Poet Profiles: Usman Awang
Poet Profiles: Usman Awang
Today, it's my turn to remember the poetic creations of the late, great Malaysian National Laureate Usman Awang.
I believe that nothing brings people together quite like words, whether eloquently spoken or written. At age 15, I was introduced to the poetry of Usman Awang (who had become a Malaysian National Laureate in 1983) by one of my school teachers.
I would later go on to read other Laureates such as Shahnon Ahmad and A. Samad Said, but Usman Awang’s poetic works remain my favourite to this day. Sadly, most of his books are out of print today and I regret not having purchased a copy of at least one years ago when I had the chance to. I did a bit of Googling and discovered that some of his poetry anthologies are being sold by ITBM, whew! From what I understand, Jiwa Hamba (Enslaved Soul) has English translations.
I chanced upon an old article in Aliran.com recently, which brought on a wave of nostalgia and a desire to revisit Usman’s poems. Poems which reminded me of a childhood that was blind to skin colour and ethnic differences. Because that was what growing up in the 1980s in Malaysia was like for me.
I’ve extracted some of the poems I liked best from the Aliran article and an equally brilliant tribute from The Borneo Post (links at the bottom). Having said that, let’s delve into the works of the man himself, whom some have called a socialist (controversial not only during Usman’s time, but even more so today).
I present to you, dear friends, some of my favourite poems from Usman Awang (translated from Malay):
Greetings to the Continent
I
They separate us
the passports visas frontiers all names for barriers
they rob us with their laws
sending bullets wrapped in dollars
forcing us to choose
and choose we must
there is no other way
II
Friend, you have chosen guns and bullets
many leaders prefer their dollars
for this you must soak your clothes
red grass, red river
children�s weeping
the blood of the exploited
III
You squeeze cactus and grind stones
to make food and drink
girls toil decorated in dust
little children sling on their weapons
you darken the sky with exploding pipelines
others sing in prisons
for the freedom of Palestine
IV
We strive in drying rice fields
daring peasants have begun to clear the virgin jungle
small beginnings in a cloudlike calmness
a calmness that nips us in the bud
we the few are still learning
from all your experiences,
and our own
we shall consolidate the May eclipse
at the true target
of this archipelago
V
Greetings
without visa
passport
golf
colour
to humanity, people,
of all continents.
(Translated by Muhammed Hj Salleh)
Poppies
From blood, from pus that rots in the soil,
from skeletons that have lost their lives,
snatched by weapons,
the result of war maniacs who kill love,
the red flowers bloom beautifully, requesting to be adored.
Those who live on are remnants of life, full of sufferings,
wizened, bent, deformed, maimed and blind,
war in retrospect is full of horrors;
they remember now, in bitterness, in solitude.
Others lost children, husbands and sweethearts,
lost their sources of support, their livelihood,
they live in starvation,
thousands widowed, thousands disappointed,
thousands tormented;
millions of orphans live on, and beg.
The war maniacs have killed all love!
war raged and found profit in colonial lands!
war raged and killed babies in their cradles!
war raged, and destroyed cultural values
Poppies are the flowers of fallen soldiers,
flowers drenched red with blood, full of horrors,
we hate war, full of killing!
we cry for a never-ending peace!
(Translated by Adibah Amin)
Beloved (from the anthology Kekasih)
I'll twine the froth of the sea
into a rope
to tie you
I'll weave the waves
into a carpet
for your bedchamber
I'll spin the clouds
into a veil
for your hair
I'll sew the mountain clouds
into a nightgown
for you
I'll pluck the star of the East
a brooch to sparkle
on your breast
I'll bring down the darkened moon
a lamp to light
my desire
I'll sink the sun
embrace your seas of night
drink your crystals of honey
My beloved how many dreams
murder reality
with illusions of heaven
But what breaks my heart is that his daughter Haslina Usman has had to campaign to get her late father’s works republished and that the youth of today don’t even know his name. Read more about it in writer Sharon Bakar’s blog post.
I’d like to appeal to my fellow Malaysians (and Asian poetry readers) to keep Usman Awang’s memory alive by purchasing his books and be transported to a time of realistic idealism in Malaysian literature.
Sources:
1. Rereading Usman’s Poems by Aliran.com
2. Remembering Usman Awang, a True Malaysian Icon by The Borneo Post
Love and light,
Sharmila