A Poet

A Poet

By Manaf Maulana

Having earned his literature degree, Pandu returned to his village, hoping that he would be able live there all his life and believing that a rural life would always bring him serenity and make him happy as a poet.

Well, it was all right for him to consider himself a poet. Didn't he spend every single day of his life writing poems, which he sent to various media publications and from which he sometimes received an honorarium.

Contrary to his wishes, however, it was not so easy to lead a peaceful and happy life as a poet in the village. Many a neighbor harbored a suspicion against him. Some said that he was jobless while others accused him of keeping a tuyul, a spirit that obtains wealth for its human master, because he stayed at home the whole day and went out at night for a bowl of meatball and noodles and a cup of coffee at a nearby food stall. Still others believed that he was a little insane because he was often seen sitting in deep contemplation or talking to himself, or even walking around, looking up and smiling.

His parents, both farmers, had grown tired of giving him advice. As he was an only child, they simply let him stay at home and never asked him to leave.

One day Pandu went to the local village office to renew his identification card. The village chief asked him to complete an application form.

"A poet? What is a poet??!" the village chief said, raising his voice a little, after reading the completed application form. In the space provided for one's occupation, Pandu had written the word "poet".

"I am indeed a poet, Sir!" he said, without hesitation.

"I don't like having a poet as one of my people," the village head said curtly.

"Why, Sir?"

"Poets are fond of staging demonstrations. They like to incite rioting!"

"You are mistaken, Sir. No poets like demonstrations or riots. You must have misunderstood TV news, Sir."

The village chief let out a long snort. He was offended. "Don't you dare argue with me, young man!" he said in his heart. As a village chief, a leader, however, he hid his resentment and appeared outwardly as one opting to give in. It is no use arguing with an insane young man, he said to himself.

"I am a poet, Sir! I don't care whether you like it or not!"

The village chief gave no response. Secretly, however, he began to devise a plan to have the young man banished from the village. "What an impudent young man he is to argue with me," he said in his heart, again. He did not want to see him in the village any more. He did not want him to influence the village youths and make them read and write poems. He had his own fear: the innocent villagers, whom he could keep under his control, would be disobedient to and critical of him, once they were good at reading and writing poems.

The longer he stayed in the village, the more appealing Pandu would become to the village youths, male and female. Almost every day young men and young women visited him. They wanted to learn how to write poems and to send them to the print media. Some of them were school students but they told him that none of their teachers could tell them how to write poems. Others were unemployed university graduates.

"I find it more and more difficult to write poems. Many guests visit me every day," he grumbled, annoyed. Because many visitors came to his house every day, he practically had no more time to contemplate new poems. Most of his visitors stayed in the sitting room for hours, apparently feeling quite at home to relax in his house.

One morning, for example, he intentionally kept his visitors waiting in the sitting room for hours. He locked himself in his bedroom. Yet the visitors patiently waited for him, some falling asleep and others trying their hand at writing poems and reading them out aloud.

As this situation continued almost every day, many parents accused him of mentally spoiling the village youths.

"If nothing is done to stop this tendency, all young people in this village will soon be seized by madness," the head of one neighborhood community commented. Almost every day his daughter, just like her friends, wrote and read poems.

"Pandu must be banished from here," said the head of a group of neighborhood communities. His son and daughter had also taken up their pens to write poems. They also became fond of reading poetry.

The head of this group of neighborhood communities hurried to the house of the village chief.

"Sir, Pandu must be banished from this village immediately," he suggested.

The village chief simply smiled. "Don't be reckless. Pandu is an intelligent young man. If we take a tough stance against him, he may incite our young people and trigger a riot."

"But he has got many of our young people to like poetry, Sir."

"Listen. I have a special way to make him stop writing poems," he said, firmly and determinedly.

The head of the group of neighborhood communities could not make head or tail of what the village head had said. He took his leave.

The next morning, the village chief summoned Pandu to his office.

"What's up, Sir?" Pandu asked, also firmly.

"I'd like to give you a job."

"But I've got one, Sir,"

"But you don't have to go to the office regularly, do you? It means that if you take my offer you still can continue writing poems."

Pandu knitted his brow.

"Now, Pandu, you are an intelligent young man. You must be qualified to work in my office, as one of my staffers."

"No, thanks, Sir, I can't take your offer. I have never dreamt of ever working in an office, Sir. Never."

The village chief puckered his face in annoyance. Well, this young man, who claims to be a poet, is not really easy to persuade, he said to himself. Yet he did not lose hope. "If you take this offer to be my staffer, you will later take over my position," he said again.

Pandu just sneered. "Sorry, Sir! I have never dreamt of having a position, let alone the position of a village head. I am proud enough as a poet because not every village can have a poet!"

The village chief was at his wit's end. He let Pandu take his leave.

As soon as Pandu left the village administration office, however, an idea struck him. "I've got a pretty daughter, Sinta. Perhaps she can persuade Pandu. It is all right for me to have him as my son-in-law as long as he stops writing poems and is willing to be my staffer."

In the following days, Sinta regularly visited Pandu's house. She wanted to become a poet, too. Pandu was happy to teach her how to write and read poems. As they often spent time together, they fell in love with each other and finally got married.

"Mas Pandu, you'd better take my father's offer to be his staffer at the village administration office," Sinta urged her husband after both enjoyed the first night of their marriage.

Pandu simply smiled. "Don't force me to help nepotism grow in this village, Jeng."

Sanggar Kreatif, 1999

Glossary:

Mas: the respected way one calls a man, in this case the way a wife calls her husband (in Javanese, literally means elder brother)

Jeng: the respected way one calls a woman, in this case the way a husband calls his wife (in Javanese, literally means younger sister)

Translated by Lie Hua