My Diary of Moon Taeil

Entry
1st June

The first time I saw him, he was just sitting on a bench, without any expression. He seemed hard to get close to and looked cold. But, the strange thing was, I didn't know why, I wanted to comfort him, I felt that there were a lot of sadness inside of him, I wanted to always be there for him. I was deep in my thoughts, while looking at him when he suddenly looked back at me. I was so surprised and turned my head to another direction.

When I really tried hard avoiding eye contact with that man, the bus I rode home to came and I rushed to get on the bus. I was sitting in the back seat where almost all of it was empty, then someone sat beside me.

"You were looking at me, weren't you?"
I was so shocked, I couldn't even look at him. I knew it's him. It's the guy from the bus stop!

"I said, you were looking at me, weren't you? At that bus stop?" He asked me once again.

"Ah, yes. I'm sorry I was so rude looking at you so intensely. I'm really sorry." I nodded my head several times, to show him that I was sorry for making him uncomfortable.

"It's ok, but why were you looking at me like that? Are you a fan?" This time I looked at him in the eyes.

"A fan?" I asked him, I felt funny.

"Yeah, a fan. You probably saw my performances and recognized me, that's why you were looking at me."

"Are you an artist? I'm sorry but I don't know you, I never watch you perform anything. I was looking at you because you looked like about to cry." I explained, he just smiled and said nothing more.
We just sat there quietly until I finally got off from the bus.

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I was laying on my bed, thinking about what happened that evening. I thought he would be some kind of cold guy, I didn't expect him to talk to me first. And he's an artist? Why did I never see him before? Well, it's not like I watch TV that often. And oh my God! We rode the same bus! We probably would meet again soon.

My head was so full of thought that night, I couldn't sleep until 3 in the morning. But, really, he looked so sad when he sat on that bench. But he sounded so cheerful when he talked to me!
What they say was true, you cannot judge people by their appearance.

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PS: I'm not an English native speaker and my English is not that good. You have to bear with grammatical errors I made!
With 💚
Anne D

Kataware-doki

Jadi, hampir tiap senja aku melihat anak laki-laki berdiri diam menatap langit yang sebagian berwarna gelap dan terang itu. Dia hanya diam, mungkin tenggelam dalam pikirannya? Aku tidak tahu. Hanya saja pemandangan senja tanpanya terasa sangat aneh. Seperti ada yang terlewatkan, seperti ada yang hilang.
Kadang aku berharap waktu bisa diputar ulang kembali. Aku ingin mengajaknya bicara, aku ingin mengenalnya, bukan hanya melihatnya dari jauh. Melihat wajah sedihnya menengadah melihat langit senja.
Ya, terasa ada yang salah!

Poem Analysis of The Sick Rose by William Blake

In this essay, I will analyse the poetic devices used and the issue in a poem titled “The Sick Rose” by William Blake. I will begin with the structure of the poem that has two stanzas consist of four lines in each stanza. I found that the poem has anapest dimeter as its metrical feet for most of the lines, except for the sixth line in the second stanza that uses iambic. I have analized the metrical feet and the following poem has the words or syllables in bold to show the stressed word or syllable and unbold words or syllables for the unstressed in each line.

The Sick Rose by William Blake                        

O Rose | thou art sick.

The invis | ible worm,

That flies | in the night

In the howl | ing storm:

Has found | out thy bed

Of crim | son joy: à Iambic dimeter

And his dark | secret love

Does thy life | destroy.

The Sick Rose uses visual imagery for most of the lines, it can be seen in most of the line and developed by the diction used by the speaker such as: “invisible worm”, “flies in the night”, “howling storm”. The speaker also use kinesthetic imagery in third line “flies in the night” that refers to the worm. Also auditory imagery, also developed by the diction as seen in the fourth line “the howling storm”. I also found that the use of word “howling” is an onomatopoeia that can be describe the storm that happens in the poem.

Beside the uses of onomatopoiea, the speaker also uses the rhyme for the final syllables in the poem. The speaker didn’t use the full rhyme, but half rhyme in this poem. It can be seen in the second line “worm”, fourth line “storm”, sixth line “joy”, and eighth line “destroy”.

