The pieces of this poetry book were composed with the spirit of sharing fortune like the kawis. Or as taught by the teachers, carrying the intention of dulce et utile. At least meet the rules of literature, even if only a speck. Thankfully there is knowledge. About the depth, ah that's far-fetched.
Most importantly, not distant from the reader, the community. Because it narrates about daily life and the city. related to the occupants.
Although there are actually a collection of old poems, which have not or have not found readers, except for yourself. Which was written when I was still in school. At FIB Undip, Semarang.
But as suddenly, decades later, after communicating with the poet Almukarom Doddi Ahmad Fauji (DAF), I was moved to really want to reassemble the collection of poems scattered everywhere.
Also in memories, which are very difficult to trace back. Because the power of memory, it turns out, is not much. Memories, it sucks to pretend to say; "What is so-so doesn't have to be reported by the public. Just keep it for yourself. Make it a provision for the day," he whispered softly on many sides of the silence of the heart.
"You are a real poem. A concrete rhyme, one that has been poetry without having to write it down, let alone preach it", said silence to me. I'm just silent.
So, after entering the poetry house, after having excused myself, he greeted me, asked the poetry mother for permission, who then allowed me to sit in the living room of my heart. Be this book.
After a long time we didn't greet each other. Poems and rhymes that I let go nowhere, meet each other again. Finally the three of us; me, poetry and rhymes meet again.
Face to face like old friends. Then talk about anything. Also feel the country and love of course. For the rest, I hope this book of poetry finds its readers in the simplest way possible. Without having to be burdened with giving anything. Like religious teachings.
Oh yea, a small part of the poem does not glance at the palace. But that doesn't mean you have to be hostile too. In a country that is said to be a democracy, poetry is feared. Moreover, there are many stories of menaja; if the poet is having an affair, let alone to the point of falling into the ranks of power, it is better to just run away.
The book of poetry that was originally going to be weighed by my old friend, The Beloved Linda Christanty, -- then, instead, the name Mr. Bre Redana was proposed, because according to Linda, Mas Bre has a much more effective literary grammar -- , in the end it was actually weighed by Mr. Bre with spaciousness and acceptance of his heart. Then it was deepened by the analytical knife of the writer and journalist Herr Triyanto Triwikromo clearly, I was written with various backgrounds of creation.
From Moscow and St. Petersburg when the DAF and I first "traveled" there for a month in 2004, living in the flat of theater theater Nandang Aradea (late). Until briefly taught at the Institute of Asian and African Countries (ISSA), at the Moscow State University (MSU).
On the second stopover in 2006, a month with poets Seno Joko Suyono, Taufiq Rahzen and Father Mudji, accompanied by Henny Saptatia, who is currently completing his doctoral degree. Then I went anywhere, while meeting a lot of old Indonesianists there.
Later, we had time to make a documentary, which was later rewarded by Citra.
The next setting was when I visited Medina, Cannes, Juan les Pins, Monaco, to Berlin and Tokyo. And Jakarta of course. Because I live in this city.
So, more and less, happy reading. If a lot is lacking and not how deep, I apologize.
I would also like to express my deep gratitude to the cool artists Made Kaek and Mas Yusuf Susilo Hartono who gave up a number of their works to be presented in this book. Especially to the Honorable President of the Indonesian Poet Sutardji Cholzoum Bachri, who continues to provide the space for his heart to read this collection of poor poetry. As well as the contribution of responses from several friends. From Mas Mulyo Hadi Purnomo, Harry "Koko" Santoso, Nurman Hakim, Anas Syahrul Alimi, and Bakkar Wibowo. Long live for the good of all of you.
Regards.
Benny Benke.
Comments
Post a Comment