Last Saturday night, November 29, 2025, the ancient stones of Candi Penataran had a different kind of glow. Instead of just moonlight and temple lamps, the place buzzed with food stalls, music, and—unexpectedly—poetry. The local literary community, Suara Sastra, had been invited to collaborate with the Blitar Office of Culture and Tourism for an event called Penataran Night Street Food. And honestly, it turned into one of those nights people would talk about for weeks.
At 7:30 p.m., Eko Susanto, the head of the tourism office, stepped onto the small stage and officially opened the event. His tone was cheerful—the kind that tells you a guy is happy the crowd actually showed up. When he mentioned that Penataran wasn't just a tourist spot but a living cultural space, people nodded along, snacks in hand, as if agreeing with a gentle truth.
Then came the part everyone had been waiting for.
Suara Sastra took over the stage with their usual warm, unpolished, and completely heartfelt style. Galang Suhastra opened with a monologue about village life—funny, sharp, and painfully real. People laughed at the right moments and went quiet at the heavy ones. The temple stones must’ve heard monologues centuries ago, but they probably didn’t expect one like Galang’s.
Next was Jon Blitar, reading poems about hometown stories—Blitar’s roads, its people, and the small tragedies that everyone pretends not to notice. His voice carried across the courtyard, mixing with the smell of grilled satay from the food stalls.
Then Florensia Dita stepped up with her soft acoustic set. Just one guitar and a few short poems, but somehow the whole space shifted—like when someone switches the lights from white to warm yellow.
After that, Mak Khom and a few others from the community closed the performance with a music-poetry combo. Nothing fancy, just honest voices and simple rhythms. And that’s exactly why people loved it.
But the night wasn’t only about performances. It also became the unofficial introduction of a new local novel: “Mahkota Tanpa Singgasana” (“A Crown Without a Throne”), written by Aini Rahma. The book tells the story of Mbah Mujahir, a local figure, through a mix of history and fiction. Some folks gathered near the booth where the novel was displayed, flipping through sample pages while snacking on fried cassava and herbal drinks.
As the night went on, the temple courtyard felt almost magical—like a market, a concert, and a book club meeting all happening at once. Kids ran around with balloons, older visitors sat on stone benches sipping warm ginger tea, and somewhere in between, poetry kept slipping into the air.
By 10 p.m., the event wrapped up. The organizers thanked the performers, the vendors, and the crowd that stayed until the very end. Suara Sastra members hung around a little longer, chatting and laughing, happy with the small but meaningful space they had carved into the night.
And Candi Penataran?
It stood there quietly—ancient, patient, and maybe a little amused that humans still gather around it to tell stories. Just like they always have.
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