Joko Pinurbo, Three Poems

Three poems from Telpon Genggam [Mobile Phone], Jakarta: Kompas, 2003, pp.6-8. (translated by Andy Fuller, 12.3.06)

The Call Home

When he woke he immediately turned on his

mobile phone: he hoped for a message. He was still

sleepy. His eyes were still clouded with

dreams. It was still dark.

Actually, what’s the point in turning on one’s mobile

so early in the morning? At the most, there would only

be some trivial message. How did you sleep? Was your

sarong comfortable? You’ve forgotten about me, have you?

I waited for a long time at the graveyard.

The adzan broke out. Full of rain. He checked his

phone. Srangely, his father had sent a message. Mother is sick.

She misses you a lot. Grandma has disappeared

for three days. Grandpa’s grave has been cleaned. Father’s

sarong has been stolen. Our debt is stable. The jackfruit

tree beside the house has fallen down. Can you come home?

Can you get permission from your mobile phone?

The message ended. There was music. Mobile phone

sung a song by The Beatles: Mother…

The Sea

Sometimes, you need to take your mobile phone

out walking or for a picnic. Perhaps to the beach. To broaden

its horizons. To extend its reach.

At the beach it fell in love with the sea. It called the

sea’s name repeatedly, but the sea

swallowed up the sound of its voice.

I lay down upon the sand, while my mobile took

photographs of the clouds and water; recording the

sound of the wind and waves.

‘Please, enjoy practicing to die’, it said. ‘I want to

stay awake all night, listening to the sea whispering.’

Now, when I am sick, my mobile likes to tease me

with the sound of wind and waves. Then, it shows me

the profile of the shy moon. A profile of death

determined by time. It whispers, ‘Remember, you’ve already

practised dying at the beach.’ Suddenly I hear the

thundering waves.

Goodbye

He laid his mobile phone down in its coffin

and then sent it out to sea.