The Shades of his Evening
Rahul Pandita - July 05, 2006
The true story of Dalit radical poet Lal Singh Dil.
When
Many suns will die
Then
Your era will arrive
Isn’t it?
Many suns have died since these lines were written but their time has still not come. So more lines are being created, more suns are being done to death, in that brick dwelling. Inside the four brick walls, the sun that survived, is wreaking havoc with its heat. The room is hot like a furnace. In the middle of the room, over a string cot, lies Lal Singh Dil, writing the last paragraph of his 78-page poem.
On the cheap register that bears the lashes of his personal history, Dil has noted down the day when he began writing the poem, two years ago. In front of his cot lies another cot, like a berated lover. Few dirty cups share a table with few saucers and two kettles; one made of cheap bone china and the other of aluminium. An old iron trunk plays foootsie with rust in one corner. Numerous mementoes weigh heavily on a cement slab. Their plastic covers have never been lifted. The floor near Dil is littered with Beedis and burnt and unburnt matchsticks.
Jo ladna nahi jaande
Jo ladna nahi chohnde
Wo gulam bana liye jaande ne
(Those who do not know how to fight
Those who do not want to fight
They are turned into slaves)
Lal Singh Dil is sixty-three now. He wrote these lines in 1967 when the thunder spring of Naxalbari reverberated in faraway Punjab. For the first time in his life, he felt as if his life had a mission. There was no point in remaining only a poet now. So Dil picked up a gun and joined the movement.
In his recent unpublished poem, Dil describes a dream where he sees his mother washing his clothes. He tries to hold her and she breaks away, prompting him to write:
Mein kis da putt han?
(Whose son am I?)
It is a manifestation of Dil’s longing for love, which he did not receive from anyone except his mother. Born in the chamar (tanner) community in Samrala town of Punjab, Dil was the first member of his family to finish school. His mother sold off her ear rings to make sure that Dil went right up to college.
Those who know Dil since college days say that he was very handsome and because of this and his poetry, many girls fell for him. There was one girl who wore her hair in plaits and lived in a neighbouring village. She was from an upper caste family. Dil’s friend lived in the same village and so Dil would see that girl often and developed a liking for her. But she died of cerebral haemorrhage. Later Dil would find another girl who looked like that girl, wearing her hair in the same fashion. One day he was invited to that girl’s house where he was offered tea in a steel tumbler. Afterwards, the girl’s mother picked the tumbler with a pair of tongs and threw it in fire to purify it. Dil writes in his autobiography Dastaan (Story) that he can still hear the clank of that tumbler thrown in the fire.
Dil began to write poetry during his college days. One of his early poems was published by Preetlarhi, a leading literary journal of Punjab in those times. He was working as a daily wage labourer when the peasant uprising in Naxalbari spread like wildfire. That was the time when Dil wrote a poem called ‘The shades of Evening’.
After remaining underground for four years, Dil was arrested by the Police. In the lock-up, the upper-caste Police officer slapped Dil hard and shouted: Ab chamar kranti layenge is desh mein? (Would the lower caste bring revolution in this country now?)
For nine months, Dil would face extreme physical torture. He would be subjected to more torture than his fellow comrades because of his caste and because of his poetry.
Soon after his release from the prison, Dil had to go into hiding once again. Only this time the period of hiding was much longer. He fled from his hometown to a village near Lucknow in Uttar Pradesh, where he worked as labourer in mango orchards. He made a comeback in mid 80’s, after a gap of fifteen years.
By that time, the memory of Lal Singh Dil had faded away from people’s memory. He was an icon in 70’s, Samrala’s own Che Guevara. Fifteen years later, he had to open up a tea-stall to make his ends meet. Even that did not last for long. But what did, and still is, is Lal Singh Dil’s ink.
Dil happens to be the contemporary of radical poets like Avtar Singh Pash and Santram Udasi. In ‘The shades of Evening’, based on his experiences during the Naxalbari movement, Dil writes:
The shades of evening
Are old once again
The pavements
Head for settlements
A lake walks
From an office
Thrown out of work
A lake is sucking
The thirst of water
Throwing off all wages
Someone is leaving
Someone comes wiping
On his dhoti
The blood of weak animals
On his goad
The shades of evening
Are old once again
Loaded with rebuke
The long caravan moves on
Along with the
Lengthening shadows of evening
In his one-room hermitage, Lal Singh Dil, the biggest name in Punjabi free verse poetry, spends his last days in penury. He told someone recently that he does not expect anything from anyone.
In the same 78-page unpublished poem, Dil writes:
I do not want to write about my personal sorrows.
Lal Singh Dil’s wounds are too many to heal. And something has to be done with his sorrows also. The shades of evening may have to turn like old once again.
***
This journey became possible because of my friend, filmamker Ajay Bharadwaj. His recent film, Kitte Mil Ve Mahi, features Lal Singh Dil. For more pictures, click here.
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Posted by Rahul Pandita at July 5, 2006 10:30 AM
Comments
Dear Rahul
Thanks for bringing the story of Lal Singh Dil to us, and translating his verses into English. I would like to meet him one day.
*****
Ms. Guptaa, please read this blog of Rahul. See his skills in telling a story. You have your own style, but with that diction of yours, how can you write anything with an effect in English?
Rahul,
Thanx,for telling the story of a great poet..
Thanks Rahul for the story.
Rahul in a very short sketch you made us walk through some of the poignant moments of Lal ji's life. Thanks
"Jo ladna nahi jaande
Jo ladna nahi chohnde
Wo gulam bana liye jaande ne"
True, I guess the bigger question is How (which methods) u choose/use to fight ..
Rahul,
Can you please send the following verses to Lal Singh Dil on my behalf. I would like to see how he responds. Is he still living in the past?
Hun o zamanay nikal gaye
Jadon logi
talwaran naal si ladday
Topan nall si ladday
Te jit ke dushmanan noon
Gulaam bana kay rakhday
Hun logi ladday nay
Aapneeyan kalmaan naal
Aapnay saaray hitkaar
hor logan nuun dikha kay
O azzaad ho janday nay,
ghulami nahin karday
gone are the days
when people fought
with swords and guns
and winning the battles
they turned their enemies
into their slaves
now they fight
with their pens
and write asking their rights –
they thus become free
from man's slavery
*****
"(He) spends his last days in penury. He told someone recently that he does not expect anything from anyone."
What about royalties from the producer of the film?
*****
You are welcome to do any editing in the Punjabi text or the English translation.
a Dalit
with a poetic touch
and an untouchable spirit,
a hidden sun
before the sun says goodnight
it warms you with a saffron light
Rahul, thanks for the writeup.
It has a certain personal poignance for me- Lal Singh Dil and Santram Udasi were two poets that influenced me while growing up in the Punjab in the late 80s.
Their writings may have been inspired in the heat of the times, in the shadow of the flames of the Naxalbari uprising, but the light from the poetry will continue to remind us of the struggles that have not yet ended.
Rahul a very poignant story.Thanks for bringing his poetry to light...
BTW,I am Dan's(caferrati) sis.
