Books across the water

Following your heart is not always a simple process. Following your intuition may feel just right even if you know it could get tricky down the line. This is the story of a perfect intuitive match between writer and publisher (the reason I ended up publishing in Indonesia), the only complication being to this wonderful relationship was — how to get the books across the water.

From the cover of Sea Of Poppies by Amitav Gosh.

I met my Indonesian publishers Sarita Newson and her son Kadek Krishna Adidharma at the first Ubud Writers Festival in 2004. In those early years we were all involved in helping get the festival off the ground and when I finished my first novel (set in Bali), in 2006,  Saritaksu Editions offered to publish it. Of course I agreed. I loved the wonderful art and poetry books they produced and this was to be their first novel. (They have since done more see here and here). We launched at UWRF in Oct 2006 and worked together in other ways: helping launch another of their books, Butterflies of Bali by Victor Mason in Jakarta, editing Toeti Heraty's, Calon Arang - Story of a Woman Sacrificed to Patriarchy, running writing workshops at their beachside hacienda in Sanur, writing retreats at their Lakeview Hotel in Kintamani, co-sponsoring West Papuan poet John Waromi to workshop his new novel in Bali, to name a but a few.

From left: John Waromi, Sarita Newson, Kadek Purnami, working on John's novel at Saritaksu.

It may sound like my pubishers are millionaires and in the untold riches of life you would say they are, but the fact is like most people in Bali they eke out a living as best they can.

Which is where this story comes in. Working out ways to transport books across the water to Oz without paying hefty freight and import/export fees is always a creative challenge. While my novel Take Me To Paradise was on sale at bookshops acrosss Bali  (nestled next to Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray Love), it was up to me to find distribution in Australia. But how to bring the books over without extra expense? Surely it wouldn't be so difficult for as you can see from the map below, it's just not that far!

As I was coming and going from Bali often, I became expert at packing my carry-on suitcase with nothing but books plus a layer of  dirty underwear on top. I could fit up to 50 books that way. These were the days in the old Bali Airport before they checked the weight of carry on. You could go through, check in your big bag, then come back outside again, pick up your carry on case from a waiting friend, and waltz right through with no questions asked. The only suspicion would arise with a steward remarking as he was heaving the case into the overhead lockers, 'what have you got in there -bricks?' Not far wrong!

It was also the days of Schapelle's ongoing appeal and the Bali Nine, so there was added level of paranoia and anxiety. The advantage of having your suitcase plastic wrapped was that it may be less likely to be searched in Oz, then again maybe not. If they did want to open it up I would explain, 'no this is not a commercial venture, I took the books over for a festival and alas didn't sell so well.' They would sympathise, wish me better luck next time, and off I would go.

In 2007 we had a lucky break. Sandra Thibodeaux with the NT Writers Centre had been working with Kadek Kris and Sitok Srengenge on an anthology of writing from the Oz/Indo region called Terra. It was published in Jakarta by Kata Kita Books and they had the same problem, until word came through there was room in a container leaving for Darwin from the coast of Java with some extra space for some of mine. I don't know how above or below board it was, but it was going to be a free ride for a few hundred of my books to Darwin at least, then perhaps I could bring them down through the centre by camel! Just kidding, but the deal had that kind of feel to it and was being supervised by an Aussie guy called something like Dakka, and we had to get the books to him by 4pm on such and such a day or else the deal was off. Sarita and Kadek somehow got the books to Jogjakarta and then on from there. Apparently they just made it in time. The last leg was done by motorbike. My writer's mind embellishes visions of the bike piled high with boxes of books tied on at odd angles with bamboo string, driving up a mud track to an out of the way wharf, with Dakka or was it Macca? pacing, smoking kretek, while the boat is champing at the bit to set sail so it can slip into the strait under the cover of darkness.

The books arrived in Darwin safely, in perfect condition and were delivered to the NT Writers Centre. Mine sat under a table waiting to be ferried by a friend to the trusty Greyhound depot and dispatched to me in Sydney.

A couple of years later I got a message from NT Writers asking what did I want them to do with the books? Apparently half the boxes were still sitting under the table! Greyhound came to the rescue again just in time to replenish my stocks.

Here's another story.  Last year when my latest book, Archipelagogo, arrived in Ubud fresh from the printer in Jakarta, I was so smitten by it, I forgot to remember I might be cursing it in months to come. We had a lovely cabaret launch at Bar Luna during UWRF, sold a few books (never as many as you'd like to) and once more, like a mother who had forgotten how painful the birth was, I was faced with the same conundrum — how to get the books home.

