Indolitcollective is a collective literature platform that aims to bring the works of new emerging authors/poets from Indonesia in to worldwide reading.
Indolitcollective launched its first program called “INDONESIAN POETRY BATTLE ON FACEBOOK” which began in the late of November. It had challenged the emerging authors from Indonesia to respond to an issue on photos, artworks, paintings, art performances, books, culture and philosophical thought. The result was quite mesmerizing, over 70 cyber public authors gave their full effort to write a visual-based poetry in the very first season of the battle.
This project initiated in the aim of emphasizing the creative work of writing poetry, not disregarding to the literary criticism, but in a way which is not dominating like most of literary magazines. Indolitcollective pursues to read poetry in to somewhere near the last line of poems against its peak: bringing back to the very nature of human body experience, touching the personal and fragmented reality at the same time. Indolitcollective should welcome these people to its pages: the one from the lost generation of Indonesian literature.
The poetry curators are changing every weeks, in consideration of identifying the varied poetics and aesthetics in Indonesian literature environment. The curators work together, giving their thumbs for the best poetry-comments from the participants.
Curators of “Indonesian Poetry Battle on Facebook #1”:
Oka Rusmini (Winner of Kusala Sastra Khatulistiwa Literary Award for Poetry), Anton Kurnia (Esaist & Translator), Ahda Imran (Poet), Adinda Luthvianti (Theater Director), Fanny Chotimah (Esaist), and public Likers and Netizen.
Choosing 10 poems from 10 different authors:
Gustu Sindhuputra
A woman
spins time
wraps in the age of the oldest corner
with a paralyzed body withered
the windmill’s rotation
the most remote place
stringing thread of the brittle fate
(translated by Indolitcollective)
Sartika Sari
my kitchen stove is empty
a cold pot
an empty rice basket
no money
inside my pockets
the belly of my daughter
the belly of my laughter
will you fill my kitchen?
let out the morning under the furnace bed
for cooking rice
and frying a piece of salted fish
as my breakfast menu
as an orphan
(Translated by Indolitcollective)
Yudhie Guszara
Red wheels Singing Songs of Grief
I heard the sound of sobbing tears,
moaning hunger hearing anger of the wild huts
I keep hearing the song of sorrow
singing discordant voices.
voices of an abandoned person
voices. natural. screaming. that.
in a pain sharpened
the dark night
Red flame on my turbulent veins
In the circular space
in the chest of a rumbled eyeball
Blood clot thickens
red wheel of fortune
red face of grief
(Translated by Indolitcollective)
Didik Siswantono
that subject of fortitude, Madame
we had a chat in an evening
while weaving
with a tightened chest.
then you pretend to pray,
to worship a prayer
which
never comes
(Translated by Indolitcollective)
Asni Furaida
at that-keeps-graying hair, a tired hand weaving, and tightly clenched lips, there i swing my hope. at that-keeps-mouthing belly, from very little money, from very little valley.
but you know, my belly is full and that is life itself.
it means more than enough.
(Translated by Indolitcollective)
M Alif Marufy
after Maghrib
* click *
“Let’s see, how many words have been kindled”
“Have you done? Can I go on?”
“o yea, i wish my color is blue.”
“Hey, I’m here! Don’t ignore me!”
“I hope you stay strong out there”
“So you call your comment a poem?”
“ooh …”
*ignore *
“Never mind,
• what words can do?
• Back to work you do!”
(translated by Indolitcollective)
Aksan Taqwin Embe
a twister of suffer
the time battered by tightness
spirited face beaten by its folds
subsided not the thunder
like a clockwork that stabs
bloodless
but the pain
shed
(translated by indolitcollective)
Farra Yanuar
WOMEN BODY
Nanda, half of my head left behind in the kitchen,
between the furnace and the rest of turmeric smell.
the rest are tucked in cubicles, my prayers and dreams exchanged glances.
In a cracked glass, my ulcers.
Not just a stale cup of tea.
Any leftover rice,
enough for you to pack.
Weaving machine, ask me for many.
I dedicate my soul, so it may keep you away
from being insane
(translated by indolitcolective)
Afrilia Utami
A Yarn Weaver, My Mother
a mother weaves a common thread
and her son threw away his body
to the farthest barricade line, interrupted fog.
between patience and the stillness of fingers
do they grow sadness in his eyes?
for bringing cloud drizzle
mother weavers thread, into the sun
would never finish the day without a painful effort.
the sun can be so bright here
but is so far from the mother’s arms.
(translated by indolitcollective)
Indolitcollective Special Interest:
Gusmel Riyadh
Poems that eat a grandmother
Oh, a wrinkled grandmother
I feel so sorry for your unfortunate fate
thousand rhymes are thrown at your face
your drooping eyes
(translated by indolitcollective)
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