Warisan Kita
Bicara lagi kambingku, pisauku, ladangku, komporku, rumahku, payungku, gergajiku, empang ikanku, genting kacaku, emberku, geretan gasku. Bicara lagi cerminku, kampakku, meja makanku, alat-alat tulisku, gelas minumku, album foto keluargaku, ayam-ayamku, lumbung berasku, ani-aniku.
Bicara lagi suara nenek-moyangku, linggisku, kambingku, kitab-kitabku, piring makanku, pompa airku, paluku, paculku, gudangku, sangkar burungku, sepedaku, bunga-bungaku, talang airku, ranjang tidurku. Bicara lagi kerbauku, lampu senterku, para kerabat-tetanggaku, guntingku, pahatku, lemariku, gerobakku,
sandal jepitku, penyerut kayuku, ani-aniku.
Bicara lagi kursi tamuku, penggorenganku, tembakauku, penumbuk padiku, selimutku, baju dinginku, panci masakku, topiku. Bicara lagi kucing-kucingku... pisau
1989
Our Inheritance
Speak again my goat, my knife, my field, my stove, my house, my umbrella, my saw, my fishpond, my glass tile, my bucket, my gas lighter. Speak again my mirror, my adze, my eating table, my writing eguipment, my drinking glass, my family photo album, my chickens, my rice barn, my rice knife.
Speak again voices of my ancestors, my crowbar, my goat my books, my eating dish, my waer pomp, my hammer, my hoe, my pantry, my bird cage, my bycicle, my flowers, my water gutter, my bed. Speak again my water buffalo, my flashlight, my relatives and neighbors, my scissors, my rice knife.
Speak again my guest's chair, my work, my tobacco, my rice pounder, my blanket, my warm clothing, my cookinh pan, my hat. Speak again my cats... knife.
1987
translation by Marianne Koenig
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Seorang Lelaki di Benteng Fort Rotterdam
Saya temui lelaki itu, sisa-sisa tubuh sebuah koloni di bangunan tua lantai atas, Benteng Fort Rotterdam. Ia seperti hempasan ombak Pantai Losari, membuat bantal tidur saya berkeringat di malam hari. Udara laut membuat sebuah lubang di pintu, lalu bercerita tentang hantu-hantu tentara berbaris, jeritan perempuan dari sumur tua, dan biskuit di piring seketika habis oleh kerubungan semut merah.
Benteng Fort Rotterdam jadi bulu kudukku yang berdiri, di antara bangunan tua tempat anak-anak kursus bahasa Inggris. Mereka tak mengenalnya: seorang lelaki memancang tubuhnya pada tembok-tembok Benteng Somba Opu, dari serangan meriam Kompeni yang mengepungnya dari laut. Saya merasa sendiri dengan sepatu buatan Jerman di kaki saya, bersama udara laut yang tak henti mengirim garam halus di bibir saya. Kisah itu membuat batu berjatuhan pada kalimat-kalimatnya. Keras. Urat di tangan menutup malam.
Siang hari, peperangan dengan Kompeni berlangsung kembali, dengan kursus-kursus bahasa Inggris, musik-musik metal dalam kendaraan-kendaraan umum, film-film Amerika di TV, anggaran belanja daerah....
Ram, sahabatku, aku tinggalkan seorang lelaki di lantai atas bangunan tua itu. Mengucur hingga tempat tidur ibumu.
1994
A Man at Fort Rotterdam
I met with that man, the bodily remains of a colony, upstairs in an old building, Fort Rotterdam. He was like the pounding of the breakers on Losari beach, making my pillow sweat in the night. The occan air made a hole in the door, then told of soldiers specters marching in information at night, a woman's screams from inside an old well, and a biscuit an a plate instantly consumed in a swarm of red ants. Fort Rotterdam is my hair standing on end, full of homeless souls, between the old buildings where children take English classes. I didn't invite the man to cat fried rice, lined up along Loxari beach. To know him, I must imagine a man staking his body to the walls of Fort Somba Opu, against the Kompenis cannon attacks besieging it from the sea air delivering endless fine salt upon my lips. That tale makes rocks rain down on his sentences, hard the tendons in the hand encloing the night.
Midday, war with the Kompeni resumes, with lessons, Heavy Metal on the public transport. American films on TV, the regional spending budget...
Ram, my friend, I left a man in that old building upstairs, gushing forth to your mother's bed.