Poem, ‘Love’, by Murari Mukhopadhyay of Bengal:
When in love,
Do not become the moon.
If you can,
Come as the sun.
I’ll take its heat
And light up the dark forest.
When in love,
Do not become the river.
If you can,
Come as the flood.
I’ll carry its passion
And break the dams of despair.
When in love,
Do not become a flower.
If you can,
Come as the thunder.
I’ll lift its roar to my breast
And send forth the battle-cry to every corner.
When in love,
Do not become a bird.
If you can,
Come as the storm.
I’ll borrow its force
And destroy the palace of sin.
The moon,
The river,
The flower,
The stars
The birds –
We can look for them later.
But today,
In this darkness
The last battle is yet to be fought.
What we need now in our hovel
Is – Fire.
An analysis by the poet K. Satchidanandan:
The poet rejects the usual objective correlatives of love employed in romantic poetry, especially symbols and metaphors like moon, river, flower, stars and birds. He replaces them with the warm sun that would illumine the dark woods, the flood of revolutionary passion that would challenge despair, the thunder that would help the poet carry his war-cry to all parts of the world, the storm that would lend him strength enough to pull down “the palaces of sin” and the fire that would burn down the decrepit, decadent, old world. It is difficult to say that the poem is antiromantic; rather it inverts old romanticism and creates a revolutionary romanticism that employs energetic signs like flood, fire, sun and thunder.
More Indian poets and poetry at http://india.poetryinternationalweb.org/
dear Rahul
excellent writing, photos.
the report has a lot of important content between its lines, a lot of backstory, that i can't see clearly because i'm from the west. i sense the richness of it, but details blur.
readers with a Hindustani background are moved by Singh Dil's story in a very deep way.
i see his struggle, his fight, his determination to continue, his need to communicate and move people to action despite all odds, his will to survive in order to do these things. but i don't fully understand the fight he's in. there are cultural, moral, historical and religious issues that are either unknown to me, or that i have only a shallow understanding of. i have to stretch to see over the mountain to get even a small glimpse of the land Singh Dil occupies.
in a few years, when i know more, i hope to come back to this story and read it again.
thank you for sharing this.
love, heath
11. Posted by
heather
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on
July 5, 2006 05:35 PM
UG,
Thanks for posting the poem, ‘Love’, by Murari Mukhopadhyay of Bengal, and the commentary.
Beautiful.
Thanks for such a moving article on this firebrand poet, Rahul. We must indeed be a pathetic republic to let our poets languish like that. Even more pathetic is the fact that the cause for which poets like Dil raised their pens still remain neglected.
I seriously hope there's something we can do provide dignity to this poet he so deserves.
Rahul, What a verse "Jo ladna nahi jaande...Jo ladna nahi chohnde....Wo gulam bana liye jaande ne"
We need to understand this and I hope you know what I mean ?
Rahul, What a verse "Jo ladna nahi jaande...Jo ladna nahi chohnde....Wo gulam bana liye jaande ne"
We need to understand this and I hope you know what I mean ?
Rahul, What a verse "Jo ladna nahi jaande...Jo ladna nahi chohnde....Wo gulam bana liye jaande ne"
We need to understand this and I hope you know what I mean ?
Rahul, since this thread is related to poetry, I am going to post some translations of Indian poetry here. I hope it is ok with you.
*****
Urdu Ghazals in Translation - I
I Still Remember by Hasrat Mohani
Shedding tears in silence I still remember
Those days of falling in love I still remember
Seeing you how speechless I would become
Your finger in your teeth I still remember
When you had no lover besides me
Tell me those flirtations if you still remember
In hiding you'd come to see me at that place
It has been ages but that place I still remember
Telling this tale of my heart's sorrows listlessly
Turning the bracelets on your wrists I still remember
Translated by Ravi Kopra
Urdu Ghazals in Translation - II
Without You by Gautam Dhar 'Zafar'
So many seasons' caravans went by without you
I feel no happiness without you
Every moment the beetles desire your coming
Every petal is blooming in red without you
Even the traces of memories were washed away in tears
Alas! The whole earth is now a desert without you
Till yesterday the ship rolled joyously at sea
It has now fallen into ruins without you
I thought of you in my dreams at nights
The evenings of my life went by without you
Perhaps 'Zafar' could not bear being away from you
He took his last breath weeping continuously without you
Translated by Ravi Kopra
Original at:
http://msu.edu/~dhargaut/Ghazals/tere.htm
Persian Ghazals in Translation - I
As It Was by Ghalib
Only mad Qais could see his beloved’s face, as it was
The wildrness of love, a far cry to others, as it was
Lunacy healed the scars of my burnt heart
Revealing its essence in smoke-whorls, as it was
I talked to you in my dreams all love-things
When I opened my eyes, no gain or loss it was
A beginner learning the ways of broken hearts
I haven’t what I had, what I lost, all lost it was
Only a shroud will cover my nakedness in death
In other attires, existing in disgrace it was
Farhad couldn't kill himself without an axe, Asad
A prisoner of traditions and taboos, as it was
Translated by Ravi Kopra
Urdu Ghazals in Translation - III
Khayyam's House Tonight (Author Known to Rahul Pandita)
You’ll see how love’s force prevails tonight
You’ll see the demoiselle leaning on my shoulder tonight
I'll see an aura of romance everywhere tonight
It will be all beautiful everywhere tonight
Besides the revelry in the verses of fierce spirit
My house will be Khayyam's house tonight
Translated by Ravi Kopra
***
Original:
Dekhna jazb-e-mohabbat ka asar aaj ki raat
Mere shaane pe us shaukh ka ser aaj ki raat
Noor hi noor hai kis simt uthaun aankhen
husn hi husn hai tahad ki nazar aaj ki raat
Nagma-0-mey ka ye toofan-e-talab kya kehna
mera ghar ban gaya Khayyam ka ghar aaj ki raat
Dear Rahul,
Good post as usual. What is the reason that poets/activists like Lal Singh Dil don't get rich & famous? Why does he have to live in penury? Why is it that in our country people only get recognition after they die or when they are in their old age?
Dear Ravi Phraji,
Can you translate this sher for me..........
Raste par ro-ro ke humse
poochha paaon ke chhalon ne
Basti kitni door basaa li
"Dil" mein basne waalon ne
Cheers!
Navin
Navin bhai jaan,
I think I translated this 'sher' for you long ago
in an another avatar. Anyway here it is:
on my way the blisters
on my feet wept
and asked me repeatedly:
why is their abode so far?
they’re the ones in my heart.
Note: I am getting out of the day to day nonsense at Intentblog and will mostly be posting my poetry here, with an occasional comment on a blog of some super-duper guru etc.
Dear Phraji,
Oh yes, I remember now. You did translate it for me earlier too. I don't know if the words you used were the same as now. It's one of my fav ghazals...sung by Ashok Khosla...don't remember the full ghazal.
Shouldn't the last two lines be:
why is the abode so far?
of the ones who dwell in my heart.
About your little note......great to know that you are getting out of the rut and are more relaxed now.
