Translated by Agus B. Harianto
Initially, this is not unintended to process the creativity of writing poetry, but after it happened, the willing was on. When I was like a poet, nevertheless I was only have two published poetry anthologies; Dedication poetry anthology “Sarang Ruh” (1999)”, and “Ballads of too Early Destiny (2001).” Hence, it can be categorized as a form of the beginning of creative process. And this writing had became prologue for discussion on campus of Unisda Lamongan, at the end of 2001.
Let’s try to measure the depth of the ocean; the expanse of ocean of a feeling with anxiety embraced, between hesitate and be afraid to make a work.
Actually, I know nothing about the kind of ocean, waves, reefs, mountains or even the sky. What I felt is the soul reaches the hope that never met in the leg-body of outward. The soul just builds the definition of deep pain, the tortured as wide as universe released silent wings of the death.
There have been so many teachers gave suggestions to me, but I am still a resident in the township of confused and in a world of daze. Perhaps, unconsciously, I entered their lives that are crazy about loneliness, having a journey in the world of alienation of the slicing of inner-body. Beside I sipped nectar of creation, from the bee of hopes, from the dreams of humanity.
How gently is the world of the poetry, prose, literary? Moreover, as if there are strands of silk that traps and gives the subtle equivalent, as complicated as disengaged the tangled yarn. It’s some kind of profanity and chaos of common feeling that is burdened by interests. Frankly, it is not understood that the burden is very painful; it could deafen the soul and feeling.
When beat its breaths, distortion in the sphere of literary were occurring. Where, its reflections transformed the house that is the best poetry. Then the situation would test it: whether the man, nature or its own fate (?).
Fidgetiness to create the best poetry is going wild, wary of breaking all the memories, until sometimes it’s difficult to understand the sense of maturity. Is it pure that it’s merely madness (?).
The space-time becomes the frame of poetic. Sometimes it is in pain, although it’s increasing suffer and deepening an invisible wound.
Heavy flavor is in the heart, which really expects the essence of the poetic of genuineness. It would be better if using the consideration of consciousness, and transparent continuity (istikomah), it led to the creation of pure poetry. In order the bear confusion to incarnate the foundation of enlightenment, and then it would be the statement or pronouncement. Although, the specialty derived from the soul that was as opener of widespread possibilities.
The poetry is the news of joy that was created from the pain of heart, written on the strange space-time, or from the great odd of the confusion.
I do not align this serious touch with anything had been experienced by the prophets, when they found divine revelation. But, I believe the reader could compare among revelation, inspiration, enlightenment, and even possessed.
The poetry, rhyme or poem, is something that can not be described, if we want to find dimension of purity (glory). But how the others could understand the glory or not, if it’s not described in the words.
There is a cert to strike the impressive, so the human being steps on elegy, symphonies, besides the orphan or poet’s concerns in too shallow format.
Will poet glorifies the daily words become the language of poetry? Even in here, the concepts of simplicity become vague or disperse, when it’s interpreted from individuality sides of the creator. But I believe, the readers have a sea that its water is stable, although it’s affected by the force of the gravity of spirit, and also individual secret passion.
Hence, he believes the natural punishment. That every time we plant, we will get what we expected, although sometimes its fruit does not match with the dream we had before. But in the trust, there is a higher confidence, which is the ornament of authenticity that comes from the Creator.
It’s not enough yet we interpret the burden to be liquid concoction of plasticity. But, fortunately, we have standpoint, at a distance of bodies seen at the river. For those along the rivers of delusion or obsession, though stunned alone at the edge of lake. How to make a nest, and fly every touch tones of the heart to the extent of universal.
Let’s interpret the skin of the light of feeling of “Ardhanareswari poetry,” defining it as news of joy, from the maturity of procession “Arok been a king,” was instead got it from rebellion, not curried favor.
The poem is the words summed up in the title, containing the situation that captured on the great breaths of the poet (?).
To me, the poetry has three-dimensional of life: First, the poetry records the past and describes the profound wisdom, and also survives in space-time later.
Second, the poetry records events taking place in the neighborhood of the poet. This poem must withstand on the test of progressing, doesn’t be eliminated by the age of statue and the sun age idol era.
Third, the poem records the future. This is a skill of the poet in sharpening the feeling, which of course gave by Allah, the Almighty that understands the spirit. So, He can describe the future situation, with the spectacular creation, and also have age and ranges of motion of immortality.
In my experience, the poetry is the crystallization of prose. Or, the poetry is a bit of prose that had been mature for words. It’s recorded in the inspiration, and then manifested to be more compact. It’s like a sort of code for the intelligence.
So, the poetry is the soul expression that depicted in the words that are concentrated, or the language that is more than just symbols; in the stomach of signs, there is a charming or scary and violent creature, as solid as the depth of creation. A half of those above can be happened, or the creation of the poetry is without passing through the stages of the work of prose.
Poetry is the strains of silence song that is read in the anthology, and it is a dance that is performed on the stage.
Half of the best poetry is the soul excavation carefully and mature, very carefully written from accurate thinking, or it’s from the intelligence of the feeling of intelligence.
It’s often the vibration and atmosphere of the other world, speaking there. Especially, when intended for the presented of the transcendent poetry. Which has a specific aroma, such as the works of Tagore, Hallaj and even Rumi, that its holistic perception becomes the spirit of the poem, pushed toward the immortality.
Despite of the above speech, writing is a freedom as such an autodidact. So, when it meant the poetry, its words have the poetically situation.
Each of the authors explores the inner and the body of the poetry; they found honey of activity, and then the fragrant of silence was drunk. It grows the wings of beauty for the sake of flying a strains of own power. And the audience assess if propagated, had appearance since the jail of its space-time.
Every person writes and writes as his playmate. So, the natural goodness loves him, as long as he is not the coward left such talent. This sketch may be said as an alternative of the concept of literary.
Indeed it’s difficult to explain, even it’s impossible to convict a masterpiece in the classification of bad or good. Because of every masterpiece saves its own mystery. And it’s not wise if we correct it recklessly, because the one should judge and eliminate is the Father of Time. And them, they just provided the motivation, on the race field of the creativity.
For the exception, each work can be read; whether it’s mature or still sour, whether it could control the emotion or not, whether it’s for fun or for seriousness, etc.
Indeed, every work, it needs assessment from the other parties. But, do they know the exact time of the creation? In which there is hidden mystery. In fact, we need to fight to dispose it; whether it’s a product of prudery or a product of fully meaning (?).
Hopefully, this short writing could be a standpoint within the own house of policies, as well as for those who want to introspect in the reading and the writing. So, its hanging fruits could be delicious to eat, and not just a material or substance of reflection.
*) Wanderer from Lamongan. Written between Yogyakarta, Cirebon, Jakarta in the train, August 1999.
http://sastra-indonesia.com/2009/03/puisi-antara-simfoni-dan-cahaya/
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