ontemporary Progressive Indonesian

2. Poetry

Roetjita Hta oehata

3%6-64

CONTEMPORARY PROGRESSIVE INDONESIAN POETRY

to my wife Suwarti and Sibi who did most of the work.

ontemporary

Progressive

Indonesian

Poetry

Translated and edited with an Introduction by Bintang

league of poople's culture — indonesia —

a few words of introduction

Modern Indonesian literature, that is, literature written in Bahasa Indonesia (the Indonesian Language) is of relative recent date. Bahasa Indonesia — the national language of the 97 million Indonesian people inhabiting 3,000 of the more than 10,000 bigger and smaller islands constituting the Republic of Indonesia — is closely related to the struggle for national independence waged by the Indonesian people for scores of years. When. at the turn of the present century, this struggle for nation- hood and for a national state began to take on modern forms with the emergence of the first national workers' organisation, the Trade Union of Railroad and Tram Personnel (1905) and the first nationalist organisation, the "Budi Utomo" (1908) and then political parties like the Sjarikat Islam (Islam Association) in 1912, the Indies Social Democratic Union (1914). forerunner of the Communist Party of Indonesia (1920), Bahasa Indonesia, too, began to take shape. Originally a language spoken by the Melayu nationality in Suma- tera and for hundreds of years used in a simplified form throughout the Indonesian archipelago as the lingua franca, the Melayu language, which bears close affinity to the language of the Malay Peninsula, was destined by history to play a decisive role in the formdlion of the Indonesian nation. From the language of a minority, this Melayu language, in the course of the struggle for national independence grew into a full-fledged national language recognised today as the official language of the Indonesian people. In this book Indonesian Society and the Indonesian Revolution,

D.N. Aidit, dwelling on the yeoman service rendered by Bażasa Indonesia in forming the Indonesian nation, observed: "A most in- teresting thing is that Bahasa Indonesia does not originate from the language of the largest nationality (i.e. the Javanese nationality amounting to about 63 million — BS). This language has never throughout history been the language of colonisers: on the contrary. it is a language which unites more than one hundred nationalities.

Bahàsa Indonesia is a language which has been forged in the struggle for national independence, it is the language of the liberator." Modern Indonesian literature did not appear on the literary scene as a competitor of the centuries-old literatures of the Javanese, Sundanese, Melayu, Balinese. Bugis and other nationalities. The reverse is true. Modern Indonesian literature embodies the finest anti-feudal, anti-colonial and popular traditions of the local literatures. It enriched its vocabulary and form by drawing on the old literatures, and in its turn, made these literatures known and loved by all the nationalities inhabiting Indonesia. Instrumental in developing the national language were the novels and articles of one of Indonesia's first novelists, pamphleteers and journalists, the working-class leader, Marco Kartodikromo. His novels "Amuck" (1914). "Freshman" (1919). "The Feeling of Freedom" (1920) and his "Verses of Spices" (1921) and especially his speech at the Congress of Indonesian Journalists in Solo, 1919, in which he exhorted his fellow journalists and writers "to write in good Indonesian", exerted a great influence on the developing Bahasa Indonesia. His novels "Freshman" and "The Feeling of Freedom", because of their revolutionary and anti-colonial spirit, were banned by the Dutch authorities, and Indonesians, especially the students, had to read these novels in secret up till the thirties. The Indonesian literary critic Bakri Siregar and the well-known contemporary novelist and essayist Pramudya Ananta Tur place Marco Kartodikromo, who died in exile in the late twenties in West Irian, at the very origin of modern Indonesian literature. In 1928, on October 28, Bahasa Indonesia gained the official recog- nition of the national movement when the Indonesian youth, gathered in a congress, solemnly declared that they belong to one fatherland. Indonesian, to one nation, the Indonesian nation, and speak one common language, Bahasa Indonesia. Following Marco Kartodikromo in writing novels in Indonesian were Semaun with "Hikajat Kadirun" (1920) and especially Marah Rusli and Abdul Muis secured themselves a lasting place in Indonesian literature with their novels "Siti Nurbaya" and "Salah Asuhan" (Wrong Upbringing) dealing with the resistance against feudal family relationships and forced marriage. In the 1930's some intellectuals, the poet Muhammed Yamin, the essayist Amir Sjarifuddin, the poet Amir Hamzah, the novelist Takdir

Alishahbana and the Pane (Sanusi and Armijn) brothers founded the literary magazine "Pudjangga Baru" (New Bard). The novels, plays and poetry of that period vividly describe the efforts of Indonesian intellec.uals to find their place in the struggle for national independence and the renovation of Indonesian cultural life. Two contradictory trends are characteristic of the "Pudjangga Baru" writers — those who looked for salvation for their cultural needs mainly from the West and who denied the existence of an Indonesian culture (Alishahbana) and those who orientated themselves to the national cultural heritage (Yamin and the Pane brothers). The social element reached its highest literary expression in Sanusi Pane's play "Manusia Baru" (New Man), depicting the struggle between workers and employers. Because of the Dutch censorship, the author had to set the action in Indian surroundings. A subsequent period in Indonesian literature was the period of the Japanese military occupation of Indonesia during 1942-1945, In this period Bahasa Indonesia made great headway, becoming as it did an effective weapon for the Indonesian people in defending and upholding their national dignity against the master race theory of the Japanese fascists. Though officially Indonesian literature was only allowed to sing the praise of the Japanese invaders and serve their "Greater Asia" dreams, Indonesian writers managed to produce a number of patriotic short stories and poems. A case in point in Chairil Anwar's poem "Diponegoro". M.S. Ashar's "Awaiting the Dawn", however, could not escape the attention of the Japanese censorship and could only be printed after the Japanese had sur- rended. The Proclamation of Independence on August 17, 1945, for which the Indonesian people had been preparing for decades, threw the gates ior creative literary work wide open. Bahasa Indonesia sang for and about the Revolution. and, freed from Dutch suppression and Japanese tutelage, it flourished and acquired a real mass basis. The revolutionary period (1945-1948) produced a number of poets, playwrights and essayists known as the "Generation of 1945". Reared by the struggle for national independence and inspired by heroism of their people, these young people used the power of expression of Bahasa Indonesia to further increase the revolutionary ardour of the people. Poets Chairil Anwar, Rivai Apin, Bandaharo, Buyung Saleh, Asrul Sani, Sitor Situmorang and the woman poet Rukiah Kertapati, novelist Pramudya Ananta Tur, short story writers

Usmar Ismael, Bachtiar Siagian, Bakri Siregar, to mention only a few, brought Bahasa Indonesia to new heights and firmly established it as the literary language of the Indonesian people. They success- fully explored the possibilities hidden in Bahasa Indonesia and gave the lie to the numerous sceptics who asserted that the national language was "too simple, too underdeveloped and too primitive grammatically to be used to express the finest and deepest stirrings of the human soul". Chairil Anwar's "Between Krawang and Bekasi" and Ananta Tur's "Stories of Blora" are fine examples of the flexi- bility, melody and beauty of Bahasa Indonesia. As a whole, the "Generation of 1945" remained faithful to the source from which Bahasa Indonesia originated and drew its strength -the revolutionary movement for national independence — and devoted their talents and energies and even their lives to helping the people consolidate their hard-won freedom and build a national culture. Apart from the cynicism, intellectualism, scepticism and individualism which characterises the works of some of the "Generation of 1945" like Idrus, Rosihan Anwar and Mochtar Lubis and the somewhat anarchistic tendencies in some of Chairil Anwar's poems, the bulk of the "Generation of 1945" rejecied the theory of "art for art's sake". The picture changed, however, when the 1945-1948 Revolution ended in political compromise with the Dutch in 1949, the year of the signing of the Round Table Conference Agreement. This agreement which restored Dutch political, economic and cultural influence in Indonesia, created confusion too, in the minds of cultural workers and a period of disillusionment, bewilderment and uncertainty set in in the field of creative thinking. In line with the de-nationa- lising activities of the Dutch Institute for Cultural Co-operation (Sticusa) and American organisations such as the Ford and Rocke- feller Foundations, a number of western-orientated Indonesians like Alishahbana, Rosihan Anwar, Sudjatmoko and Mochtar Lubis, utilising the confusion in which the majority of Indonesian cultural workers found themselves, tried to detach Indonesian art and literature from its life-giving source, the people and the revolution, by raising the slogans "pure art", "art without politics", etc. This situation prompted progressive writers and artists to rally together in an effort to contain the flood of anti-national, anti-revolutionary and imperialist culture. A bitter struggle ensued against the demoralising and undermining effects of imperialist infiltration

in the field of culture and in the course of this struggle the League of People's Culture (LEKRA) was born in 1950. LEKRA, which rallies some of the finest creative talents of the Indonesian nation, adheres to the principle that art and science should serve the people and that cultural workers should artistically express the aspirations of the people. With the adoplion in 1959 of the Political Manifesto of the Republic of Indonesia — a document enthusiastically acclaimed by virtually all Indonesian cultural workers — which states among other things that the aim of Indonesia's national and democratic revolution is the setting up of a unitarian and democratic republic, the building up of a just and prosperous society (Socialism) on Indonesian soil and the establishment of friendly ties with all nations of the world for a New World free from colonialism and imperialism, Indonesian cultural workers have obtained a powerful weapon in the still raging battle against the proponents of "art for art's sake", "art without politics", and "art for those who understand it".

