THE PUNAN BATU CLAN

by Diana Morley

Halfway up the mountain was a cavern as large as an amphitheater. The cave, which contained a dense concentration of swiftlet nests, is a sacred site for the Punan, who consider it the source of all things. Once inside, a man named Ma’ruf took a seat on the dirt floor. He was in his early 40s but appeared to be half that age, with swooped-over bangs and the youthful skin that comes from a life lived in the shade…. Ma’ruf began to hum, a deep and powerful vocalization that rose from his chest and echoed through the cave. Words took shape in a language only the elders understood. “I am like a porcupine who comes to the cave to rest,” he chanted, according to a translation of a recording of the chant made by Dr. Lansing. —“A Vanishing Nomadic Clan, With a Songlike Language All Their Own: New genetic research confirms the oral history of a small group of nomadic people living in Indonesia’s rainforest,” The New York Times, September 19, 2023

I am like a porcupine who comes to the cave to rest.

I am a benign soul grateful to be guest

seeking only the divine sleep of the blessed. 

Another day I may be gregarious, feel auspicious, 

forgetting the need to be scrupulous— 

but so worn I now risk becoming odious.

Easy to think reading about is knowing about

but pulling up from my core to bombinate,

to drone, as I can only in my dreams, 

thirsting to crawl into the cave to hold his hand. 

Half a world away, in awe of the sounds,

musical if not lyrical, plucking sounds

from belly, tuned from birth to the heart.

I am like a poet come today to words

from others in my family never met,

feeling the ken of their words, wanting 

to touch as if I knew how to feel by braille.

Diana Morley has published poetry online and in journals and in her poetry books. If she stopped writing, it would be the end.