PORTAL Journal of Multidisciplinary International Studies, Vol. 16, No. 1/2 2019
ISSN 1449-2490 | Published by UTS ePRESS | http://portal.epress.lib.uts.edu.au
CULTURAL WORKS
Puisi Selatan
Ian Campbell
Corresponding author: Mr Ian Campbell, Honorary Research Associate, Department of International Studies: Languages and Cultures, Macquarie University, NSW 2109 Australia. Email: ialuca@iinet.net.au
DOI: https://doi.org/10.5130/portal.v15i1-2.5843
Article History: Received 21/02/2019; Revised 21/02/2019; Accepted 08/04/2019;Published 13/11/2019
Citation: Ian Campbell 2019. Puisi Selatan. PORTAL Journal of Multidisciplinary International Studies, 16:1/2, 143-152. https://doi.org/10.5130/portal.v15i1-2.5843
© 2019 by the author(s). This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), allowing third parties to copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format and to remix, transform, and build upon the material for any purpose, even commercially, provided the original work is properly cited and states its license.
Abstract
Puisi selatan is a small selection of Sydney-based poet Ian Campbell’s Indonesian language poems taken from the author’s larger collection titled Selatan-Sur-South of Indonesian language poems—which appeared in PORTAL in 2008 (vol. 5, no. 1)—but now supplemented, for the first time, with English language versions that have been rendered by the poet himself from the ‘starting point’ of these original four Indonesian language poems.
In all there are here now eight poems—four in Indonesian and four in English—with the common thread, for the poet, of being written ‘in the south.’ For the poet also, they now interact across languages as a set of poems that consider the ways in which the actions of ‘memorialising’ are often intertwined with specific responses to the natural environment.
The poems ‘Semenanjung Bilgola’ and ‘Bilgola headland’ reflect upon the efforts the poet’s parents made in the late 1960s and early 1970s to restore the natural environment on a headland of one of Sydney’s northern beaches, which had been donated to the National Trust. The Indonesian language original poem was read by the poet himself and by Indonesian poets in cities in West Java in 2004 and also at the first Ubud Writers Festival in 2004 by Indonesian female poet, Toeti Heraty.
The poems ‘Berziarah di Punta de Lobos, Chile’ and ‘Pilgrimage to Punta de Lobos’ are also memorialising poems and reflect upon the idea of ‘pilgimage’ to a natural location near Pichilemu on the Chilean coast that is popular with surfers. In contrast, the poems ‘Simfoni angin’ and ‘Symphony of the winds’ describe the sights and sounds of a rural area near Purranque in the south of Chile, but here too the poet reflects upon the ways in which present evokes past. The final poems ‘Buenos Aires’—rendered as the title in both languages—explore the ways in which the Argentinian café becomes a place in which memories of the city are revealed anew through the processes of inversion of light and shadow, of internal and external shapes and sounds, as if through a camera lens.
Puisi selatan can be rendered in English as ‘poetry of the south’ as all poems derive their impetus from settings in Australia or in Latin America, specifically either Chile or Argentina. They were originally written in Indonesian as part of the poet’s interest in using Bahasa Indonesia as a language of creative writing.
Keywords:
Ian Campbell; Puisi Selatan
Semenanjung Bilgola
Errichtet keinen Denkstein. Lasst die Rose
nur jedes Jahr zu seinen Gunsten blühn. (Rilke)
Tiada batu nisan untuk memperingatinya.
Malahan barangkali kalau mawar berbunga tiap tahun,
inilah tanda. (Rilke)
Bangkit di sini bentuk benua kanguru dari tengah-tengah samudera.
benua berkerikil yang tertua, semenanjung lembah batu,
daratan garis utara pesisir Sydney, antara jurang dan langit,
arus angin memukul di sebelah lereng semenanjung ini
yang mengorbankan diri terhadap perairan abu-abu.
Pada saat matahari bersinar cahayanya
dan cuaca tenang, di bawah belukar bermain-main
dan terbang burung kecil-kecil. mengisap madu
dari bunga banksia kuning dan grevillea, yang
rupanya seperti laba-laba lemah-lembut.
Orangtuaku percaya, seperti Thoreau,
kalau semua kota metropolis, kota metro apa pun,
berlangsung bernapas, meneruskan berjiwa,
seharusnya melindungi tanah sedikit
dalam keadaan lingkungan alam asli.
Pada tiap akhir minggu mereka tolong-menolong berusaha
melestarikan tanah di atas tanjung Bilgola.
Sesudah ibuku wafat Ayah menyebarkan
abu istrinya ke tanah ini. tiada batu nisan,
atau tumpukan tanah kuburan. hanya bahwa abu Ibu
yang diserahkan ke alam, pohon, dan belukar.
Ayahku meneruskan tugas sepi, membangun bangku sederhana
dan tangga kayu, supaya rakyat biasa bisa menikmati alam tanah ini.
Banyak tahun sudah lewat. abu berkaitan dengan abu.
entahlah kalau tugas suci dan penuh kemesraan Ayah
yang pendiam memastikan angkatan yang menyusul
menjaga alam tanah ini.