The present volume deals exclusively with poetry since poetry is the most popular branch of literature in Indonesia. It is the author's intention to publish another volume dedicated to prose. Love for poetry is one of the national charateristics of the Indonesian people and perhaps in no other country of the world is poetry practiced on such a mass-scale, especially among the younger generation, as in Indonesia. Indicative of this is the fact that for any newspaper in Indonesia to be successful it must, at least once a week, put a cultural page at the disposal of its readers, and invariably the greater part is filled with poems. Anolher "must" for Indonesian papers is a "Youth Column", a forum for young people to publish their literary products, and here too, most of the space is devoted to poetry. The Radio Republik Indonesia runs a special program entitled "Blossoming Buds" devoled co analysing poems sent in by young people from all over the country. to help them improve their style and guide them in the choice of words and subjects. This great interest in and preference for poetry rests on a firm popular basis. Indonesians do not look on poetry as something one practices occasionally, or something that should be left to the pro-

fessional poets. No, poetry is part and parcel of daily Indonesian life. Put some Indonesians together and before long they will start to improvise on the spot verses alluding to the cause of their gathering, making love, criticising and giving counsel in versified form. The vehicle used to express these impromptu feelings is the pantun, a verse of four lines, sometimes in a.a.a.a., but generally in a.b.a.b. rhyme pattern. The first two lines of the pantun bear no visible relation, either in meaning or in text, to the last two lines, yet on closer examination it becomes clear that the first two lines are. as a rule, used to create a setting, a specific atmosphere for the idea introduced in the last two lines. The following "classic" pantun may serve as an example:

Terang bulan terang dikali Buaja timbul disangka mati Djangan perijaja mulut lelaki Berani sumpah takut mati

The full moon shines on the river A crocodile, seemingly dead. floats on the water Do not trust the mouth of a man He's brave in words but afraid to die.

The full moon evokes a sense of serenity, the crocodile, however, that of suspense and distrust. By means of this device, the women who sings or recites this pantun wishes to warn her sex not to trust men. Indonesian women, it seems, wholeheartedly agree to Shakespeare's Balthasar that:

Men were deceivers ever One foot in sea, and one on shore To one thing constant never.

However, the men thus exposed, may take up the challenge by using the Sundanese pantun —the Indonesian we give on the right—

Aja listrik dimasigit Ada listrik dimesdjit Terangnja luarbiasa Tjaangna kabina-bina Aja istri ahli teknik Ada isteri ahli teknik Rentjana pasti djadina Rentjana pasti djadinja

In the mosque there's plenty of electric light Setting everything in radiant shine There's a technician's wife Rest assured, she will realise her design.

Pantuns are not only used for purely "personal" motives but are also skillfully employed in social criticism as the following Melayu pantun shows:

Mentjampak sampai kehulu kenalah udang diseberang Apalah tjupak oleh penghulu mempermainkan undang-undang?

Throw something across the river And you will hit a crab What's the yardstick for a mosque scrivener When he treats the law like so much scrap?

or to express certain political ideas: Mondar-mandir perahu ladju Mondar-mandir ke Surabaja Menang di Kuba karena bersatu Amerika Latin dan Asia-Afrika.

The little boat sails there and back And reaches Surabaya In Cuba they repelled the attack Latin America being united with Afro-Asia.

As a rule pantuns are not written down since they are created on the spot and on the spur of the moment. They are memorised and handed on from mouth to mouth. It is only of late that efforts have been made to collect and publish pantuns, notably by the daily "Harian Rakjat", from all parts of the country and from every nationality. We have dealt af great length with the pantun to show that it is not fortuitous that the Indonesian people have a strong pre- ference for poetry over the other branches of literature. Their love for poetry stems from the age-long tradition of the pantun.

Modern Indonesian poetry. that is. verse written in Bahasa Indonesia and not bound by the traditional pantun form style or other traditional styles such as the sjair and gurindam, began to appear during the early twenties of this century. Muhammad Yamin, who published a collection of poems in Bahasa Indonesia in 1922, is not only the first Indonesian poet to have written his verses in Bahasa Indonesia but also the first to have discarded the pantun and other traditional forms for the sonnet form. The second poet to write modern verse in Indonesian is Roestam Effendi, who was soon followed by the poet-playwright Sanusi Pane. Of this trio, often called the pre-Pudjangga Baru Poets, Pane is the most important for his style, richness of language and arlistic expression. The pre-Pudjangga Baru poets, as is the case with the great majority of later poets, were active participants in the struggle for national independence. The conflict which arose among the Pudjangga Baru men of letters over orientation should it be to Western or to Indonesia's own cultural traditions? — is also reflected in the works of the Pudjangga Baru poets Amir Homzah, Alishahbana,

M. R. Dajoh, Asmara Hadi and Intojo. Amir Hamzah, the most productive of the period, is essentially a religious poet who shunned the reality of the political and social struggle and as a result rarely rises above the "God-man" relationship. M. R. Dajoh who, unlike the bulk of the Pudjangga Baru poets, did not hail from Sumatera but from Sulawesi (Celebes), distinguished himself by the subject matter of his poems which intercede for the poor, disinherited common people. His compassion for the exploited is best manifested in his poem "Child Labour". The poetry of Asmara Hadi (South Sumatera) and Intojo (of Javanese nationality) is pervaded wih revolutionary ardour and militancy. A virtual revolution in pcetic style and form was effected by the "Generation of 1945". The poets of this group considered them- selves no longer bound by the forms established by the Pudjangga Baru poets. The dominant form of poems-and this is still valid today-became the "free verse", free from end-rhyme, free in form, free from static measures and traditional methaphores yet abounding in melody and rhythm. Others, weary of the well-polished and smooth verses of the preceding generation, not always equally successful, produced verses which, though in form do not resemble poetry, are full of poetic beauty and power. Chairil Anwar's verse

"1943", α verse of 29 lines of which 21 lines consist of one single, forceful word, is illustrative of this trend. Among the best known poets of the "Generation of 1945" are Chairil Anwar, Asrul Sani, Rivai Apin, M.S. Ashar, Buyung Saleh and Rukiah Kertapati. ★

Contemporary Progressive Indonesian Poetry aims al acquainting the English-reading public with the work of those Indonesian poets who adhere to the principle that art should serve the people and that Indonesian cultural workers should stand in the foremost ranks. in implementing the goals set by the Political Manifesto. In selecting the material — taken from the cultural magazine "Zaman Baru", and the cultural pages of the dailies "Harian Rakjat" and "Bintang Timur" —the editor deliberately limited himself to the years 1955- 1961, the period in which the Indonesian people, as President Sukarno puts it, "rediscovered their identity and their revolution". Though not all poems selected are of equally high literary achieve- ment, they show the subjects, the aspirations and the yearnings living among the Indonesian people that prompted the poets to write their verses. The poems selected are the works of poets — many of them under or just over thirty years of age — hailing from Indonesia's different nationalilies and prove that, next _to- speaking their own respective local languages, these poets find in Bahasa Indonesia the instrument par excellence to express their innermost feelings. This selection speaks of the heroic struggle of the people against Dutch-supported native feudalism before 1945 —"Malia Lehi", of sacrifice for the Revolution —"Fallen in Battle", moments of grief — "My Father", temporary dejection — "The Anchor Chain Is Broken". and of supreme conviction in the rightecus struggle and unshakable loyalty to ideals —"No One Shall Return". The poems sing of the basic forces of the Indonesian Revolution, the real masters of the land. the workers and the peasants, about their hardships, their troubles, their joy in struggle and their ultimate victory "The Downtrodden Shoulder Freedom", "Death of a Peasant". The women-poets Sugiarti Siswadi and Rukiah Kertapati take pride in the role Indonesian women have played and are playing in the struggle and passionately defend the rights of women to live as human beings — "Women". "Indictment". Love and the fight for ideals