Cheers!
Navin
yes, Navin, yours is more literal. Another version would be:
why is their abode so far?
they’re the ones who dwell in my heart.
I do not recall how I translated it the first time.
You can read Bhupinder's article on him in this link
http://bhupindersingh.blogspot.com/2006/07/lal-singh-dil.html
Kabir says this:
Maya mari na man mara, mar mar gaye sareer
Asha trishna na mari, keh gaye das Kabir
~Kabir
*****
bodies of many
came to end.
but their bondage,
their desires
saw no end
their hopes,
their longings
had no end.
Kabir in thrall
said this in passing.
translated by Ravi Kopra
http://ravikopra.blogspot.com/2005_12_01_ravikopra_archive.html
Rahul, recently I have been reading Charles Bukowski and his skill of line breaks has left a mark on me. So I tried to translate Dil's verse like this:
those who do not
know how to fight
those who do not
want to fight
are turned into
slaves
Dear Ravi,
Your note caught my eye.
I want to keep reading your poetry, so do not stray so far away from intent, that I will miss you! O.k.
I wish you a restful respite.
With love,
from my abode,
which dwells ever close to you,
when you whisper my name
~ Kate
Kate, there you are. Please visit open thread and say hello, hi, or whatever to Keith. He has been missing you. Thank you angel.
Ravi, I liked 17, 18, and 20. Please don't go too far away from IB. Please visit often. Thank you for everything you have done for me.
Anup Bhargav ( ) Hindi Poet
Abandonment
you are the shore.
I rise like
a thirsty wave
to kiss you.
you stand there
like a rock as usual.
each time only I
after touching you
keep on going back.
translated by Ravi Kopra
Note: The original poem in Hindi titled as Yoon Hee by Anup Bhargav is at
http://www.manaskriti.com/kaavyaalaya/yun_hee1.stm
देखा राहुल साहब , कितने " लाल सिंघ दिल " अब भी कहीं गुमनामी के अंधेरों में रह रहे हैं ! ओर न जानें कितनों न अपनी सांसों को हवा में विलीन करकें , अपने गमों की एक पोटली बनाकर इस धरती से विदाई ले ली है !
Here i would like to cite some words of Saint Buddha:
He says to a person ," Are you looking for joys on this earth , no my dear Son , you are wandering just your mind and giving unnecessory tention to mind , while there is nothing except of sorrows and griefs on this earth?"
These are more pathotic and genuine words to which anyone can feel anytime and anywhere.
Darling, I still remember
darling, I still remember
that spring morning
camping in woods we went
to the brook to fetch water
and sat there on a boulder
watching the sun to rise
beyond the birch trees;
as the sun rose
in crimson skies
the sunbeams came
through tall trees
touching our face
shining in our eyes.
you leaned against me
and kissed me, and I
embraced you tight
in my arms and said:
darling, I love you.
~Ravi Kopra
वो हमसें इस कदर मुस्कुराकर बोलें कि जो हमारा गम था वो इतना हल्का हो गया कि जैसे वो था ही नहीं ! उनकी एक मुस्कुराहट क्या कमाल कर गयी , किसी जानवरों सा जीवन जीने वालें को इन्सान में तब्दील कर गयीं !
I got these lines in mind after reading Rahul ji's blog and putting forward here.
THE TRUTH
The truth that worker’s sweat will never utter,
The truth that his empty stomach will never utter,
The truth that his tears will never utter
The truth that his toiling fists will never utter –
Can a drop of ink from a poet’s pen
Ever express it?
(by varavara rao)
“About your little note......great to know that you are getting out of the rut and are more relaxed now.”~Navin
are you exalted
and relaxed
now that he
is out of the
rut
you were a part
and parcel for
so long which
turned you into
rat?
are you relieved
now that
you are let loose
so that you could
run
free with no one
to chase and
control the
demons inside?
rub
Monostearate
Glycol Glycerin
for monsters within
ominous crookatears
rob
dignity indignity
which you are
happy nappy
mind your nuisance
rim
mark the borders
don’t touch shoulders
again and again
not again
rib
at anyone
but you
It's freaking cold in the heaven
She wonders about a mountaineer
Climbing up high on Mount Vinson
In the freaking colds of Antarctica.
She is a religious poetess.
Often she talks of spirits,
Son of God and God.
So she asks:
When he reaches the frigid summit,
How can he miss God?
Her God is up in the heaven
Up, up in the skies
And her hell is down,
Down, down below the ground.
Mount Vinson stands
Sixteen thousand feet high.
Does her heaven begin there?
If it's freaking cold in the heaven
And the pits of fires in the hell of Milton,
I would rather stay here on Earth.
Ravi,
Come and walk with me.
It's nearly midnight,
and I want you
beside me.
Here on earth,
is where you belong
just now,
and near to me!
~ Kate
Ravi Go Go Go
Kate wants you
She's calling you
She's falling in love with you
She's falling in love with your poetry
Go Go Go
But Plz come back! LOL!
Love..Sachin
Dear Narad/Ravi...It's for you...
Dekhi duniya Humnein bahut
Kabhi door se tho Kabhi Kareeb se
Jithni khubsurathi payee uthni hee Bathsurathi
Ye Jeevan ke kaise Do nirale Rang hai
Ek Safed tho doosra Kaala hai
Dekha logon ko kareeb se
Jhanka unke dil mein kareeb se
Pada unke deemak ko kareeb se
Phir socha ke aye Khuda
Teri ye kaisi Khudayi
Teri Khudayi ko dekh kar
Kabhi Mayoos hotha hoon
Tho Kabhi khush hotha hoon
Phir socha ke aye Khuda
Teri ye kaisi Khudayi
Kisiko Banaya Gadda tho
Kisiko Banaya Ghoda!
Aadab Arz hai...Sachin
Dear CB (or whoever you are),
Your post only goes to show something about you.
While others have moved on, you are still stuck in a rut.
Cheers!
Navin
I’m lonely
What do I do?
My wife just left
Not for another man
Just to be with herself
To be with her parents
To be with her siblings
I pester her so much
She said she wanted
To be away from me
To see some sanity
I’m lonely
What do I do?
My wife just left
Not for another man
Just to be with herself
To be with her parents
To be with her siblings
I pester her so much
She said she wanted
To be away from me
To see some sanity
Soft breeze is blowing
I don’t care from where
It’s coming
But I know for sure
Mahapralaya is coming
Soon it will be all doom
The whole universe
Will melt and vanish
Into nothingness
Then he will smile
And think what kind
Of new universe to create
A world with only love, no hatred
A world with only peace, no war
A world with only happiness, no sorrows
A world with all wealth, no greed
A world with all content, no bitterness
A world full of sissies, no machos
A world full of faithfuls, no adultery
A world full of believers, no heathens
A world full of wise, no dimwits
A world full of blessings, no cussings
A world full of gurus, no chelas
A world full of all beauty, no ugliness
With new world so wonderful
I wonder what quantum gurus will do!
