Poems of Louise Glück


THE PAST 

Small light in the sky appearing
suddenly between
two pine boughs, their fine needles
now etched onto the radiant surface
and above this

high, feathery heaven—

Smell the air. That is the smell of the white pine,
most intense when the wind blows through it
and the sound it makes equally strange,

like the sound of the wind in a movie—

Shadows moving. The ropes
making the sound they make. What you hear now
will be the sound of the nightingale, Chordata,

the male bird courting the female—

The ropes shift. The hammock
sways in the wind, tied

firmly between two pine trees.

Smell the air. That is the smell of the white pine.

It is my mother’s voice you hear
or is it only the sound the trees make
when the air passes through them

because what sound would it make,

passing through nothing?

(1943) 


MASA LAMPAU

Cahaya kecil di langit merekah
begitu tiba-tiba di antara
dua dahan pinus, jarum halusnya

sekarang terukir di permukaan bercahaya
dan di atasnya

surga tinggi bersayap—

Menghirup udara.  Itulah aroma pinus putih,
menghambur kuat ketika angin berembus di sela-selanya
dan suara yang tercipta sama anehnya,

seperti suara angin di dalam sinema—

Bayang-bayang bergerak.  Tali-temali
menggubah suara yang mereka ciptakan.  Apa yang kau dengar saat ini
akan menjadi suara burung bulbul, Chordata,

burung jantan merayu betina—

Tali bergeser.  Tempat tidur gantung
bergoyang tertiup angin, terikat
di antara dua pohon pinus.

Menghirup udara.  Itulah aroma pinus putih.

Itu suara ibuku yang kau dengar
atau hanya suara pepohonan
ketika udara berembus di antaranya

karena suara apa yang tercipta,

melintasi ketiadaan?


(1943) 


FIRST MEMORY

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was–
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.

It meant I loved.



KENANGAN PERTAMA

Dahulu, aku terluka. Aku hidup
membalas dendam pada diriku 
melawan ayah, bukan
atas dia dahulu-
atas aku dahulu: dari permulaan waktu,
di masa kecil, aku mengira
luka itu pertanda
aku tak dicintai. 

Itu berarti aku dicintai. 



A FANTASY

I’ll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that’s just the beginning.
Every day, in funeral homes, new widows are born,
new orphans. They sit with their hands folded,
trying to decide about this new life.

Then they’re in the cemetery, some of them
for the first time. They’re frightened of crying,
sometimes of not crying. Someone leans over,
tells them what to do next, which might mean
saying a few words, sometimes
throwing dirt in the open grave.

And after that, everyone goes back to the house,
which is suddenly full of visitors.
The widow sits on the couch, very stately,
so people line up to approach her,
sometimes take her hand, sometimes embrace her.
She finds something to say to everybody,
thanks them, thanks them for coming.

In her heart, she wants them to go away.
She wants to be back in the cemetery,
back in the sickroom, the hospital. She knows
it isn’t possible. But it’s her only hope,
the wish to move backward. And just a little,
not so far as the marriage, the first kiss



SATU FANTASI

Biar kukatakan sesuatu: setiap hari
manusia sekarat. Dan itu hanya permulaan.
Setiap hari, di rumah-rumah duka, terlahir janda-janda,
yatim-yatim. Mereka duduk dengan tangan terkatup,
mencoba menerka hidup baru ini.

Lalu mereka ke pemakaman, beberapa
untuk pertama kalinya. Mereka takut menangis,
terkadang tanpa tangisan. Seseorang menyandarkan tubuh,
menyampaikan langkah selanjutnya, yang mungkin berarti
menyampaikan kata terakhir, terkadang
melempar tanah ke makam terbuka.

Dan selepas itu, semua orang kembali ke rumah,
sekejap penuh tamu-tamu.
Si janda duduk di dipan, dengan sikap agung,
orang-orang berbaris mendekatinya,
terkadang memegang tangannya, terkadang memeluknya.
Dia menemukan kata untuk diucapkan kepada setiap orang,
berterima kasih pada mereka, berterima kasih telah datang.

Dalam hatinya, ia ingin mereka pergi.
Dia ingin kembali ke pemakaman,
kembali ke kamar sakit, rumah sakit. Dia tahu
sungguh mustahil. Tapi itulah satu-satunya harapannya,
bergerak mundur. Dan hanya sekejap,
tak begitu jauh dari pernikahan, ciuman pertama


Louise Elisabeth Glück (born April 22, 1943) is an American poet and essayist. She won the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature, whose judges praised “her unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal”. Her other awards include the Pulitzer Prize, National Humanities Medal, National Book Award, National Book Critics Circle Award, and Bollingen Prize. From 2003 to 2004, she was Poet Laureate of the United States.



Louise Elisabeth Gluck (lahir 22 April 1943) adalah penyair dan esais Amerika. Dia meraih penghargaan Nobel Prize in Literature pada tahun 2020, dimana para juri memuji “suara puitisnya yang tak diragukan lagi dengan keindahan sederhana yang membuat eksistensi individual menjadi universal”. Penghargaan lain yang diraihnya antara lain Pulitzer Prize,
National Humanities Medal, National Book Award, National Book Critics Circle Award, dan Bollingen Prize. Dari tahun 2003 hingga 2004, dia adalah Poet Laureate of the United States.

Terjemahan oleh Poetry Prairie

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