For the figurative language, the first line is using personification for the rose because it describe as sick, whereas the speaker could use the word “wilted” instead, if the one that the speaker means is the rose as plant. Moreover the word “thy bed” in the second stanza is supporting the Rose as a person not as a flower, so the pesnonification is no longer exist.

So, “the Rose” in the first line is using the metaphore which shows a beautiful woman using the recemblance of two words (rose and women) such as: beautiful.

The word “worm” in the second line is also a metaphore for a man. Beside the metaphore,  the speaker also uses personification for “worm” because in the poem the word could love just like a human. I also foud aphostrophe in this poem which makes the “person” mentioned in the poem existed or heard what the speaker says in the first line “O Rose”.

In the second stanza, the word “bed” is associated with “crimson joy”, the bed itself is a metaphore love or in another word is sex.

The whole poetry is talking about the woman who lost her innocence because she started to know love because of a man, and love is often associated with sex.

Sex is regarded as sin moreover the speaker said that the love of the man is dark secret love like in the seventh line, so that the speaker also said that “the rose is sick”, because she is not longer innocent and losing her innocence makes her life detroyed.

PS: This essay is my final assignment of Poetic Devices.

I Wonder What Literature Is

Since I became an English Department student in UNPAD, I always questioned a lot of things that I have never thought before, even something small like: why I study here, become a student of English Department or something in the holy Quran like how could Prophet Musa split a sea just by striking a staff at the sea? That’s probably because I took it for granted, even now I think I still take something I have for granted.

I was a student of language major in high school, I studied literature and read a lot of Indonesian literature books like Siti Nurbaya work of Marah Roesli, or Layar Terkembang work of Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana, or Bibir dalam Pispot, short stories collection by Hamsad Rangkuti, and many more, but if I were to be asked: what is literature? I don’t have any idea what to answer, probably I would just say that literature is an art with the form of writings such as novels, short stories, or poems.

Let’s say that in high school I was studying literature works by Indonesian writers, but when I finished reading the story, the things I got asked by my language and literatur teachers were: What was this story tell us? What was the plot of the story? How about the setting? The place and the time? How about the theme of the story? What elements were there in the story? How about the character? Can you mention this main character’s characteristic? Can you take some learnings from the story? They never taught us how to analyse a story using theory, nor did they teach us about the theory itself, thus analysing the novels, or short stories, or poems felt easier back then.

Again, what is literature? I used to think that literature is works inspired by our own experience, the works that the writes wrote were all reality, and then I read Harry Potter. There were nothing like magic school in reality (that I know), so what was this book? But, I just ignored it and enjoyed the books (and the movies as well). In high school, my language and literature teachers ocasionally gave my class an assignment to write a short story, the deadline was one or two weeks. In the first week, I thought hard about a good idea that no one in class would thought of it, so I remembered I wrote a short stories about a girl being trapped in a dream and ended waking up in a beach, not knowing whether the dream was reality or just her dream. I got a small score for the story, while my friends got a higher score for retelling their experiences and some of imagination to their experiences.

Knowing my friends’ score, I regretted a little that what I wrote was a non sense story that my teacher would not understand. I thought that a good story was a story that everyone understand, a story that everyone had a chance to experience it. My idea was strengthened by Horace in Art of Poetry “Fiction invented in order to please should remain close to reality.” (p. 83), from this quotation I realized that a good story was the one which remain close to reality, the ones my friends wrote. This quotation also means that my story that I wrote was not good enough, it was not close to reality, in fact, it was all my imagination. But then, how about science fiction? Science fiction is not a genre that the story remains close to reality, such as a short story by Philip K Dick “We Can Remember It For You Wholesale”, I actually didn’t read the story yet, but I watched the remake movie. I think the story was not the story which everyone had a chance to experience, thus didn’t close to reality. But can we say that the story was not good? If the story wasn’t good why did Paul Verhoeven want to make a movie based on his short story if a good one was the one which remain close to reality? Why did Len Wiseman make a remake movie inspired by his short story? Was it because his short story popular?

In Northrop Frye’s “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time”, Frye compared the popularity of Shakespeare and Webster and said that “Most of Shakespeare’s current popularity is due to critical publicity.” (p. 35). I think Paul Verhoeven made Total Recall, a movie based on Philip K Dick’s short story because the story was popular, and the story became popular because there were a lot of criticism of it. Frye also said that “One obvious function of criticism is to mediate between the artist and his public.” (p. 34), so, I think what make a story is good is not that the story is close to reality, but a story, a work, also needs criticism to be a good story. Through the criticism, the writers could improve his writing skill and so on. But then, if I were to be asked: what is literature? I don’t have a definite answer, yet.

