Author: dinaoktaviani

SOBBING MERRIMENT

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–jh

(klik di sini untuk versi bahasa indonesia)

where does tonight carry the seine
when the rain’s left, and sorrow’s no longer right
two pairs of shoes, one of them wet from the ground
taking their time finding the bridge

one by one lovers turned into loners
returned to where they belong –
in the prayers of hungry artists
far from the ghosts of my gentleness
stuttered in declaring their objections

where does the seine carry tonight
before the tower’s lights turned out
and all faith quietly drowned
like dust penetrating the surface
not lost, yet may no longer be found

there is no line i could denounce
about the god that’s closer than my neck vein
when my silence steamed up your glasses
— taking them off i hide from the sobbing merriment

london-sherborne, october 2024

KEGEMBIRAAN SESENGGUKAN

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–jh

(click here for the english version)

ke mana malam ini membawa sungai seine
setelah hujan pergi, dan kesedihan tak benar lagi
dua pasang sepatu, yang satu basah karena hujan
mengambil waktu mencari jembatan

satu per satu, kekasih menjelma orang kesepian
kembali ke tempat mereka berada –
dalam doa seniman lapar
jauh dari hantu kelembutanku
gagu dalam menyatakan keberatan

ke mana sungai seine membawa malam ini
sebelum lampu menara dimatikan
dan semua kepercayaan diam-diam tenggelam
seperti debu yang menembus permukaan
tak hilang, namun tak lagi tertemukan

tak ada kalimat yang bisa kubatalkan
tentang tuhan yang lebih dekat dari urat leherku
ketika diamku menguap di kacamatamu
– menanggalkannya, kusembunyi dari kegembiraan sesenggukan

london – sherborne, oktober 2024

YOU DO NOT SEE ME

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you do not see me
a little girl from un unknown town
thrown away from sea to sea
and wet your bed with her dreams
 
you do not see me
a beautiful curse
spat out of my mother’s tongue
and the fire in my father’s hands
 
you do not see me
a mistaken lover
wandering through a harsh winter in her head
leaving you forever guilty
 
you do not see me
a shivering mother
crushing the train’s wheels
crumpling her heart in a plastic bag
 
you do not see me
a hungry pigeon
strutting away from its crowd
into the dust, into the dust
 
you do not see me
until you see the last light over saint-séverin
and gulp the parisian rain
with joy, with joy
 
 
paris, 15 september 2016

THE LOST FERRY OF CHILDHOOD

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from gentle and merciless light
darkness will take you back
you’ve forgotten how comforting
home can be when everybody’s left

love can be so threatening, you know
that’s why we keep it in our heart
and not hold it in our hands

must you go on that ship
just to prove you couldn’t swim?
a bag of tomorrow’s lunch
and lifetime supplies of sadness

the horn was blowing
there was never another shore
you close your eyes
though there’s no shame in losing

dorset, october 2015

UNLOVE

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Processed with VSCOcam with q4 preset

When I’m hurt, my typical initial reaction would be to call a friend avoid people. I would even leave my habitat and start over, meeting new people until I’m hurt again. There is a reason for this, at least. There is something about pain that makes you crave it. You see, for me, like love, pain is a life gift. You get hurt, you want to feel the pain, to celebrate it. Sometimes you do it by hurting yourself. But, unlike love, pain is not a limited substance – it grows. Sometimes it’s not enough to hurt yourself, you hurt others because you cannot contain the over-growing pain within yourself. I seemed to understand this mechanism hence I kept running away. Continue reading →

PLATH: THIS IS NOT I 

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SONY DSCSeven years ago, I was invited to perform my poetry in Jakarta on one of the two nights of a literary event.

I just finished, at that time, a poetry performance project with some young musician and artist friends and had successfully performed in two cities. However, the committee of the event in Jakarta wanted me to perform alone, just me and my poetry, or in the man-in-charge’s own words: “could you just come without your boyfriend?” He sounded bitter, and he was wrong – my then boyfriend had nothing to do with art except that of making me cry. Love, love, love… Continue reading →

THE OLD SMOKE

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(klik di sini untuk versi bahasa indonesia)

i have no memories
to start a conversation
there were only thrills that grew
while the chances had begun to paralyse

they say silence means yes
but you’re not asking any questions
except about the wind, except about others
i don’t have the answers

i still often hang about the kitchen
pretending to cook yet sobbing
only because we were not talking
as if we were a couple of burdens, as we are now

they say if you love you remember everything
every kiss which if discussed
would wound the meaning of ‘ex-lover’
while being kept would turn into bruises

the night has stopped by, “another cigarette,” you said
a fire squeezed my hand, twice
i thought time was up, although time
has nothing to do with my heart

yogyakarta-dorset, 2014

ASAP LAMA

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(click here for the english version)

aku tak punya kenangan
untuk membuka percakapan
hanya ada bungah yang terus tumbuh
sementara kesempatan sudah mulai lumpuh

kata orang kalau diam saja berarti iya
tapi kamu tidak bertanya tentang apa-apa
selain angin, selain orang-orang lain
aku tak punya jawabannya

aku masih sering berdiri di dapur
pura-pura memasak tapi mengisak
hanya karena kita diam-diaman
seperti sepasang beban, seperti sekarang

kata orang kalau cinta ingat semuanya
setiap ciuman yang kalau dibahas
akan melukai makna ‘mantan pacar’
sementara dipendam bakal jadi memar

malam sudah singgah, “serokokan,” katamu
ada api meremas tanganku, dua kali
kukira waktunya sudah habis, walaupun waktu
tak ada urusannya dengan hatiku

yogyakarta-dorset, 2014

FOR THE LOVE OF THE RAIN

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Believe me when I say it was miserable, but also believe me when I say I loved it.

I’m a mess. I love walking in the rain on my own.

In my garden in Indonesia I used to sit in the tropical rain, raining. That made a painful view for the people who loved me, but when they had loved me better they’d leave me alone.

The rain is my sacred place since my childhood. There’s something about being alone with the rain that makes me so in touch with the exiled feelings inside me.

Those that do not suit the dry days reality, or the reality at all, or so it seems.

Those that make me alive, exist, brokenly whole.

–dina oktaviani