Family
Happy Birthday to Her
(got resurrection
yet?)
last night, we had a birthday dinner for Blih’s fiancée.
having lived with him for years, we have a lumayan
understanding of his habits in relationship. and i hope
beyond hope that they can make it work. because i love
her, and already, i feel like she is my sister.
so we take them out, to the restaurant at the end of
the island. where, for one night, she and my brother
might dine, and be treated, like we, who bring foreign
money here. and i will tell you frankly, the dining scene
is fucked-up. where even to begin.
(someday maybe i’ll know how to share Mak Sun’s way
of making krawu. that day is not here.)
the maskmaker and i are semi-regulars at this restaurant,
a vegan place, where the staff know us well enough
by now, and treat my husband with dignity and respect.
nothing puts a damper on a lovey-dovey date quite like
everybody assuming he’s a delivery driver.
so we order a variety of delicious dishes, none local,
all absurd, decadent, and as fun as we can manage. well
it seems, in Bali, and from all sides, that foreign money
will buy you anything; will fix any problem; will satisfy any
want. and foreigners arrive so ravenous for grace.
(not to be confused with Grace, who is our bossiest hen.
we do not eat her for a reason.)
where was i? as fun as we can manage. but from the start,
i can tell, my brother and sister are exhausted. perhaps
from arguments. this is okay. we are family; we have
been stuck into each others tangled lives; we have seen
the messy, the tearful, the claws; the krawu.
my sister explains the facts of her new job; reception
at a salon, where, with a similar disability as me, she can
work seated. it has better incentives than her previous
job; but demands a 60-hour week, leaving her one day
free, for her children, from a previous marriage.
not to mention, Blih. our brother is a tough and heartfelt
man. he connects diversities of jobs; he body-builds, covered
with tattoos, with discipline; often on sosmed; he hosts
and keeps the family guesthouse (it’s complicated); and
he does security at cockfights.
we listen, express sympathy, and take note of what
our loved ones need; what we can say that might help,
and what we might possibly do; to be good friends
and keep our family together and strong; as our family
has done, does, and has the will to do, for us.
at the end of the night, after (surprise!) chocolate lava
cakes, rich molten cores melting into vanilla-laced, coconut-
based ice cream; the waiters having sung happy birthday
(in English), coercing the entire room (of foreigners)
to sing along; my sister and i share a hug.
send me a message whenever you need, i say; and come
visit us, whenever you can, or please. i know, i say, that he
can be a big, overgrown child, sometimes. (of what man is
this not true?) but he has a good heart. and we all pray
that he remembers it, in good time.
she murmurs several things in reply, one of which
is this (in Indonesian): i don’t want to be a bother. to which
i say, my voice as firm as i can muster: don’t you think
about that. jangan begitu. we are all afraid to be a bother;
when nothing on this earth is worth more than a friend.
as we drive home, the maskmaker and i discuss the All.
(it’s what we do. it is what marriage is, for us. just fyi.)
we both have hope, though he’s more optimistic than me.
that is his habit; he has his reasons. go tell the ai, we all
(Alhamdulillah) have our reasons.
it isn’t until the next morning that it clicks. our brother
and sister had wondered (i didn’t quite understand it at
the time), whether we do any markets (or smthng). now
i realize, and grab my phone to send the urgent text: DO NOT
give your nest-egg to crypto, mlm, or any other scam!!
after which
i say, to the giving sky —
if i am a golden calf
lets take me to the bank
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but equally (isos)
it is fitting (prosekein) to gratify (charizein)
not the ones in violent (sphodra) need (deein)
but those who are most able (dunamai)
to pay back (apodidonai)
the grace (charis)
// 233ε
ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως προσήκει οὐ τοῖς σφόδρα δεομένοις χαρίζεσθαι
ἀλλὰ τοῖς μάλιστα ἀποδοῦναι χάριν δυναμένοις
//
eta note: i am taking a rest day tomorrow
for a routine medical procedure. x
Out of wood
I come to, in a cold sweat, twisted in
the linen sheet. These nights, I’m shivering
again. As overhead, the rain continues on
and on, like a forgotten faucet in the clouds.
