Kasi’s Tale and Other Poems
Dadang Ari Murtono
Translated into English by Sunny Reken
Illustration by Sukutangan.
kasi’s tale
the cold had turned harsh when the police found him lying
on the embankment, his body dirty and beneath the moon on the brink
of dawn, the people knew there was a hole in his stomach which continued
to gush blood, his eyes were closed yet his chest still rose and fell
the people knew him, as he was from there, but they were
hesitant to help him since they’d heard he had a piece of paper which listed
the names of those to be taken by the commies, a list that was
never found nor seen by a single soul
“he’s an important person, he shouldn’t be here,” said one person
“but the commies have lost,” said another
four days prior, soldiers had come and picked him up from his home, and his wife
had been certain he was now deceased
the woman, who showed up out of nowhere, rushed to cover him,
chasing the people away like a furious mother tiger,
and the people scurried off, as it was common knowledge that her late father
had once met the prophet kanjeng khidir
since that day, kasi always wears a toothless grin
and the people greet him with a sour face and bitter smile,
his children can never become public servants or soldiers or police
and he is always at the outer edge of every kenduri or tahlilan
for that way, he always receives his blessing-meal first, and hurriedly
says his prayers which are answered with abuse from those who haven’t yet
received their own food.
“once a commie always a commie”
the story of sutami
during their final fight, sutami smashed the jug and
poniran slapped her, then they tried to strangle each other
and poniran slammed her down, her head banged the edge
of the table and sutami died, her skull split open
to the neighbors who caught him, poniran said that
women who could not bear children are empty rice husks
that must be cut back so as not to let the fertilizer go to waste
forty days later, the village was in uproar as a child had
disappeared from a swing while the mother was in the toilet
the dukun said that a wewe gombel had hidden the child
amongst the bamboo trees
in the middle of the night, the people gathered in the village center
armed with skillets and pots and pans, the dukun read a mantra
and told them to go around the village banging on the items they’d
brought along
and among the bamboo trees, sutami hugged the kidnapped child
and she did not know anymore: why, why must a woman either
bear a child or become a ghost and kidnap a child
but indeed she could not choose, she could
never choose
nangka brewu
four hundred and sixty two meters from the edge of the village, was a single nangka tree,
and a hut with walls of bamboo, where a woman sat on the dirt floor of the terrace
while combing her long hair, pondering her unfortunate fate,
every so often, she’d imitate the chirping of the prenjak bird
she believed, the call of the prenjak was an invitation to come
as the sun began to set, she called on god’s name,
while readying herself for the ancient sin
*
she wanted not to exist, actually
and for there to be no need for sorrow
that’s what she longed for each time she closed her eyes
though she knew, once they opened
she would still exist, and thus continue her suffering
*
each time she heard a knock on the plywood door
she knew the time had come
she opened the door, and put on her smile,
she opened her shirt, and put on her self
*
it was said, that long ago, a ghost that preyed on children lived there,
hiding itself behind the cambium of a nangka tree,
its large and yellow and fragrant breasts,
appearing in the form of the nangka fruit
six men who lost their children in one month
had come and chopped down the tree, then burnt its wood,
the next day, the tree reappeared, as if it had never
been felled, and the six men suffered from severe
month-long colds
four different dukun were also brought there
to recite mantras, and they returned home
stark raving mad
two kiai tried their luck armed with a glass of water
and verses from the holy book, one of them fell and broke his leg,
a nangka fell on the other causing a brain injury
*
she was a woman who was loved by loss: her tattooed husband
died in a burlap sack one morning,
since then, a number of men had come to offer her love, and she accepted
them, before their wives would follow and call her a whore
“maybe it’s time,” said one of the wives,
“that we banish her from our respectable village”
*
only a devil’s lair
would be suitable for a devil woman
as such, with a bitter smile, she packed her belongings
and built shelter below the nangka tree,
neighboring the baby-eating ghost whom she never did see
*
the draw of lust was too powerful even for god’s divine revelation,
much less the threat of a ghost
and so, men would always succumb each time night began to
fall
“the ghost is gone, the ghost is gone,” the people said
*
it’s been years since that day, since she passed away, and the village is more developed
and more houses have been built, and yet the people still remember that woman
as a sinner, a stain on civilization
the depths of dung kayangan
in those depths, he continued to live on in
an old gabus fish, a black gabus with
some brown spots, a gabus with sharp teeth that
dug into and swallowed both his eyeballs
he saw the world, from his new self, as a
murky universe, from time to time
he was reminded of the past, hopes and dreams that
slowly came true: finally, finally, there was no such thing as class,
for all gabus were the same
however one day, a river snake, with shimmering
scales, which was more agile and savage than
his new self, captured him in a burrow,
and once again, he thought he had died
but he hadn’t,
inside the river snake he continued to
live, in a younger form, that could
grow young again each time old age arrived, just
by shedding his outer skin
sometimes, from behind a rock, he would see two old
fishermen, who’d reminisce nostalgically: here, years
ago, we defended the republic and helped god
by slaughtering the lefties
he knew, that one of the men had once sunk a
sickle into his bare back,
he never understood what it was about him that was
seen to be so wrong
and on one afternoon, it was that same fisherman
that smashed him with a rock,
when he was lying on the shore, for just a little bit
of sunlight
no one buried his carcass, however
a poet has extracted his tale,
and within that poem, he is eternal, though he may
never realize
© Dadang Ari Murtono
English translation © Sunny Reken
KISAH KASI DAN PUISI-PUISI LAINNYA
Dadang Ari Murtono
Ilustrasi oleh Sukutangan.