Perhaps to be original
They will say, let there be:
War, hatred, sorrows, greed
Bitterness, machos (not nachos)
Adultery, heathens, dimwits
Cussings, chelas and ugliness.
After all they’ll have to make their living!
Then he'll say to himself:
“ Nah, no, non, nahin, nyet.
That world will all vapid
All bland, all flat
All flavorless, all savorless
Everything will then
Taste like potatoes
Look like potatoes
Smell line potatoes
Sound like potatoes
Touch like potatoes
All couch potatoes
All potatoes-heads around
Watching football games
Playing billiards and foosballs
Drinking beers and moonshine
Smoking tobacco and pot
Chewing tobacco and spitting
Cussing the hell out of you
Riding their Harleys
With bumper sticker like
“Trust no God, God farts”
Well that would be interesting
to some, but not to God
Because God is holy
He has gotten his holy son, Jesus
Begotten through holy virgin Mary.
So God will be thinking
As soon as Mahapralaya will be coming
As soon as the breeze will be flowing
It is not it takes time for God to create a world
He can do it in six days, he can do it in a jiffy
The problem is the most perfect design
That he cannot do in a jiffy
It takes time, it takes brains
Even for God it takes brains
But for Mahapralaya people
It is all God’s maha game!
“Your post only goes to show something about you.
While others have moved on, you are still stuck in a rut.”~Navin
How long will you
be running and hiding
From pillar to post?
How long will you
be a smart aleck?
Have you forgotten
those days of emails
And weekly intents
When your wisdom
went to eat grass?
How long will you
Fool others and fool
yourself and make
friends when what
you need is a sincere
sorry for your
sorry ass and not
be meddlesome.
How long! How long!!
Others have moved on
When will you move on?
You are a rat in a rut
With rotten thoughts
It is your choice to be
stuck. Don’t mock
at anyone
but you
and you
Alone.
I saw the whole world
From far and from near
Whatever beauty I saw
The fitting ugliness was there
How strange are these
Two colors in life
One is dark, the other is white
I studied people closely
I looked into their hearts closely
I peeped into their heads closely
Then I pondered: O God
What’s this your godliness!
Seeing your godliness
Sometime I feel sorrow
Sometime I feel happiness
Again I pondered: O God
What’s this your godliness
To some you gave donkeys’ brains
To others, gods’ brains
Translated from an original Urdu poem of Sachin
correction to last stanza in post # 45
Again I pondered: O God
What’s this your godliness!
To some you gave brains of donkeys
To others you gave brains of gods
original Urdu poem
"to some you gave donkeys’ brains
To others, gods’ brains"
Know yourself first, then you will discover, whose brain you possess.
some young man
bery likely looking like
a pygmy emigrated to
the western world sees
a photo of so-so looking
girl on the internet
who wrote something
to show her intelligence.
he feels a stirring
in his pants and
instantly falls
in love with her.
love at the first sight
as they say, but not really.
it's love stirrings
in his pants seeing
the girl's photo
for the first time.
then he finds
that someone says
she is stupid
she has no mind.
next moment he boils
in anger. he hurls
obscenities: "how dare
someone say this?
he's no man,
no stirrings in pants
his mother should
be ashamed of having
given birth to him."
then he assures
his secret love
on the internet:
"dear sweeter than sweet
looking girl, beautiful eyes
long hair, wide open smiles,
don't care what others say,
say what you want to say.
the world is deaf and dumb,
awaken the world."
his wife leaves him again.
not this time for forever
for he says he loves her
and will love her
forever and forever.
she leaves him whenever
she has free time.
the fact is,
though outwardly he seems
to be a dude of some
manners and some brains,
he is in fact a boor.
he pesters her continually.
so he calls his sister
and complains,"she left me again."
"left you again. again and again."
he hears this in his ears.
his sister is not surprised
knowing what her lil brother is.
so she feels pity for him
and invites him to dinner.
he accepts it readily and
shows up an hour before time.
he sits on the sofa and
and asks what's for the dinner.
next moment, little cute Meera
barely 15 months with her front
teeth cutting, still potty training
on a little cute baby pink toilet
with pictures of bears and
micky mice on it, comes
rushing to the living room,
from her little toilet room
hearing her dear chacha at home,
with handful of shit smiling
and showing to her chacha
saying," chacha, chacha,
shee, sheet, sheet here,"
bringing her little cute hands
full of shit close to his face
and giggling, giggling, giggling
"hee, hee, hee, heeeeee!"
Balancing Act!
Poetry from “The shades of his evening” by Rahul Pandita.
Post# 43. Posted by dhaba on July 7, 2006 07:17 AM
Soft breeze is blowing
I don’t care from where
It’s coming
But I know for sure
Mahapralaya is coming
Soon it will be all doom
The whole universe
Will melt and vanish
Into nothingness
Then he will smile
And think what kind
Of new universe to create
world with only love, no hatred
A world with only peace, no war
A world with only happiness, no sorrows
A world with all wealth, no greed
A world with all content, no bitterness
A world full of sissies, no machos
A world full of faithfuls, no adultery
A world full of believers, no heathens
A world full of wise, no dimwits
A world full of blessings, no cussings
A world full of gurus, no chelas
A world full of all beauty, no ugliness
With new world so wonderful
I wonder what quantum gurus will do!
Perhaps to be original
They will say, let there be:
War, hatred, sorrows, greed
Bitterness, machos (not nachos)
Adultery, heathens, dimwits
Cussings, chelas and ugliness.
After all they’ll have to make their living!
Then he'll say to himself:
“ Nah, no, non, nahin, nyet.
That world will all vapid
All bland, all flat
All flavorless, all savorless
Everything will then
Taste like potatoes
Look like potatoes
Smell line potatoes
Sound like potatoes
Touch like potatoes
All couch potatoes
All potatoes-heads around
Watching football games
Playing billiards and foosballs
Drinking beers and moonshine
Smoking tobacco and pot
Chewing tobacco and spitting
Cussing the hell out of you
Riding their Harleys
With bumper sticker like
“Trust no God, God farts”
Well that would be interesting
to some, but not to God
Because God is holy
He has gotten his holy son, Jesus
Begotten through holy virgin Mary.
So God will be thinking
As soon as Mahapralaya will be coming
As soon as the breeze will be flowing
It is not it takes time for God to create a world
He can do it in six days, he can do it in a jiffy
The problem is the most perfect design
That he cannot do in a jiffy
It takes time, it takes brains
Even for God it takes brains
But for Mahapralaya people
It is all God’s maha game!
post #50 not intended here. Admin if can please delete Post #50, #51.
