Friday 15 May 2015

Malay Roychoudhury's poem STARK ELECTRIC JESUS ( Translation of 'Prachanda Baidyutik Chhutar' )

Oh I'll die I'll die I'll die
My skin is in blazing furore
I do not know what I'll do where I'll go oh I am sick
I'll kick all Arts in the back and go away Shubha
Shubha let me go and live in your cloaked melon
In the unfastened shadow of dark destroyed saffron curtain
The last anchor is leaving me after I got other anchors lifted
I can't resist anymore, a million glasspanes are breaking in my cortex
I know, Shubha, spread out your matrix, give me peace
Each vein is carrying a stream of tears up to the heart
Brains contagious flints are decomposing out of eternal sickness
Mother why didn't you give me birth in the form of a skeleton
I'd have gone two billion light years and kissed God's arse
But nothing pleases me nothing sounds well
I feel nauseated with more than a single kiss
I've forgotten women during copulation and returned to the Muse
In to the sun coloured bladder
I do not know what these happenings are but they are occurring with me
I'll destroy and shatter everything
Draw and elevate Shubha into my hunger
Shubha will have to be given
Oh Malay
Calcutta seems to be a procession of wet and slippery organs today
But I do not know what I'll do now with my own self
My power of recollection is withering away
Let me ascend alone toward death
I haven't had to learn copulation and dying
I haven't had to learn the responsibility of shedding the last drops after urination
Haven't had to learn to go and lie beside Shubha in the darkness
Have not had to learn Usage of French leather while lying on Nandita's bosom
Though I wanted the healthy spirit of Aleya's fresh chinarose matrix
Yet I submitted to the refuge of my brain's cataclysm
I am failing to understand why I still want to live
I am thinking of my debauched Sabarna-Choudhyry ancestors
I'll have to do something different and new
Let me sleep for the last time on a bed soft as the skin of Shubha's bosom
I remember now the sharp-edged radiance of the moment I was born
I want to see my own death before passing away
The world had nothing to do with Malay Roychoudhury
Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus
Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace
Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream
Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm
Would I have been like this if I had different parents
Was Malay alias me possible fron an absolutely different sperm
Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father
Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha
Oh, answer, let somebody answer these
Shubha, ah Shubha
Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen
Come back on the green mattress again
As the cathode rays are sucked up with warmth of a magnet's brilliance
I remember the letter of the final decision of 1956
The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time
Fine rib-smashing roots were descending into your bosom
Stupid relationship inflated in the bypass of senseless neglect
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
I do not know whether I am going to die
Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience
I'll disrupt and destroy
I'll split all inti pieces for the sake of arts
There isn't any other way out for poetry except suicide
Shubha
Let me enter into the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora
In to the absurdity of woeless effort
In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart
Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra
Why was I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition
Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum-flux or in the phlegm
With her eyes shut supine beneath me
I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize Shubha
Women could be treacherous even after unfolding a helpless appearance
Today it seems there is nothing treacherous as Women and Art
Now my ferocious heart is running towards an impossible death
Vertigo of water are coming up to my neck from the pierced earth
I will die
Oh what are these happenings within me
I am failing to fetch out my hand and my palm
From the dried sperms on my trousers spreading wings
300000 children gliding toward the district of Shubha's bosom
Millions of needles are now running from my blood into Poetry
Now the smuggling of my obstinate leg is trying to plunge
Into the death-killer sex-wig entangled in the hypnotic kingdom of words
In violent mirrors of each wall of the room I am observing
After letting loose a few naked Malay, his unestablished scramblings

Wednesday 22 April 2015

Rasaraj Nath's poem LIVINGWORDS DEADMEN ( Translation of 'Jibitoshabdo Mritomanushera' )

All around me now
living words and
dead men walk
from this life to next--

Me as well...
I can not think anymore 
around my helpless corpse
thousands of ants encircle...

Green as I keep watching
how did it become full of fire
locality as I keep watching
how turned into forest !

Rasaraj Nath's poem EVEN THEN I ( Translation of 'Tathapio Aami' )

I shall write only about myself
though I do not have any
history of that kind
even then, I shall about myself

Am I one of those dead poets
whose haunted souls have become stony calm
with masturbation and surrender ?

From stage to poetry I
from poetry to stage
have returned repeatedly - and
become subject of their stories

I know between rise and fall
human being's frail fear of timewrap

I know
the mountain could not be removed by me
even then I shall give a push
and shall write about myself, my story--

Friday 17 April 2015

Arup Dutta's poem A STORY ( Translation of 'Ek Kahini' )

I have carried and brought your living corpse
till this distance :
cold night all around
here there is no fire
everybody has gone back
for simultaneous rape and festivity...
I have come so far after crossing dark tunnels
the hurricane of my soul has withered
far away in forest has billowed away
Beethoven's music,
come Dear
in living night once we disrobe ourselves
and mingle with each other
like lights streaming in star's cloud
this body
has become a story today.

Arup Dutta's poem ASHES OF DREAMFALL ( Translation of 'Swapnopatoner Chhai' )

I have entered a heated earth
alone in a crowd of friends and enemies 
air returns after bouncing on chaotic sea waves
pale breaths from fallen leaves
sex starved moon in dark fortnight of female orgasm music
coloured insects descend in this storyless light
and nameless fly species 

I see in the belly of heated earth
unhinged doors of creation
no traveler seeks solace here
uninterrupted language of dawn holds forth the neck-vein
no strange cloud bursts
love's last fall is atomic dusts
mixed in burning grass

My body and soul shiver
in unredeemed heart the hurts are life's only
bloom like incomplete clearance 

This stream of burning alphabets--
stare at lava which can not be crossed
Apollo and Saraswati
not possible to unite in this life
my incomplete letters have burned into ashes
banned music of a lost world,
which covers my incompleteness in pain of loss of grief.

Saturday 11 April 2015

Debojyoti Roy's CONFESSIONS OF A RELIGIOUS OXEN ( Translation of 'Jabanbondi, Dharmer Shnarer' )

People say, I am foolhardy
bohemian, do not have much intelligence
move from this to that locality on my own
when instinct makes a knock behaviour undergoes a change
as if my virility is total farce, serio-comic;
I wag my tail, forage on grass, fire billows inside

Far away from cowsheds' hay and husk's memory
lonely road's dust, tired hooves,
wound on back struck by stones. 
There is no luxury in selecting food;
in my own independent rhythm 
religious people attain emancipation.