Saya masih berpikir akan dia, pada saat waktu senja,
bangku kayu hampir selesai, di atas tanah semenanjung Bilgola batu,
yang mengorbankan diri pada kedatangan arus angin dari samudera ini.
(Sydney, September 2002)
Bilgola headland
Errichtet keinen Denkstein. Lasst die Rose nur
jedes Jahr zu seinen Gunsten blühn. (Rilke)
Set up no tombstone. Perhaps if the rose blooms into flower each year,
this can be the sign of remembrance. (Rilke)
in this place the kangaroo continent rises up
from the ocean; northern Sydney coastline,
headland of sandstone clawing upwards,
cleft between ravine and sky,
where the wind beats against the tawny cliff face
that offers itself in sacrifice to the grey waters below.
if you are here when the sun shines high,
and its rays burst through, when the weather is clear and still,
below the shrubs small birds fly with playful wing,
sucking honey from the yellow banksias and grevillea
shaped like gentle spiders.
my parents spent many a week’s end restoring that land.
each thought, as Thoreau,
that if the great cities were to be able to breathe, to thrive, have a soul,
some land needs to be conserved, in natural state.
mother had died, and father spread her ashes upon this land.
no tombstone marks the place, or gravesite,
only ashes given over to this place,
its shrubs and low-rising trees.
father continued in his task,
built a simple bench, upon that land
so ordinary people could rest awhile
the years have come and gone,
ash is now mixed with ash.
sun going down, I think of him,
bench of wood almost built,
high upon Bilgola’s stony headland,
each day it sacrifices its being to the vastness of the currents
and the coming of the winds.
Berziarah di Punta de Lobos, Chili
Satu demi satu seorang surfer yang berziarah
dewi lautan naik dengan merangkak,
seperti kepiting sekeliling batu-batu hitam diliputi
buih ombak-ombak. yang di atas
kalbu dan belakang badannya, papan luncur sendiri
yang mirip sayap-sayap serangga segera dipersiapkan
terbang. sampai capai ke genangan tenang pemukaan air
dari lautnya dijaga dari kekuasaan ombak-ombak memecah
di sebelah depan pulau batu-batu ini.
Satu demi satu serangga ini melangkah masuk
ke lubang celah di batu-batu hitam dipukul buih.
tiba-tiba muncul dari batu-batu. menaiki ombak
dengan papan luncur, ombak diukir
gelombang-gelombang menggosokkan batu-batu di lautan.
Saya berdiri jauh ke atas sandiwara ini
di atas semenanjung ditempatkan
sebuah palang putih beton yang sudah diukir
oleh si manusia, sekarang dilestarikan
dengan cat putih palang ini,
dua orang laki-laki dari Guatemala:
‘dia ipar laki-laki saya.’ dua puluh tahun
yang lalu remaja ini, umurnya empat belas tahun
tenggelam badannya di batu-batu hitam ini jauh ke bawah.
ayahnya dari amerika utara, ibunya dari selatannya.
tak bisa mengucapkan kata-kata lain pun. hanya kata saya:
“buen trabajo” (sudah patut, ya).
Tiap sikat buih cat putih mirip jiwa remaja ini.
yang akan hidup seribu tahun. dunia yang fana.
saat–saat buih gemilang luncur.
sekali lagi, seorang surfer muncul dari lubang
batu-batu hitam abadi ini.
dengan sayap papan serangganya.
yang fana menjelma abadi,
berziarah di atas punta keadaan.
(Punta de Lobos, Pichilemu, Chili, 2006)
Pilgrimage to Punta de Lobos
One by one, the pilgrim surfers climb,
like crabs upon the rocks, boards held,
winged insects set to fly.
they reach the pool of innocence
between black rock sentinels,
clambering with webbed feet,
they disappear into the cleft between sheeted rocks.
until they emerge in a rush,
caught at speed a giant swell enfolds them
and ejects them into the light.
High above, on windy slopes
others come with paint and cold memory
to restore and tend a cement cross
affixed on the ridge:
‘Era mi cuñado’—
he was my brother-in-law,
mother from Guatemala,
father from North America,
four and twenty years past,
in the black cleft, slit apart
by the foaming anger of the sea.
each brush-stroke of that white paint
calls to mind the soul of that young one.
let live for a thousand years.
the foam erupts again, once more a surfer emerges
from the cleft of the eternal darkness, with fragile insect wings,
a pilgrimage to the point of existence,
Punta de Lobos.
yang fana menjelma abadi,
berziarah di atas punta keadaan –
can what is transitory become eternal
at this point of pilgrimage?
Simfoni angin
Siang ini tersebar simfoni angin
bersentuhan tiap-tiap pohon.
yang melalui pohon-pohon cemara,
dengan kerucut-kerucutnya bulat,
nadanya dan ribut-ributnya
menyerupai sekawan lebah.
yang berlalu alamo yang tua,
angin lemah-lembut sentuhan daun-daun halus
mengosok-gosokkan daun-daun ini,
menjelma desas-desus emas.
yang memukuli terhadap penahan eucalyptus
musik Stravinsky yang desir dan desau
selama penahan menangkap
sebagian angin dari utara.
