The fisherman goes to sea,
Returns with a moray.
His heart soars, filled with glee.
At the market, the fish aren’t worth a penny.

The fisherman goes to sea,
Returns with a blenny.
With a laugh, light and breezy.
At the market, the fish aren’t worth a penny.

The fisherman goes to sea,
Returns with a goby.
Finds relief, in vastness, he.
At the market, the fish aren’t worth a penny.

The fisherman is averse to go to sea,
Wary to return and feel heavy.

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This was my first poem after I became a journalist in 2012. Originally in Indonesian, I tried to translate it while maintaining its essence of wordplay. It is weird, isn’t it? I don’t know what kind of fish they are, whether they are edible, or whether it is even possible to catch them. But, well, that’s probably the point—my cluelessness.

I wrote this without thinking, so all I can say is that it’s probably a metaphor for my professional frustration back then. As a rookie, I was always excited every time I went reporting, hunting for news. But when I got back to the office and pitched my draft, my editor always said, ” This one has no news value.”

It went like that for a whole month, and I started thinking I just didn’t cut it for the job. That day, after my pitch got rejected for the nth time, I scribbled this and saw myself as the fisherman in this narrative.

It was a difficult period. But, well, I am still in the industry anyway.

Here is the original poem: https://jijilubis.blog/2020/05/02/nelayan/