kisah kasi
dingin jadi keras ketika jagabaya menemukannya telentang
di pematang, badannya kotor dan di bawah cahaya bulan parak
pagi, orang-orang tahu ada liang di lambungnya yang terus
mengucurkan darah, matanya terpejam namun dadanya naik turun
orang-orang mengenalnya sebab ia orang situ belaka, tapi mereka
ragu menolongnya sebab konon ia mempunyai selembar kertas berisi
nama orang-orang yang akan diambil oleh pki, selembar kertas yang
tak pernah ditemukan atau dilihat oleh siapa pun
“ia orang penting, ia seharusnya tidak di sini,” kata seseorang
“tapi pki sudah kalah,” kata yang lain
empat hari sebelumnya, ia dijemput tentara dari rumahnya, dan istrinya
yakin ia sudah jadi mendiang
perempuan itu, yang entah muncul dari mana, tiba-tiba menelungkupinya,
menggusah orang-orang seperti seekor induk macan yang murka,
dan orang-orang segera pergi sebab almarhum bapak perempuan itu
konon pernah bertemu kanjeng khidir
sejak hari itu, kasi selalu tersenyum dengan gusi yang ompong
dan orang-orang menyambutnya dengan muka masam dan senyum kecut,
anak-anaknya tidak bisa menjadi pegawai negeri atau tentara atau polisi
dan ia selalu berada di sudut paling ujung pada setiap kenduri atau tahlilan
sebab dengan begitu, ia bisa memperoleh berkat paling dulu, dan buru
buru mengucap selawat yang dijawab makian oleh mereka yang belum
mendapat besek
“sekali pki tetap pki!”
cerita sutami
pada pertengkaran mereka yang terakhir, sutami membanting
kendi dan poniran menempelengnya, lalu mereka saling piting
dan poniran membantingnya, kepalanya membentur pinggiran
meja dan sutami mati dengan kening pecah
kepada para tetangga yang meringkusnya, poniran mengatakan
perempuan yang tidak bisa beranak adalah sebutir padi gabuk
yang mesti dipangkas ketimbang menyia-nyiakan rabuk
empat puluh hari kemudian, kampung ribut sebab seorang balita
menghilang dari ayunan ketika ibunya ke jamban
dukun mengatakan wewe gombel menyembunyikan balita itu
di sela rumpun betung
menjelang tengah malam, orang-orang berkumpul di balai kampung
dengan dandang dan panci dan wajan, dukun membaca mantra
dan menyuruh mereka keliling kampung sembari memukul barang
bawaannya
dan di sela rumpun betung, sutami memeluk si anak culikan
dan ia tak tahu lagi: kenapa harus, kenapa harus seorang perempuan
beranak atau menjadi hantu dan menculik anak
tapi ia memang tidak bisa memilih, tidak pernah
bisa memilih
nangka brewu
empat ratus enam puluh dua meter dari tepi kampung, ada sebatang pohon nangka,
dan pondok berdinding gedek, seorang perempuan duduk di teras berlantai tanah
seraya menyisir rambut yang panjang, seraya menyitir nasib yang malang,
kadang-kadang, ia meniru kicau prenjak
ia percaya, bunyi prenjak sanggup mengundang tamu datang
menjelang matahari terbenam, ia menyebut nama tuhan,
sembari menyiapkan diri untuk dosa yang purba
*
ia ingin tak ada, sebenarnya
dan tak perlu ada duka
itu yang diangankannya setiap menutup mata
meski ia tahu, ketika membuka mata
ia akan tetap ada, lantas kembali menderita
*
setiap kali ia dengar suara ketukan pintu triplek
ia tahu sudah tiba saatnya
ia membuka pintu, ia memasang senyum,
ia membuka baju, ia memasang diri
*
konon, dulu kala, seekor hantu pemangsa balita berdiam di sana,
menyembunyikan diri di balik kambium pohon nangka,
dan payudaranya yang besar dan kuning dan berbau harum,
menyembul sebagai buah nangka
enam orang bapak yang kehilangan anak pada satu bulan
pernah datang dan menebang pohon itu, lalu membakar kayunya,
keesokan harinya, pohon itu kembali ada, seperti tak pernah
tumbang, dan enam orang bapak menderita pilek parah
sebulan lamanya
empat orang dukun juga pernah didatangkan ke sana
untuk membacakan mantra-mantra, dan mereka pulang
sebagai orang gila
dua kiai mencoba peruntungan dengan bekal segelas air
dan ayat-ayat kitab suci, satu dari mereka jatuh dan kakinya patah,
satu yang lain tertimpa buah nangka dan gegar otak
*
ia perempuan yang dicintai kehilangan: suaminya yang bertato