Effect of food and sharpness of horns--
their combination result into landslip
on the breast of smiling Shiva's mount in calender.
stoic conduct, with renounced cognition
walking towards Shiv Purana, Upanishad 
I leave behind secret confessions--
this language is blue with poison, revenge similar to cobra

On surface everything is calm, still, reactionless.


Bikash Sarkar's poem THE HEAD OF KANISHKA ( Translation of 'Konishker Matha' )

While we both were about to start a story of unending love
all of a sudden flashed the head of Kanishka
a beam of powerful rays sparkled through his eyes
like terror bubbles flying in air.
Excited, I drew out her palms
she held my hand in horror.
A ghostly meadow sank in a supernatural weather
and the soul of the meadow. 
The queer touch of her soft breast froze my left hand
a touch of her thighs and lips 
made a skeleton spring up in open air...
Her palms made deep throbbing murmur on my hands.
Once she disappeared 
it was only Kanishka's head that was awake
and a beam of powerful rays sparkled through his eyes
like mystery bubbles in air.

Bikash Sarkar's poem THE CALL ( Translation of 'Daak' )

Someone called me, 'Bikash Bikash'
it seemed the call was not for me
the invitation is to a lifeless boulder.
Flowers raise their voices against me. 
Crickets of drunk night have vanished
stabbed in the desolate alley
the wild deers conspire and plot
against me, to murder me.
It appears all calculations are incorrect
as if, a fountain of errors
sprang into action, or else
I am pressed heavily against 
the boulder of errors
like fossils.
Yet a mysterious girl seems to call me
like a fresh breath of breeze, and
she hails me, 'Bikash Bikash'
before she prepares to kill me.

Friday 10 April 2015

Appa Bandopadhyay's story WHY DOES IT DRY UP ( Translation of 'Shukiye Jai Keno' )

Now this 9th September my head got wounded, what shall I call it ? Accident, danger, or I did not hold the handle properly ? Somewhat funky funky it seems. At that time I was brooding about my being a poet, a poet. Moreover gossips of those three idiot boys, in my mind an ego spewed up, my poetry, some such happening. I held my hair in right fist, like a poet tread a long step, in compartments two doors, I walked to the right. Since those buggers were chirping I thought of doing something, something should be done, I was not at peace with myself, thinking that I was not at peace with myself, put my foot on the first step and spread by breast to the breeze after standing legs apart, holding the handle. Was feeling pain in wrists of two hands. They were still busy in gossips. How Tarun, of all persons, became chummy with those two idiots. Inquired  pointedly, are you going to the same girl at Park Circus ? Bastard, your intelligence has opened up. Quite pickled, aren't you ! But you keep on rubbing your hands without a drop. For three years I am trying to convince you, tell your Dad, otherwise you would be in trouble, your pickle may dry up, I've heard. When the time comes you won't be able to ejaculate. Let funeral etc go to dogs, otherwise you will get a spat from your wife. Just laughs like a pimp-- will not marry at all. No, why should he marry ? Will rather keep in the trap. Disgusting. I had to convince cajole put fear in him to take him to his step father.

There is no fun to intimidate. Always crumpled. While studying pre-University, tried to explain-- his brother in law had fist fights with ghosts. Not one ghost was hurt. All slaps fell on the mosquito net. It sat on his chest after knocking him down. For about a month used to bring a pot at eight, from bringing magic water from Rabi Kundu. Rabi tailor is similarly crooked. Never allowed him to leave before ten or half past ten at night. I used to return through dark garden quite creepily. Deliberately I took him through short cut path of the garden-- and if you masturbate at this time no semen will come out-- this will prove to be bad in future, I used to tell him like a bosom friend. At night falls flat in fear. During day no utterance. As usual during daytime.

Tarun's Dad looked in a way a small time policeman stares at an ordinary thief. How come this ugly man is looking at his own face while shaving his chin. Black arse. Tall, face and eyes are so ugly they could not be described. Small hair from above ear looks like jute field. Erect nose is at a distance from hanging upper lip. Black caterpillar brows make eyes haphazard. Plowed face has stuck skin on face bones. What the hell. We are waiting for long in front of him but he does not look at us once. I am restless---Tarun has made his place behind the chair. Now he is arranging his things--dettol bottle, soap foam. Putting the blade inside box.
---Why are you standing there ? Go and sit in the room.
---No uncle. I had to discuss something with you.
---What do you want to say ?
---I wanted to talk about---Tarun's---well...

Looking at his face like a fool I could not decide how to start. These things can not be discussed directly. Bloody unnecessary problems. I talk to my self---what was your role---now face the music. Tarun, standing like wood, is playing with his palms. As if has never played such a happy game. Why don't you tell---you are not able to ejaculate. Dad, dole out some money, doctor has to be consulted. Tarun's sister, on way out from kitchen, waits in doubt. She is smiling mysteriously at our predicament, with her hand at the back of the chair. Why are you waiting here ? Go. I felt light after a chance to talk. Now I have to blurt out something. I mean...his natural juice from body ejaculates once in two three months. Other than nature's course, when tried artificially, nothing comes out. It may turn into powder in due course in his testicles. I have heard it happens. At this age of nineteen if things are...

Tarun becomes nervous at my explanation. Try to bring to his face a shade of shame and fear. I am also excited. I could present the case quite properly---natural juice etc.
---Why try artificially ? I feel scared at his voice. But suppressing my fear I say---in natural course it takes so long that it is a matter of dread.
---I do not find it dreadful.
---Uncle, would it not be proper to consult a doctor ?
---It is no problem at all. It will work at the proper time.
---It will work at proper time ? Like a fool I childishly blurted out and then warning myself I talk to silently, will it work at proper time ? Will it, for sure ?
---You know, we go through erasing our semen continuously. We may not know about it---gets out with urine or in other ways such as through nose in the form of phlegm or from mouth with cough--- there is nothing to worry about. 
---We are very much scared after he talked about it.
---It is quite natural to get scared at your age. Facing Tarun he says--- you can do one thing---go to Mr Bimal---in such matters best is homeopath.