gave birth to "Revolution" and "Young Man", whereas "Sampit" gives the reader a glimpse of the unlimited and untapped resources of Indonesia's natural wealth. It tells the foreign reader of the current struggle for democracy, "Challenge", "Democracy" and the fight against terrorist gangs to restore security in the countryside. "Native Village". and exposure of the counter-revolutionaries "Granite Wall". A number of poems in this selection express very well the deep feelings of solidarity, sympathy and one-ness with the struggle of other peoples, especially in Asia and Africa, for national independence, peace and a better world. "Scarlet Red", "Jamila". In short, imperfect as this selection may be, it gives the reader a glimpse of the problems and ideals that stir progressive Indonesian poets of today. It is testimony of the fact that Bahasa Indonesia has become the inalienable properiy of Indonesians of all nationalities and minority groups (see Explanatory Notes), it substantiates the fact that progressive Indonesian poets are consciously-living citizens, striving for national and international solidarity and co-operation, dedicating their creative abilities and talents to build a happy life. not only for their own people, but for all peoples of the world, to build the better world which the best poets of the world have been singing of and dreaming about throughout the ages.

Djakarta, May 8. 1962.

Aidit, D. N.

coming of age

it was born thirty-five years ago from the pains of the most progressive class a child of an era that will give birth to an era

braving tempests lulled not by the breeze it penetrated into the people's heart deeper than the sea of Banda adorning life more beautiful than the chempaka blossom

it lives from life withstanding terror and provocation yesterday, today, tomorrow it is Anteaeus, son of Poseidon invincible as long as it stays faithful to the earth child of an era that will give birth to an era now it has come of age.

the only road

wornout boots stuck in the mud on the path leading to the hut water drips down from the roof soiling my most cherished possessions the lessons of germany. britain, france, russia, china and many more thoughts of the best sons of the world

my wife sleeps again after answering the door the silence outside helps me the further night proceeds the more I become absorbed I remember the oath of fidelity to their teachings the crowing of the cock doesn't startle me the days and nights are all alike the road they've shown is always bright

we shall surely reach the end of this road no wornout boots are there no sticky mud no leaking huts but only this, the only road.

granite wall

with bayonets you raised the diehards to sit with the people and me

you hope to retard the sweep of history not knowing tis you who are doomed

you hope to repeat the outdated tale of Nero in forty-eight of Magelang and Ngalian but you forget Amir and Hadji Bakri and the peasants dividing land in Wonogiri and Bojolali

the march of history will trample the diehards and the bayonets will break a granite wall is harder than a skull of stones the granite wall of a people united.

Aidit, Sobron

sad memories of a tjiandjur peasant

bright are the Tjiandjur skies, the fertile soil binds the peasant sadri, an old peasant, owns a plot of land his life is harmonious, peaceful, beautiful blossoming like the seasons

the banana ripens, the oranges, the papayas littering the branches, flagrant overripe ask sadri when he will pick them and he replies 1 when my son comes home from the battle

ah, the sweet fragrance of the fruit moistens the tongue the orchards flourish on the rich Periangan soil beloved land, united, defying the splitters ful of beauty, fertility, but what of the heart?

II

sadri waits with pounding heart his eyes glued to the southern skies the flames leap up high a brutal force is burning peace

lovely Periangan, burning, reddened by fire the peasants trapped, scorched on their native earth comrades, brothers. against this challenge the will is supreme resistance, revenge in every heart

the crops, the oranges and the papayas once overripe and weighing down the trees lie destroyed, overrun by fire and thousands of lives nipped in the bud.

life

1 life does not depend on some external force it must be grasped by we who live it bears fruit that grows from within ripening slowly but never for a moment still

life is as vast as the raging seas but it flows not on its own, it must be steered advancing towards an objective firmly and accurately aimed

life is a vast flood of water green and blue, its depth can be gauged not veiled in mystery but with fineries interwoven and things that are important for you and me.

the society of my class

udin, seventeen times you have been kicked cround eight times you have dragged your bruised body away forty-five times perhaps kicked from pillar to post when you visit your home in no man's land you'll be driven away on the morrow to tears and wails but tears and abuse are of no avail because there it is still : the bustle of life under the bridge

udin. endure the kicks and the knocks do not say: where next shall I be thrown. but contain your vengeance till it hardens as the river stones till the time comes: victory or death

ah, my country, only part of it feels the touch of the sun's

golden breath the olher lives in darkness, touched by the wind of death such are the extremes between the high and low in a society split into classes since times of yore

the society of my class, long have I dreamed of the sunrays of a future for udin and for the others who yearn for friendly love binding equals to each other ah, how black and soiled it is today but wait, for the boil will burst, molten fire will burst forth the time will come when the enemy meets death at the point of the dagger the battles for the people were not in vain they have fertilised the sturdy seedling planted by lenin

udin, wait, for the boil will burst all of a sudden the wheel of history will surely turn round effacing the darkness and the wind of death and for my class only the golden sunrays.

Apin, Rivai

the anchor chain is broken

everyone feels it the links in the chain break one by one and each time one breaks anxiety grips the heart of the passengers

and finally all will break

the links in the chain break one by one and breath too goes one by one each minute, each second who knows when all this will end

elegy

what we feel we need not siate what we think we need not say do no! grieve — let us proceed we bring this truth to its star and its earth we do know, since we have preserved one of your words one vision of the parched lands drying up then suffocating our breast oh, your memory will forever haunt us terrifying like the shadows in α shaky hut when the oil-lamp is lit yet full of love like the father's with hands outstretched and you'll come back like of old when you and this soil vibrate with life

we shall not forget you the time you were hunted and hunting — because what we are hunting and running for to that you dedicated your life and we who view your merits know well, as you too know. that there's no other deity or god worth living for.

let the tempest blast this barren field yet our steps are planted in the scorched land where you lie deeply buried keeping alive the flame and we that stand here are fire! we preserve life in this night, the night that bears the noon we are the children of one father we are the children of one mother and death for us is but a matter of time yet we. preserve all one god

the younger will come, the elder has gone we lift the parched land, these barren lands the burden's weigh:, the aching of shoulders that carry the bitterness of hearts defeated will lead the love of the faith that we profess.

peking

I

do not say that the night is as hard as granite since here in china not a stone is left unworked by the people here nature is like marble everything is carved and polished by the hands of working people building culture

II

the cruel peking wind has no equal the nights are heavy with dust, yet from bustling cracks the rumble of mountain rocks being split booms forth in the night the whiriwind gathers strength and still people are at work tempering the steel from the stones split in the night is born the morning twinkling and the fountain of sparks forged by the blows of the smith are the stars in the sky, the medals of the workers.

Anantaguna, Sabarsantoso

the downtrodden shoulder freedom

we the downtrodden shoulder freedom without rank, nameless we've kept our country from becoming a prison · we possess nothing but ninety million burning hearts do not try to keep us still fear lies buried under barren hills

we possess nothing but burning hearts that seek no reward we guard the islands that kiss the beloved sea we fight for wages and land of freedom

we possess nothing but burning hearts roughened by suffering that may turn into lava, fire and thunder destroying foes, grinding them to dust

we the downtrodden shoulder freedom without rank, nameless we've kept our country from becoming a prison.

jamila

the world did once inflict a wound but understanding rose from within

one touch of light in the soldier's breast and willingly she accepted death for she herself is the world and holds life in her hand for she herself is the native land and the fruit of love

another touch came down at dawn and she defended all her dreams

the world has inflicted a wound but consciousness was conceived within its womb

one draw of breath in the soldier's breast and she did profess herself slowly but without complaint for she herself is time and the blaze in.the sahara for she herself is liberty and freedom in imagination

another draw as night did fall and away she flung the world full of wrath

the world has inflicted a wound but she herself is the world and holds life in her hands.

to people's bandung

wherever they come from, the people are the people wherever they are, times are with the people and the wind touches every bossom: the free heart of africa the revolutionary heart of asia

those who have come are lovers. fighters all children of the sun sparks of multi-coloured fireworks and the colour grows at the waist of the mountain and embraces the faith of bandung

those who are here are all beloved, are fire all children of the earth who with flowers combat death and the flower grows at the waist of the mountain and embrace the solidarity of bandung

wherever they come from, the people are the peopla wherever they are, times are with the people and the wind touches the free heart: the song of revolution peace in all the world.