A gujju lad
with some hair on his face
and a sprouting moustache,
imported to an economy motel
in some redneck state
owned by his dad Duniya Motelmal
has perhaps gotten the taste
of some safed shitty trash
(red neckisch of course in nature)
some farting fat trash
a toilet cleaner maid in the motel.
he's the only pyaara putar of his dad
but his fat fart lady loves him
she knows he'll soon inherit the motel.
so she made him a white lad overnight
offering bulky hanging fruits of love
both front and back and in between
and on the side difficult to reach
with his pinkie sized manhood
bristling, bubbling, bursting with pride.
now a safed lad inside, but a gujju outside
looking like a big rat fed on offerings
of laddoo, milk and barfi at a Ganesha temple,
(Ganesha, the son of Shiva, with head of an elephant)
talks, walks, acts, eats and shits as if
he's lily lily white both inside and outside.
he says all indians are silly, always willy-nilly
no guts, no brains, their beauty in drains
they eat in hurry, they smell of curry
they are cheap, hoard money in heaps
no manners, their clothes look like banners
sikhs wear long hair, beards and turbans
gujjus wear chappals, kurtas and dhotis
(in summer lungis for cool airy effects)
they do not know how to date
they can't find their mate
they marry for caste and money
they never call their love honey
their parents find wives for them
but seeing safed women everywhere
they drool like in doldrums
and he does not like sikhs, nothing about them, zilch.
not their punjabi music, not even their bhangra
he says they are gays, and sway their hips to his dismay
when they dance around and around in bhangra
but poor gujju lad does not know how
that most manly men on Earth are sikhs
just by passing a pretty girl they whisk
and so brisk are they, the girl becomes pregnant
but he tells all they are gays
to keep his secret buried deep down
he's perhaps right when they see a gujju
acting like an angrez
they make a curtain of their turnban
and hide the lad between their legs
and order him to use his teeth to open the zippers.
this gujju lad once went into some such dithers.
no wonder he calls them gays and lays a claim to be an angrez
though the angrezi he speaks is gujju angrezi from surat.
someone wants to know
how to be on Weekly Intent.
simple. send to Intentblog your content.
but tell something interesting
tell something funny
tell something we don't know
tell something to make us grow
don't tell us all old nonsense
not layers of souls and dark ghouls
nor stories of Sita and Ram
but some story like 'thank you mam'
of a manly man loving wham wham
Ravi Kopra, reg 26: I have a feeling that Kabir is talking about only one soul taking on many bodies over and over, when he says,"mar mar gaye sareer". Forgive me if you think I am wrong.
"Illusion did not die, mind stuff did not die. Desires, hopes, longings did not die. But the body died again and again."
Just a thought. Thank you for the beautiful DOHA.
when tornadoes strike
when tsunamis tower
when floods deluge
when seas go mad
when volcanoes erupt
when aids spread
when crops fail
when skies go dry
when people kill people
and thousands old
and young die
don't send them aid
don't give them things
that money buys
don't give them money
don't give them food
don't give them shelter
don't give them things
to survive
preach them peace
tell them things of spirit
tell them join new humanity
tell them we love them
tell them they should love us
tell them they should love each other
and tell them to live on thin air
and on your new humanity fare
members of which sing songs
taking baths in bath tubs
of love and peace for humanity
members of which have
no sane audience and talk
to their dogs on morning walks
members of which know
when the evening breeze comes
Mahapralaya -apocalypse - will follow
and what will then happen how
to last little details they know
so Bill Gates and Warren Buffet
you two loonies in line
when you throw away your billions
in helping suffering people in the world
you both by our guru have lost your minds
you make poor people hate you
you stole all their money
you hoarded it so long
many went to heavenly journey
you didn't preach things of spirits
now who cares for your money
give your money to our guru
so he can preach us souls and ghouls
so he can preach us love and peace
that's all we need. leave us alone
we want to die in hunger with aids
without clothes, without homes
give your money to our guru
(better through a charity of the family
to make 10% profit out of charity)
he will use it for new alliance for humanity
and sell us all free his love and peace
and keep the money for himself, his family and friends
to travel around the world living in luxury
and reading other's writings writing books
on love, peace, health, wealth, death and charity.
you do it while you're killing flies
Bach, I said, he had 20 children.
he played the horses during the day.
he f--ed at night
and drank in the mornings.
he wrote music in between.
at least that's what I told her
when she asked me,
when do you do your
writing?
~Charles Bukowski
all had shades of madness
I was among the
many followers of
love, peace
and new humanity
for weeks and weeks.
I told them how
crazy they were
talking
of love and all
crap they carried on
day and night.
they didn't agree.
they said I was crazy
and they were following
blindly what their guru said.
so I studied what
was in their heads
and found all had
shades of madness.
they cheered
when I left them.
now when I look
back at them
I find they were
crazier than what I
had thought of them.
my life was touched
by their foolishness.
now I sigh
a sigh of relief.
Man...You're Humoros!! I take you sportingly!
thoughts on evening shades
cascade
down the
page…
geeta jayaram
TS
preethi
Krish
Namita
Donna Young
bhupinder singh
Andaleeb
UG
heather
crystal clear
Bhaswati
Pawan Durani
Narad Muni
Navin
Ravi Kopra
Kate
Gaurav Singhal
CB
dhaba
ADifferentPerspiective
When
many suns appear to die
Then
the spirit is alive
and will survive
Isn't it?
…"burnt and unburnt matchshicks litter his floor"
does translating words bring rapport?
Poetry Corner - Now children run through me
I used to be shy.
You made me sing.
I used to refuse things at table.
Now I shout for more wine.
In somber dignity, I used to sit
on my mat and pray.
Now children run through me
and make faces at me.
~Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks.
your lack of playfulness
your somber moods
the absence of smiles
the silent laughter
your continuous chatter
of souls, spirits and gods
is now driving me nuts.
I see no life in you.
though sometimes I liked
your sober attitudes,
you're not for me
and I'm not for you.
goodbye, my dear.
Dhaba...I was looking for you in the Dhaba today, you were not to be seen. Were you with Baba in adjacent Dhaba?
Your Rumi one was hilarious!! I thought it was typical of you "Children run thru' me". My God! Or is it the Rumi which used to roam around at IB?
Children make faces at me! That was great! Write some for me like the lungi ones mate.
Take care..Sachin
Poetry Corner - the least figure
I tried to think of someway
to let my face become yours.
"Could I whisper in your ear
a dream I've had? You're the only one
I've told this to."
You tilt your head, laughing.
as if, "I know the trick you're hatching,
but go ahead."
I am an image you stitch with gold thread
on a tapestry, the least figure,
a playful addition.
But nothing you work on is dull.
I am part of the beauty.
~Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks
you think of me
in the middle of the night
turning in your bed,
trying to get
a wink of sleep.
you can't stop me
coming in your head.
dear, it is love.
very touching story.
Poetry Corner - A Conceit
Give me your hand.
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.
Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.
For me
Give me your hand.
~Maya Angelou
Poetry Corner - Tears
Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
of a worn-through soul.
Moans
Deep swan song
Blur farewell
of a dying dream.
~Maya Angelou
Ravi,
Whose hand do you reach for?
What touch and embrace
makes you lose yourself into the
fulfillment
of Oneness
~ Kate
Poetry Corner - Is Love
Midwives and winding sheets
know birthing is hard
and dying is mean
and living's a trail in between.
Why do we journey, muttering
like rumors among stars?
Is a dimension lost?
Is it love?
