Some JBC friends gathered up in Bali on a Halloween night and discussed stories and things that they considered as scary.
Four travel writers shared their experiences as solo travelers. Heather Ellis, Agustinus Wibowo, Richard Loseby, and Jamie James talked to Tom Edmunds. This was the last session of UWRF in Ubud, October 30, 2016. http://www.ubudwritersfestival.com/program/open-road-open-book/
"The Home and the World", written by Rabindranath Tagore in 1915. He was the first Asian to ever win the Nobel Prize of Literature. This book was translated from Bengali to English by his nephew, Surendranath Tagore. It is available on Project Gutenberg site.
This is "Penyair" (The Poet) written by Wiji Thukul, in his book "Nyanyian Akar Rumput". He is an Indonesian poet born in 1963, whose work is political, often critical of the Indonesian government and the social conditions of the country. He has been missing since 1998. Jakarta Book Club is honoring his memories this May by reviewing his collection of poems.
Puedo Escribir Los Versos Más Tristes Esta Noche (Pablo Neruda) Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo : 'La noche está estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos'. El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso. En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos. La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería. Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido. Oir la noche immensa, más inmensa sin ella. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío. Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla. La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo. La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos arboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto pero cuánto la quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído. De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto al amor, y es tan largo el olvido. Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Aunque ésta sea el último dolor que ella me causa, y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
Saddest Poem (Translated from "Puedo Escribir Los Versos Más Tristes Esta Noche" by Pablo Neruda) I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars, and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her. How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her. The night is full of stars and she is not with me. That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away. My soul is lost without her. As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her. My heart searches for her and she is not with me. The same night that whitens the same trees. We, we who were, we are the same no longer. I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her. My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once belonged to my kisses. Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her. Love is so short and oblivion so long. Because on nights like this I held her in my arms, my soul is lost without her. Although this may be the last pain she causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for her.
Shirley from Jakarta Book Club reading one of Pablo Neruda's poems from his collection of romantic poems, "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair", first published in 1924 when Neruda was 19. He won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971.
On April 1, 2016, three Jakarta Book Club friends were interviewed by V Radio 106.6 FM Jakarta, Indonesia. The recording contains the on air and off air chat during the one-hour radio show.