Arsjad, M. A.

native village

when evening falls the village lies deserted and the villagers fence themselves in engulfed by fear for soon the fiend will encircle their dwellings

this land was once peaceful and safe man grew up surrounded by love but that's a cherished memory now when death stalks the land when rifle shots fired by terrorists resound from house to house

this beloved land of mine has today become my prison the days pile up revenge and common folk have become each other's slayer.

Ashar. M.S.

freedom and prison

its not because you do not need to search for freedom for you are freedom itself its not because the paltry judges do not zeed to threaten jail for pettiness of soul is put in prison this is not the reason why we speak of freedom and imprisonment

dishonesty of hearts and turbidity of eyes turn freedom into bondage but freshness of hearts and the sparkle of eyes turns bondage into freedom and this is what turns talking into steel and hoping into real strength

and then. when the names of paltry judges have all disappeared forgotten, burnt or eaten by the rats your name will still live on, — Son of the Masses born of a powerful womb your name will live forever, death it shall not know for you are life itself ...

to uncle ho chi minh

we bid you welcome, uncle ho although we always meet are you not, uncle ho a tale of the mighty jungle and of fragrant flowers each bud that falls infusing a thousand energies into those which bloom ?

and didn't the sun once refuse to set in your country and dusk did not descend: a new road for the new man?

ah, we too have our tale of sun and jungle kissing and hiding the bodies slain mending the torn threads of history with sweat and love together

and we who still stand erect we too are just emerging from the mud strength on the right, hope on the lelt clearing a new road for the new

a friend will soon pass by with a beating heart that stores memcries and blood that gushes forth the same, the very same ideals

we bid you farewell, uncle ho although we never part.

Dharta, A.S.

rukmanda

mention all dungeons and you have mentioned me mention all storms the bitterness of exile the longing for the ketjapi the stillness of silent nights the memories of Periangan and the listlessness of waiting I who counted the chain of seconds for tens of years dedicating all I had to the feast of struggle all the time, each moment my soul breathed the spirit of youth and if this very instant I were asked I would sing "arise ye starvelings from your slumber" now I am no more I am one with the soil of my beloved land but my song I'll finish togerher with the dimming stars with the last song of my heart which beholds the shimmering dawn and the buds continuing life mention all dungeons and you have mentioned me but mention also loyalty enthusiasm and heroism for this too is me.

tidings from the party

this night is a lonely night wrought up with anxiety of birth this night is a sacred night bearing tidings from the party bidding farewell to yesterday hailing the day of tomorrow

I kiss this night which arouses morning in my heart I kiss you my party dawn in this day

tidings from the party unfurl the banners of battles against myself confront me with this choice of delight in life abandoning personal passions or fading away before death

tidings from the party have shown the road which ends defeats.

Bandaharo Harahap

fallen in battle

nine hours after the battle

there he lies rifle at his side and his breast pierced with bullets

deadly silence all around broken by his panting breath he raises up his head as if in doubt : there it is the rustling of wings is it the angel of death?

almost weary of waiting suddenly from far away he hears the shout of victory carried by the wind to the lonely fighter freedom! freedom!

his very being shouts for joy this cry is his reward. in the battle for which he staked his life freedom means victory and the free man lives in paradise

a new strength surges through him covered as he is with blood he musters all the will in his feeble body pressing his hands on the soil he defended he rises slowly he shouts and clenches his fists freedom ! freedom!

this was the last sound he uttered joy in his heart victory in battle he stepped forward and fell.

no one shall return

the masses march towards the day the mass I represent the sorrows and sufferings of my times lie heavy on my shoulders

no one shall return though death awaits ahead

this road leads on to the break of dawn and stirring, peaceful chants our aspirations give birth to love directly drunk from life

no one shall return though death awaits ahead.

after panmunjom for Major Yoon Gil

atter panmunjom everything maimed except ideology the imperialists vented their malice on things and innocent people everywhere destruction everything in ruins corpses of partisans piled up and no iwo stones standing after panmunjom nothing has been sleeled more than the people

ideology unmaimed people steeled that's a giant creator korea stands gloriously erect on the red soil.

Dodong Djiwapradja

the hero on the hill

from the top of the hill the road stretches forth casting ahead the images of life and death (α bridge in the distance the limit of all feelings)

loyal souls are always fond of singing songs of heroism which is higher the sky above the hill or the clouds drifting overhead which will disappear at any moment?

behind the shirt button something lies hidden in the breast how red is young blood

then from the valley deep below an appeal echoes and weapons whine and boom the smell of gunpowder belches into the sky because the angels spread the most fragrant of scents with firm strides the hero advances.

death

death, hero of the prosecutor laughts on the back of the bent judge

death lurks in every corner waiting patiently for the ailing man

(sometimes, bearing a sack he appears on a mattress to kidnap sleeping children)

sometimes, hiding behind a lamp-post he coaxes a passing car as somebody goes by

death jingles at the tip of everything sharp and explodes in the mouth of a gun

gloomy indeed is death for the black king is death.

challenge if this world is to be scorched at the points of bayonets must we then sit by with trembling knees? poets! sing a song: of freedom!

Ferdy S.

malia lehi

malia lehi in Kui you rose up together with your people to fight injustice and the rape of Kui

malia lehi though heavy with child you shed your blood drenching, enriching the heroic soil where it glowed for forty-eight years

Kui buildings, coconut trees drums the people rising, holding out

malia lehi no one knows where your tomb stands in Kui but everyone knows your struggle

Kui fell it could not be held but in the year sixty-one, january the anvil thundered everyone returned celebrated Kui has become the tomb of the poisoner.

Hadi, Sosrodanukusumo

song to W. R. Supratman

when hearts were full of surrender and loneliness and when a ray of light pierced the gloom of suffering and ignorance you stirred this scarlet blood, you tore away the veil of secrecy and stagnation which entombed the greatness of your people and gloirified exploitation.

Out of the shed that housed your hunger, suffering and dissolution amidst the shadows of everything decayed in the glitter portending deat) your song rose swiftly over valley and mountain, prison and privation caressing each heart soiled and wrung dry by the sweat of labour

standing forth, straight and certain, finding a place in consciousness of this eternal truth so long obscured : Indonesia my native country, Indonesia my fatherland.

and your great energy compelled each heart to sing of and to love the greatness and wealth of a fatherland submerged making the blood throb with exultation flooding the battle-field with joy to settle accounts and bring to life what you made clear.

comrade, in the darkness that obscures the last moments before dawn your song steeled us, the generation you left behind, in ideals and work to give birth to that which must be born and cultivate countless buds at your behest and greatness, on the frontiers of past tears.

of things to come

dawn sends a message on rays just breaking through stealing into the sobs of children, whispering cn trembling lips resounding in the houses, over ricefields and amid roses making hearts speak out that till now could only feel.

there's dew in the dawn of Vietnam. the dew of happiness of a million mo.hers making the stiff begin to flow, each body building life in joyful work together, building upon the darkness of yesterday there's no more news of misery destroying laughter.

a new sky cleanses, protecting the hopes of the Korean man. beginning to build tomorrow's victory, man's victory over ruins and dawn's message blossoms forth in the heart of every working man carrying hope in brilliant array to those still full of pain.

and from the summit of perfection towards which man firmly climbs the road of peace lights up, though covered still with weed confused and one by one the nights vanish, submerged in early day in the redness of the future, the love for labour and for struggle.

Hadi, S.

lonely night

the night is lonely but my heart is lonelier still the cold wind yearns for your cabin door and all of you are lulled to sleep

I come... albeit the dew has merged as one albeit the cold has penetrated my bones for all of you are my devotion I must come though you know nothing

I set my longing to verse though it has no meaning but I do it for the sake of love and purity of heart

the night is lonely but my heart is lonelier still and tomorrow the day will return on the surge of labour the harbour will bustle the workshops will ring again and the radiant morning will dawn.

my father

my father was not among those who returned my father fell on the field of battle

my heart's torn asunder with sorrow and grief and the red-and-white flag flutters high in the sky

oh, people of today do you hear? my father is dead, he was slaughtered by bullets oh, why does such suffering still stalk the earth?

