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