Work cited:

Horace. Art of Poetry. Print.

Frye, Northrop. The Function of Criticism at the Present Time. Print.

Cerita Musim Dingin

Gadis itu melepaskan ikatan rambutnya, merapatkan mantel tebalnya agar angin yang bertiup cukup kencang itu tak begitu saja menyentuh kulitnya yang mulai memerah, kedinginan. Tangannya yang telanjang ia masukkan ke dalam saku mantelnya, sesekali ia dekatkan ke mulutnya. Ia menoleh ke arah kanan dan kiri, tak ada siapapun di jalan itu. Ia terus berjalan, ditemani terang lampu-lampu jalan yang bercahaya remang.

Ia berjalan cepat. Langkah besarnya menginjaki aspal yang dingin, melewati lampu-lampu jalan, melewati pagar-pagar rumah yang tinggi, melewati jalan yang sepi. Hidungnya dan kedua pipinya terlihat lebih merah, mungkin karena udara yang semakin malam semakin menusuk.

Malam itu benar-benar sepi, hening. Ia dapat mendengar jelas suara sepatunya yang bertubrukan dengan aspal, juga suara angin yang bertabrakan dengan ranting-ranting pohon beserta dedaunannya. Di satu persimpangan jalan ia berhenti. Ia menengadahkan kepalanya melihat langit, melihat bulan penuh yang bercahaya indah, melihat beberapa bintang yang berada di dekat bulan berkerlap-kerlip.

Melihat bulan dan bintang-bintang itu, tubuhnya terasa hangat. Ia tersenyum sambil menatap langit. Angin yang bertiup menyentuh wajahnya tak lagi terasa sedingin sebelumnya, suara gemerisik dedaunan pun terdengar seperti lantunan melodi yang indah di telinganya. Perlahan, dari langit yang berwarna hitam itu jatuh butiran-butiran putih seperti bintang. Senyumnya makin melebar, tangannya juga ia rentangkan lebar-lebar. Beberapa butiran putih itu jatuh di telapak tangannya. Matanya tak dapat berhenti menatap langit yang indah malam itu sampai ia sadar ada seseorang yang menunggunya di seberang jalan.

Ia menatap seseorang yang tersenyum padanya itu. Ia kembali menatap langit, tak sanggup menghapus senyum di wajahnya yang kini semakin terlihat berseri. Tanpa ia sadari, seseorang itu melepas payung birunya, membiarkan angin membawa pergi. Seseorang itu kini ikut menatap langit sambil merentangkan tangannya lebar-lebar. Menatap gadis itu sebentar kemudian kembali menatap langit dengan senyuman yang juga terlihat lebih manis dari sebelumnya.

Bandung, 19 Oktober 2013 © Kamilan Nisa

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AWAN

Aku berbaring di sebuah kursi kayu yang berada di taman sekolah. Tidak ada pohon di dekat kursi itu, namun hal tersebut yang membuat aku menyukai kursi tua itu. Aku bisa dengan bebas memandang langit yang terbentang luas di atas kepalaku. Dan hal itu juga yang saat ini sedang aku lakukan. Menatap langit.

Awan-awan putih yang menghiasi langit itu terus berjalan mengikuti angin musim semi yang berhembus hangat. Apa mereka tak lelah menuruti kemauan angin itu? Apa mereka tak ingin berjalan mandiri sendiri? Tentu saja, melawan arah angin.

Aku terus memperhatikan awan-awan itu. Tampak sangat lembut, juga warna putih bersihnya menggodaku untuk menjatuhkan diri di atasnya. Di sekitar, suara gemerisik daun yang terkena sentuhan angin membuatku terhanyut. Seperti latar musik yang menyempurnakan sebuah pertunjukan. Pertunjukan awan.

Gumpalan awan yang sedang melintas itu menyerupai anjing. Matanya yang tajam, moncongnya yang panjang, telinganya yang berdiri tegak. Seperti anjing pelacak milik pak polisi. Ah, awan itu berjalan lambat sekali.