Kertapati, Rukiah

indictment

the morning breeze blows cool and soft and the blossoms quiver at its gentle touch it softly caresses the green foliage but Mother I know! the morning breeze, the flowers and foliage do not bring you beauty

lyrical music sweeps the heart blending with the thrill of a song at dusk

and with it, love, passion and joy burst forth

but Mother I know! lyrical music and afternoon merriment do not bring you happiness

the blaze of the lamps dazzles the eye laughter, dancing and gaiety and when evening falls, the laughter rings loud but Mother I know! laughter and lamps at evening fide do not make you happy

you shiver with cold when you're out in the wind you have no eye for foliage and flowers

your naked feet get stuck in the mud

for you there's just hunger, fatigue and rent capitulation, whipping and flogging is it true, Mother, that nature has beauty for you?

you have to go out in the hostile rain your labour is squeezed for a wage recreation and music mean nothing to you disease, taxation, repayment of debt throttles your life and tears it to shreds truely Mother is life happiness for you? Mother! year after year you have waited an endless longing in your heart but your suffering has only augmented. sweat and toil, blood and tears terrorists, usurers and landlords join one another to suck out your blood is it true Mother that all creatures on earth have your love? Mother! words do not dare to make any promise who knows, today, tomorrow or when but you will find faith and conviction if you join the ranks your heart will be as hard as steel your feet will be as strong as iron your body withstand a mountain of rocks Mother. do you belive that I leave "the future" only to you? Mother! this is our dream our thoughts our struggle our song our life "this future" is yours!

the child of a worker

my father's a worker troubled every day he toils and sweats to make a living oh. how he suffers! my mother sells greens the day's rounds wear her out she sells spinach and parsnips beans, chillies and corn to help keep the family forgetting herself in her troubles and toil when evening comes my father lies down my parents'think of their meagre earnings faint from fatigue oh, how noble they are! today my father suffers and my mother lives in misery yet. oh. my parents wait for the day! get ready for tomorrow! brace yourself and the world kindle a glowing fire I shall rise and seize for you victory with my hands victorious tomorrow! victorious tomorrow

Njoto

scarlet red

lumumba's blood is scarlet red lumumba's blood is scarlet red congo! your hunger is our own your hunger we have in common hunger for the revolution

lumumba's blood is scarlet red lumumba's blood is scarlet red congo ! your revolution is our own your revolution we have in common world revolution

haiku variations for yoko

I

flowers on the aerodrome hearts beat in unison two fighters embrace

II fuji and kenji nature is there to be harnessed man to be won

III

the uji flows senji's spirit marches on relentlessly

IV

chimneys without smoke the soil is hot the spirit is hot

V

triumph of mankind waves that roll o'er the roof when will the people be master?

VI

shimonoseki soldiers departed smiling returning ghastly pale

VII hiroshima atrocities unbridled turned to boundless struggles

VIII on the right tidal waves on the left the beaches the train is heading for sendagaya

IX thak you domo arigato half my heart I leave behind.

Oka, Putu

bali

in bali too the rice ripens for miles around but in bali too thousands of peasants die of hunger

we come to bali and there are dancers we come to bali and there are temples by the score both are typical of bali

we come to bali and the peasants dies not because the crop failed to ripen this too is typical of bali this too has a meaning

life

.life should not be measured by luxury though luxury is the aim pursued but by whether poverty repeats its cycle and spreads conspicuously across the earth

in the restaurant a gentleman dines lavishly on the ground a beggar with a tin is there a deal of life?

life should not be measured by luxury and we shall not be counted in though part of its blood flows from us

let us put an end to such account we too demand we too work.

Risakotta, F.L.

the grave on a hillside

at your side the pines have yellowed but not because of age at your side sand conceals your face and mine I'm a wanderer who knows not your countenance I'm a man who knows not your struggle

lonesome is the night in your grave deserted on the hillside the feet of a man passing by are sandy and he does not know your name yet before you lay down to rest you gave your heart to this earth of yours and unfurled the beloved banner in your land and I know your struggle now

a grave on the hillside I'm a wanderer who knows not your countenance with this paper and pencil I pay my country's tribute to your struggle

I see you stand up erect again on guard at your mother's side the bulle! so wasted in your rifle like snow in winter time

the days pass by and the rain drips slowly down moistening the sand your heart is ever singing the freedom song of your people the heroic calls of your people like the ever-shining sun

you open your eyes and throw the door to your heart wide open and I see you stand eternal on guard at your mother's side on your shoulder your rifle lies wasted

oh, eternal grave the grave of one that never died the grave of a hero unforgetable with this verse I convey my country's greetings.

yesterday and today

for the Arab peopie

yesterday a peasant α soldier without rank today he lies prostrate in Beirut the tale still shakes the earth

with trampling steps the colonialists swallow cities everything withers and lies scorched no time to gaze at sweetheart and parents where will sorrow go where ? the enemy steps in front

yesterday a peasant a common soldier today he lies prostrate in Beirut facing victory in his heart

over the dust of the roads heavy steps resound the Arab patriots enter town their voices echo in the hearts arise ye Arab patriots the age of victory is right ahead

yesterday a peasant a soldier true today in Beirut he was slain in Beirut he will live again.

anniversary poetry

this day has been ours and therefore love will never die.

wherever we may recline against a stone wall roofed with tiles locked when the day has passed to night hut breathing the moment morning teturns bringing love closer to the light to the struggle that will never surrender.

this day has been ours therefore even bullets cannot part us.

wherever we turn our eyes the view never changes those who work race against time for the one and only love our place is clear and we see before us unmarred the day when victory will be ours.

-60

Siter Situmorang

the steel mill

that which we know of steel is that it's solid and strong how many types and what its uses how much, too, it will expand the dreams of people who shape tomorrow

that which we know of the times is that it's solid and strong, if in the hands of the people, this is the revolution of mankind far stronger than its happening the process of tempering steel of the new age from metal exploded from history moulded by the aspiring hands of its creators. In it the hardest metals soften cnd become spirited, become a hammer and a mate of the liberated worker.

a cuban maid in peking

Zoila is a maiden from Cuba in Peking. With pride she hands me the banner of her country. celebrating the victory of her land over American aggression..

Zoila is a maiden from Cuba. in peking she studies languages far from her native shores. in tribute to her people .I gave a flower when she spoke on the first of May: this day my homeland was proclaimed a socialist republic. when I return I'll become a pioneer! in the evening on the square of tien a men when the whole of peking was celebrating labour day, how beautiful was this Cuban patriot's dream sprung from a thousand sparks of fireworks setting the entire sky in colour.

eating the bread of the

commune to Paul Eluard A visit to a commune in an erstwhile poverty. stricken part of Peking.

there are those in want of bread there are those in want of rice but of all wants the most insulting is the iack of social life

there are those in want of lodging there are those in want of clothes but of all wants the most paralysing is, the lack of solidarity

there are those in want of strength there are those in want of skill but of all wants the most humiliating is when hopes come to end

social life, solidarity and hopes are rice, bread and bloom and fruit filling the life of the worker when free from falsehoods, oppression and fraud colonialism, feudalism and banditry

social life, solidarity and hope I encountered and felt in this commune. hence: I want to drink from the warmth of your hopes I want to press your hands so busily at work. I want to eat this bread the bread of the commune, as a token of social life, solidarity and human hopes regained. forever together in love, in ideals and the reality of the socialist world.

Sugiarti

women

no longer are we guilded posies engaging when compliant exquisite when yielding enchanting when submissive. to hell tis our duty to go to heaven permitted to follow.

and no longer are we blossoms cast aside downtrodden selling our sweat for next to nothing workers at half the price no security no equality only duty

we have cried out from behind the walls of segregation from the clutches of the spiteful bed from the nightly business in the gutters from the revenge of unwilling wedlock "we are human beings!"

freedom

freedom has changed the face of the world it rules the mind, the heart and the person it dispels the mist hanging over the mountains, the valleys the shores, the fields, the factories and the cities and the hearis of us, women.

now we are no longer just giving birth to worker soldiers. we too are worker soldiers. no longer just wives of people's heroes, we too are people's heroes

and when the fortresses of obsolete time are smashed and workers' power stands proudly in our land we shall no longer only tend the graves read the prayers and weep for the dead we shall be part of the foremost ranks.

Sulang. Kusni

sampit

three centres of life has Sampit city factory — harbour — river all three are bustling with life the scratching of saws on timber the hissing of the rubber mill the boom of trucks, motors and caris the roaring of ships' engines

but one rises above all the rest resounding throughout the city the voice of the workers who release from their heavy hearis the bitterness of life

the Mentaya river cares for its oily water in turbulent whirling pools wanting to see life as it's really lived a never-drying source

that is the Mentaya, Mentaya the girl that has not yet been wooed.

the fishermen of katingan

when the waters are low in the river and its tributary which twists round the island like rattan round a tree when the flood waters have receded from the edge of the village the fishermen search for a place of solitude. here among the ccld, the mosquitos, the bears and the forest birds I feel the great significance of man — much tortured in war and the fierceness of life — when the sun pushed away by the wind goes down and the evening approaches from the east I feel very close to my father. when the moon sinks to the feet of the dawn I awaken remembering the tender tale how my father's blanket covered my body. oh, he's a rough yet tender man he's the home of our family a simpie fisherman a man who always thinks of others. among the rustle of the leaves and the river water I call out to him : father !

and I see his feelings under the hazy moon from the smile he throws at me.