In darkness, the rooster crows. His hens
crowd under eaves to avoid the downpour.
The cats are asleep. And I sense your body,
tossed limbs and derelict, fragmented speech.
I dream you’re at a diner, in laughter with
some other family. Beside you sits a woman
who is blonde, like me; while I sit with your kin.
I dream we’re in a doubling argument.
When the waitress brings coffee, my cup
is shallow brew in bone. I want to raise it
to my lips. The taste recedes, an emptied kiss
of blackest mud into the muffled dawn.
A steel blade scrapes the pale surface. A piece
we salvaged from the giant, fallen pule tree.
The base diameter was twice, at least,
your height. I snapped a photo to document
the ancient proportion. The storied work.
Spent shavings accumulate in piles, on piles.
Among them, I find you; wrestling with his grim
resolve to shape a smile out of wood.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for those ones will show affection (agapeein)
and will follow after (akoloutheein)
and will come to the doors
and will take exceeding amounts of pleasure (malista hedomai)
and will not know (eisontai) the least grace (charis)
and will pray (euchomai) for many good things for them
// 233ε
ἐκεῖνοι γὰρ καὶ ἀγαπήσουσιν
καὶ ἀκολουθήσουσιν
καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας ἥξουσι
καὶ μάλιστα ἡσθήσονται
καὶ οὐκ ἐλαχίστην χάριν εἴσονται
καὶ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ αὐτοῖς εὔξονται
Other-taught
(interview with the maskmaker by his wife)
living in a house of masks
is not for everybody
but it is real
the proportions of a mask
belie the ratio
of its invitation
what the heart desires
will not be had
without a mask
a mask is not an enemy
a mask is not a lie
it is a method
to have and hold a face
to have and hold a want
with the un-willing
to try and try again
to turn and turn away
the many willing ways
when a mask completes its turn
from the mouth is born
a lover in reverse
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
(on the one hand)
holding (echein)
agreement (suggnome)
with the un-willing (aekousios)
(on the other)
trying (peiraein)
to turn away (apotrepein)
the willing (ekousioa)
// 233ξ
τῶν μὲν ἀκουσίων συγγνώμην ἔχων
τὰ δὲ ἑκούσια πειρώμενος ἀποτρέπειν
//
//
🌒
visit to a Javanese grave
bringing flowers in the grey of morning
we walk from the village to the graveyard
to pray and listen for our hidden father
the unmarked kijing crowd uneven paths
the buckled beds are bristling with grass
and creeping weeds and blossoming shrubbery
and overseen by shaggy jepun trees
their twisted bodies cross at knotted joints
their mask of all the seasons all at once
damp after rain the mud sticks to my feet
and sandals i rinse off before we leave
so other ghosts unclaimed wont follow me
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for those (lovers / erastes) praise
aside from whats best
the things said
and the things done
// 233α
ἐκεῖνοι μὲν γὰρ καὶ παρὰ τὸ βέλτιστον τά τε λεγόμενα καὶ τὰ πραττόμενα ἐπαινοῦσιν
//
tonight is an engagement ceremony
its one more meeting of families to go
before tomorrow we return to Bali
and one more time with the toilet jongkok
splashing water up from underneath
with the gayung from the bak mandi
while listening to the two goats bleat
kept there by the neighbors
who live out back
//
not the Minotaur
but how we have hollowed such
a complicated animal
your desire surfacing
my darker ways
as your surface
of underlying fear
known suffering
like capacity
slow as
(a baby runs barefoot across the concrete floor
surrounded by the whirlwind seat of family
his mothers place their hands over sharp corners
his grandmothers grab him before he exits
the door left open to the porch warung
where the local autist mampirs for a treat
off the street of his village neighborhood
as great-grandparents near-toothless smiles
play peek-a-boo for kisses as he toddles by
like every baby his worst enemy is “no”
and in his hands a wooden dragon chomps
at cookie tins and plastic-wrapped sugar snacks
the loudest tyrant in the room screaming
his raw desire to be louder than U.S. America)
the end
a little bull in
a spoked labyrinth
our babbled reckoning
but these things
are left behind
as remembrances
of what will come to be
a sacrificial self for self-legibility
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but these things
are left behind (kataleipesthai)
as remembrances (mnemeion)
of what will come to be