mati dalam karung goni pada suatu pagi,
sejak itu, sejumlah lelaki datang menawarkan cinta, dan ia menerima
mereka, sebelum istri-istri mereka menyusul dan menyebutnya sundal
“mungkin sudah saatnya,” kata seorang istri,
“kita mengusirnya dari kampung yang beradab”
*
hanya sarang iblis
yang layak bagi seorang perempuan iblis
maka ia, dengan senyum pahit, mengemasi barang-barang
dan membangun sebuah pemukiman di bawah pohon nangka,
bertetangga dengan hantu pemakan bayi yang tak pernah dijumpainya
*
bahkan wahyu tuhan tak cukup kuat menghadang tarikan berahi,
apalagi ancaman hantu
maka begitulah, selalu ada lelaki yang datang, setiap gelap mulai
jatuh
“hantu itu sudah pindah, hantu itu sudah pindah,” kata orang-orang
*
bertahun-tahun setelah hari itu, setelah ia mangkat, dan kampung berkembang
dan wilayah pemukiman meluas, orang-orang masih mengenang perempuan itu
sebagai seorang pendosa yang mengotori peradaban
dung kayangan
di kedalaman itu, ia meneruskan hidup dalam
diri seekor gabus tua, gabus hitam dengan
sedikit bintik coklat, gabus bergigi tajam yang
mengorek serta menelan kedua biji matanya
ia melihat dunia, dari diri yang baru, sebagai
semesta keruh, pada waktu-waktu tertentu
ia terkenang hari lalu, cita-cita yang terkabul
lambat: akhirnya, akhirnya, tak ada lagi kelas,
semua gabus sama belaka
namun suatu kali, seekor ular kali, yang berkilau
sisiknya, yang lebih gesit lebih buas ketimbang
diri barunya, menyergapnya di sebuah liang,
dan sekali lagi, ia mengira dirinya mati
namun tidak,
dalam diri ular kali itu kembali ia meneruskan
hidup, dalam diri yang lebih muda, diri yang mampu
memudakan diri setiap kali usia tua tiba, hanya
dengan mengelupas kulit luarnya
kadang, dari balik batu, ia melihat dua pemancing
tua, yang kerap bernostalgia: di sini, bertahun-tahun
lampau, kita menjaga republik dan membantu tuhan
dengan menjagal kaum-kaum kiri
ia tahu, salah satu dari mereka pernah membenamkan
sabit di punggungnya yang telanjang,
ia tak pernah mengerti apa di dirinya yang mereka
anggap keliru
dan pada suatu sore, pemancing itu pulalah
yang menimpuknya dengan sebongkah batu,
ketika ia melata di tepi, demi sedikit cahaya
matahari
tak ada yang memakan bangkainya, namun
seorang penyair telah menyadap kisahnya,
dan dalam puisi itu, ia kekal, meski ia tak
pernah menyadarinya
© Dadang Ari Murtono
DADANG ARI MURTONO was born in Mojokerto, East Java. His published works include the poetry collections Ludruk Kedua (2016) and Jalan Lain ke Majapahit (2019), as well as the novels Samaran (2018) and Cara Kerja Ingatan (2020). Ludruk Kedua was included in the Kusula Sastra Khatulistiwa Top 10 for 2017, while Jalan Lain ke Majapahit won the Sutasoma Award from the East Java Language Center, and the Main Literature Award from the Jakarta Language Agency as the best Indonesian poetry book of 2019. His latest work, Cara Kerja Ingatan, is the featured script for the 2019 Basabasi novel contest. Dadang currently lives in Yogyakarta and works full-time as a writer, and is also involved in a walking group.
NI MADE SUNNY REKEN was born in Australia, raised in Indonesia, underwent schooling in Australia, and takes any and every opportunity she can to return to Indonesia. Sunny embraces her multicultural heritage and loves the way translating has helped her maintain that connection. Still very new to the field, she hopes to contribute to making Indonesian literature more accessible to the rest of the world.
SUKUTANGAN is a collective that consists of the couple Genta Shimaoka and Sekar Wulandari Yogaster, who work a lot with books. They make illustrations, design covers, do layouts, and perform editorial tasks, such as writing, editing, and translating. Sukutangan has been working for almost four years, producing five-ten cover designs every month. Sukutangan has designed covers for books published by major and independent publishers, from literary works to translated popular novels.