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Индонезия: Тути Херати

Тути ХератиТути Херати (Toeti Heraty) - известнейшая поэтесса в своей стране, представительница первого поколения индонезийских феминисток.
Родилась 27 ноября 1933 года в провинции Западная Ява.
Изучала медицину и психологию в Индонезийском университете. Ее диплом по психологии посвящен Симоне де Бовуар. Продолжила образование в Лейденском университете, Нидерланды, где получила степень по философии, затем в Индонезийском университете защитила докторскую.
Занимается активной преподавательской деятельностью - преподавала на факультете психологии в Университете «Паджаджаран», в нем же основала кафедру философии.
Тути Херати основала феминистский журнал "Jurnal Perempuan" а также сотрудничает с НГО Suara Ibu Peduli, задача которой - эмпауэрмент женщин.
Пишет она на индонезийском языке. Некоторые ее стихотворения переводились на английский
Небольшая подборка на poetrytranslation.org
Под катом еще несколько стихотворений из сборника "Contemporary Indonesian Poetry: Poems In Bahasa Indonesia And English" (University of Queensland Press, 1985), где она единственная женщина из представленных авторов.
Panta rei*

(* "Everything is in flux", Heraclitus)



it's always the same!!

we talk of this and that

while waiting for the opportunity

to begin



once started there's no stopping

the recesses of the heart, a lake, a pool

a cave and an ocean

pouring forth, flowing, flowing

- panta rei -



please stop, freeze the action

let's just have that moment again

for a little

but, how?!





Man



who says:

"picked flowers quickly fade"

(he who holds one)



a woman

should be grateful in all things

for fate decides all

fate? the world divided and

holy incense surrounding all

in ritual, forever?

a smile in her glance, being



helpless, hauled by the wrist

lovingly into the garden of life

her heart full of wonder at this creature

a man, almost a god!

who says:

"a holy bond between two

god-like beings......"



as usual

as the deceitful gestures that develop

natural pretences

bud, thorn, laughter, mourning

- the garden of life...





New Year's celebrations



who is masked?



among fire-crackers, sky-rockets

the noisy, menacing night

joyful leaping, ecstatic screaming



is this sane and right?



they being happy, I

sadly leaving

happiness, come with me



who knows



if silently the others too

think the same





Dark moments of meeting



dark moments of meeting

sacredly seeding

in the lap of silence

razor's edge to be surpassed

lonely space to signify

recurrence of creation day



no, this is

not a meeting

but

pathos trembling, withdrawing from witnesses,



man surrendering to his single arrogance

secretly enjoying, caressing fingers,

greedily gulping

from the well of life





I have three loves



I have three loves, like a child

counting on its fingers

I'll recite them one by one:

the first is serious

his heart is dee, so as to bury desire

his love is wistful - or is it merely pitying

me because of my playful tenderness?

I want to dive down and dissolve

in his lonesome look

his sad love and his sorrowfulness but

how much more easily he is deceived

than the other

whose clever philosophy and

endless patience nver

will I let out of sight

"mind his easy words"

people say, but why

should I worry

"his well aimed phrases"

but he'll go away, finally,

after the taste of his lips

and there'll be the usual nothing again

he doesn't care that much anyway

Should I mention the thir, rather

than be secretive now, for

he comes at night when the door's hinges are oiled

his voice is virile, his look is forceful

hauling me to that secluded heaven

but then I'll be counting the days again

for each month to come, yet

I know I shouldn't worry, but where

and when will I meet my three loves

in the one man?



Finished



some time one must leave

that world

- the fire of love's adventure faded -

shadows in a dream, we smile now

without regret

at the several events

gone like scattered smoke among the clouds



several names, several beds

some ink spilt and thrown away

- why not -

brush the dust from a book, discover

almost vanished marks

a game free from tension



that this world is reality is a discovery!

that it is reality is amazing!

discovery and amazement incarnate in

intimate objects



a worn ball and a favourity teddy-bear

red shoes with the toes worn off



this world is reality

in a moment the children will be home from their party





Lone fisherman



the marvellous clouds

pass by the moon long accustomed

to this: - loneliness -



capturing the glances

gathered in the net of the bright night

glances satiated with empty thirst



moon, when the night is silent

and man gone, for whom

is the juice of your yellow sugar body

crushed in the caress of the clouds



the clouds begin to part, you are caught

in the branches, trembling, and sink

taken by a fisherman with the white

fish in his net



the beach is empty, he is going

quickly, all is gone

oh - the moon, with a friendly gesture

he lifts the still floundering thing

and throws

it back.

Tags: 20 век, reading the world, Азия, Индонезия, английский язык, поэзия, феминистка
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