1994
translation by Linda Owens
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Asia Membaca
Matahari telah berlepasan dari dekor-dekornya. Dan kami masih hadapi langit yang sama, tanah yang sama. Asia. Setelah dewa-dewa pergi jadi batu dalam pesawat-pesawat TV; setelah waktu-waktu menghancurkan; dan cerita lama memanggil lagi dari negeri lain, setiap kata berbau bensin di stu. Kami terurai lagi lewat baju-baju baru. Asia. Kapal-kapal membuka pasar, mengganti naga sapi dengan minyak bumi.
Asia. Kami masuki dekor-dekor berbagai kekuatan, bendera-bendera baru, seks dan cinta yang lain lagi. Kota-kota dalam baju warna-warni. Mengantar pembiusan jadi jalan di malam hari. Asia.... Tempat membaca yang tak boleh dibaca, tempat menulis yang tak boleh ditulis.
Tanah berkaca-kaca, Asia, mencium bau manusia, Asia, menyimpan kami dari segala zaman, Asia. Tempat leluhur mencipta kata. Asia hanya ditemui, seperti mencari segumpal tanah yang hilang: Tempat bahasa dilahirkan.
Asia
1985
Asia Reads
The sun has freed itself of its adornment, yet we still face the same sky, the same land. Asia. After the gods have gone been fossilized in TV antennae, after times of destruction, which hearken back old tales from another world, words smell of gasoline. And we express ourselves trough a different set of clothes. Asia. Ships open markets, replacing dragons and oxen with petroleum. To take us where telephones are ringging.
There we crawl, in a contest of power. Silence takes over the roads at night. Asia. And then we bring in new adornments, new flags, different loves, to find that days exceed time; reading what may not to be read, writing what may not written.
The land glistens, catching the scent of man, saving us from all times. Asia. We understand once more the roar of the sea, the place to which the ancestors sent birds, created words. Asia is to be discovered, like night seeking alost plot of land; the place language is born.
Asia.
1985
translated byi John H. McGlynn
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Pelajaran Bahasa Inggris Tentang Berat Badan
Maaf, berapa berat badanmu? Sebentar saja, kepalaku satu kubik pasir. Tanganku 60 cm. Permisi, berapa jam berat badanmu? bibirku tebal. Tentu, kakiku coklat, seperti bangunan pemerintah. Berat badanmu bagaimana, please. Namaku Ahmad, tolol! No, kepalaku satu kubik pasir. Ada saluran got. Irisan daging di wastafel. Tunggu. Kenapa tanganmu keras? Seperti kekuasaan. Kamu punya kebudayaan, ya? Wajahmu merah. Anda suka juice tomat? Maaf. Berat badanmu siapa? Kakiku ada di situ, tolol! Please... please. temani badanku. Jangan begitu. Satu karung pasir untuk apa? Sorry... di mana berat badanmu? Maaf, jangan pegang hidungku. Kekasihmu mana? Wortel dan buncis sudah direbus. Permisi, sudah mendidihkah air itu? Bulu kucing di matamu lucu, ya. Beautiful. Pakai saja baju batik itu. Nanti pacarku curiga. Jangan lupa, namaku Ahmad! Idiiiih, masa tidak pakai sabun. Aaaaaaa, kok kupingnya seperti itu? Maaf, pernah melihat berat badanku? Mau membuat esei, ya? Tentang kebudayaan? Analisa politik dan ekonomi, ya. Sakit, dong, tanganmu.
1995
An English Lesson About the Weight of The Body
Pardon, how much is your body's weight? Just a moment, my head is cubic of sand. My hands are 60 cm. Excuse me, how many hours is your body's weight? My lips are thick. For sure, my feet are brown like the goverment building. How is your body's weight, Please. my name is Ahmad, you fool! No! My head is one cubic os sand. There is a gutter. Tears at the wash basin. Rain in a bucket, wait. Why are your hands hard? Like the power. You have culture, do you? Your face is red. Do you like tomato juice? Pardon. Who is your body's weight? My feet are there, you fool! Please... Please. Accompany my body. Not like that. A sack of sand for what? Sorry... where is your body's weight?. Pardon, don't hold my nose. Where's your beloved? Carrots and beans are already cooked. Excuse me, is that water already boiled? The cat's hair in your eye is funny, isn't it? Beautiful. Just wear that batik shirt. It will make my girlfriend suspisious. Don't forget, my name is Ahmad. Ugh, how can you do without soap? Ah, how come his ears are like that? Pardon, you ever saw your body's weight? Want to make an essay, do you? about Culture? A political and economic analysis, yes. Your hand will hurt, of course.
1995
translation by Marianne Koenig
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