My face suddenly takes the form of a donkey, long and misfit like Indra's Gandharva. Why this man's copulating fluid never stops ? In that case Tarun would not have suffered. 

His face looks punctured, has he not seen, his indifferent children Khenti, Kelly, Chhemri, Keka, dressed in khaki half pant, squatted in front of enamel erased plates, tumbling over like potato ? Did he not see the toilet  in a tiny room surrounded by tall dried grass, chest high sacred plant in public space ? Has this man never flied pigeons ? Or has he not chirped like us on  architectural theatre stage steps ? You are doing injustice to my friend. For this I will spoil your daughter's marriage. I will not allow Chhipu to get married. ( In that case shall I saver her by marrying her ?-- No why should you die marrying her ? What is the meaning of a twelve year old girl's love ? ) If Chhipu is not married then nothing is going to happen to this old haggard. He will sit on Tarun's shoulder and have his drink and food and then vomit. After him there are four more lassy sissy. Oh ! I can not harm any one, other than myself. Even if I have proof I will not be able to convince the groom party--- his Dad's name should have been Jogipada Kundu instead of Sadhucharan Khastagir. This man Sadhucharan, at the time of partition, came in tatters with a four year old daughter, and was being transferred from one police post to another, which had cropped up along the border. And eating crabs in hotels. Luckily got a wife who had fled from her husband. Would have got another daughter, but thought that for a seven year girl it is better to stay with her maternal uncles. Got a three year old son named Tarun . Tarun could not claim like his sister, 'my Dad is fair complexioned'. Tarun's step sister was not that easy sissy. Recently got married to reduce complications. This guy Sadhucharan, apart from those three problematic children has sired with his own power Khenti, Kelly, Chhemri and Keka. Their Dad was never married. It is a historical truth.

Being disgusted with myself I tried to get up in anger. I leave Tarun at his Dad's pad. And walk the whole journey back singing choral--- Vidyasagar's progeny's name is Naran Pit. Vidhyasagar's son's name is Naran Pit.

For bringing medicines I sat behind on his cycle carrier. Bloody Idiot, may your testicles bear the pressure of double carry. Let them become sweetmeat balls. I always sat back. Never pydled myself. Though I know nothing harmful happens cycling. I am giving him chances to develop his thigh muscles. I did not hold even the tiny vial of globules. During cycling regularly talks about his half-Dad. I tell him-- I am also not loved by anyone. Mother just throws bread on my plate. When I was in mud-room, like entering in a cow dung cake bag, severe winter, several nights were spent in wet courtyard. Sometimes during night if she felt like, she used to call, come come like a dog, to throw four breads on my plate, and slept in a chipped plank door room. I have never kicked at that brittle door and said-- take me into the room--- I shall never do anything wicked---why should I sleep inside a cowdung cake bag, cowdung pasted, salty, mud portico ? Such sleepy type fool I had been. He is your own Dad. You get financial help from him just because you carry his surname. Your mother condemns you because the person who keeps you and your mother, certain revenge is taken. And look at my case --- my own mother--though she occasionally tells me-- when fleeing from Pakistan hiding in one after another bush, my own mother left me on a riverbed wrapped in cheap clothes. I was crying like a crow ; at that time you know, mother, was feeding brother pounded rice and date-palm jagary hiding in bushes  while fleeing. Hearing my cry they thought a baby vulture was crying. What an absurd event-- mid night. In half moonlight mother peeped from the bush and saw on bright seabed a pair of human baby legs dancing and crying. May be my mother had fled after being chased by border police. Or might have been kidnapped into police camp. From that time onwards I am mother's son. And our elder brother's sweat money. Eroded with continuous hunger. Every night at the time of studying I stoop in drowsiness. I feel tired after whole day loitering. Thumb print for relief---begging for loan here and there--walk for two miles to get wheat crushed---in school Nani teacher would spank after taking me on his lap---in the evening while playing hide and seek they always made me the thief. Like monkeys we played hide and seek on Barun's garden trees. On holidays marbles.Working as a labour----a veal---engagement at nineteen---marriage at twenty---wife's baby shower at twenty one---son when thirty two---daughter after ten months. Until I cried in fear of mother's scolding--till then, up to two or two thirty--they would exploit me surreptitiously. They were very wicked and tricky. They used to go back home only when they saw I was being beaten up by mother or I am standing in a corner in fer of mother hearing her making cooking sounds in kitchen.

Huh, where is the cycle and where this train. Yes, I have sailed in breeze, my hands are paining. Drizzle has started. I do not want to look at their faces. I am different--from Tarun and the other two guys I am somewhat different-- I have to prove. Without looking at them I can make out they are staring and talking about me. Both hands on handle. I lay backwards and whistle. This is really peaceful. I am learning about life. Quietly I might think about death. But what is the use of thinking about death. It would visit one day and take away my clothes. There is no hurry. Let me enjoy my feel-good space. But exam results keep on peeping. Both of them are going to Kolkata. They would ring up university to find out. The train will enter Sealdah station at five. Shit, whether they wag their tail or horns--I have nothing to do. What even if I get through in exam. I lick my fucking finger. Same shit thing. I do not understand how Tinu licks his finger.At this grown up age does that habit stays ? May be there is a good feeling. Pushing and pulling the finger in mouth--dripping saliva creates a satisfaction. During his grand fathers funeral he was practicing the habit while arranging for the funeral. Studies in eleventh class. What an idiot was he. Mitu, his elder sister is my maternal niece. No, I am confused---I am sort of a maternal uncle. At that time I have received admission paper for entering college. Though we resided within about six miles we met rarely. Her age was fourteen at that time. Quite buxom female attitude. Huh, remembering that period reminds me of mud-goddess. God knows from where she has found a  loafer dude ! At twenty eight years he is four son's Dad. Has developed a bit of bulge-- quirky fucker. I had gone after three years.

I remember during evening myself, Tinu and her grand father's son Swapan or Kamal, we were gossiping hanging our legs at the outside portico. Her grand father's son after a few words-- smiled at Mitu who was going to burn the lamp at the cow shed. He used to wear dhoti. His mother, my elder sister, is a serious Vaishnavite. At such a young age has lots of replica of gods arranged in her room. His father has been absconding for long. Sister has as a result tied herself with gods. Having handed over the daughter to a dude quite early became servant of gods. 