— I want to be like father simple and kind of heart a man loved by women by my wife and child

— no, my son shall be a general a poor man's life is not a pleasure there's too much want in the village.

— today, riany generals are as feeble as cork I want to be like you, father a worker with an ardent heart and as hard as ironwood.

here among the sprawling fish our laughter makes the forest tremble.

birds and water flies leave their nest and the fishermon go homeward.

• when there are many buyers in the village and people live far from town the fish will sell, father!

• your mother, brothers and your sisters and we too will always need this fish therefore after having shared them salt and store the rest.

• father are you not disappointed?
  a fleeting smile gieets my glance and my words I know the taste: bitter ! — son, fontasy is not the answer to privation. — oh, I want to be like father, like father an ardent, simple worker kind of heart. like the river waters fleeted our smiles.

Sudisman

radiant baku

baku, the oil town of the strong winds barren, yet gorgeous green gardens stretch forth as far as the eye can see surrounded by ranges of hills fcoted by shores that are tempered by waves a forest of towering glittering drills the oil rainbow rippling on the water.

in the darkness of yesterday a ray burst forth brilliant red the oil buried twenty-six valiant officers glowing, glowing red, red, red the victory of today and tomorrow.

baku bethes radiant and fresh dancing on captivating smiles nimble movements call for motion stirring songs of oriental tone alternating dainty dances sweeping down, rising to the sky holding tight the sacred white dove hearts glow red like pomegrenates illuming the endless universe.

the struggle of erevan

erevan the heart of armenia has barren mountains rising high. the snowy cap of mount ararat white as foam melts and flows to the soviet-turkish border. for centuries lake sewan abounded in trout and silently she saw oppression. lovely armenia lay stiff and cold her bones covered with dried-up skin crawling up in resistance the struggle of erevan, of ajastan.

on november twenty-ninth in the twenties. erevan's struggle found its throne. red silk fluttered changing humiliation into shining faces. the barren hills bear iron ore. densely rise the electric poles and ararat's wines refresh tho thirsty. lcke sewan bends its clear water down for coal. the glittering gold sends beams electric lights the child of times the fruit of love of erevan's struggle.

erevan hias become young again the twitter of the swallows resound accompanied by native tones. come, clap your hands and dance and sing erevan's struggle glows fiery red triumphunt now and tomorrow. human hands are harnishing nature gone forever lamentations, laughter was born gone forver privations, nirwana was born erevan's struggle rejoices in happiness.

Suprijadi, Piek Ardijanto

young man

when the mountain wind blows in the late afternoon, Idjah part of my breast snaps on the village fence a pair of grey-blue ricebirds sing flying in circles afraid of the drizzling rain how desolate is my yearning heart

when the mountain wind blows in the late afternoon, Idjah a lump of my heart is tied to the village fence the rice field stretches far. proliferating rice my eyes are glued to your tomb, my love how pulverised is my ravaged heart.

the hungry

if we eat only once a day its not because we're fasting but because we haven't anything

the city wealthy pile up riches we lcok on hungry and sweating oh, how hot is this life

our strength almost exhausted but still we have no rice and our pockets remain empty

we hungry people carry a conviction pounding in our breasts that a new world will dawn

we hungry people carry a conviction that nothing can prevent the sun from reaching our hearts.

Tjung, Benni

partnership to Mario d'Andrade

I too am called upon — Angola urges all our sympathy. I can't sit down with folded hands

when people are deprived of freedom. what then is left, oh people of today? I dare not look at the faces of those still young.

Angola. because your ranks are not alone I raise this partnership: solidarity for you !

the ballad of upit

Upit! among the tea shrubs on the slope of the hill your fingers dance from twig to twig the leaves are gently swaying kissed by the mountain breeze.

eight hours you have sweated on the verdant shady hills why is it that your heart fails to find repose? Upit ! when the crimson setting sun bathes the bushes in a reddish glow your heart is full of woe.

and when the keljapi strings play the song of labour it resounds in every heart the struggle of women will never cease till victory is won.

Wispi, Agam

revolution

I entice you into the woods, my love and you follow me like a shadow the shore vanishes, the sea remains and corpses pile up in the disputed city

red ribbon and sun love bleeds on until death.

the death of a peasant

to Darman L. Tambunan

I

there, before the office of my lord the regent lies a peasant because of land because of land.

there, in the office of the peasant union the hungry fume because of blood.

land and blood turn the wheels of history from here the flame springs from here peace everlasting.

II

he fell prostrate a bullet in his head. his mind went back in torture yet torture was only for his body. he remembered the days of his youth his son turned soldier

— ah, who will give them food ? —

my wife weeds the ricefield. let the rice rage at the stalk pity them pity them they are our comrades

give me water, I am thirsty my body weak with hunger, I came to them then back to you, and as the dry land lay white on the skin we had food together.

and then, all went gloomy, gloomy extinguished and black as night.

II they say that those in power who murder the people should quit.

IV

the pregnant paddy withstands the wind. the sound of the flute in the dismal hut impregnates life.

the pregnant paddy dances on the wind.

just see, the women boldly going naked their hoes and paddy smashed to smithereens the prison is their home and even the baby at their breast knows torture.

they say that those in power who rob the people should quit before being forced to do so.

if the tractor comes to destroy our dwellings we'll bang at every door.

democracy

generals, it's we that adorned your chest with medals wrested from landlords' and usurers' torturous hands we now demand of your medals: where's our land?

generals, it's we that adorned your chest with medals out of the sweat of a seven-hour that became a ten-hour work-day, we now demand of yours medals: where's our pay?

generals, one after another we fell arms in hand against the Dutch we now demand of your medals: where's our Irian?

generals, certainly it's not you who will give land. wages and Irian what we want is: let us build one mighty front and above all, give us freedom to speak.

explanatory notes

AIDIT, Dipa Nusantara. From the Melayu nationality which inhabits the whole eastern coast of Sumatera. Born on July 30, 1923 in Sumatera. Chairman of the Communist Party of Indonesia, Vice-Chairman of the Provisional People's Consultative Assembly of the Republic of Indonesia and since March 1962, Minister in the Sukarno Cabinet. Co-founder of the League of People's (LEKRA). The poem "The only road", written on January 27, 1955, describes how Communist leaders. living under difficult conditions at that time — in leaking huts standing along muddy paths and without electric light dilligently and painstakingly studied the works of Marx, Engels, Leinin, Stalin, Mao Tse Tung. Maurice Thorez, Palmiro Togliati, and "many more thoughts of the best sons of the world". This was an important beginning in the building up of the CPI as a genuine Marxist-Leninist and mass Party. The poem "Coming of Age" was written on the accasion of the 35th anniversary of the Communis: Party of Indonesia on May 23,

1955. "Granite Wall" was written in September 1957 when counter-revolutionary 'councils' threatening to overthrow the government. forced the then Djuanda government to sit down together with representatives of the 'councils' at the conference table. In February 1958, however, the 'councils' in West Sumatera and North Sulawesi staged the notorius "PRRI-Permesta" counter-revolutionary rebellion. The "outdated story of forty-eight" in "Granite Wall" refers to the 1948 Madiun Affair when thousands of progressive people were murdered or thrown into prison on the orders of the then Vice-President of the Republic, Hatta. Eleven top leaders of the CPI. amongst them the first Communist Prime Minister of Indonesia, Amir Sjarifuddin, were executed without triol at Ngalian where

they lie buried. Magelang is a town near Ngclian, and Wonogiri and Bojolali, also in Central Java, are districts where in the early days of the Revolution a democratic land reform was carried through. Hadji Bakri (a hadji is person who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca) was a well-known Communist leader.

AIDIT, Sobron

Younger brother of D. N. Aidit, born in 1934 on the tin island of Belitung. Began to write poetry when still àt elementary school. His first collection of poems "Home from the Front" was published in 1959. Is also writer of short stories, one of which, "Story". obtained top literary reward of the "Kisah" literary magazine. Another story, "Basimah" was awarded the annual prize by the daily "Harian Rakjat" for the best short story of 1961. The numbers seventeen, eight, and forty-five in the poem "Society of my Class" refer to August 17, 1945, the days on which the independent Republic of Indonesia was proclaimed. Udin is a common name for men in West Java. Tjiandjur and Periangan are mountainous districls in West Java where fierce battles took place between Indonesian forces and Dutch colonial troops during the Indonesian war of liberation.

