ANWAR, Chairil

The Seized and the Severed

the darkness and passing wind overtake me

and the room where the one I long for shivers

with night’s penetration; trees stand like dead memorials

but in Karet, yes, Karet Cemetery – my future locale – there, the wind howls, too

I put my room in order, and myself as well, in the chance that you might come

and I may once again unleash a new story for you;

but now it’s only my hands that move, emptily

my body is still and alone, as frozen stories and events pass by


Twilight At Little Harbor

down between the sheds, the old houses, among the twittering

masts and rigging. A boat, a prau that will never sail again

puffs and snorts, thinking there's something it can catch

The drizzle brings darkness. An eagle's wings flap,

brushing against the gloom; the day whispers, swimming silkily

away to meet harbor temptations yet to come. Nothing moves

and now the sand and the sea are asleep, the waves gone.

That's all. I'm alone. Walking,

combing the cape, still choking back the hope

of getting to the end and, just once, saying the hell with it

from this fourth beach, embracing the last, the final sob.


Story for Dien Tamaela

I am Pattiradjawane,1

Guarded by the gods,

I alone.

I am Pattiradjawane,

Foam of the sea,

The bleeding of the blue.

I am Pattiradjawane;

When I was born

The gods sent a boat with me.

I am Pattiradjawane,

Guarded by the nutmeg forest,

And by the fire on the beach;

Whoever approaches,

Three times must call my name.

In the silence of the night

The weeds dance to my drum;

The nutmeg trees become maidens

And live until the dawn.

Come and dance.

Play . . . and forget.

But beware! Do not anger me!

For I will strike the nutmeg,

The maids will stiffen,

And I will send the gods to you.

Throughout the nights,

Throughout the days,

I am the rhythm of the weeds,

The fire that burns the isle.

I am Pattiradjawane,

Guarded by the gods,

I alone.

No, Woman!

No, woman! What lives in me

still easily evades your fevered and dark embrace,

intent on finding the greenness of another sea,

to be again on the ship where we first met,

surrendering the rudder to the wind,

our eyes fixed on waiting stars.

Something flapping its wings, again conveys

Tai Po and the secret of the Ambonese Sea.

Such is woman! A single vague line

is all I can write

in my flight towards her enigmatic smile.

Announcement

To dictate is not my intent,

Fate is separate loneliness-es.

I choose you from among the rest, but

in a moment we are snared by loneliness once more.

There was a time I truly wanted you,

to be as children in crowning darkness,

and we kissed and fondled, not tiring.

I did not want to ever let you go.

Do not unite your life with mine,

for I cannot be with anyone for very long

I write now on a ship, in some nameless sea.

Pines in the Distance

Pines scatter in the distance,

as day becomes night,

branches slap weakly at the window,

pushed by a sultry wind.

I’m now a person who can survive,

so long ago I left childhood behind,

though once there was something,

that now counts for nothing at all.

Life is but postponement of defeat,

a growing estrangement from youth’s unfettered love

a knowing there’s always something left unsaid,

before we finally acquiesce.

Diponegoro

In this time of building

you live again

And the embers of admiration are kindling

Far in front you wait

earless. The enemy are a hundredfold.

A sword in your right hand) a dagger in your

left

Girt with a spirit that cannot die.

FORWARD

This column has neither drums nor clubs

Faith is the signal for attack.

To him meaningful once

And then die.

FORWARD

For you the Country

Prepares a fire.

Rather destruction than slavery

Rather annihilation than oppression

Although (it is) achieved only in death

In life (one) must experience (it).

Forward.

Charge.

Attack.

Crush