Sajak-Sajak Cinta

dengan tangan terketar kuketuk dukamu
dengan dada berdebar kulamar cintamu

Bunga Cinta

kami duduk berdua
di warung terbuka itu
kami tidak berkata apa-apa
hanya membiarkan sepi
menjadi lebih sepi
sambil menunggu
air yang dipesan
entah berapa lama
tiba-tiba
muncullah pelayan itu
meletakkan di atas meja
segelas cinta
dan dua batang straw.

kami pun berpandangan
bunga cinta sudah bermula.

1976


Kaukirimkan

kau kirimkan padaku
sepucuk surat
tapi yang kubaca adalah
:suaramu!

kau kirimkan padaku
sebuah mimpi
tapi yang kutatap adalah
:wajahmu!

kau hidangkan padaku
segelas air
tapi yang kuhirup adalah
:cinta-MU!

1979


Waktu buku itu

waktu buku itu kubuka
kubaca berpuluh-puluh namamu
kau pun tiba-tiba melompat
dari halaman itu
"hai," tegurmu dengan ekor mata
aku pun terkejut
sejak tadi aku masih
membaca halaman satu.

1980


Aku ini sudah tua

aku ini sudah tua
sudah sepatutnya
tidak lagi bercinta
tapi celaka
cinta tidak mengenal usia
makin kuhirup sisa kehidupan
makin dahaga aku
akan cinta-Mu!

1992

Garcia Lorca

I think you'll like these poems by Garcia Lorca. He was a musician, an artist, a dramatist, but above all a poet, a poet of Spain, of the world and most particularly of his native Andalucia. He was born in Granada, a land of olive groves, and he died there 38 years later on August 19, 1936, one of the first casualties of the murderous confusion which marked the opening of the Spanish Civil War. I found it in the old LIFE magazine, dated March 20, 1967, which I bought when I was a student in LI.

LANDSCAPE

The olive grove
opens and closes
like a fan.
Beneath a crushing sky
and a dark rain
cold leaf-stars
glimmer.
Reed and shadow tremble
on the river's brim.
The gray air coils itself.
The olive trees
are full of cries.
A covey
of captive birds
who, in the dimnes,
sway their long tails.

(translated by Philip W. Payne)


FAREWELL

If I die,
leave the balcony open.

The little boy is eating oranges
(From my balcony I can see him,)

The reaper is harvesting the wheat.
(From my balcony I can hear him.)

If I die
leave my balcony open!

(Translated by W.S.Merwin)

Neruda

Yes, I love Neruda, one of my favorite poets. And Neruda who gathers so many of the things of this world into his large embrace, brings us closer to the loving source of all these things, since, with all his impassioned love for language, he is a poet who can say:

I utter and I am
and across the boundary of words,
without speaking, I approach silence.

-from Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon, translated by Stephen Mitchell.

Stone

Stone

it did not dream
it did not desire
to become a house

it kept still
while being transported
from the hill of its origins

it did not complain
while its body was smashed
to become gravel for the roads

when its blood flowed
it did not cry out in pain

it was too good for human beings.

This poem of mine was translated by Muhammad Haji Salleh from the original in Malay and collected in his Emas Tempawan (Burnished Gold) published by Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka.

Batu

dia tidak bermimpi
dia tidak berhasrat
menjadi rumah

dia hanya diam
waktu dipindahkan
dari bukit kampung asalnya

tidak juga dia membantah
waktu tubuhnya dipecah-pecahkan
menjadi kerikil lebuhraya

waktu darahnya mengalir dari tubuh
dia pun tidak mengaduh

dia terlalu baik buat manusia.