ANANTAGUNA, Sabarsantoso

Anantaguna is Javanese. He was born in 1932 in Jokjakarta, Central Java. Represented Indonesian students at the IUS Secretariat in 1958 and is at present secretariat member of the League for People's Culture. At the beginning of 1962, he published a volume of 35 poems about the struggle of the Indonesian peasants entitled "With Father- land But Without Land" and wrote a number of poems devoted to the heroism of the peoples of Asia and Africa in the struggle to rid their continents of colonialism. His "Jamila" was writen when reports shocked the world about the, atrocities perpetrated by the French occupation forces against the Algerian girl inde- pendence fighter, Jamila Bourheid. "To People's Bandung" was written to welcome the Fourth Session of the Afro-Asian People's Solidarity Council in Bandung in April 1961. "The Downtrodden Shoulder Freedom" was written in early 1962.

APIN, Rivai

From West Sumatera, of the Minangkabau nationality. He was born in Padang Pandjang on August 30, 1927. Played an important role in developing Indonesian literature after the Revolution through his editorship of various literary and cultural magazines. Published together with Chairil Anwar and Asrul Sani a collection of poems "Tiga Menguak Takdir". The title is a pun which can mean either "Three Low at Fate", or "Three Brush Away Takdir". With the latter title, this collection of poems is a polemic against the "nestor" of the Pudjangga Baru writers, Takdir Alishahbana. His poems "The anchor line is broken" and "Elegy" were written during the early years of independence. His "Peking" is the outcome of a visit to China after he had attended the Bureau Meeting of Afro-Asian Writers in Tokyo in 1961. He was a member of the Indonesian writers delegation to the First and Second Conferences of Afro-Asian Writers held in Tashkent and Cairo in 1959 and 1962 respectively. Today Rivai Apin is a member of the LEKRA secretariat and editor of the organisation's cultural magazine "Zaman Baru" (New Era).

ARSJAD, M.S.

Lives in South Sulawesi. "Native Village" deals ,with one of the most burning problems faced by the' people of his region, the cowardly attacks on villages by the counter-revolutionary Darul Islam gangs. The Darul Islam (Islamic State) is an anti-popular movement which, by utilising the religious sentiments of the people

and by terrorising the peasants, aims at setting-up a theocratic Moslem State. Especially during the late fifties, the Darul Islam

terrorists were active in North Sumatera, West Java and South Sulawesi. The now oullawed Masjumi party was the backbone

of this movement. In 1958 the Darul Islam gangs joined hands with the counter-revolutionaries in West Sumatera and North Sula-

wesi. Both anti-republican movements have now in the main been

smashed.

ASHAR, Munir Samsul

M. S. Ashar was born in 1921 in Kotaradja. the extreme northern
tip of Sumatera, and is of the Melayu nationality. Began to publish poetry during the Japanese occupation, One of his poems "Awaiting Dawn" was banned by the Japanese censorship. Prominent member of the "Generation of 1945". Visited the German Democratic Republic, the Soviet Unicn and China in 1951 and paid a second visit to the Soviet Union in 1961 as leader of a LEKRA delegation. In 1959 he was elected member of the Lekra secretariat. His poem "Freedom and Prison" was written in 1955 during the trial of D. N. Aidit tried on a charge by Hatta of having 'slandered' his name in connection with the Madium Affair (see Explanatory Notes on D. N. Aidit). During the trial the accused turned accuser proving Hatta to be responsible for the massacre of Madiun in 1943. "To Uncle Ho Chi Minh" was written on the occasion of the visit of the President of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh, to Indonesia in 1960.

BANDAHARO, Harghap

Born in May 1917 in Tapanuli, Sumatera. From the Batak nationality which inhabit, the region round Lake Toba. Established himself as an outstanding poet with his collection of poems "Sarinah and I" which was published just before the Second World War. Was alternately editor of the daily "Rakjat", the weeklies "Ke- rakjatan" and "Djalan Baru" and the daily "Pendorong", all in Medan. In 1956 he publishèd his collection of poems "From the Region of Love and Hunger". One of his most popular poems, printed in this present volume, "No One Shall Return" was set to music by the young composer Subronto K. Atmodjo. "Fallen in Battle" tells the story of Jahja Kalek, member of a people's fighting unit, who was killed in battle during the first days of the Revolution in North Sumatera. "After Panmunjon" was written in tribute to the Korean people when the writer visited the Democratic People's Republic of Korea in 1959.

DHARTA. A.S.

Also known under his pen-name Klara Akustia. Was born in 1924 in West Java. Was very active in the trade union movement as Head of the Information Department of the Central Bureau of the All Indonesian Trade Union Federation (SOBSI). One of the co-founders of LEKRA whose General Secretary he was till 1958. Published a collection of poems "Rangsang Detik" — Stirring of the Moments — and won fame through his poems dealing with the workers' struggle. "Rukmanda" narrates the struggle of one of the popular leaders of the 1926 anti-colonial uprising. Rukmanda. This poem, too, was set to music by Subronto K. Atmodjo. The ketjapi referred to ir this poem is an extremely popular cither-like instrument typical for West Java. The poem "Tidings from the Party" was written immediately after some hand grenades had been thrown at the office of the Communist Party where the Central Committee was in session in July 1957. DJIWAPRADJA. Dodong

Djiwapradja was born in West Java in September 1928 and is of Sunda nationality. Began to publish poetry at the age of twenty. Attended the First Congress of Afro-Asian Writers in Tashkent and was a member of the Indonesian writers delegation to the 1961 Tokyo meeting of the Bureau of Afro-Asian writers. Djiwapradja is at present Information Officer of the Indonesian Air Force. His poem "Challenge" which appeared in 1960 is a forceful protest of the writer against the arbritary use of martial law which has been in force in Indonesia since the outbreak of the counter- revolution in 1958. FERDY, Samuel

Promising young poet from the island of Timor in East Indonesia where he was born in 1936. By profession a teacher at a junior high school and began his career as a writer with the publication of some poems in the local news-sheet in Kupang, the main city of the Indonesian part of the island of Timor. Malia Lehi was one of the leaders of the anti-feudal and anti-Dutch revolt which broke out in 1913 against the ruler of the Kui

principality on Alor island, a small island off Timor. The prince of Kui, unable to cope with the revolt, callèd in the assistance of Dutch colonial troops stationed at Kupang. The revolt was crushed, the women Malia Lehi was killed and all possessions of the inhabitants of three villages, their cocount gardens, their dwellings and even their revered traditional drums, were confiscated by the Dutch and made the property of the prince of Kui. In January 1961, the judge of the Kupang State Court, after long legal procedures started on the insistence of the local Com- munist Party branch against the presen ruler of Kui, annulled the confiscation carried out by the Dutch. Three days prior to the announcement of the Court decision, the ruler of Kui committed suicide by taking poison. 1 HADI, S. Young poet from the Daya nationality inhabiting the centre of Kalimantan. The red-and-white flag referred to in his poem "My Father" is the Indonesian national flag.

HADI SOSRODANUKUSUMO

From the Madura nationality inhabiting the island of Madura and some parts of East Java. Published his first collection of poems "Growth and Decay" in 1955, a collection of short stories "At the Cross Roads" together with M. A. Adinda and a selection of prose and poetry together with Sitepu in 1956. Two of his poems contained in that selection which is entitled "Rice and Jasmin" (1956), are reproduced in the present volume. Visited the Soviet Union and China in 1951 after having attended the 1951 Berlin Festival of Youth and Students. At present prominent LEKRA leader in East Java.

W. R. Supratman to whom the poem "Song" is dedicated, is thə
creator of Indonesia's National Anthem. The anthem was composed in 1928 and begins with the lines "Indonesia my native country, Indonesia my fatherland".

KERTAPATI, Rukiah

Was born in Purwakarla, West Java on April 25, 1927. She won fame with her collection of short stories and poems "Tandus"..