This is not such a silly idea, one of my editors on TMTP was Bob the raft guy.

If I had been super organised I could have given a package of five books to each Aussie attending the festival (there were a lot) and that would have taken care of it. As I couldn't do the old walk-in-walk- out trick at the airport any more, I worked out how many books I could sequester in my luggage and still be under the limit. My carry-on bag wasn't as heavy as last time, and somehow I still managed to bring about 40 -50 books home. But I needed more for the Sydney launch planned for April, so Sarita and I investigated shipping costs for Denpasar to Sydney.

To bring six hundred books by sea was affordable so I went with the cheapest quote, negotiated the pick up and expected to see the books at my door in under a month. I should have had second thoughts when the shipper sent me an email to say 'we can't guarantee the books won't get wet'. !!! I imagined the books teetering on deck in a rickety container, the door flinging open on the roll of the sea and the waves breaking over my boxes. Or god forbid — this...

 'Don't worry,' the shipper explained after I sent a 'concerned reply. ' It should be fine, we have to say that as when they spray for quarantine it can get a bit moist.' 'Oh', I replied flatly, 'ok,' wondering if it was too late to wriggle out of this deal and try another company. Nah, lets just stay with it, I decided.

The days passed and when I enquired if the books were on their way, the shipper explained they were still at the dock, waiting for the container to fill up. They'd had some problems with some of their suppliers, sorry, nothing they could do. Did you want us to organise to send some by air freight? No, way too expensive. How long will it be? Well, a month on the dock and another month to get to Sydney. Two months!! I huffed and puffed. Nothing I could do, but postpone the launch. Lucky it had only been mooted, not announced.

Where are the books now you ask? The answer is I don't know.

Perhaps they have been put to better use!

But we are still planning to launch July 7 at Bowery Poetry Club in New York and Sydney in September. Now how will I get the books to New York City? We could go overland by mule.
I'm looking into it.

SUPPORT OUR INDIEGOGO CAMPAIGN HERE TO GET JAN AND THE BOOKS TO NYC. 

Find out more about Archipelagogo here.

Stay tuned for details of upcoming launches.

Postscript

The books arrived in Sydney on June 23, just in time for pre NYC events.

Spoken and sung word cabaret for Ubud

The count down is on, we are in the home run, the final corrections done, the book goes to print, the singer does her warm ups, checks to see if the venue is finalised, cranks up the publicity machine..

Tadaaaa...

Celebrating 10 years of the Ubud Writers & Readers Festival, Bali, Jan Cornall presents a new book and cabaret of songs, poems and stories, penned during her travels in Indonesia in the past decade. Jan will perform her spoken and sung word cabaret at Bar Luna, during the Ubud Writers & Readers Festival, October 11-15 (date and time of the cabaret to be confirmed soon)!
You can also catch Jan speaking at:

Jalan Jalan:14/10/13
Come Jalan Jalan with some of the Festival’s adventurous storytellers & intrepid travellers. Jalan Jalan means ‘to wander’ in Indonesian & this event is now an annual UWRF tradition. Join Claire Scobie, Jan Cornall & Jon Doust as they take you through the heart of Ubud, & then on a gentle stroll through the rice paddies as you head to the gorgeous Sari Organik. Over a delicious organic brunch & while looking out over Ubud’s stunning rice terraces you’ll hear stories from both near & far.

Writing On The Road 14/10/13
Backpack (suitcase), notebook, laptop, mobile, camera, research, desire, courage… Hear from these travel writers about their experience writing from the road — is it always so easy to find an original angle & what lengths do you go to to find the story? With Laura Jean Mackay, Claire Scobie, Tom Doig, Jan Cornall.

Check out the rest of the Ubud Writers Festival Program here.

Ok, back to the book. Archipelagogo is lovingly edited, designed and published by Sarita Newson and team at Saritaksu Editions, Bali.  Jan's first book to be published by Saritaksu, Take Me To Paradise  was launched at UWRF in 2006.  

Here is the front cover, I hope you like it...

and a sneak peek inside..

The thrill of this book is having the chance to work with Jumaadi's paintings. Jumaadi is an Indonesian born artist who graduated with his Master of Fine Arts at the  National Art School in Sydney. He has exhibited his work in Australia, Indonesia, China, Europe, USA and performs his unique puppetry events as well. Jumaadi was the puppeteer in Jan's stage show Take Me To Paradise at OzAsia Festival in 2008.