// 233α
ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μνημεῖα καταλειφθῆναι
τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι
like a nightingale
as we are leaving
i am caught by a voice
she is singing herself to sleep
i touch his arm
and when he hears
he takes out his phone
as she sings her song
i watch his calloused fingers
fumble on the glass
i should have done it
i will realize later
stunned with regret
she has no clarity left
Mak Sun whispers
tidak jelas
so like a nightingale
i couldnt say to him
maybe it will happen again
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
it isnt likely
that these things
which they enjoyed (eu paschein)
would make (poieein)
their friendship (philia)
less
// 233α
οὐκ ἐξ ὧν ἂν εὖ πάθωσι ταῦτα εἰκὸς
ἐλάττω τὴν φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ποιῆσαι
//
first impression (after 7 years) of Java
i speak for no place
but Java is an island
of inwardness
there is no welcome sign
there are no gods and no
it would not like to sell itself to you
a hot shower is hard to find
the homestays are all syariah
the call to prayer interrupts your sleep
yet the women press you to their breast
the coffee served is bitter-sweet
and Tengger keeps the everlasting gravity
in cedars saw we held a hidden rustle
of greener paths behind the highland cloud
in dialogue among smouldering volcanoes
if i could live in Java
i would never need
to write another poem
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
who (were)
being beloveds (philoi ontes)
to one another
before they did (prassein)
these things
// 233α
οἳ καὶ πρότερον ἀλλήλοις φίλοι ὄντες ταῦτα ἔπραξαν
//
(photo from April 2024)
mothers
we are invited to mampir
so we visit many mothers
they serve us coffee and jajan
the mothers always cry for us
one of my first lessons was
the mothers always cry
all the rivers of this island
from the secret doors of sight
must be their tears
//
🌕
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
so there is much more hope (elpis)
for friendship (philia) for them
from the deed (pragma)
rather than hatred (echthra)
to be born (genesthai)
// 232δ
ὥστε πολὺ πλείων ἐλπὶς φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ἐκ τοῦ πράγματος
ἢ ἔχθραν
γενέσθαι
just you
the thunderstorm came and clapped
and passed through like gods
practicing my animal ears
until i could take a deep
and fearless nap
of dreams
i woke up wanting
just you
all over again
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but however many
as happen (tugchanein)
not
(to be) loving (eran)
and otherwise
through excellence (arete)
passed through (prassen)
those they want (dein)
//
ὅσοι δὲ μὴ ἐρῶντες ἔτυχον
ἀλλὰ δι᾽ ἀρετὴν ἔπραξαν ὧν ἐδέοντο
//
this limasan is not a terror dream
(or how i came to Potro Joyo House)
strange and for a few years
maybe 2018 to 2022
(i moved to Indonesia in 2019)
i dreamed mostly about a flood
lately we live on the sawah
and i dream of earthquakes
(what happened in 2023 was
the dream to build a temple
transparently that is the one
that grabbed me by the throat
that was a hard-yanked chain
to re-make my heart pounding)
anyway i am in a skyscraper
(in tv cities like Philadelphia)
it starts to quake
the building sways as i rush down
the stairs or ladders or chutes or waterfalls
until i come spilling out into the street
well my dreams are hacks
last night as i ran out i looked up and saw
the tower sinuous begin to buckle
and bricks were busting a volcanic bubble
as i ran down the mountain to escape
the expanding smoke and debris
this limasan is not a terror dream
i do not wake up in a fright
(no real nightmares since U.S. America)
but they are disaster dreams
just now maybe like working it out
or making something from dream rubble
and last night it was a real earthquake
not too distant not too deep a 4.6
our home is a cathedral of teakwood
beloved architect vernacular
when it jiggles his bending pillars sound uncanny
old joints of salvage living in the ring of fire
//
the maskmaker writes
like gotong royong
& Hong Ulun Basuki Langgeng
🇮🇩
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and when (as seems inevitable)
disagreement comes to be
and the mishap
in any other way
would be set down as common
to both
// 232β
καὶ ἄλλῳ μὲν τρόπῳ διαφορᾶς γενομένης κοινὴν ἂν ἀμφοτέροις καταστῆναι τὴν συμφοράν
//
selamat calendar complex
Ogoh-Ogoh for tilem today
and family calls and the gamelan calls
(seen here, here, here, here?, nsfw?)
