Rendra sticks to principles in twilight years

Rendra sticks to principles in twilight years

By K. Basrie

CIPAYUNG JAYA, West Java (JP): W.S. Rendra, long hailed as the
godfather of Indonesia's poets and playwrights, is not cut from
the same cloth as those noted artists who seek to parlay their
popularity into a political career.

Of course, this does not mean that he does not care about
what's happening in this country -- his work, loaded with
trenchant social criticism, has served as a moral conscience for
many. It has also often got him into trouble with the
authorities.

He was jailed in the early days of his career for public
readings of his poems and plays, which the government argued
could threaten the nation's unity. The government also banned his
group in 1979 from performing for eight years.

His stubborn refusal to compromise his beliefs has inevitably
affected his livelihood. Invitations to perform or read poems are
rare. His Bengkel Theater group often has difficulty obtaining
permits for public performances.

Due to his erratic income, food is sometimes scarce at
Rendra's residence in Cipayung Jaya, West Java, which is also
used as a training ground for group members.

But God's helping hands are everywhere. Rendra grows
vegetables and fruit on his four-hectare estate and they are
often ripe at times of food shortages. Papayas, bananas, mangoes,
cucumbers, eggplants, rambutans and many others are sold at
nearby public markets to buy rice, salt or tofu, or just to pay
monthly subscriptions for newspapers.

"Disaster or good fortune is all the same" reads a label on a
cupboard in Rendra's kitchen.

Rendra was born the eldest of seven children in the Central
Java town of Solo on Nov. 7, 1935. His father was a Javanese
language teacher and his mother a traditional dancer. Little
Rendra upset his father as he enjoyed hanging around outside
rather than at home. His father once told him to leave home. Some
critics tie the major theme of Rendra's poems, struggles of the
soul, as derived from his childhood problems.

Rendra originally wanted to be an army officer. He did not
meet the standard enrollment prerequisites as he had majored in
social sciences instead of physics. Instead, he studied English
Literature at Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta. Rendra taught
drama there although he did not complete his studies.

His debut as a playwright came at the age of 17 in 1952 with
Goncangan Pertama (First Snag). He wrote his first short story,
Drama Pasar Pon (Pasar Pon Drama), in 1960. Four years later,
many media in Solo and Jakarta printed his poems.

Rendra has five children from his first wife, the late
Sunarti, four from second wife Sitoresmi and two from his current
wife, Ken Zuraida. The crude illustration of a full moon and
mountains painted on a wall at his residence, which Rendra titled
Diantara Tiga Gunung Memeluk Rembulan (Hugging the Moon within
Three Mountains), is perhaps a fitting depiction of his marital
history.

He lives today with Ken Zuraida, several of his children, 15
students and several dogs.

After a long and turbulent life, what are Rendra's dreams and
plans for work? The Jakarta Post met this man of letters at the
remote Cipayung Jaya village in Bojong Gede, a one-and-a-half-
hour drive from Jakarta. During the interview, Rendra's
distinctive and charismatic style emerged. It's not only his
clothing mainstays of jeans-and-long-sleeved-shirts which set him
apart from other artists, but the achingly beautiful, touching
and, sometimes, wild words he uses.

Question: You and your group have not performed for quite a
long time. Where have you been?

Answer: We're still here, keeping on rehearsing and having
continuous workshops. Our performances have been banned, but we
must be prepared for our next performance. Our last show was
Hamlet in early 1994.

We need extra money and time for a play. We're a little bit
fussy about funds. We never want to be subsidized or funded by
the government, political parties or foreign business firms and
foundations. They may invite us to play (for a fee) but not fund
our works. It doesn't mean that we don't like money, but we just
want to further develop our power of life, a subject we study
here.

We always seek funds from those parties to help finance other
theater groups, not us.

But we'd welcome funds from individuals, like the ministers,
the well-to-do, business people or even army generals under the
condition that there is no political mission.

Q: Does this mean Bengkel Teater is facing financial problems
after being absent from the stage for three years?

A: (Laughing uproariously) Earnings in such a business are always
completely gone shortly after the show. But our lives here are
supported by our farm in this complex. Sometimes, my old friends
who have good business and fortunes outside there also give us
their financial support (Rendra's many friends in the business
world include millionaire Setiawan Djodi).

Besides that, I also earn quite a large amount in fees by
writing and readings poems, and from interviews with major
publishers.

Q: Does the Post need to pay you for this interview?

A: It will be better if it's available (He laughs again. His dogs
curled up under the dining table where the interview took place
bark loudly).

Q: Do you do still write poems?

A: Of course.

Q: What will be your next poem collection?