Who bothers ! Tinu's grand father's son said, he and Nitu, both have done something to Mitu at the cow shed--they asked me whether I was ready to participate. Mud-goddess is  praying with the evening lamp--- and smiling beautifully. She is eager to talk. The ten minutes past eight train has not yet gone. Why should I be absent because of night ? I can not, at last arrangement of nephew with niece. Tinu is only ten or eleven, Mitu is her own sister. Well, what is the use of these thoughts ? They have started learning about their body, moreover she is a girl and he is her mother's son, own brother. I visit the kitchen--- can not go away without informing. Sister is putting water in a pan. While climbing to kitchen I felt I saw Sister's dude hubby in the dark. They call me. I get angry. My God, Mitu is also here ! I thought I shall get away, that is why I went there. Mitu, I do want to spend the night here. But her mother looking at the mud-gods did not restrain me.

I left behind sister's rumbling, Mitu's veal stare, now what shall I tell mother. OK let Mitali cinema halls show end. Let ten minutes past eight train leave. I shall catch the ten thirty train. Walking, I went to the market. Past some time kicking at empty coconut shells. Then at the shore of Ichhamati river. Slept on the fishmarket bench, fishy smell. Sang a song on Ichhamati, then went to see whether Milani market is about to close. I might meet them. When we came we had gossiped a lot. I would take Binay with me and tell mother that we had gone to see a movie--- I have met them. One year passes looking at film star Uttamkumar's face. Crowd as if leaking. I feel nauseating. Laughable. All guys are coming out of their mother's door. So many men, so many sperms. I have read about it, the spermatozoa. Sperm is everything, parties of sperms. My sixteen years' sperm is me, born out of the dirtiest job of my Dad. I feel laughing. Where is the dirt ? My body gives me good relief, from wherever it has come, what is the use thinking.

Binay had explained everything.That is why I had stopped talking to him for many days. He had played mischief with me. When in ninth standard I did not look at the face of school Principal.  I did not believe---my godly Principal Mr Subodh---has got his black tummy bloated son and daughters with the same method. Banay took me to Kali temple to convince me--we are the same. This, this way, we were born. I told him mother does not play mischief with me like him. I have touched my mother's navel, the navel which seemed dug up. When mother applies oil to my hair, I have inquired on several occasions, looking at her navel, Mom, how was I born from your tummy ? There was no cut mark on her tummy. Mom said from her navel. If one goes to hospital you get brothers sisters, sons and daughters. Is it, if one goes to hospital, you get children ? Foul mouth Binay gave me a heavy slap, on my cheek, removing his hand from bald Shiva's black head. I could not see his making of faces at me. Falling, I hold the brick wall of Shiva's roofless portico. I get angry and apply a few fists on his chest. I was not able to win fighting with him. With muscled body he used to sit on my chest and choke my throat. I somehow manage to free myself--leave me--you study in seventh standard--- I would not talk to you. He holds more tightly and says---since you are in ninth standard do you think you know everything ? You need not talk, let us go to elder Dipak. If Dipak says that school Principal's children, me, you, and your siblings are all born out of their father's liquid--then I will give you three kicks. OK, I'll also give you seven kicks.

We both run to elder Dipak, he was taking bath at the pond. His mother, looking at our dusty post-fight faces was trying to delay asking questions. Binay and me, we were restless. We run toward the pond. But where is elder Dipak, after shouting his name, he comes out of the garden. Arranging his loincloth, he gets angry, you buggers have arrived here as well to disturb me--- what has happened, why were you howling like foxes ?

Elder Dipak is our hero, studies in college. Made of a different sharpness he is our locality's Big Brother. Looks handsome in bare body. Binay started---you would not beat us if we say something--- you have to answer correctly. Before elder Dipak starts talking-- I blurt out-- just as Kochi and Khoka had done in Kundu garden--- the reason for which we did not allow membership of our club to both of them. If Moms and Dads perform the same thing then children are born, is it a fact ? Binay is telling me you, myself, our Bhabesh teacher, everybody, we were born out of this method. My anger gets reduced after I embrace elder Dipak. Elder Dipak stares at me for a few moments--looks at Binay-- thereafter quickly goes down into the pond water, raising bubbles. Muddy water circles him-- wingless fishes run away directionless. In water up to his waist-- after finishing---while coming out treading on date palm trunk steps-- washes his feet on the bank. After coming up holds my hand. Says, come, you will go to standard ten after a few days. I say yes, and get my hand out of his clutch. Enters his room through the flower garden. Sits with knee up---takes out a book after removing layers of bed covers from his cot. Gives it to me--give it back after reading in a couple of days. When we were passing through the flower garden, he said, our parents do not know these, probably they do not know where do the mystery lies. You would know many things-- where are the real liquids, how, how to. Binay, you come here. Elder Dipak takes Binay with him to the garden.

Thursday 9 April 2015

Shankhapallab Aditya's poem MAHARAJA BRAJENDRAKISHORE OF MUKTAGACHHA ( Translation of 'Muktagachhar Moharaja Brojendrokishor' )

These days newly married boys, 
after looting full moon's light
do not sell it at higher price to any lady, 
the pacer horses also do not have  
the same saddle and syce
from the looted moonlight's money they get drunk
after purchasing faint moon of Howrah and Chandpur's Hilsa fish
how  many bright young men unnecessarily 
awaken their wives ?
During middle of night even at Mouri's gazal garden
snake's hisses will not be found
in Kishoreganj's burning heart.
No feet are there beyond the atlas design
and out of them some are religious and some egret
today nobody walks around with Neelvajramani's watchman
in Gaharpeta's lotus river
self-declared Brajendrakishore Maharaja
is confined to his own limits
human being's courage is gradually diminishing
left and right arteries and blood cells are becoming smaller
but poisonless hiss of egotist bottle's foam 
is not abating.
 

Wednesday 8 April 2015

Jibotish Das's poem IN THE DARKNESS OF NIGHT ( Translation of 'Rater Andhokarey' )

Close friends all
one by one from my side
in the darkness of night
disappeared !

Like innumerable stars
the night which is completely dark.
Lightning streaks,
river water wail upwards
the same terror engulfs
snatches off, so many days'
carefully nurtured priceless life.