You can read and view some of the works for the book in earlier posts.

(c) Jan Cornall 2013

Little Mother

Where are you now little mother
where have you gone
are you floating about in the ether
are you feeling happy and strong?
where are you now my best mum
where can you be
When will you be sending a message to me?

Are you up in the clouds looking down
are you drifting on an airstream
just wandering around
are you waving at me madly
only I can't see
that you're already standing
right in front of me
Where are you now little mother?

Did you see me in the my kost room
getting the call
that you'd finally decided to leave us all
when my watch stopped dead in the middle of the night
was that you telling me you'd be alright
did you see my tears, my disbelief
knew you had to go
but did you have to leave
Where are you now little mother?

Did you watch me jump into a taxi to Glodok next day
to go to a Chinese temple to pray
in a klenteng full of smoke and incense
litte mother, did it make any sense
to pray to ceramic buddhas in that way
Where are you now litte mother?

And with some friends we prayed to Allah
and others back home doing mantra
did it make any difference
or was it just for us
to feel we were making some kind of fuss
'cos little mother you didn't care for religious stuff
like heavens and hells and all that guff
your life was a hell
you told us often enough
Have you left that hell behind now little mother?

And did you see me smsing my kids on the day
they waved your coffin slowly away
did you follow the hearse to the crematorium
or were you already far
far away, gone
But where to little mother?

And do you watch me in this Jakarta town
is that you following me around
as I ride in taxis, walk in the street
greeted by everyone I meet
hello mrs, hello mister
dari mana, where you from
please sit down, have a drink
you like our country, what you think?
Were you sitting with me then, little mother
as we compared notes with one another
and were you touched little mother, just like me
by their warmth and generousity?

And little mother, do you hear the morning call to prayer
as it  through the cool morning air
and the morning sellers as they come
loudly proclaiming to everyone
roti, roti, roti, roti, roti
dong dong dong, dong dong dong, dong dong, dong dong dong dong
dong dong dong, dong dong dong, dong dong, dong dong dong dong
ding ding ding, de ding ding ding
tok tok tok te tok tok tok
and still it's only 6 o'clock
the bubur man on his motorbike
like a frog croaking in the night
bubur ayam bubur, bubur ayam, bubur.
then all the women coming out
like Mary Magdelenes, so devout
their beauty framed by colours strong
as gracefully they glide along
and men on motos taking kids to school
can you see it little mother
Can you see it all?

And out into the macet, macet
to be carried away
on the sea of moving metal
as they do every day
working so hard for their meagre pay
and under the tall freeway pylons
tired mothers, sick babes in arms
tap at car windows, hopefully
to move someone with their mournful plea
can you help them little mother
Can you help them?

And so on and on, into the day
and everyone still finds time to pray
on and on, to the mall
where ibu ibu meet to tell all
as they swish about in luxury
safe from the seething human sea
do you see it little mother
Do you see?

Can you see the buses full
can you see the bajais spluttering
in the sky, tiny kites a-fluttering
litte boys hold tight the string
way down in the crowded kampung
as if to say, one day I will fly
fly away from this place
into a sky so free and spacious
just like you little mother
Just like you?

And when the sky turns a blazing red
and all good children are in bed
and when the night begins to fall
do you see them, do you see them all
all the night workers waking up
just in time for evening prayer
before they go to make a dollar in a crowded bar
entertaining bule flown in from afar
as they ride the sex world underground
where you can taste anything you please
Russian, Korean, Japanese
and satisfaction will be yours for sure
just leave your wallet at the door
did you watch them little mother
Did you watch them all?

Did you see the musos trundling home
from their late night hotel gigs
artists, writers, talking late
in crowded cafes on the street
pece lele, soto ayam
all night in the roadside warung
and catching my bluebird taxi home
were you with me little mother
as we took the tol again
how many miles have I travelled alone
speeding into a night that stretches so far
apartment buildings rising tall
from low tin house swamps with kerosene lamp
where breathing bodies find rest in a corner of damp
and the glittering lights of the mall never go out
promising, one day we can have it all
do you think so litte mother
Do you think so?

And did you see me shaking in my bed
when I thought the roof would come crashing on my head
as the sky cracked and groaned in an angry roar
and the wrath of the heavens started to pour
washing the sins of the city away
into drains and canals, like a glacier flow
taking with it every bit of plastic that will go
where does it all go little mother
Do you now know?