~ Maya Angelou
Preety, preety; preety, preety
When I wake up
before dawn,
still dark,
from a deep sleep,
I feel
as if I've been
remolded once again
from soft clay
and am reborn.
my heart beat
lungs respired
not much ATP to ADP
to AMP converted
to keep me alive
except in my head
where neurons
rejuvenated
to store juices
to feed me on
to live on.
I shed off my ghosts
in my dreams
like a snake shakes off
its worn-out slender long coat
or a trees casts off
its dark crusted bark
to keep on living.
not a reborn christian!
nor a new age new avatar!
but myself reborn everyday
to feel the fresh wet grass
under my feet in
my garden long before
the dawn dawns;
and to gaze the stars,
to hear the music of spheres
drowned soon after the sunrise;
and to see the finches, the jays
the cardinals, the mynas
and the starlings and the bulbuls
chirping, rushing for breakfast
at the bird feeder near
the gazebo in my garden
where I sit with my early
cup of coffee and hear:
"preety, preety, preety;
preety, preety; preety, preety"
song of a bird that I cannot
see or name, hiding
in the green foliage up somewhere
in its nest and singing,
reminding me how beautiful,
how pretty is the world.
~Ravi Kopra
Ravi...there's nothing More Beautiful than Love in this world. Where do you find it the most, you find it many a where...but in abundance, none more beautifulthan there, in natural flow kahan/where? A Woman's Heart! Most Beautiful place on this Earth. Jahan Peh Khuda Basta hai! Any wonder why there have been so many poems and songs written? It wud be nice to see you go on that track maybe to write poems abt love, as you do write sometimes. Have Kate in your company, she's naturally Gifted in such things. No seriously mate, she likes your poems. Mehfil ke bagair Kya hai Shayeri!
There's one song from Bobby which is one of my romantic fav. Difficult to translate it. Can u try this out for me plz?
Main Shayer tho Nahin
Magar Aye Haseen
Jabse dekha Maine Tujko Mujko
Shayeri Aa gayi!
Pyaar ka naam maine
Sunna tha magar
Pyaar kya hai ye
Mujko nahin thi Qabar
Main tho Ulja rahan Uljono ki tarah
Doston mein rahan Dushmano ki tarah
Main Dushman tho nahin
Main Dushman tho nahin
Magar Aye Haseen
Jabse dekha maine tujkomujko
Dosti aa gayi!
Soch tha hoon agar main duva mangtha
Haath apne utakar main kya mangtha
Jabse tujse Mohabhat main karne laga
Jabse jaise Ibadhat main karne laga
Main Khafir tho nahin
Main Khafir tho nahin
Magar aye haseen
Jabse dekha maine tujko mujko
Bandagi Aa Gayi
Main Shayer tho nahin Magar hai haseen
Jabse dekha main tujko mujko Shayeri aa gayi!
Love..Sachin:)
Sachin,
I will try. My Hindi/Urdu is very rusty now.
Please translate the following words:
Aye= come (?)
Ulja= Perplexed, confused, confounded (?)
Uljono = confusions, uncertainties (?)
Utakar= to raise up , lift (?)
Khafir= unfaithful, sinner (?)
Bandagi= ?
Haseen=beautiful (?)
Is Bobby a film? Who (what)is Bobby?
for Sachin,
ibadhat = ?
Hi Ravi...Most of it you got it rt. Two corrections from my side. I shudn't have added that e to aye. It does sound like come. But it's the same as it is in "Ay Khuda" Oh God. After Jabse, it shud have been Tabse.
Khafirs in muslims are those who do not believe in Allah basically, the one and true God and those who worship the many idols are Khafirs in their eyes....but here it means what u said. Bandagi is Bonding! Ibadhat is Worship. Also Khudayi is God's creation.
You didn't know abt Bobby the famous movie of Rishi and Dimple in early 70's. Looks like your childhood was in US. It's quite a difficult song for translation I thought but a beautiful one as it shows the Real Transformation which love can bring. The most powerful and most beautiful force in the world.
Love..Sachin
An Urdu/Hindi movie song in translation in the prose-poem style of Nikki Giovanni, a well known American poet. From the movie, Bobby.
I’m not a poet…but since the beauty came…since I saw you…poetry began pouring out from me…I had heard something goes by the name of love…but love is I didn’t know
mired in myriad disarrays I was an adversary among friends…but I wasn’t an enemy…but since the beauty came…since I saw you…feelings of friendship flowed out from me
I wonder if I had asked for grace…lifting my hands up…what would have I asked…since I began loving you…I began praying…I’m not a disbeliever…but since the beauty came…since I saw you…I began bonding with you
I’m not a poet…but since the beauty came…since I saw you… poetry began pouring out from me
Heyyyy Ravi...That was nice! Thx. Knowing your abilities though, I'm sure in another mood of yours you cud create another one, but I liked this one, especially "Poetry began puring out of me". Yeah!
Husn ka Jaddu hai
Pyaar ki Taqath hai
Ye Ishq ka Junoon hai
Mohabhat ka pagalpan hai
Is Ishq/Mohabhat ke Gehre Sagar mein
Hum Doobna jana chahathe hai
Humein is Duniya mein koi matlab nazar nahi aatha
Matlab agar kahin nazar aatha hai
Humari In Ishq mein doobi ankhon ko
Tho vho tumhare dil mein, tumhare jazbaath mein
Tumhari Nazakhat mein, tumhari adhavo mein
Bahut sunna tha log pagal ho jaathe hai
Pyaar andha hotha hai aur kya kya
Pur hamesha laga ki ye tho sirif alfaz hai
Is mein na koi maltab hai aur na koi fayda
Lekin jis din Is cheez ka Aisas huva
Tab jaana ke Shayer log kya kehthe the
Tab jaana ke Pyaar ko Andhan kyun kehthe hai
Sach hee tho hai Bhai mere Sach hee tho hai
Humein Unke Husn ke Seeva
Humein unke Dil ke Seeva
Kuch aur nazar aath hee nahi!
Love..Sachin
To someone drowning deep down
in the bottomless ocean of love
poor loony lost in love
beyond hope, irrecoverable
***
ab muhabat main maray
tum doobay jaatay ho
ab bachanay ka tumay
koee intzaam nahin
mohabat kya tum ko
aati hai uskay kalay balon se
uski badi ankhon se
uskay khoobsoorti cheray se
uskay komal hoton se
ya mohabat ke bharay badan se
maro na yaar, zinda raho
is mohabat ke talab main
mohabat ke bina duniya
khali nahin hai
bhari padi hai
is ke siva bahut baton se
haey mohabat, haey ram!
zindi too ne kar thee haram!
log pagal hooey jataey hain
tumari komal dil ki baton se
A preliminary attempt to translate a love poem of an emerging, soon to be bery bery famous poet of love poetry from somewhere in the plateaus of Midwestern India.
*****
What magic is beauty?
What power has love?
It’s the stupor of love.
It’s the loonyness of love.
I want to get drowned
In this deep ocean of love.
All world seems purposeless.
If there’s some purpose,
It’s in your eyes telling love.
It’s in your heart full of love.
It’s in your sweet words.
