W. S. Rendra

These are my English translations of poems by W. S. Rendra, an Indonesian poet who was a Renaissance Man and a bit of a peacock!

Feb 16, 2025

Willibrordus Surendra Broto Rendra (1935-2009), better known as W. S. Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian poet, dramatist, performer, actor, director and activist. He said, “I learned meditation and the disciplines of the traditional Javanese poet from my mother, who was a palace dancer. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation.” The press gave him the nickname Burung Merak (“The Peacock”) for his flamboyant poetry readings and stage performances.

THE WORLD'S FIRST FACE
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill—
both of them naked,
both consisting of nothing but themselves.

As in all beginnings
the world is naked,
empty, free of deception,
dark with unspoken explanations—
a silence that extends
to the limits of time.

Then comes light,
life, the animals and man.

As in all beginnings
everything is naked,
empty, open.

They're both young,
yet both have already come a long way,
passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns,
of skies illuminated by hope,
of rivers intimating contentment.

They have experienced the sun's warmth,
drenched in each other's sweat.

Here, standing by barren reefs,
they watch evening fall
bringing strange dreams
to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces.

They lift their heads to view
trillions of stars arrayed in the sky.
The universe is their inheritance:
stars upon stars upon stars,
more than could ever be extinguished.

Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill—
both of them naked,
to recreate the world's first face.

SONNET
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Best wishes for an impending deflowering…

Yes, I understand: you will never be mine.
I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
I contemplate
irrational numbers—complex & undefined.

And yet I wish love might … ameliorate …
such negative numbers, dark and unsigned.

But at least I can’t be held responsible
for disappointing you. No cause to elate.
Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
The gods have spoken. I can relate.

How can this be, when all it makes no sense?
I was born too soon—such was my fate.
You must choose another, not half of who I AM.
Be happy with him when you consummate.

HAI MA ("HI MOM")
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

for Zeelhan Zahraa

Mom,
It's not death that disheartens my heart
but a lifeless life, a life unlived
because life loses its power and nature.
There are nights when I walk these corridors
with nowhere to go,
the cold air caressing my listless body
chilled despite the absence of wind.

Then the stars become fireflies
emphasizing the immensity of darkness.
No thoughts,
no feelings,
nothing.
Life is fleeting, mom,
but I'm helpless
not to be non-existent.

Sometimes I feel lost in the wilderness,
shunned by mother and father,
rejected by neighbors,
abandoned in the marketplace.
I speak but no one hears.
They rip apart my books; they laugh at my ideals.
I'm angry,
I'm terrified,
I'm trembling,
but I fail to find the words.
Life is fleeting, mom…

Mortality is easy for me to accept,
but sitting here hugging my knees
alone in the savanna
makes my "life" seem worthless.
Sometimes I feel torn apart
by rabid people
just for their amusement.

Life is trivialized by inconsequential prattle
as people fill their time
with irrational arguments,
without consequence,
without romance,
without ecstatic copulation.
Life is fleeting,
of course, mom…

But thought's acrobatics and falsehoods
messed me up inside
and made me scream…

…while not knowing why.
I felt like I'd died over and over again;
nothing surprises me anymore…

…in this "life."

But mom…
whenever I realize you're there,
life returns and I feel the way
blood flows through my body,
my glands excrete,
my soul sings,
the world is present,
the lizard scritches on the wall,
the gardener talks to his son.
My life becomes real.
My nature returns.

Remembering you, mom,
is to remember daily obligations,
the simplicity of prose,
the beauty of poetry.
We always have fun exchanging ideas, mom.
We each have aspirations.
We each have obligations,
at least the real ones.

Hi mom…
Do you remember…
how I hugged you on the boat
when your stomach hurt,
and I how I calmed you down
by kissing your neck?
Masha Allah…
I'm always fascinated by your skin's fragrance.
Do you remember when I said:
"If the end comes, my life was full of meaning!"
Wow, I really couldn't lose,
having you in my life.

And when I write poetry
I feel yesterday and tomorrow
are also today,
that good and bad luck are the same,
that the sky outside and the body
are united in the soul.
That's it, mom…

Zeelhan Zahraa

Feb 16

As an Indonesian and a lover of W.S. Rendra's poetry, I truly appreciate you for translating his poems into English. One of his poems that has become my favorite is "Hai Ma". I really love that poem ☺️

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3 replies by Michael R. Burch and others

Geraldine A. V. Hughes

Feb 16Edited

Geese Louise, absolutely beautiful, my mind goes a wandering and daydreaming what it would feel like to be this loved by a man, not this go round.

What would I do without the poets, there would be no life, no death, no love, no meaning without the Poets and their poems. Thanks again Michael, Geraldine

2 replies by Michael R. Burch and others

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