In silence one has to bid Ta Ta in night's darkness
to proceed to distant stars.

Tuesday 7 April 2015

Binoy Majumdar's poem A RADIANT FISH ( Translation of 'Ekti Ujwal Mach' )

A radiant fish once went up in the air
sank back again in spectacular blue, but truly
transparent water - watching this pleasant sight
fruit ripened red to severe juices of pain.

Imperilled swan, escaped ceaselessly,
since everyone knew, underneath its white plume loom
excellent warm meat and marrow ;
it pauses for short stalls on wearied mountains;
water songs evaporate, however
at the moment you, dear seafish, you, you
or look, the scattered ailing trees
foliaging expansive greenery of the earth
churn it up with their deep deep fatigued sighs;
and yet, all trees and flowering plants stand on their own
spaces at a distance forever
think of mating's breathless chronicle.

Sunday 5 April 2015

Subimal Basak's story DURUKSHI LANE - THE FINAL ART ( Translation of 'Durukkhi Goli - Sholo Kala' )

Autumn has passed, it is winter's end-- Durukshi Lane's condition has deteriorated. From the appearance of the shop it does not appear once it was full of customers. At present it is literally Dark Moon-- shop is not opened, just a little dusting. Short pray to god. Radio is on, news from dailies -- no way out. In Parliament, only discussions arguments, counter arguments-- external affairs, economy, internal condition of the country, discussion thereon. Same picture everyday, this way or that way, Nehru, Krishna Menon, Morarji Desai. Actually what is happening , workers can not make out head or tail of the issue. Other businesses are more or less going on, during war whatever dread was there---prices of rice lentils oil had increased, higher, at present calm. No money in pocket, moreover prices of essentials are quite high. Can't think of way out of the mess, totally bewildered.

Though war has stopped, crisis is not yet over. Emergency period. Deep crisis in goldsmith's trade, sword hanging from above. Discussions take place in Sitaram's shop as well, long after evening, a shawl over shoulder. From Chinese war to backwards Freedom struggle. Partition of country, refugees, culture-rituals-- everything destroyed. Invention of atomic bomb has made powerful countries spread their claws. Has development taken place in any race by partition of the country ? Internal feud for capturing power. Such discussions. Heads dance beneath dim lamps, sounds of hookah pipe.

In such a gathering, during an evening, 9th January 1963, Dangerous news broadcast from radio. Dangerously dangerous-- in a hoarse voice radio declares--Parliament has passed the Ordinance just now :
                                GOLD CONTROL
The news spreads like wild fire in winter night. Next day in news papers, Bengali Hindi English, headlines in bold big letters-- GOLD CONTROL. Ordinance issued, Bill passed. Mister Vaidya, Haripada Roy, Ramchandra Johri, Badri Prasad, Parvaticharan-- Patna District Gold and Silver Workers Society's members are moving around. The issue has to be clearly understood. Condition of goldsmiths had reached a low from the time of Gold Bond Scheme, Gold Control will devastate Shop-owners and Lenders as well. If lenders are in dire strait, there is no way out for workers. 

Government notification has been issued, from now on each shop will have to maintain record of each deal. Is it possible to run business of gold without maintain records ? Rules of the trade, details of dealings. There are three types of gold. 24 carat hard gold, 22 carat guinea gold and 14 carat mixed gold.Form Government's mint 22 carat gold is the rule. Workers have to maintain record of use and make of hundred grams gold. This has been notified by Government under Shops & Establishment Act. Inspectors may visit any time from their office. Maintenance of record is essential for all goldsmiths, otherwise cafes filed and fines imposed. Books, bill-receipt-inquiry. Difficult to run a business by opening a goldsmith shop. Purchaser's name, weight of gold, for what purpose--these are also supposed to be recorded ! Which truthful honest customer will order for work after all these difficulties ? Bills used to be given earlier also, but they were hand written. not on approved format. 

Being pulled from both sides--- no way to escape.

It did not take many days-- everything became upside down within seven days. With workers drowning owners and lenders faced difficulties in business. Badriprasad brought news, shops are closed in the city, many have closed and shifted to other business. Younger ones have started selling cakes in glass boxes, some have started carpentry, some have started learning driving of motor cars, some are helpers of masons. Epidemic all around. Devastating condition.

Arya Jewelers has bifurcated their shop for selling papers from other half. Reams of paper, paper boards, exercise book, pencils, etc. Stationary shop. Parvaticharan looks after them. Gold shop in other half. Hopes that days will change one day.

M K Roy's old shop has maintained half and started medicine shop in other half.

Raj Rajeshwari Jewelers has completely changed in to Raj Rajeshwari Sweet Shop. Front showcases contain various types of utensils containing sweets instead of gold jewelery. Beni oversees work. Narayan Pal spends time in his bed at home, most of the time is spent thinking of olden days. Cries intermittently. Neela soothes her Dad with her hand on his head, she sits by his side. She herself is pregnant, may have to be hospitalised any day any time. Mona Ghosh has stopped sitting at Braja's shop with sweetmeat items, sweet curd, sour curd.

Ramjivan Dutta has gone back to Bardhaman after observing the situation for few days. Will look after cultivation land crops. Dutta Company has pulled down their board. Have sold off seat stools weighing scale show case instruments. 

Wazed Ali Bux, his son Dalilur has also gone back to Bardhaman. Where gold work itself is closed, where is the question of polish ? Really, what benefit is there in glazing burned face ? 

One day Ramkanai along with Krishna statue has gone back to Ara taking along Sarvamangala, his son Subal and daughter. Probably would open some shop there.  

Haripada Ray has started grocery shop in one portion. Has done no other work other than goldcraft  in his life, does not have knowledge about other business,but what is the way out ? Living has become very difficult. From gold shop to grocery shop-- what else than downfall ! Will the customers of Jewelery shop be seen in these shops ? Hole sale items arrive from city, he deposits money in advance. Goods are supplied. At the time of taking down goods, Haripada Ray might be shouting around, but his heart weeps.

Gobinda Saha has opened workshop near Mahendru-- iron bucket, pans, spades, iron rods, window etc are manufactured. Elder son Gokul looks after these activities. It is heard he will open a cloth shop for his second son. They do not seem to have much problem.

