Bali Afternoon
Bali Afternoon
Their shadows float behind them in the afternoon.
Sari-clad, they hurry, ahead of the monsoon
where water sheets in currents, a brutal driving hand
sweeping away the humid heat of this exotic land.
Morning-listless palm trees dance to gamelan of rain.
The dust of temples washed away, they glisten once again.
Monkeys cower in branches. Dogs slink away to hide.
Only water in the streets. All else has gone inside.
In the shadows of their studios, the batik-makers hold
their wax-pots, streaming rivers of waxy molten gold.
They’ll stem the flood of colors as each gently pours
precise tiny rivers that echo those outdoors.
Shadows in the corners. Great baths of brown and blue,
that when the liquid wax is hard, they’ll dip their cloth into.
Then boil off the wax so they can make rivers anew.
A different course determined for each successive hue.
Outside the monsoon blows away and sun comes out again.
As all the voices of the world—the music and the din
start up again and heat comes back to bake the village street.
Mud turns to dust, sweat beads the brows of everyone you meet.
Tomorrow in the afternoon, another hour of rain,
for nature follows her own steps over and again,
like the batik artist, who dips his cloth once more,
dries the cloth, gets out his pot, and once more starts to pour.
Sheltering from the Monsoon, Ubud, Bali, 1996
For Friday Writings #183: A perfect afternoon.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Such beautifully descriptive verse
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Derrick.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You introduced me to the world of batiks Judy! My mind soaked up the rich patterns and, still, I’m fascinated by the individual variety of creativity the makers produce. Wonderful descriptive verse. Beth Ann
LikeLike
Yes. Remember making the sliding screens for the windows for my house in Cheyenne? The batik fabric? That was fun working with you on decorating the house. Are you still in Nebraska? One of my friends here in Mexico is a batik artist. Not a Mexican art, usually, but her mother was an American batik artist, her father a Mexican poet. She pursues the interests of both.
LikeLike
Ah, you bring back memories of my own time in Bali, back in the seventies. I’m glad to know some things haven’t changed.
LikeLike
They, alas, have. I was first there in 1973…No cars, total bliss. By 1996 when I returned, so many cars that it took 5 or 10 minutes to cross the street in Kuta Beach, high rise hotels. Remember Poppy’s in the seventies? a tiny outdoor restaurant with no electricity. By the nineties, she had more than one highrise hotel. Things always change. (Although at that time the culture hadn’t) I haven’t been back since. This was written about those earlier memories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I too was first there in 1973. Again in 1974, and 1979. Each time, we stayed for weeks, really sank into the place, made local friends… In 1979 the changes were already beginning. I cried all the way home on the plane that time because I knew I would never return to the Bali I had fallen in love with. I never have, physically, but I also realise now that I never could in any case because it is no longer there.
I don’t recall Poppy’s by name but the description fits some vague memories. A friend who visited Bali recently took photos which horrified me, showing miles and miles of buildings where the rice paddies used to be.
How lucky we were to see it in 1973 when it was still unspoiled. I can’t blame the people for wanting to better their lives, as they saw it. Yet, to my perception, their lives were rich and blessed in less tangible ways which I could only envy. Those who go there now still rave about how lovely the Balinese people are, so I guess the culture still remains in some ways. But so many things about the lifestyle must inevitably be lost.
Ah well.
LikeLike
PS Sarongs, not saris.
LikeLike
By any chance do you remember Nick’s Pensione on Monkey Forest road? Room spread out along the river where funeral processions would come down to put the ashes in the river. We had a room right above the pot where the processions would come. In the morning the guys would climb the papaya trees by our porch and bring us fresh papayas for breakfast. Idyllic.
This was in Ubud. I was in Bali for a month or more each time.
LikeLiked by 1 person
No, we stayed in beautiful Ubud only briefly, at the home of some Balinese friends. Places we stayed over the three visits: Segara Village in Sanur, Puri Dalem also in Sanur as guests of the owners, Mama’s on Kuta Beach, the Adi Yasa in Denpasar, and various friends’ homes, one near the Monkey Forest, another at Klungkung. My then husband, Bill, was Dutch-born. We thought we’d have to hide his origins but no, the Balinese loved the memory of the Dutch; so did an elderly Javanese couple we met there and later visited in northern Java. We also stayed a while in Surabaia, as guests of a Balinese man married to a Javanese woman. We met him when he was visiting his brother in Bali, who was already a friend of ours. Some of the friends we made were prominent hoteliers who turned out also to be Balinese royalty. Others were more lowly waiters, gardeners, chauffeurs from our first stay at Segara Village. Everyone loved our little blonde kids, as we loved their little dark ones; that too opened a lot of doors.
My very favourite place in Bali was Tanah Lot.
LikeLike
Did you go to Idabagus Oka’s in Ubud?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I honestly can’t remember now. I mainly remember a lovely art gallery on a hillside, but not its name. And also thinking to set out for a short walk by myself after dark, and my hosts saying, ‘No no, somebody might steal you!’
LikeLike
Loved how you’ve explained the process of batik making.
LikeLike
What a wonderfully picturesque poem, including a photo of you with them!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Dolly..I’ve been a bit lax with blogging. Getting back into my Ethiopia book. Today I’ve been reading a year and a half of letters home…sometimes writing every two days. I don’t know how I had the time. At any rate, that’s my alibi…
LikeLike