And did you come with me across the strait
arriving at the tinkling gate of the favorite Bali isle
did you fly above the crowded street
as the cremation procession wound its way
at the temple did you see, two bodies wrapped in white
elderly women of royalty, placed in majestic sarcophagi
the proud black bulls standing tall, as fires lit around their feet
began to lick and leap up high into the cloudy Ubud sky
and through the flames did you see their bodies appear
blackened skin and stringy hair
tough and stubborn, strong as leather
is this how they lived their lives together
and little mother, did your body burn like this
or was it over all to quick
with just a workman standing there
adjusting his crotch and scratching his hair
and in a jiffy you were done
into the grinder, here comes another one

I'm sorry little mother I wasn't there
to carry you all the way to the end
but never one for ceremony
I know you would have said
'heavens don't bother with any of that
for christsakes I'll be dead'

But that's the trick I can't quite get
'cos now you're gone
your presence seems stronger
is it true, little mother
is that you little mother?
the tiny kitten at my door
the finches on the window pane
who come to visit again and again
the butterflies in the sawa
I've never noticed them before
but I met a man who opened my eyes
just like you, to all the kupu kupu
are you that man?
how can that be?
but perhaps you sent this man to me
because he is enthralled, just like you
by birds and butterflies and all wild flowers
he can talk for hours and hours
and never misses a single beat
as he strides the paddies in gnarled bare feet
and as we walked
and as we talked
I started to see you everywhere
I realised you'd come back to earth
as quickly as you'd left us here
flitting about on every flower
as always was your wont
there you were in brilliant colours
patterns on your wings
dancing, prancing, in front of me
then disappearing on a whim
and I feel you mother
everywhere
flapping on the wind
on every little puff of breeze that lands upon my skin 
your arms around me, little mother
your arms around me tight
I know you are a butterfly
flapping in the night
I know your life is over
just when it's begun
but then you roll back into your cocoon
and come back as another one
and you fill the air with butterflies of every single shade
and I feel you all around me
like the moment I was made
by you little mother
by you


Stay close, little mother
I'm here, little mother
be near, little mother
my strong little mother

kupu kupu



(c) Jan Cornall Jakarta 2006

Indonesian Handbag

Please help me, will you help me
I don't know what to do
please help me, will you save me
from falling in love with you
There would be no problem
if the singular were in use
but in your case it's the plural
that is causing me my mind to lose!

Please help me, will you help me
I don't know what to do
it's not just one Indonesian
but the whole bang lot of you
Every hand I shake, every smile I see
every laugh I share, everyone I greet
I stagger, I swoon, I crumple, I fall
into a jelly heap.

Please help me, will you help me
Can you tell me what to do
I fall in love on every corner
every day, anew
You're so sexy and delicious
passionate, outrageous
intelligent, good looking and good cooks too!
I want the world to share in my discovery
at the same time I want to keep you all just for me!


(Chorus)
And my friends think I've gone crazy
my friends think I've gone mad
'cos I'm always getting on a plane
for that Indonesia land
And my friends they can call me names
I don't care; indogroupy, indohag, indonesian handbag
And my government is scared of a terrorist attack
but the only terror that I have is of never coming back!

Please help me, will you help me
I don't know what to do
I've fallen, really fallen
for the whole bang lot of you
so when you see me standing in the street
with tears in my eyes
I'm not sad, I'm just happy
my dreams to realise
To finally meet a people so generous and kind
who stimulate my body and excite my mind
and there's only one question, now I have to ask;
dear Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, God, Buddha

Am I dreaming?
If so, please let this dream last.

(c) Jan Cornall   Jakarta 2005

Jogja Cowboy

I fell in love with a Jogja cowboy
no I cannot have him 
no I cannot keep him
I fell in love with a real Java man
oh why can't I have him?
oh why can't I keep him?

He was so tender
he was so gentle
he took me riding
he took me to his temple
he was so sexy
he was so tough
of those Jogja boys, you can't get enough

I fell in love with a Jogja cowboy
no, I cannot have him 
no, I cannot keep him
I fell in love with a real Java Man
oh, why can't I have him?
oh, why can't I keep him?

He has a life there, probably a wife there
I am passing through now on another journey
And even though at times, it can get lonely
I know you can't hold on to a Jogja dream

He was so tender
he was so gentle
he took me riding
he took me to his temple
he was so sexy
he was so tough
of those Jogja boys
you can't get enough


I'm dreaming of my Jogja cowboy and 
why I cannot have him
why I cannot keep him
anticipating time with my real Java man
why can't I have him?
why can't I keep him?