Barren — which was awarded the National Prize for Literature in

1952. Is also the author of the novelettes "Fall and Heart" and "Soldier's Wife". Apart from her short stories and poems she is also well-known as a writer of children's books. At present she is editor of the children's magazine "Kutilang" and member of the editorial board of the progresive woman's magazine "Api Kartini". In 1961 she attended the Congress of German Writers in the German Democratic Republic as a member of the LEKRA delegation together with Sugiarti Siswadi. "Indictment" was written to mark International Women's Day, March 8, 1961, whereas her poem "Child of a Worker' is taken from a collection of poems for children. NJOTO Was born in Blitar, East Java in 1925. Njoto is Second Deputy Chairman of the Communist Party of Indonesia and Editor-in-Chief of the daily "Harian Rakjat". Co-founder of the LEKRA. Well-known as essayist, journalist and translator of foreign litera ture. His poem "Scarlet Red", set to music by the Indonesian com- poser, Amir Pasaribu, was written in tribute to Patrice Lumumba. The "Haiku Variations" was written after a visit to Japan in August 1961. In the first variation Njoto tells of his encounter with Kenji Myamoto, General Secretary of the Communist Party of Japan : in subsequent variations, of his visit to the grave of Senji Hayamoto near the Uji river, who was murdered by fascist thugs in the 1930's, of the layed-off factories of Fukuoka, of the underwater tunnel connecting Kyushu and Honshu islands, of Shimonoseki, the military base from which Japanese soldiers departed to invade S.E. Asia during the Pacific War. Sendagaya in Variation VIII refers to the street where the office of the Communist Party of Japan is located, and the "domo arigato" in the last variation is the Japanese for "thank you". The "Haiku Variations" are dedicated to Mrs Yoko Kitazawa, Japanese representative at the Secretariat of the Organisation of Afro-Asian People's Solidarity in Cairo. OKA, Putu Oka is a natiye of the island of Bali, at present studying of the Gadjah Mada University in Jokjakarta. This Balinese poet in his poem "Bali" shows the other side of his island which is alternately

referred to by wealthy foreign tourists as "Island of the Gods" or the "Paradise of the South Seas". Like so many cultural workers in Bali, Putu Oka, too, is a member of the LEKRA.

RISAKOTTA, Ferdinand, Lodewijk From the island of Ambon, one of the famous spice islands of the Moluccas in East Indonesia. Apart from his poems, Risakotta has won fame as a producer of radio plays and as reciter of poetry. Studied Chinese literature at the University of Indonesia and is. a prominent students' leader. Has translated many foreign poems. His "Yesterday and Today" is taken from a series of poems dedicated to the struggle of the Arab people. His "Grave on a Hillside" was written while on a visit to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. The poem "Anniversary Poetry" was written on the occasion of the fortieth anniversary of the foundation of the Communist Party of Indonesia.

SITUMORANG, Sitor Was born on October 2, 1924 in Harianboho in the Batak region of North Sumatera. He became known as an essayist and poet during the early days of the Revolution. Worked for a time as. official at the Indonesian Embassy in Paris. Is one of the founders. of the nationalst League for National Culture of which he is currently General Secretary. Published several collections of poetry the latest of which is "New Era" printed by the LEKRA in 1962. Visited with Jubaar Ajub, LEKRA General Secretary. and Rivai Apin the Bureau meeting of Afro-Asian Writers in Tokyo and was Chairman of the Indonesian writers delegation to the Second Congress of Afro-Asian Writers in Cairo. Situmorang is represented in this volume with three poems he wrote during a visit to China after having attended the Tokyo. Bureau Meeting. SULANG, Kusni / Became known through the poems he regularly contributes to- the cultural page of the "Bintang Timur" daily. He hails from

Central Kalimantan. He is a member of the group of young writers in their early twenties who rally round the "Young Indonesia" group which published their work in the literary columns of the "Bintang Timur". "Sampit" sings the praise of his home town Sampit, and his second poem in this collection portrays the life of the fishermen of the Central Kalimantan Katingan river.

SUGIARTI SISWADI

She was born in Central Java and she established herself as α talented poet and shortstory writer in 1950. She became especially well-known through her much-road short-story "Paradise on Earth", the story of an old grandmother. Visited Rumania in 1955 and the German Democratic Republic, the Soviet Union and China in 1961 together with Rukiah Kertapati as head of the LEKRA delegation. She is a leader of the Djakarta Branch of the LEKRA is activ in the progressive women's organisation Gerwani and is co-edito of the journal for women "Api Kartini".

SUDISMAN

Prominent working class leader from Surabaya where he was born in 1920. He took active part in the battles against the invading British troops immedictely after the Japanese surrender in Surabaya. Today Sudisman is a member of the Political Bureau of the Com- munist Party of Indonesia. "Struggle of Erevan" dan "Radiant Baku". are taken from a series of poems Sudisman wrote after an extensive visit to East European and Asian countries in 1957. His poems about Korea were published together with those of Risakotta and Rumambi in a collection entitled "Hill 1,211".

SUPRIJADI, Piek Ardianto

Poet from the East Java town of Madiun. Secondary school teacher. Regular contributor to various literary magazines, amongst others the LEKRA magazine "Zaman Baru". The name Idjah referred to in his poem "Young Man" is a common name for girls in Indonesia.

TJUNG, Benni

Was born in 1937 in Padang, West Sumatera. Of Chinese extraolion. Benni Tjung is one of the leaders of the group of "Young Indonesia" writers and is permanent collaborator of the LEKRA magazine "Zaman Baru". Wrote a number of essays on the work of young Indonesian writers. His poem "Partnership" is dedicated to the youthful leader of the Angolan fighters for independence, Mario d'Andrade whom the writer met at the Council Meeting of Afro-Asian Solidarity in Bandung, April 1961 Upit, the title of his second poem in this volume. is a common name for women in West Java. Upit is a tea-picker at one of tho many tea plantations in the mountains of West Java.

WISPI, Agam

Is of the Atjeh nationality and was born on December 31, 1930 in Pangkalansusu. He is the author of a number of plays of which "Railway Compartment" is generally considered his best. Agam Wispi spent a year in the German Democratic Republic in 1958 and wrote a number of poems about that country, later published in a collection called "Friend". His poem "Death of a Peasant" deals with the land dispute in the North Sumateran village of Tandjung Morawa. In 1955 the then Minister of the Interior Mohammed Rum, of the now outlawed Mas- jumi party, ordered the peasants to leave their lands which, he said, the peasants had illegally olccupied. The peasants refused to do so and the Minister sent the notorius "death tractors" to level the peasants' dwellings with the ground. The peasants defending their houses and land put up resistance and victims fell. The women played an especially important role in this struggle. Some of them threw them selves naked before the tractors in a desperate altempt to halt the machines in their destructive work. Darman Tambunan, to whom the poem is dedicated, was a leader of the BTI peasant organisation which championed the cause of tho evicted peasants. The poem "Democracy" is by far Wispi's most popular poem and is often recited at popular manifestations. It was written in 1959 in protest against frequent violations of democratic rights.

contents

A Few Words of Introduction

Aidit D.N. — Coming of Age

• The Only Road 一
• Granite Wall
  Aidit, Sobron

— Sad Memories of a Tjiandjur Peasant

• Life — The Society of my Class Apin, Rivai — The Anchor Chain is Broken — Elegy -- Peking Anantaguna, Sabarsantoso — The Downtrodden Shoulder Freedom — Jamila — To People's Bandung Arsjad M. A. — Native Village Ashar M.S. — Freedom and Prison To Uncle Ho Chi Minh Dharta A.S. Rukmanda — Tidings from the Party Bandaharo Harahap — Fallen in Battle
• No One Shall Return
• After Panmunjom

Dodong Djiwapradja — The Hero on the Hill — Death Challenge

Ferdy, S. — Malia Lehi Hadi, Sosrodanukusumo — Song — Of Things to Come Hadi S. — Lonely Night — My Father

Kertapati, Rukiah

— Indictment — The Child of a Worker

Njoto

— Scarlet Red — Haiku Variations

Oka, Putu — Bali

• Life Risakotta F.L. — The Grave on a Hillside Yesterday and Today Anniversary Poetry
  °94

Sitor Situmorang

— The Steel Mill

A Cuban Maid in Peking

— Eating the Bread of the Commune

Sugiarti Siswadi

— Women — Freedom

Sulang. Kusni

— Sampit

— The Fisherman of Katingan

*Sudisman — Radiant Baku

The Struggle of Erevan

Suprijadi, Piek Ardijanto

— Young Man

• The Hungry
  

  Tjung, Benni

Partnership

• The Ballad of Upit
  

  Wispi, Agam

— Revolution

The Death of a Peasant

• Democracy
  

  Explanatory Notes

R.75.

P.LR. 382/82 — 3000 8x