when having constructed our demons
we carry them through the streets
and shake them and fight them
and turn them and burn them
and ooh and aah and waow
and laugh and breathe fire
and then
collapse
into
Nyepi tomorrow
no outgoing or talking
or fire or electricity
or internet
or working
or lovemaking
we let the ogoh-ogoh
believing it to be uninhabited
pass harmlessly over the island
so tomorrow will be silent
in the valley as well
no posts from me ok
then (we await
confirmation from the village
its all local time) Eid al-Fitr . . .
//
lipsblum and parfum ooze
the cherries fell and placed their fingerprints
between my feet like small mouths of a month
of its here its a bloody wee well of a red whale
her fluke-petals strewn long the grey and white tile
and smudge of a moth in the blossoms to clear
but im always her hem and im on the sore brink
of love with the let-jet and inky-bruise style of it
like my pussy would write her own un-willing book
would underwear-stain me an avant-garde blotch
of enfant terrible for primordial brood
elsewhere wind-egg dramatic and lithe acrobatic
some brown-wise residuum to raging en rouge
sex-flowing battle and kiss-knowing cramp
my blew-brewing worm of verbage vole-damp
a crescendo howled in my bowling-ball clamp
and how you offered to switch off the lamp
so i wouldnt need to move at all
so i lie lust-fallow-unfastened at last for now
and i shower near the violet melati that you grow
with slugs softly tucked in a wet toilet paper roll
//
🌖
//
after
the easy way out
saucy
like a bruise
cherry
&c
& the maskmaker
who called lip balm that
♥️
santai di pantai
big ocean rolling here, nearby
where me and my too luminous
for my own good maskmaker
are santai, on our anniversary
purnama pulls the swelling tide
like poetry, erasing traces
the waves of endlessness reply
by silver water, silver sky; and we
like sand and salt, by speech unsifted
//
🌕
thremmata
corpse pose again, is it for real this time, as i
down to the underworld for Hades lower table
descend, the darker cloud of somebodys forever
to a banquet feast of charred fat strewn with ashes
i sit before the offering of my own left shin
my tender bone is bowing its familiar flaw
my meat is dripping ratios from the burning violin
i eat it all, although my name is not Issa
as eat the dead, by whispers, one million and seven
then i look down to find beast-legs with chestnut hair
my knuckled shanks uncrossed, my hooves are lightning-cloven
my kept creature walks on two or four, tall-horned
whose crescent shavings will be ground into the rock
whose name is leaving many by the blade of one
//
and the rod
Black Ajax bitter on my left
Red Ajax blooded on my right
grim speechless my bronze-armored kin
by serpent held Asclepian
//
a-courting, or the word used here
we mampir with Blih at the house of his girlfriend
to meet her mother, by his side, the maskmaker and i
as family representatives or peopled containers
my labels are to smile and nod with genuine interest
to follow the conversation, for extra credit
to support Blih, we drive him there and back
to eat and drink what we are given, to stay as long as it goes
to coach him in the car, to ease his nerves broaching
the sensitive topics, to approve, one step of many
both already divorced, he’s two years older than us
she is a few years younger, expressive, at ease
a tempering of his toughened wants and weathers
just to us he mentions, maybe a baby; pretends
not to be enchanted by a computer-generated mockup
//
🌓
as making do
was worked exquisitely until worked out
a nagging, no-good splinter, studied bit
from the toe-ball mound of some leviathan
mere sliver; then salvaged by a maskmaker
if mountain makers last by root and bud
of artful past from a forgetful dancer
sequestered in their unearned sorrow, sung
too low and dear for an angry wound to hear
too clear for tears or dollar bills to hold
but a mask is living loss returned to wood
impossibility the daily ending felt
itself not made nor lost enough to face
so held and turned; for an ugly splinter
with yet some reservoir of mammoths blood
