Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)

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Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (May 12, 1828- April 9, 1882. In the book of M. Ali Taslim, it is listed 1830- 1894). Although he is not as famous as the poet Dante Alighieri (1265 – 1321), but, now, his life story is more than deserve to perform. He is the son of Gabriel Rossetti, an Italian patriot who fled to England in 1824.
He was studied at King’s College, the leader of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which he was founded with Holman Hunt and Millais. Initially, he was known as a publisher, after his best poems were published: “The Blessed Damozel” then he became a British poet and painter. Typically, his poems are nuanced mystical imagination. “The Eearly Italia Poets”, is the translation poems of the Italian poet until Dante’s works (1861). The touched story to the interpreter; “Poem,” is the poems that firstly buried with his wife’s catafalque. But, then he exhumed it, published in 1870 and Ballads and Sonnets (1881). Since his beloved wife passed away, Dante withdrew himself into a semi-hermit.

TIGA BAYANG-BAYANG
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Kau kupandang, nampak matamu
Dalam bayang rambutmu,

Bagai pelayat melihat kali
Dalam bayang pohon kayu;

Lalu kataku: kalbuku mengeluh,
Wahai, andai boleh menunggu

Di sana, minum puas dan mimpi
Dalam nikmat sepi itu.

Kau kupandang, nampak hatimu
Dalam lindap matamu,

Bagai pencari nampak kencana
Dalam bayang di kali;

Lalu kataku: Wahai! Apatah ilmu
Perebut kurnia kekal itu,

Yang demi gagal, jiwa tantangannya?

Kau kupandang nampak cintamu
Dalam bayang hatimu,

Bagai tukang silam nampak mutia
Dalam limbur lautan;

Aku lalu berkamit, bukan lesu
Terengah, tapi terharu:

Ach, gadisku, kau tahu mencinta,
Dan cintamu bagiku gerangan?


Three Shadows
By Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I looked at you, it seems your eyes
In the shadow of your hair,

Like mourners staring at the river
In the shadows of the trees

Then I said: my soul is complaining,
Oh, if only I can wait

Over there, drink satisfactorily and dreaming
In delicious of the quiet.

I looked at you, it seems your heart
in the shade of your eyes,

like the searcher seem on the gold
in the shadows on the river;

Then I said: Oh! So what do the science of
grabber to everlasting grace,

which is for the failure the soul is the challenges?

I looked at you, I’ve seen your love
in the shadow of your heart,

like the expert of diver saw pearl
in the flood of ocean;

then I shivered my lips, not wan
Breathlessly, but was touched:

Ach, my girl, you know to love,
And your love is only for me?

(From the book “Puisi Dunia” (World Poetry), vol II, compiled by M. Taslim Ali, Balai Pustaka, 1952)
***

I imagined that Dante dismantled his wife’s grave, just for taking his poem. As if he had lost his soul of poet, after the publication of “The Blessed Damozel”.

Was there a spiritual battle? Between the emptiness of life without passion of wife, and then viewed at the life goes on forward.

Or, waking from a dream. If collection of his poems might be taken upon approval of bone bodies. Or craziness to dig what the true is wanted to be buried.

But the battle in field of the literature demanded him to keep exist, under his belief began to distinguish, on the desire of the best creation than the previous.

The world of authority is no more than the world of martial arts. Who is not able to set the strategy, will be disappointed to be dazed ascetic as Dante felt in his old.

Mentally he was haunted by sin, so he was unable to raise his confidence. Or there is no talent to be a genuine poet, who outlined to be invulnerable figure.

Setting the breath is very important, for the sake keep walking until the destination. How much strong talented person, but when everything is out in the middle of path, it is half of uselessness.

Poison of regret of impasse narrowed deeper, anguish dredged it up to be neglected without any firmness.

Whereas, the soul of poet is reflected from tough mental. If inner is wilt, weakened the breaths of works.

Because the rules of respiratory aura into words are absorbed from treasure of the history of scholarship that is read. Always struggles to pay attention to the small and big universe, in the depth of self to interpret.

Its length breathes of poet beside the seriousness to embed into the grave, also a strong desire to record, like a wanderer that roads are impassable, making reference to a later date.

The air delivers the knowledge through pores of sensory, which is forged by the heart of soul. Substances of appearance transformed the symbol of heart.

It will be manifested later and this is always done. Because released only, leaving from the beginning of journey.

There is a face of demands despite of in tired, hence the rule of breathes determines. The fortitude to process is reflected; saved the value of the soul for the sake of easy to make works.

Because the words would disappear and would easily be forgotten, if it was not swiftly to save. However, if the treasure of inner has been graduated, how mistaken the changes appear in the future can be ascertained.

Similar like suddenness but it is not. This is the origin of sediment was chained in the hearts of minds, a desire was exploded, the anxiety had passion of birth.

Thus opportunities to create can be built, not necessarily to wait for the news came from the sky.

Read the poem of Dante Gabriel Rossetti above, it appears sharp, in the event of dismantling of tombs.

The certitude was passed by for an ascetic. Or drowning and be buried in repentance, on the weakness to regulate arousal of the authorship.

There is hesitation behind seriousness of the view, like a wild sense of constancy of love, temptation is dancing like the spirit of poetry that is not easily captured.

Whereas the hand fingers are anxious to reach the truth. Or strange doubt exudes confidence to think, like looking at cornfield through a window.

The most beautiful painting is reality, but in reality is not easy to be revealed by all.

Dante was trapped in veil, all of his sensory munched the magic of rhymes, but his body was stiff on the ideology of sin of disturbing the cemetery.

He was merely being dumb like a stone when someone asked his feeling. Or they weren’t asking yet, there is veil covered until it was hard to ask.

Belief was burdened to the memories of faith that was unfinished, dwelled the shadows of spiritual of the poetry that has not yet created. When it was melting, in the repentance he interpreted excessively.

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