He has a life there, not only a wife there
then there is his lover and then there is another
he finds his loving where he can
for after all he's a real Java man 

He was so tender
he was so gentle
he took me riding
he took me to his temple
he was so sexy
he was so tough
of those Jogja boys
you can't get enough

So I'm not going to think of my Jogja cowboy and
why I cannot have him
why I cannot keep him
'til next I visit my Jogja town
Oh, why can't I have him?
why can't I keep him?
I'll say hello if I see him
I'll say hello if he's still around

He was so tender
he was so gentle
he took me riding
he took me to his temple
he was so sexy
he was so tough
of those Jogja boys
you can't get enough

Married men

Married men invite you in

to meet their wives before they sin

Wanting you to play the game

of secrets kept outside the frame 

Secret meetings, rendevous

in hotel rooms built just for you

For furtive sex on sheetless beds

without a pillow to lay your head

Sweat, desire, burning hot

and in the moment you’ve forgotten

Stains on walls of previous lovers

who came searching for paradise in one another

Married men invite you in

they think their wives will never sin

But secrets thrive here, secrets abound

even though there are thousands of eyes all around

And there’s plenty of time in a woman’s day

for stealing pleasure in many ways 

Pleasure alone, pleasure together

why shouldn’t a wife have her own taste of heav-e-e-a-a-a-a-e-e-e-e-e-e-n

Married men invite you in

to meet their wives before they sin

But they miss the secret signalling

as wife takes her chance to slip away

To meet her lover for the day

Husband tells you with a wink and a grin

She’ll be off shopping all day long

And the sisterhood's still going str-o-o-o-o-o-ong

Married men you can invite me in

and I’ll tell you I’m more than happy to sin

As long as your wife has the same chance

to play the secret rendevous, forbidden pleasure dance

And if you do I’ll guarantee 

you’ll have a happy marriage and you won’t need me

And I’ll smile as I remember the pleasure you gave

in hotel rooms whose dirty walls held the secrets of us all 

Husbands, wives and their lovers

who came searching for paradise in one an-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-t-h-e-e-e-e-e-r-r-r-r-r-r.

(c) Poemsong Jan Cornall Ubud 2007

(c) Paintings  Jumaadi, courtesy of the artist and Watters Gallery.
http://www.wattersgallery.com/artists/JUMAADI/Jumaadi.html

Money honey

 

I don’t need your body honey

I just want your money honey

You can keep your body honey

All for yourself

But I will love your body honey

I will make you feel so sunny

You will feel so happy

To be sharing your wealth

You’ll feel like a million dollars

Everywhere you go I’ll follow

Never will you ever have to

Be all alone

I will make you feel so happy

You won’t let my clothes stay shabby

You won’t ever worry

When I ask for a loan

(Chorus )

You want my body
I want your money

You’ll be my honey

We’ll feel so sunny

Even if I’m much much younger

We will always share the hunger

You for me and me for you

It never will die

You can be as old as leather

We will vow to stay together

People always shake their heads

And wonder why

You want my body
I want your money

You’ll be my honey

We’ll feel so sunny

As time goes by and we’ve forgotten

What it was that got us started

What it was that stirred in our heart and soul

As we settle in domestic bliss

We wonder how it came to this

How our mismatched love

Became to be so strong

You want my body
I want your money

You’ll be my honey

We’ll feel so sunny

I’ll never leave you

When you die I’ll grieve you

I’ll have your money but

Then I’ll miss you

Don’t ever leave me

Please believe me

When I say I love you

I really love you

You really helped me

How can I repay you

Now I ‘m older

But where’s your shoulder

Who can I turn to

When I get lonely

There must be someone

A little younger 

Who’ll make me feel

Like I’m getting stronger

Who can I help now

With your money

Who can I take now

For my honey

But they’ll just want me

For my money

And I’ll be thinking

Ain’t it funny

But they cant compare

With you my honey

And I just don’t care now for the money

Cos more than ever I miss your body

I want your body not your money

But your body’s gone now

In the ground now

While I remember

Our days so sunny

Where have you gone now

Why did you leave me

Forever long now

I'll always grieve you

In our love now

I’ll never leave you

All your money

I’d give to see you

In my arms now

With all your charms now

I miss you so much

My sugaaaaar mommy

(c) Jan Cornall Lovina 2007 
Paintings (c) Jumaadi, courtesy of the artist and Watters Gallery.
http://www.wattersgallery.com/artists/JUMAADI/Jumaadi.html