Awan itu telah berlalu, menyisakan langit biru yang bersih. Sungguh hari yang indah di musim semi. Angin terus saja bertiup. Sesekali membelai wajahku, membuat aku memejamkan mataku. Belaian yang lembut, mungkin selembut awan.

Aku kembali membuka mataku, melihat gumpalan awan yang kali ini menyerupai ombak. Kemana gulungan ombak yang terbuat dari awan itu pergi? Sementara di lautan, ombak akan menepi di tepian pantai. Dan di langit, kemana gulungan ombak itu menepi? Apa mereka tak lelah jika seandainya mereka tak menemukanya?

Jauh di belakang gulungan ombak awan itu, berjalan menyusul beberapa gumpalan kecil awan. Salah satunya, terlihat seperti Haru saat sedang membelakangiku. Rambut hitam panjang Haru juga pasti selembut gumpalan awan itu.

Awan-awan itu tetap saja berjalan mengikuti angin, meski aku menginginkan mereka tetap berada di depan mataku. Angin yang membelai wajahku lagi, perlahan membuat mataku terpejam, membiarkan awan-awan itu berjalan sesuai kehendaknya dan tak harus mendengarkan komentarku yang terlontar dalam hati. Angin itu menina-bobokanku hingga aku tertidur.

Cahaya matahari itu tidak menyilaukanku. Dengan was-was aku membuka mataku dan menangkap sosok gadis yang melindungi wajahku dengan tubuhnya. Dari sinar yang membuatku silau. Aku tersenyum. Menatap wajah manis dengan mata yang beriris hitam legam itu. Wajah tenangnya perlahan dihiasi senyuman, kemudian dia menengadah.

"Kei, aku melihatmu."

Di langit itu, segumpal awan terlihat menyerupai manusia yang sedang berbaring, menyembunyikan kedua tangan di belakang kepalanya.

"Ya, itu aku."

Bandung, 2013, 15 Agustus.
AWAN © Kamilan Nisa

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Tetsukazu no Kanjou

Unattainable Feeling © Kamilan Nisa

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Aku berdiri cukup jauh darinya. Tak apa, asal aku masih bisa melihatnya, terjangkau pandanganku. Dia, berbaring di atas kursi panjang di taman sekolah, matanya dengan berani menatap langit yang tak tertutupi awan itu. Meski dia sedikit memicingkan matanya, bagiku hal itu tetap dapat disebut 'berani'.

Berada di dekatnya, itu cukup untukku. Waktu yang selalu aku habiskan bersamanya, membuat diriku tanpa sadar menanam benih yang perlahan tumbuh dengan pasti dan tak dapat kuraih. Meski aku tahan, dia tetap membuatku berharap.

Matanya yang menatap langit, kini terpejam. Aku berjalan ke arahnya, berdiri tepat di depan kepalanya. Mencondongkan sedikit tubuhku, menghalangi sinar matahari yang terus menembus kulit, menusuk iris matanya. Menangkap diriku sendiri melakukan hal ini, cukup menyenangkan. Dapat melihat wajahnya yang tenang, membuat sedikit bagian di diriku juga merasa tenang.

Aku berjalan bersamanya, mendengar tawanya, menghilangkan jarak di antara kami berdua yang sebenarnya aku ciptakan setiap hari. Menjauh, menjauh darinya.

Matanya menangkapku, tersenyum. Tak lama, ia meraih tanganku, menarikku menjauh dari kursi itu.

Saat di perpustakaan, aku mengabaikan buku-buku yang kusimpan di meja itu. Menjaga mataku tetap memandangnya melalui jendela. Hal ini juga menyenangkan. Melihat senyumnya dari kejauhan.

Jika perasaanku adalah sebatang pohon, maka pohon itu telah tumbuh besar dan sangat tinggi. Membuat tanganku yang memeluk pohon itu bahkan tak menemukan ujung jari. Membuatku yang ingin mencapai dahannya bahkan tak bisa, dipanjatpun berbahaya.

Bocah laki-laki itu, tanpa sadar aku melukis wajahnya dalam hatiku. Perasaan yang membuat jantungku berdebar, sedikit banyak, aku tahu apa itu.
Tidak apa. Aku hanya perlu membuatmu berubah.
Kata yang pernah kau katakan padaku itu, jika bisa, aku ingin memintamu mengubah perasaanku.