Lenders of gold shops loiter around, one day meeting with that minister, the other day discussion with another minister. Empty results from such meetings ; Badray Prasad waves his head, no way has been found out. At Sitaram's house people gather during evening, discussions are carried on. He says, we do not find any political party taking interest in this problem, do they not have any role to mitigate ?

They are busy with detailed discussion about China-India war. Looking the other way. Doubtful whether they are bothered about goldcraft workers.

Suddenly atmosphere becomes tense.

Condition of ordinary workers is pitiable. Young boys, workers, have suddenly disappeared from Durukshi Lane. Two three days passes away, their absence is noticed-- hey, we do not see Goura, has joined somewhere or what ? Has Nitai left this place ? Young workers wherever they could-- they have joined. Gopal goes to various places but does not get work. Nobody dares. Majaffarpur, Samastipur, Chhapra. Once had had worked for them, but the owners have refused immediately after meeting him. Let some days pass. Meeting family expenses has become very difficult. Owners push a few bank notes in his hand. A rich man from Majaffarpur, owner of a cinema hall at Patna, allows Gopal's son in law Balaram to sell snacks in cinema hall. At least would not die hungry. Balaram's problem gets settled-- what about the old man and his wife's night and day ? Purnalakshmi weeps morning and evening. At a biscuit factory in Sabjibagh makes two kilo sugar powder for which he is paid-- eight annas or half rupee. Had begged for a work and got it. Is it possible to work physically at this age ? Father looks after Khagen's tobacco shop. Gets food. What else could he do! Most of the time he is out of senses with folded hands on his knees.

Makhan Babu's son had entered gold work, after arrangement with Badya Babu, has no work now. So, back to tailoring business. He is a worker at his father's shop now, tailor's job.

Other young men are helper of lorry truck in New Market, shabby with dirt, with the driver right from morning, in New Market there is Swadeshi Sweetmeat Shop, sweets are served in plates on tables. Some spread mattresses on footpath in front of B N College and sell children dresses, some with vegetables in Nayatola-- brought at whole sale price from Musallahpur market, here they sell in retail. Gold colouring expert Pranballabh, joins a Marathi painter's shop for drawing on walls as well as painting signboards. Climbs up on bamboo scaffold and applies brush strokes on walls.

People do not have time to talk to each other, when they meet in Durukshi Lane, just how are you ? One who is asked points towards sky indicating fate. In Durukkhi Lane morning arrives as usual, sounds of weeping, but no sign of billowing smoke from ovens. Even children seem to be aware of the situation, suddenly their sixth sense has become sharp. They know, when rice lentil oil comes from the market ovens will be lighted. Govardhan has difficulty in moving around, has erected a wooden room at Muradpur for selling tea.  Bhogi has taken Jabra's two baby daughters. What work they would be given, only he knows, at least they would not die of hunger. Radharaman carries towels on his bac and ferries in Patna's lanes, in Bengali areas, shouts, towels are for sale, towels ! Botha's son has stopped jumping around, face and eyes have shrunk, goes out with a bag on his shoulder-- snacks, peanuts for sale. At Gandhi maidan.

Nandadulal was on way back on Station Road, had gone to Secretariat Office to inquire about progress, now that war has stopped, postwar condition. When walking on Patna Junction Road, applies sudden break to his cycle-- find Sribas ! At a Punjabi fried food shop--- samosa, ghugni, potato chop etc. Small wooden tables and chairs-- Sribas serves water in glass tumblers, places plates on tables. Would you think of it ? Used to sit on goldsmith's mat, that arse is now being rubbed on wooden stool. It is not sure how long he will stay there. 

Brajagopal has left home, with his wife and daughter. House rent is due, no work at hand, food is not available--- has left Durukshi Lane. Where he has gone, no one knows, has not informed any one. Even Nakuleshwar does not know. If inquired, says, I do not know, came at night and took twentyfive rupees loan. Required for something. Other friends, who used to gather for playing cards, are no more seen in Durukshi Lane-- they also are not aware of his whereabouts. 

Brick and mortar shop, medicine shop, job of servants-- even that would do. Some work must be done, one can't sit idle. How can one run his family without money !

It is visible from the entrance of Durikshi Lane-- peoples gathering, crowd. Niranjan Babu's courtyard, there the gathering is more. Lungi, shirt, shawl. Many people are returning, anxiety on face, uneasy behaviour. What has happened ? What has happened ?

--Cal a rickshaw. Take him to hospital. Shouts all around. 

--Has drunk acid.

--What ? Who ?

Many persons at the entrance door, some inside in portico, whisper, controled voices. Ramhari's body is lying in portico, a mattress beneath him, body covered with torn lungi, burn marks on mouth and cheeks. Rickshaw is waiting outside. Someone waived his hand-- go. Not required. Raises his hand upwards to stir the air-- he is no more. Everything is finished.

Ramhari's wife falls down on the floor, with two hands she embraces the man, a few women go forward and separate her from him. Acid drops on face, howling cry, distorted voice. Wobbles on the floor as if someone is beating her with a broomstick. Where have you left me all alone dear, o o o o o. Oh God. Hair disheveled. Four children around her, father, look at us, at least once. Elder daughter soothes her father feet with care, does it with his hands, pulls his hair. Dad, Dad, dear Dad, open your eyes and look at us. They cry loudly.

Hearing at the Lane entrance Nandadulal comes running.

--Who knew he would do such a thing. There is scarcity and hunger in all families. Bits of last gold has gone, even nose ring. Yesterday night he had sold to a Bihari person and brought a little money. Today he went to market, food were cooked, all sat together to eat. Who knew that in that bag he has brought a bottle of acid from market.

--You had planned everything in advance, that is why you ate with every member of family. Oh oh oh. Had I known, I would not have slept outside. Such good food after a long time. My eyes were drooping in sleep. Applied coconut oil on head after so many days.

Ramhari bolts his room to take rest. Wife wanted to know a few times-- why did you purchase so many food items ? You could have done afterwards. But you could not wait. Oh oh oh. Faints.

