Articles tagged "Indonesian"


An Excerpt from “Beauty is a Wound”

Having cleaned his armor and made a full helmet out of a simple headpiece, and having given a name to his horse and decided on one for himself, he realized that the only thing left for him to do was...

Myth and History: Writing from Indonesia

In October of this year, Indonesia will make its appearance as the guest of honor (GOH) at the Frankfurt Book Fair (FBF)—the first country from Southeast Asia to be so honored. Because...

The Wild Cherry Tree

Our house looked out upon the shore. But we could not see the shore from any of the open windows. The shore could still not be seen even when I stood up straight in our sandy front yard, the soles of...

Story

In the fading night sky there are points of light, countless in number, vast in distance—who knows their size, their age? Yet, at one time, people drew imaginary lines between those stars and...

The Crow

No one and nothing in this world can protect you from the revenge of a crow. Not even if you hide in your mother’s womb. You will die a day before your birthday. Like the nut of a kenari tree,...

writing you

how to write you when the letters are reluctant to sound out voices i knew voices i memorized rush back into loneliness only stillness now even that soon moves away far to the edge of desolation...

The Moon and the Magician in the Red Jacket

“Abel saw vultures in the back garden as he was climbing out of the window of the house he had just robbed . . .”  A driving rain was pouring down outside, hammering the roof of the...

A Tale of Redemption

The man turned. Coffee and cocoa leaves were piled up, all stuck together. Branches were rubbing against each other roughly in the wind. Samsu pushed the low door open, its hinges silent. He...

All for Hindia

Translator’s Note: The character Baart Rommeltje alludes to Pieter Brooshooft (1845–1921), a journalist and editor in chief of Dutch East Indies newspaper De Locomotief. The story...

When

1 When the ever so polite earthquake Rocked our village I heard the singing and dancing In the village square Suddenly fall silent. Insects and other animals The grass, plants, and trees And even...

Gendhis

I am Gendhis, the hooker who spat in Pak Lurah’s face last night. Who says I’m afraid of Pak Lurah? I was never afraid of him, not before he went on the haj pilgrimage and not after he...

Snacks in the Fashion Pages

Right up till Friday afternoon the casting location was still not settled. The several small  meeting rooms in the Kuningan area were still too expensive for a small-scale casting that only...

Binhad Nurrohmat in Cirebon

This reading was filmed on the north-central coast of Java in the port city of Cirebon. The film shows Binhad Nurrohmat reading a poem he wrote on a previous visit to the city. The title of the...

The Well is Someone’s Home

each time i dig into the well i never reach the bottom. i pass endless broken fragments of age. my breath is too short to climb all the way down, and my gaze too blind to fathom the top. hundreds...

Womb

My name is Nagari. Thirty years of age. There is no need to explain; I understand. . . . That evening, after my bath, my hair still wet, I heard a pounding on the door of my rented room. Three...