in love, it was an advantageous marriage
//
Pharmakeia’s triptych
trippy destiny
true story: in her salad bruising days
her myspace name was like a prayer, Pharmakeia
the profiled face was drawing of a death
cap mushroom; well, consistency
and every day a salad day
and every day un po’ di morte
today, when sniper scopes an urban label
the same shaded and subtle botanical
renderings pop up from top of neon heap
left truffles for her canny little pig
for snorts and tickles, yet
a fact; and do you trust it
//
what marriage
the maskmaker who daily carries her
drew sigil gold and black on brown bag paper
Al-Lateef—his soft likeness sleeping by her pillow
beloved names for her beloved way
what reck does come to find
what wreck that came to ground
as travelers witness landslides and inundations
upheavals that by eagle’s eye the aftermath
counts losses, failure, countlessness; what hand
to brush a tawny cow, her long-lashed eyes
what blinded word to see
what marriage of then and now
//
big girl
she sees, by name, the blue of heaven’s white
behind how obvious a giantess
the light, the light, it hurts to look at it
so brightly shines a lofty signature
built body born from Isis warm
and catching form her dulcet veil
some Aphrodites are, it’s said, too tall
to be from brick wall read, too high to see
by tools of masonry; how broad her arms
great fools embracing sky of marbled earth
her reckoning like reckless love
big girl logician
//
🍄
notes from Kuningan
morning hari raya / upacara / island turning // take the blessing / by notation / if i may // Pak and Bu S— / morning offering / shrine at home // rains a little / as we are greeting / laugh it away // i place the canangs / with lit dupa / ini di bawa, ini di atas nggih // with shredded pandan / shoo the cats away / the kue is not yours // then time for dressing / always late again / ceremonial demand // kebaya sunny yellow / olive peacock batik, gift from Ibuk / mauve selandang // polyester lace is tight / not my usual / glossy korean lipstain (bare fig) // to Penestanan / in the car now / windows down barricade // traffic pecalang / all day this way / Bali holiday // people fill the street / everyone is smiling / they recognize our face // he knows everyone / stops for everyone / a face for everyone // salam for everyone / friend for everyone / how many promises to mampir // banjar clear / on the way again / ceremony in the air // double-park the car / the cock-fight corner / across from pura dalem // at our old place / pandemi family / second home again // pass your body / around the family / salim for elders / salim from little ones // receive the bodies / moms and sisters hold you / feel you and pat your curves // meet Blih’s girlfriend / she seems good for him / marriage when // Ibuk Penestanan / enduring smiling / to see my face // she brings us coffee / kripik and kue / water from warung // and i’m too rare here / somewhat guilty / the intensity // the affection, her skin is so fair / but not too fair, she’s looking healthy / they note some extra weight // under comment / they discuss me / i endure // Bapak L— / talking death again / Mase scolding him // six large koi / in a clean but crowded pond / tadpoles nibbling at their scales // Mbok A— is here / older sister / the secrets she endures // heroic / (…) / by another woman // the delicate child / slender hand held / so as not to disappear // he takes my phone / for an interval / makes us watch a video // sea monsters suddenly / el gran maja versus the bloop / this detour for a while // softest fingers / feathering the touch screen / when he was small he didn’t talk // he couldn’t look at us / he wouldn’t speak to us / he ran away // now he’s outbound / needs to show us / sea monsters a serious event // an old mango tree / outside the home gate / branching over the street // when they ripen / he climbs to take them / no apparent fear // all day people passing / in the street below / teenagers outside the minimart // boys in udengs / girls in kebaya / all wearing sarungs // and then it’s coming / time