This took place at three. Oh oh. The moment acid went into mouth, topsy turvy body, could not gulp entirely. Starts burning, shouts, howls, oh mother, oh father, I am going going. Himself somehow opens the door and comes out. Falters at door frame. Wife, children around him, Ramhari falls down on the portico and takes rounds on floor. Like fish out of water. Waxing flesh out of mouth-- driblets, black-maroon, now visible on the cloth mattress beneath. Ramhari stays still, in peace with himself.

Nandadulal's eyes bulge out due to constant crying. Such an unexpected scene, oh, how heart rending, as if he has lost his ability to move. Raises his eyes listening to Ramhari's wife's distressed wailing--- to whom have you left me here ? Nandadulal's power to see becomes unbearable, blurred to further blurred, seated around Ramhari his wife sons and daughters in the descending darkness of the portico, helpless, anxious, brooding, faces of people gathered have turned in to black stone. Nandadulal closes his eyes. His consciousness suddenly gives him a sharp jerk and disturbs him to the core. What is this signal for ? The heart beats violently in his breast. A long sigh sneaks out and spreads in to the dreadful surroundings.

( This is the last chapter of Subimal Basak's acclaimed novel DURUKSHI LANE on the plight of goldcraft workers and gold bullion businessmen during the ill conceived Gold Control order of the then Government which destroyed hundreds of families in India at that time )

Selim Mustafa's poem EVENING ( Translation of 'Sandhya' )

No one ever reflected on this thought
none from both sides
but the day of reflection arrived
came very nastily
human being's each moment became dreadful
those who never reflected upon they also started thinking
heaven's garden broke up in brittles like dry bread
crept into that thought
just as sun comes first from east
evening also arrived from east

That the word belief is so unbelievable
came to be known now for the first time
each person of the house
in front of their eyes
fell from the sky

After having been habituated with dread
second time everyone felt surprised thinking that
what West Bengal never thought about
how East Europe could reflect over it.

Selim Mustafa's poem HOME ( Translation of 'Ghar' )

Returning after travel on various roads
it appeared at the moment of entering home
this home is not mine.

Sky earth sun air water
no evidence is traceable anywhere. 

Selim Mustafa's poem WOMEN ( Translation of 'Nari' )

Converting women into mother some people think
here I gifted
now whole life you
mine mine mine
inviting society calling administration from a stage
nothing more can be deliberated upon

This power
even then does not seem to be easy like water
does not appear like the river
                                    always venturing into seas.

 

Shakti Chattopadhyay's poem ART AND BULLET ( Translation of 'Shilpo O Kartuj' )

No dare devil is there who would come and piss in my mouth,
knows I will bite, knows if limb is lost who would reconstruct
Lord Buddha, other than mad Ramkinkar Baij ?
Only once in life I told lover of art-lady,
playing with surplus piece of the naked, what do you think ?
Is Art enough ? Why then a bullet is hung from body ?

Saturday 4 April 2015

Nitya Malakar's poem THESE DAYS SENSE OF ART IN FOOD STANDARD ( Translation of 'Bhater Mandondey Idaning Shilpobodh' )

If hands and legs are thrown about it might be useful to poetry.
But I have not been able to write poetry by throwing about words,
these days with sense of Art, only rice is eaten--
each day, lying down in dark helpless bed
                  I retain light after purchasing it from fireflies 
each day pen's needle enjoys luxury, I can not pierce to the root
on the breast and back of hesitating flower lady
why it is not possible for a moment today, self-aggrandizement 
                                                                                in poetry
Isn't there anything else other than rice that dowses hunger's fire

Where have you brought me to this foreign land
                                           in corn green golden Bengal,
how would I bear so much rice,
                                      so much snacks
does not enter my brain--- in what aspiration you
exiled me in golden Bengal ?

I carefully walk on dyke, as I would go to town--
as if thinking head hangs in mind's Nabadwip, Coochbehar or 
                                                                                 Kolkata.

Actually, I do not have that much faith below bellybutton
rather, what a strange dinner beneath clear moonlight,
                                                                    day end stories
seem fine, in this racy Coachland of flowery youth--
               diurnal sense of Art, eating rice, air pleasure;
is not possible even today, false words, in poetry 
                                                         self aggrandizement.

Why are you hesitating, place your hand on heart :
in corn green golden Bengal---
               in vegetating rice fragrance today flesh will become
                                                                                     poetry.























 

Nitya Malakar's poem ONE STORY WAS INSIDE ( Translation of 'Ekta Galpo Chhilo Bhetorey' )

A deadly bandit's story was inside --- I did not tell
a harmless lead-wort's lighted story was inside -- I did not tell
just as I did not tell about other rivers' unrequited tales, news
                                                                                     of clouds

Weight on shoulder I have neared end of circle
though hunchback till I pull, pull and wait, get up, wipe
metaphor signage, voice and past night's fever delirium 

Write simple diary -- morning written with noon, noon
                                                                 with afternoon
I write night with rice-lentil-intercourse

If one day glean and experience brightens in closeness 
you feel to embrace sensitivity of touch till finish.

Friday 3 April 2015

Sambhu Rakshit's poem THAT GRASS DEALER ( Translation of 'Sei Ghaswalla' )

That grass dealer
in his language, 'properly black, thin.'
'Buzukshas'
was searching for the method to grow germs

That grass dealer
after running three legged
ate half of the floor

Marvel 000 when grew from his body
three unopposed inflammatory reddish head
Dialogue : burns with destiny's prophecy 

Legless child
driven by beggars and flies
sometimes ran
entered a dense crowded house

Sometimes repeatedly recites :
Alaukam Absho Amharancha Aukalley
that grass dealer

And whose neck in elephant's trunk
who do not have seal's cows
spread the cover of tent
arranged for shadow shelter for them
that grass dealer

That grass dealer 
bloated in desperate mystery clutching pieces of clouds
with a white shield made of ox skin
surrounds several waterbodies
 

 

Sambhu Rakshit's poem SALVATIOINISM ( Translation of 'Muktivad' )

Those who consider me rickety
my soul to be war hero
my God harmful
my poetry
glossy aristocrat or stray delirium 

oh brother dear
they with their commercial incorrect power
capture their nose mouth ear
this mighty republican country
should protect its existence

Those who after penetrating sand
are teaching me child's education
oh brother dear
they may refuse artificial beauty's false borderline 
at least give evidence of a puny angel

Fixed disc in a nonfunctional jukebox
of life and broken brick's
unholy war's pain of international chorus
oh brother dear

Buzz between graveyard and township's tunnel
quirky mercy of horse stable
disturbance inbetween
oh brother dear

Fire colour camera on shoulder
anti aircraft transistor in hand
to pay off another emperor's debt
like moving fresco piercing flesh
these radio-TV-active youth power
dug up night silence of salvationism and grandeur
oh brother dear...

