilupakan
Tanpa sempat memenuhi janjiku untuk menjadi
Kembang api yang tak gagal lagi
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Three Women
My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.
Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.
Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.
Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.
1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.
Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Waktu yang Tepat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita secepat kilat
atau sewaktu berhitung cermat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila bergerak mendekat
atau bersabar menunggu penjerat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita melihat
atau ketika tak ada yang berbuat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita terus memahat
atau dimana semua sudah tersurat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kehormatan terdesak
atau kala keberanian terdapat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila musuh merapat
atau sewaktu tak terlambat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita menangkap waktu yang sesaat
atau saat melepas semua pemberat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila semua selamat
atau ketika datang mujizat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila emosi memuncak
atau dimana yang berkuasa adalah akal sehat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila janji sudah terikat
atau kala hidup dipenuhi karat
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Terbang
Terbang lepas
Terbang bebas
Bila masih kulihat cahaya
Terpancar di depan sana
Aku kan segera
Bangkit dan membawa
Semua harapan di dada
Bila satu patah kata
Yang kutunggu tlah tiba
Aku kan segera
Meluncur bersama
Mimpi yang luar biasa
Terbang lepas
Terbang bebas
Jauh
Dan melayang
Di langit luas
Jauh
Kan kulihat semua
Dunia yang sangat indah
Kan kuingat dirinya
Dia sangat kucinta
Bila nanti langkahku terhenti
Kau tinggalkan ku sendiri
Aku takkan goyah
Tak pernah menyerah
Karena hidup belum berakhir
Dan ku kan
Terbang lepas
Terbang bebas
Jauh
Dan melayang
Di langit luas
Jauh
Kan kulihat semua
Dunia yang sangat indah
Kan kuingat dirinya
Dia sangat kucinta
Oh, terbang lepas
Terbang bebas
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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