“Batik?” “Tidak.” Snootily we fanned the pitch
Away in the thick hot sponge of air
That was Jalan Malioboro: a steaming, rich
Soup of Asia, Yogya’s thoroughfare —
And the very heart of Java. Not that we weren’t led
By the nose. We went to see the ‘closing days’
Of the ‘government students’ show; naïvely said
Which were the pick of the lot, gave our praise,
And only smelt a rat when our choices were hung
Barring the door. A trap, with sickly-sweet tea
As part of the bait. We parried, finally, with a tongue-
in-cheek offer, an insult of a price. He
Then it was who was forced to say: “Tidak — no.”
Outside, we savoured the crowds’ jumbled flow.
Away in the thick hot sponge of air
That was Jalan Malioboro: a steaming, rich
Soup of Asia, Yogya’s thoroughfare —
And the very heart of Java. Not that we weren’t led
By the nose. We went to see the ‘closing days’
Of the ‘government students’ show; naïvely said
Which were the pick of the lot, gave our praise,
And only smelt a rat when our choices were hung
Barring the door. A trap, with sickly-sweet tea
As part of the bait. We parried, finally, with a tongue-
in-cheek offer, an insult of a price. He
Then it was who was forced to say: “Tidak — no.”
Outside, we savoured the crowds’ jumbled flow.
(3.4.1997)