A: There will be two collections published by Yayasan Lontar at
the end of this month. The first one is Perjalanan untuk Aminah
(Journey for Aminah) is about social and cultural values in
people's daily lives. The other, entitled Mencari Bapak (Looking
For Daddy), is about religious merit.

(Among Rendra's collections already published are Balada
Orang-orang Tercinta (Ballad of the Loved Ones, 1957) Empat
Kumpulan Sajak, (Four Poem Collection, 1961) Blues untuk Bonnie,
(Blues for Bonnie, 1971) and Sajak-sajak Sepatu Tua (Poems of an
Old Shoe, 1972).

Q: When will your group perform again?

A: We're invited to perform Selamatan Anak Cucu Sulaiman (The
Ritual of Solomon's Children) in the South Korean capital of
Seoul in September. According to a tentative schedule, we'll
perform Lysistrata (a comedy satire) in October, probably in
Jakarta or Surabaya. It depends on the promoter.

Q: Do you still accept fees in the form of livestock?

A: Sometimes, especially when the hosts are university students
because they're only capable of paying me with such things. But,
at the very least, its not free, as I often told them. My message
is to teach the students not to become a parasite for artists.

(Several years ago, he was paid with two goats for his lecture
at the Indonesia Catholic University in Jakarta. On another
occasion, he received 110 chickens for a poem he wrote to be used
for a television drama. All the livestock were sent to his farm.
Rendra was only paid Rp 30, now equivalent to one U.S. cent, per
collection of poems in the early days of his professional career.
Today he has a much higher tariff. "Rp 20 million for reading
poets at a single event and more for playing in a drama")

Q: What's your opinion of government censorship today?

A: In general, it has become better (than in the old days). But
if they (the authorities) are still paranoid about me, it's okay.
But they have to realize that it won't give them any benefit
because I don't have any political and bureaucratic mission.

Q: Do you think that the current atmosphere is already favorable?

A: Not really for me. I still have problems on show permits. I
got my last experience last year when reading poems at JAMZ pub
in Jakarta. I got the permit only 30 minutes before the scheduled
time. See?

Q: How do you see the overall growth of theater groups in
Indonesia?

A: It's great. I have seen many of them and I believe many of
them have potential. The only thing is that they lack on-stage
experience. They need funds, not instructors. With enough money
in their hands, they could perform as much as they can in front
of the public. The more they perform, the better they will be.

Q: What about your own Bengkel Teater group?

A: Everything goes as usual here. We keep on developing our power
of life and power of innovation here in any weather and in any
situation, and are disciplined. If there's no chance to perform
freely outside, if there is indoctrination, we need to fight
against it. We're human, we need to develop, not to be treated as
nonliving objects.

Q: I wonder if this is a place where people could learn to become
a qualified poet, drama artists or script writers...

A: It depends on what they are going to be. I never ask them to
be someone, it's their own choice.

(Rendra founded Bengkel Teater in Yogyakarta in 1967. Among
its graduates are noted scriptwriters, film directors and actors
like the late Arifin C. Noor, Putu Wijaya, Azwar A.N., Deddy
Sutomo, Sardjono, Adi Kurdi, Putu Wijaya, Chaerul Umam and
columnist Syu'bah Asa.

Currently managed by Rendra and wife Ken Zuraida, Bengkel
Teater's students come from various backgrounds. They don't have
to pay, but everything, such as meals, are done collectively. The
enrollment test is a grave for the incapable. A prospective
student, for instance, has to stay away from the outside world at
the complex for about 100 days. The subjects include discussion
and comprehension of various matters, such as religion, politics
and economy).

Q: Is there any regeneration process for Bengkel Teater?

A: No need. If I die someday, Bengkel Teater will be over, too.

Q: Really?

A: Yes. It's my failure if Bengkel Teater has, for example,
branch offices. I must also free people, let them fly as free as
birds in the sky.

(At the age of 62, Rendra's personal mannerisms, and his mane
of shoulder-length hair, have not changed. He widens his gaze
like a wild, hungry owl to express his words. Like a proud
peacock, as he is often dubbed, he unfurls his arms in grand
gestures. His voice is deep and resonant. He concedes that the
only part of himself that has changed over the years is his closer
relationship with Allah. Born as a Catholic, Rendra later became a
Moslem. His friends call him Mas Willy).

Q: What if one of the political parties asked you to join them?

A: I'd reject it because I have no talent for that.

Q: But there's big money available which could help finance
Bengkel Teater...

A: Unfortunately, money is not my only concern but also the way
in which I got it.

Q: What will be your last wish someday when God takes your life?

A: Bury me here. We've prepared a plot for the graves of Bengkel
Teater's family members at this complex. The land is cheap here.
The water is good. You can still hear birds singing here. It's
great, isn't it?