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If We Ever Meet Again

If We Ever Meet Again by Kamilan Nisa

Rating: T-17+
Disclaimer: This story is mine that inspired by "If We Ever Meet Again by Timbaland ft. Katy Perry"

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Seperti malam-malam sebelumnya, malam inipun aku habiskan di sebuah pub di pinggiran kota Tokyo. Persis seperti yang kuduga, pinggiran kota inipun terlalu mewah dan gemerlap hingga menyilaukan mataku. Harusnya aku tak pernah tinggal di kota ini. Terlebih, tak ada alasan untukku tinggal lebih lama di kota ini. Hidupku terlalu menyedihkan untuk tinggal di antara orang-orang yang terbuat dari emas dan berlian ini.

Di hadapanku satu gelas cocktail masih utuh belum kusentuh sama sekali. Bahkan untuk menyadari gelas berisi cocktail itu adalah milikkupun butuh beberapa saat, setelah pikiranku yang melayang tentang bisnisku yang hancur lebur kembali. Dengan enggan aku teguk air cocktail itu, melewati mulut, kemudian meluncur di tenggorokanku. Setelah aku simpan gelasku kembali ke meja bar, tiba-tiba seorang gadis cantik, memakai gaun seksi berwarna merah dan rambut tergerai, duduk di sampingku.

Apa yang dilakukan seseorang sepertimu di tempat ini? Apa kau datang sendiri? Atau kau membawa teman-temanmu?
Setidaknya itulah yang pertama kali terlintas di pikiranku setelah melihat gadis itu. Aku tidak percaya wajah polos sepertinya juga mengunjungi tempat seperti ini. Haha, aku lupa bahwa ini adalah TOKYO.

Katakan siapa namamu dan apa yang kau minum!
"Satu gelas minuman yang beralkohol tinggi!" Ucap gadis itu pada bartender yang berdiri sambil tersenyum di hadapannya.
Ah, sepertinya aku tahu apa yang dia pikirkan. Kau sedang putus asa gadis cantik? Ingin melupakan masalahmu sejenak dengan meminum alkohol? Kalau begitu, gadis itu pasti datang sendiri kesini!

"Apa kau sering datang kesini? Sepertinya aku pernah melihatmu." Gadis itu tiba-tiba bertanya padaku.
Aku menoleh padanya dan hanya tersenyum, tak memberikan jawaban apapun. Sepertinya dia juga sering datang ke tempat ini, tak heran dia mengenali wajahku. Tapi aku sama sekali asing dengan gadis ini.

Wajah gadis itu memerah, terpengaruh minuman beralkoholnya. Saat aku sedang memperhatikannya, dia menoleh ke arahku. Tersenyum. Sesaat kemudian, dia meneguk lagi minumannya.
"Jadi, kenapa kau berada di sini?" Gadis itu bertanya kembali.
"Untuk minum dan kau?" Aku balik menanyainya.
Gadis itu tersenyum.
"Jadi, kau sering datang ke tempat ini?" Gadis itu tidak menjawabku dan malah balik bertanya.

Aku kembali tak menjawab pertanyaannya dan memilih meneguk habis cocktail yang tersisa di gelasku. Aku bangkit dari kursiku setelah membayar minuman itu. Saat hendak berjalan menjauh dari kursi itu, tiba-tiba saja tangan seseorang menahanku. Aku menoleh ke arahnya. Gadis itu.
"Ada apa?" Tanyaku padanya yang kini memandangku sambil tersenyum manis.
Gadis itu memahat wajahku dengan tangannya yang hangat kemudian menenggelamkanku di dalam ciumannya. Membuatku terhanyut sekaligus membuatku terengah-engah saat bibir manisnya dilepaskan dari bibirku.
"Kita akan bertemu lagi! Di sini." Bisik gadis itu yang kemudian melenggang kembali ke kursinya.
Aku melihatnya terheran-heran. Jika kita bertemu kembali, aku tidak akan sama dengan aku yang sekarang. Aku tak akan melepaskanmu, dan akan membawamu pulang bersamaku. Jika kita bertemu kembali, kota ini tak akan menyilaukan mataku lagi. Aku kembali melanjutkan langkahku ke pintu keluar dengan senyuman yang tak henti tersungging.
Jika kita bertemu kembali.

Tamat.

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