It’s in your style of love.
It’s in your loveliness of love.
I heard many a time
People get loony in love.
Love is blind and what not.
But I always thought
It was just a word,
Devoid of purpose,
Devoid of gains.
But once I felt this love thing,
I knew what poets would say
I knew why love was blind.
It’s true friend; it’s true.
I see nothing in her but beauty.
I see nothing in her but love.
I see nothing else in her!
Poetry Corner - Love
The boy at the end of the train car
kept looking behind him
as if he were afraid or expecting someone
and then she appeared in the glass door
of the forward car and he rose
and opened the door and let her in
and she entered the car carrying
a large black case
in the unmistakable shape of a cello.
She looked like an angel with a high forehead
and somber eyes and her hair
was tied up behind her neck with a black bow.
And because of all that,
he seemed a little awkward
in his happiness to see her,
whereas she was simply there,
perfectly existing as a creature
with a soft face who played the cello.
And the reason I am writing this
on the back of a manila envelope
now that they have left the train together
is to tell you that when she turned
to lift the large, delicate cello
onto the overhead rack,
I saw him looking up at her
and what she was doing
the way the eyes of saints are painted
when they are looking up at God
when he is doing something remarkable,
something that identifies him as a God.
~Billy Collins
Ravi...Your choice of words has always fascinated me! You can be outright funny, when you want to be. I liked your earlier one.
Man you badly twisted my last line, maybe you just overlooked. I see nothing else in her? I meant "I see nothing else in this world but Her!"
Love..Sachin
Last stanza of the poem in post # 76
Original :
Humein Unke Husn ke Seeva
Humein unke Dil ke Seeva
Kuch aur nazar aath hee nahi!
Literal translation:
to me beside her beauty
to me beside her heart
nothing else do I see!
final version:
I see nothing in her but beauty.
I see nothing in her but love.
I see nothing else in the world but her.
dear RK and SM
loony has a connotation of foolishness, but to a very dismissive and derogatory degree. in US slang, loony is also used to defuse the desire to call someone crazy or mad to their face. it's a fast-food and beer word, in that it bows to blue-collar culture's style of minimizing each individual point of negativity, while strewing about many individual negative (and often insulting) words and phrases willy-nilly.
because of this sense of the word and its most common usage, to come across "looniness" in the translation in # 10 is jolting, because it's out of keeping with the rest of the translation, which seems true to the sensibility of the original (as far as i can read it, which isn't far). the words foolishness, craziness or madness are more respectful of the chaos we have within us, from which beauty and creativity spring so often, as it happens in love.
dear RP
it looks as if you've become a poetic Pied Piper with this thread. ;)
love, heath
82. Posted by
heather
on
July 10, 2006 02:53 PM
Ravi...this one is for you mate. One of my favorites again, it's from the movie Trishul. Whenever I hear this, I find our thoughts in conversation. I think you'll enjoy this. With me Ravi...I've always tried to see the +and- of anything and mostly I find both ends. I never deny the dark, which Glares at you. One of the reasons why I've resonated and understood you so well. Anyway...here it's for you....
Mohabat Bade Kaam ki Cheez hai Kaam ki Cheez hai
Mohabat ke dumse hai Duniya ki Raunak
Mohabat na hothi tho kuch bhi na hotha
Nazar aur Dil ki Panavo ki qatir
Ye Janath na hothi tho kuch bhi na hotha
Yehi ek aaramki Cheez hai Kaam ki cheez hai
Kitabon mein Chapthe hai Chahat ke qisse
Haqeeqat ke duniya mein Chahat nahin hain
Zamane ke bazar mein ye vho Shai hai ke
Jiski kisiko Zarrorath nahin hain
Ye Bekar Bedaam ki cheez hain
Ye Kudrat ke hee naam ki cheez hai
Ye Bus naam hee naam ki cheez hai
I agree with you however on one thing, that in this fast paced life we miss on the simple joys of life.
Love..Sachin
Heather....That is exactly what I find so funny with Ravi...he suddenly jolts you. I enjoy when he does that, but he may have a serious meaning, that you've to ask him. Hope you're not taking poetry into some kind of discussion. Plz. We make lot of fun in this sometimes, plz don't take it seriously. I'm So happy here doing these lyricals with him.
Take care..Sachin
dear Sachin
try madness in place of looniness in # 10, 4th line. it fits better with the sense of your poem. not trying to get between you, btw, or start a discussion. just expressing my sense of the incongruity of that word.
love, heather
85. Posted by
heather
on
July 10, 2006 03:58 PM
SM, sorry. I do not see any depth of emotions in the Indian movie songs, except in the songs of Sahir Ludhianavi, some of which I have already translated.
I would love to translate contemporary Indian poetry into English. I can to some extent handle Urdu, Hindi and Punjabi, and will need little help. Please send me some poems in Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Malayalam, Bengali, Assamese and Kashmiri with their literal prose translations, line by line. I like poems on love and life. Not the spiritual or regional political nonsense stuff. But poems with broader appeal.
Regards
RK
Note: Other readers at this site are welcome too.
Ravi,
Can you answer me,
and tell me
what brings you into
awareness of
Oneness.
Clearly,
not Indian movie songs!
Can it be ...
connectedness to nature.
Awareness of eternity.
Union with another.
Understanding yourself.
Self alone.
Can you tell me.
Will you even say
my
name.
~ Kate
Ravi...I'm not talking of the contemporary ones. The above one, abt a debate on love is almost 30yrs old song. It so Beautifully portrays the picture in its entirety. Aise nahi hotha ke ek hee fankar behtreen vho, bahut saare hothe hai, apne apne rang hothe hai unke. Ek saying hamesha yaad aatha hai jab yeha aata hoon "Gadda kya Jaane Zafran ka Maza". You of course understand what it is, that's why you can write so well.
Love..Sachin
Poetry Corner - Rumi
I am so small I can barely be seen.
How can this great love be inside me?
Look at your eyes. They are small,
but they see enormous things.
Translated by Coleman Barks
I have translated word by word a kannada poem of Pratibha Nandakumar, Ravi Kopra. May I post it here please??
"Yaradaru ondu kai
neediddare nanu badukuttidde."
someone one hand
had given I would have lived.
(I would have lived if some one had extended a hand)or( I would have lived if some one had given a hand)
"Adakkenadaru tera bekiddare
hego koduttidde"
For that tax if needed
somehow would have paid.
(If there was tax for it I would have somehow paid it)
"Aadare aa ratriyanne tegedukolli."
But that night take.
( But take that night for example).
"Sadakala sakalarige siguva
Devaroo andu durlabha aadaru".
always to all available
God that day unavailable became.
(Even God who is always available became unavailable that day.
"Nanu nambide"
I Believed.
"Devaragiddare siguttidda."
God would have been available.
"Gandanagiddare bayyuttidda."
Husband would have scolded,
"Geleyanadare neravaguttidda'.
A friend would have helped.
"Priyanagiddare dhavisuttidda".
A lover would have rushed.
"Yenu illada karana'
None was reason.
