A FRYING PAN: A POEM EXPRESSED THROUGH A COMMON OBJECT

Poems carry thoughts
expressed in many ways. There are poems that praise objects of nature being the
manifestations of the greatness of God, the Creator. There are also poems that
focus on common man made objects with no less great meaning. To illustrate this
I shall pick up one of my poem originally titled  Kuali Hitam, The poem has been translated into
English as A Frying Pan. More translators picked up the English version and turn
it into Spanish, Rusian, French and Japanese.

Kuali Hitam/A Frying Pan
is an example of a poem being expressed through a common object in any kitchen
that is a frying pan.  But the thoughts
and message delivered is not only the service of the utensil but a mother’s
love and  sacrifices  in bringing up her children.  The poet says that a frying pan in the
kitchen where she was born was her was her mother’s best friend

The poet remembered
how her mother worked hard in the kitchen and around the house and may be in
the field so that her children have something to eat. Nothing pleased her more
than to see them enjoying their food.  

But they were too
young then to see the depth of mother’s sacrifice.  They did not 
realize  that the mother who hugged
them lovingly suffered physically due to exposure to the fire in the kitchen
year after year. The soot and smoke were hurting her eyes. Her skin scraped by
the hot  oil. More than that when they
were peacefully snoring at nights the mother could not sleep.  They did not hear her coughing   till
the early hours since her lungs have been scratched by smoke and ashes.

The poet grew up and live in the city with her modern
kitchen with shiny stainless frying pan /woks. One day the aged mother came and
as usual  tried to be as helpful and
useful. The mother cooked and after the meal washed the dishes. This is where
the sad thing happened. The mother scrubbed a pan with a bristle brush the way
she did at home. The poet was alarmed and  cried out that the mother has ruined her
costly utensil.  The mother looked very
hurt .

A few years later
when her mother has returned to her Lord, the poet was in deep remorse. She
realized her mistakes.  How could she
raise her voice to a mother who have gone through such hardship to feed
them.   How could she have valued a
cooking utensil more than a mother’s love.

 A FRYING PAN

A frying pan in the
kitchen

of the house where I
was born

Was my mother’s best
friend

All day long

The frying pan

And something being
fried

For the children with
appetite

Was my mother’s
delight

The frying pan

Days and nights

On the fire

We did not count the
years.

The mother who cared
for the frying pan

Hugged us lovingly

did we look and
realize

there was soot in her
eyes

feel her skin scraped
by the hot fries

her hand darken by
smoke

her forehead touched
by the heat

we were too sleepy
after heavy meals

to hear her coughing,
her rough breathing

her painful chest
being scratched

by smoke and ashes

we were not aware

and mother did not
care

she only knew the joy

of making us happy

eating with appetite

and nothing pleased
her more

than to see us
satisfied

That’s what happened
year after year

the frying pan
fulfilled its duty

until we were grown
up and lived in the city.

(2)

And now in my modern
kitchen

There is no ugly
black frying pan

Whenever I have time
to spare

And that is very rare

I cook for my
children

In my non-stick
stainless steel frying pan

Shining and expensive

And after meal I wash
it carefully

almost like bathing a
baby

With special soft
detergent

Following every
instruction

One day my mother
came to stay

As usual make  herself useful

Cooked and serve my
family

Her grandchildren
enjoyed her cooking

And mother was very
happy

After the meal

She  helped me tidy my kitchen

And as she used to do

To her frying pan

Scrubbed my expensive
utensil

With a bristle brush

At once I cried

“you  have ruined my frying pan

Do you know how much
it cost?”

My mum looked very
hurt

There were a few
tears

I must have looked
very fierce.

(3)

And now my mum has
returned to her Lord

Leaving me in deep
remorse

Regretting the way I
valued a cooking utensil

Much more than a
mother’s love

My mother is no
longer here

Hanging lonely on the
wall of our old kitchen

Is the frying pan of
her life

Can we give it a  price

KUALI HITAM

Sebiji kuali hitam

di dapur
rumah kelahiran

adalah
teman ibuku

siang dan malam

Sebiji kuali hitam

terjerang
di atas tungku

adalah
penghibur ibu

ketika
kami menunggu

Sebiji kuali hitam

di atas
api siang dan malam

tahun
demi tahun

kami tidak pernah menghitung

Seorang
ibu yang menyayangi sebiji kuali

sering
memeluk kami

pernahkah kami perhatikan

matanya
yang ditikam serbuk arang

kulitnya
yang dikoyak percikan minyak

lengannya
yang diserap abu hitam

dahinya yang disengat pucuk api

kami
hanya tahu lena kekenyangan

ketika
tidur ibu diketuk-ketuk

oleh lelah dan batuk

setelah
asap dan abu menggaru-garu

di
paru-paru

Kami tidak pernah menyedari

dan ibu pun tidak peduli

dia hanya tahu merasa bahagia

melihat kami keriangan

menunggu sesuatu akan terhidang

dan tidak ada yang lebih membahagiakan

dari melihat kami kekenyangan

Begitulah tahun demi tahun

kuali
yang setia menjalankan tugasnya

hingga
kami dewasa dan hidup di kota

(2)

  

Kini di
dapur rumahku yang bersih

tak ada
kuali hitam yang hodoh

cuma
pada kesempatan

yang tidak selalu sempat

aku
memasak untuk anak-anak

dengan
kuali non-stick

yang tebal dan mahal

dan sesudah itu membasuhnya

dengan sabun yang lembut

berhati-hati
seperti memandikan bayi

mengikut
arahan pada buku panduan

Suatu hari ibu ke rumahku

dengan
kerajinannya yang biasa

memasak
untuk kami sekeluarga

cucu-cucunya
ternyata amat berselera

dan ibu
merasa terlalu bahagia

Dan sesudah itu

dengan cara yang dia tahu

mengemas
dan merapikan dapurku

dan
seperti yang biasa dibuat

pada
kualinya di kampung

dia
menyental kualiku yang mahal

dengan
berus yang kesat

dan spontan aku menjerit

“Ibu merosakkan kuali saga

tahukah ibu berapa harganya?”

Ibu terdiam

barangkali hatinya terguris

barangkali
dia hampir menangis

melihat
wajahku yang bengis

(3)

Dan kini

setelah ibu kembali kepada Ilahi

aku menyesali keterlanjuran

kiranya
aku telah mengukur kasih sayang ibu

dengan
harga sebiji kuali

Ibu telah tiada

kuali
hitam tergantung sepi

di
dinding dapur rumah tua

bolehkah
kami menghitung

berapa
harganya