Angin dari selatan, datanglah
angin sepoi-sepoi dari lautan, datanglah.
kadang-kadang angin siang
menemukan pohon-pohon buah tua,
sisa-sisa saja yang tetap
dari kebun sebuah rumah yang rusak,
dari generasi tanpa keturunan.
dipotong si pemiliknya,
hanya tetap benih,
menjelma prem dan ceri liar,
yang berbunga. tak ada wali yang
menjaga selama kesuburan.
Angin, cobalah lagi mencari mahkluk-makluk ini,
yang menanami pohon. ternyata sia-sia angin mencari
di tiap ujung dan celah bumi manusia ini.
tapi angin masih berkuasa. selalu akan.
saya akan kembali ke tempat ini.
(Purranque, Chili, Desember 2006)
Symphony of the winds
In the afternoon what is abroad
as I walk is a symphony of the winds,
embracing the sturdy cypress,
with its rounded cones of fir,
resonating with the humming of bees,
their tiny bassoon wings,
mellowed by the light.
When the winds court the old alamo tree
there is gentle play upon hallowed leaves,
which the wind caresses, and spins around
in busy rumours of gold but if the wind beats
against the eucalyptus trees, the entire line
becomes a Rite of Spring, as north wind and south wind
contend in atonal strife.
On this afternoon the wind and I encounter old fruit trees—
all that remains in a deserted yard
of a once-lively homestead. whomever the owner was
is now long gone, cut down in the passing of time.
yet even abandoned, flourishes still the old cherry tree
and its mate, the wild plum, to flower
untended and unguarded, as the seasons progress.
Come winds, find again all the spirits of the past
whose traces linger and whose labour flourishes
long after death. the winds search and search again
every nook and every cranny of this earth of humankind,
the winds are at work, they always are,
until they find again other spirits of this land.
and perhaps too I will come back to this place
—like the winds?
Buenos Aires
Muram cahaya, lampu-lampu di dalam salon
‘La Perla’ (Mutiara), berkurang cahayanya, tetapi
cahaya paling jernih hanya bersinar melalui
pintu terbuka salon; di atasnya ada lengkungan,
di bingkai yang dipasang untuk saat sekejap saja
manusia yang lewat di luar:
terlihat seorang pemadam api sukarela,
si pencopet, agen polisi yang menyusulnya,
turis asing atau domestik, seorang penjual es,
satu, atau barangkali dua bekas
presiden yang pakai sandal
dan kacamata hitam.
Saya asingkan diri dan mundur,
dari dunia ini, hanya melemparkan
pandangan lewat pasang pintu salon,
dari nuansa ruang kayu
berwarna kecokelat-cokelatan.
Di belakang saya dalam ruang muram ini
ada foto-foto apa dan siapa -yang sudah pernah berkunjung ke salon
dengan ukiran kayu berwarnanya ini selama masa lima puluh tahun:
Carlos Gardel penyanyi tango, Bill Clinton dan saxofonnya,
Martin Palermo, juara sepak bola tim terkenal ‘La Boca’.
Di kemuraman ruang salon ini manusia ini mendapat
nama dan peristiwa, yang dicatat, diidentifikasikan,
direkam di dalam kegelapan saja. tiap ingatan
digosok-gosok sekali lagi, dilestarikan ngengat
untuk api abadi, untuk semua yang berziarah ke tempat ini.
Luar ruang ini, apa dan siapa tak diakui.
saya keluar ke dalam kejernihan ini,
mendapat sorotan manusia tanpa nama;
tidak ditinggalkan apa pun di dalam
kegelapan ini.
Dari kegelapan sampai kejernihan,
dari kegelapan ke dalam cahaya gemilang.
nurani, cahaya matahari, nuriah tetapi
selalu di sini, tanpa nama.
(Buenos Aires, Argentina, Desember 2006)
Buenos Aires
rays of light in the darkness,
bulbs within their lampshades in La Perla
obscure in the dimness
of the far corner of the salón
whilst the unnerving clarity of the streaming ray
shines through the doorway,
where the arched supports frame momentarily
movement beyond…
the aperture exposes for a second or two
a fireman, perhaps a pickpocket, maybe
a policeman following,
a foreign visitor, someone selling souvenirs,
someone wearing dark glasses.
behind me, in this amber world of ageing wood grain
photographs fade and curl,
but have captured the silver traces of those who came before
and left their names,
Carlos Gardel,
Bill Clinton and his saxophone,
Martin Palermo,
football star.
in the glow of this room
images come alive again, in the penumbra of half-light,
and every glance at them
renews the memory of a city and its past.
I leave through the slender door shutters and emerge into the light,
into the clear and bright light beneath the dazzling sun,
where the passing throng bear no names, and the sun beats down
upon those of whom no trace remains.