(Because he was none of those)
"Aa ratri avanu phonettittu nidde madidda."
that night he took phone off the hook slept.
I have written my translation in the brackets, Ravi.
A Kannada Poem of Pratibha Nandakumar in English Translation (first draft)
If someone had given a hand
I’d have survived.
I’d have somehow made
the payments, if they were needed.
but that night, God who is
always there to look up to,
wasn’t even there.
the husband could have bawled out,
a friend could have helped,
a lover could have stepped in,
but none of this was there.
that night he took
the phone off the hook
and slept.
*****
The original poem with literal translation by
geeta jayaram :
"Yaradaru ondu kai
neediddare nanu badukuttidde."
someone one hand
had given I would have lived.
(I would have lived if some one had extended a hand)
or( I would have lived if some one had given a hand)
"Adakkenadaru tera bekiddare
hego koduttidde"
For that tax if needed
somehow would have paid.
(If there was tax for it I would have somehow paid it)
"Aadare aa ratriyanne tegedukolli."
But that night take.
( But take that night for example).
"Sadakala sakalarige siguva
Devaroo andu durlabha aadaru".
always to all available
God that day unavailable became.
(Even God who is always available became unavailable that day.
"Nanu nambide"
I Believed.
"Devaragiddare siguttidda."
God would have been available.
"Gandanagiddare bayyuttidda."
Husband would have scolded,
"Geleyanadare neravaguttidda'.
A friend would have helped.
"Priyanagiddare dhavisuttidda".
A lover would have rushed.
"Yenu illada karana'
None was reason.
(Because he was none of those)
"Aa ratri avanu phonettittu nidde madidda."
that night he took phone off the hook slept.
I have written my translation in the brackets.
*****
Dear Geeta , thanks for submitting the poem. I hope Pratibha Nanadakumar gets to read this and makes comments. Please let me more have poems in any Indian language.
Gita, sorry. I missed two lines:
Nanu nambide
Devaragiddare siguttidda
I tried to read the original poem aloud a couple of times. Though I do not understand a single word
of Kannada, I really enjoyed it.
Thanks again.
Note: Other readers are welcome to submit poems in Indian languages, with literal prose translations, line by line, for English free verse translations.
I mounted
my face falling into the mass
of red hair that overflowed
from her head
and my fattened c--- entered
into the miracle
----------------
----------------
she told me
how good she felt and I told her
how good I felt and we ate
the chicken and the shrimp and the
french fries and the buns and the
mashed potatoes and the gravy and
the cole slaw too.
~Charles Bukowski
I drive around the streets
an inch away from weeping
ashamed of my sentimentality and
possible love.
a confused old man driving in the rain
wondering where the good luck
went.
~Charles Bukowski
Poetry Corner - Unmistakable Mystic Beauty
Dear tear maker painter,
could you kindly post
that painting of yours
that made peoples' tears flow.
You say they take
your hand in their hands,
look at the painting,
look at you and
suddenly begin crying
with unstoppable flow.
The painting of a hanging torso,
legs where arms should be
hands where feet should be,
still hangs in my mind,
and I wonder if it is
some tear teasing painting
or as someone remarked:
“What bullshit is that?”
Would you dear painter.
would you dear tear maker.
would your dear poet,
would you dear movie maker
tell us what emotion shaker
in your painting is that
that tears trickle down
with unstoppable flow?
Or perhaps it is all
your hands, your soft face
your smile, your eyes with
unmistakable mystic beauty.
Poetry Corner - Send him your love
He is dying in dearth of love.
Beautiful ladies,
Old ladies.
He’s a divorcee.
Send him your kisses,
Send him your hugs,
Send him your love.
You can’t miss him.
He’s here very evening,
Calling someone, “Mi Lady”
Or “Hey beautiful one.”
Some other lady.
A factory worker,
A bluish job holder,
Is dying in dearth of love.
Send him your kisses.
Send him your hugs.
Send him your love.
Send him your photos too.
Though he is ugly
And boorish but has
Hawk eyes for beauty.
Dear Ravi, the third paragraph will be more meaning full if you use," would have". The person who took the phone off the hook and slept was not the husband, friend, lover, you see that is why she says," enu illada karana"( because there was no reason). If he was the husband he would have scolded, if he was the friend, would have helped, if he was the lover, he would have rushed. "Dhavisu" Means go some where in a big hurry. So the lover would have rushed to her side.
I hope I made it clearer, rather than more confusing. I hope Pratibha visits the IB. Take care Ravi.
A Kannada Poem of Pratibha Nandakumar in English Translation (second draft)
If someone had given a hand
I’d have survived.
I’d have somehow made
the payments, if they were needed.
but that night, God who is
always there to look up to,
wasn’t even there.
I believe
God would have been accessible,
the husband would have bawled out,
a friend would have helped out,
a lover would have stepped in,
but there was no ground for these.
that night he took
the phone off the hook
and slept.
*****
Geeta,
Thanks for the suggestions. Please see the second draft now and comment.
ravi, i am not a writer, or a poet. please rewrite this.
if some one had given a hand
i'd have survived
i'd have somehow made
the payments if they were needed.
but that night God who is
always there for every one
wasn't even there.
i believed
God would have been accessible
the husband would have bawled out
a friend would have helped out
a lover would have stepped in
but he was none of the above
so he took the phone off the hook
and slept that night.
ravi,i was trying to keep the meaning intact. did not mean to do anything else. hope that is ok. take care ravi. after you correct it I will email Pratibha, and ask her to visit the IB. thank you.
Dear Geeta,
I suggest you send her my version in post # 98 and request her to come to Intentblog to read other versions.
Then based on her comments, I will make the final version.
Please tell her that I would like to translate her poetry. She recently published a new book of poems. Perhaps she can send you a copy, and we both can use our talents to translate the whole book, piece by piece, to be published later with her blessings. She has to give us her permission. She would be welcome to join us in the translation project. I am really serious about it, and I love her poetry.
Thanks once again.
Note: I wrote a Ganesha Puja poem on the open thread based on your post. Please don't get upset by the humor I put there. I am sure Lord Ganesha would be smiling on reading my poem!
Ravi, your poem about Ganesh Puja is very nice. I don't get upset by humor. I hope Ganesha is pleased with you.
I have emailed Pratibha, and asked her to visit IB. Her email is pratibhanandkumar@gmail.com.
See you later.
Geeta, thanks for sending the translation to Pratibha. Please write to me when you get a response from her.
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Recent Comments
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Ravi Kopra commented on The Shades of his Evening
Geeta, thanks for sending the translation to Pr
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geeta jayaram commented on The Shades of his Evening
Ravi, your poem about Ganesh Puja is very nice.
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Ravi Kopra commented on The Shades of his Evening
Dear Geeta,
I suggest you send her my v
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geeta jayaram commented on The Shades of his Evening
ravi, i am not a writer, or a poet. please rewr
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Ravi Kopra commented on The Shades of his Evening
A Kannada Poem of Pratibha Nandakumar in Englis
Dear Rahul, thank you for the story. You made me cry. May I bless you please?