to prepare / baskets and the flame // at the front steps / there’s a mat there / we kneel on it // kebaya itchy / sarung binding / squeeze onto my knees // off my sun hat / off my sunglasses / pale under the sky // the rain is clearing / by the rainworker / smoking his cigar // the women place the offering / burn the dupa / receive the blessing // remake the street / here come the god seat / make space for it // sound approaching / mangku rushing / the time is near // a flood of boys, boys, boys / marching sleeves rolled / red hibiscus in white udeng // here the mangku splashing water / wet blossom blessing / hands receive it // head receive it / face receive it / heart receive it, if it can // the passing concentration / bending flute line / twirling attention // pray the empty / pray the flowers / learn to pray // then we double it / give it happening / take a moment to form // now it’s coming / moving down the street / presence on the way // percussion heat / heart flame beat / bronze opening // bathe the flowers / in the smoking / fold them behind my ear // great gong agung / deep expanding / down belly through feet // make space for sesuwunan / come the barong / guardian of the street // women carry offering / towers balance on their heads / jeweled baskets overflow with cakes and fruit // see the dewa / vision loves them / eyes following // golden armor / grassy black mane / bulging eyes // then start shimmying / snapping teeth / shuffling the feet // flip-flops in the front / flip-flops in the back / shaggy with a bouncy tail // barong is dancing / attendants touching calves / steady exhausting underneath // forest guardian / body bearing sun-wheel / banjar medicine // then we follow / walk the family / take it through the street // walk with sesuwunan / holding hands again / don’t let him disappear // pray for island / pray for family / pray for banjar // boys are laughing / keep the music / challenging the air // in the made space / music opens it / opening is here // pray for earth / pray for spirit / pray down hard // see it feelingly / cracking open / then deplete // campaka blossoms / in barong beard / my favorite part of him // makes him handsome / red hibiscus / jepun ylang ylang
the fragrance / how it follows me / into the next day
//
the maskmaker’s wife (a prequel)
true, i killed a spider on thursday
it was counter-intentional, a blow
i cried for hours about it, hormonal
oceanic, and only later realized how
i was folding the hung-up laundry
i saw and tried to shake the hider out
from black denim, furry humble pro-leaper
but i miscalculated; too much snap
a streak of ichor mud across the web
between my right thumb and pointer finger
she unwound inches before she emptied
and died; i was so sad; i am so sorry
sorry, sorry, i spoke to her crumpled self
recriminations. what left—a legacy of masks
some translator inside a house of masks
and O how many masks there were for mercy
//
the time i was murdered by my own poetry, vol. x
slugs in the shower, laron tonight
fertile swarm; birth/life/death 2.5 hrs
box of tissues; hollywood tomorrow
//
the dancer
when kindness is as kindness shows
the son his mother’s body knows
my eyes are from another place
i smile at you to show my face
the lessons of an artist’s life
are gifts you rendered to his wife
he’s gentle as the fallen rain
what tokens we give back again
a sudden street, a stranger island
with traffic from a broken time
he’s holding her, she’s not alone
the dancer is already home
let’s draw again the graceful scene
in blouses pink, you met Christine
if recognition makes you laugh
he shows you with a photograph
a feeling hewing to the bone
her shapes are not unlike my own
she’s holding me, she’s not alone
the dancer is already home
what light there was is in your eyes
her singing voice was village wise
he looks for her before sun sets
and child again her own forgets
and he will press your softened hands
the gestured words, the closing fans
and holding you, you’re not alone
the dancer is already home
//
for Ibuk
//
selamat hari raya Galungan🌾
//