Thursday 2 April 2015

Saileswar Ghosh's poem LAST COPULATION ( Translation of 'Shesh Sahobas' )


Men will die within human being's love
                         a man erasing his money
                 a woman would throw her waist ornament in water
is there any meaning of our seas ?
                 child's cry, beggar's smile, prisoner's wish
suffers more after freed
20 or 25 years I also will have to use my sex organ
                              will have to wipe off forehead's sweat
will have to pick up on shoulder gay God's festoon
will have to listen to victory song, will have to dole out wellfare's
                                                                        paddy or silver
will have to see negotiation of price is there between brother
                                                                               and sister
my life does not light up like electric bulb in a dark room
there is no further childhood, no hereditary judgement of father
                    palm joined like judgement seeker--
         7 billion birth God's evasion Varaha Avatara
                     coitus flower between my thighs
                             I also love this way
                                          live life
           die like this
since last copulation never happens nightmare remain as truth.



Saileswar Ghosh's poem FROM 6 TO 7 ( Translation of '6 Thekey 7 Er Dikey' )

When the bell tolls at Cathedral church at my personal pulpit
                                           mast arises
with the sound of birth empire's stone iron turns to dust
my memory befuddles when I place my hand on lovers breast
when love is destroyed in Chowringhee Hotel at Santhal village
                             sun of aboriginals go down
when flowers of secret garden are thrown to God
                           explodes like hand bomb
a dainty beggar like the last century's king had told me
                                about his dreams
shrieks of victory procession appears to me like vanquished 
                                                                                mourning
at 5 in afternoon the super market attracts me like forbidden
                                                              sex organ
                                  no sound in airconditioned bathroom
                                               no human purchaser
                              no water picture of childhood
one night's begum who could not recognize me
                directs me to 7 No house instead of 6.

Malay Roychoudhury's Drama NONMANMAN ( Translation of 'Napungpung' )

                         [ Voice of Jesus Christ : He who is not with me is against me ]
[ Completely dark stage.
Howls of jackal.
Crickets and venomous snakes hiss.
Sounds of heavy boots, stops, walks, stops.
Sudden flashes of strong light. On the left boxers' ring, a little higher, ringed by coconut husk rope; hings from ceiling boxers' dummy or a bagful for training in boxing. Within the ring, on the wall of the stage, headless pink torso of woman, from shoulder to thigh. Torso looks as if made of wax but is actually made of wood. The breasts of the torso may be opened and close like a lid holding its nipples. Torso talks through its teats or through its vagina in male or female voices or of animals.
On the right side there is a commode. Red coloured water inside commode.
Completely dark stage again.
National anthems of all countries of the world, past or present, are heard. Armpit blowing sound of all cultivators of the world is heard. Victory band of all world armies are heard. Sound of nose blowing of all nurses of the world are heard.  From vagina hole of the torso a strong red searchlight flashes like a knife. 
Completely dark stage again. 
Strong sunlight on stage.
Yalam enters stage.
Yalam is completely naked.
Sometimes when Yalam dislikes obscenity he wears cricket players abdomen guard. From the sides of Yalam's abdomen guard his testicles are protruding from which golden and silvery long hair touches the floor. Yalam grows a jackal's tail during spring to avoid mosquitoes. He has boxer's gloves in both hands. Yalam goes to the commode and sits thereon, starts thinking with his palm on his cheek.]

Torso : Where were you till now ? Where were you till now ? Where were you till now ?
Yalam : No--I mean--just--as--
Torso : How much can you recline ? How much can you recline ? How much can you recline ?
[ Yalam enters ring and like a baby goat starts jumping around in it. He bows to all four sides.]
Yalam : Practice--
Torso : Clock and tiffin box. Clock and tiffin box. Clock and tiffin box.
[ Yalam starts practicing boxing. In various ways. Sometimes does speed boxing and punches very quickly, sometimes slowly, in air. Circles the dummy bag hanging up and makes postures. Suddenly he tries to punch the dummy bag. The bag goes up. The punch is missed. Yalam goes to a corner with his tongue he starts panting. ]
Yalam : Practice again.
Torso : Phooooh !
Yalam : Let me try.
[ The bag comes down. Yalam practices speed boxing in air. Redies himself to hit the boxer's bag. Suddenly Torso's left side teat's cap falls off. A hairy hand comes out of the hollow teat. The hand slaps Yalam on his cheek. Yalam fall on the ground at a distance. The hairy hand disappears into Torso's teats. ]
Tosro : Get up.
[ Yalam stands on his feet. Honey  trickles  out from two sides of his lips.He picks up the teat cover from the floor and slowly walks up to Torso. Peeps through the teat hole in search of someone.]
Yalam : Anybody there ? Please listen. Shall I put this thing at the proper place ?
[Right side cap of Torso's teat falls off. A stick comes out of the teat hole and beats Yalam on his head. Yalam falls on the floor head down. ]
Torso : Bloody illiterate.
[ Yalam stands up with two teat caps in both hands. From corner of his mouth costly unadulterated butter oozes out.]
Yalam : Shit !
[ Complete darkness on stage. Only blue romantic light streams out of Torso's teat holes and vagina. Light on stage. Yalam is absent from stage.]
Torso : Love is hundred percent benzedrine dabbling dear dear.
[ Limping Yalam enters stage. Tail bandaged. Drinks red water from the commode. Enters ring, picks up Torso's teats and fits them on Torso's breasts. Bows and salutes on four sides. Punches in air around the boxer's bag. Misses all punches. Limps and walks back to the commode and sits thereon. Places his hand on cheek and becomes a philosopher. ]
Yalam: Arrrrt is that--four syllables-- no no--five syllables--please take a ladle of lentil--no no---word count--[ suddenly there are strange sounds from wings, somewhat like someone farting and shitting]--happy bye baby--so it is final now--no no--in meters--[ sounds of farting pissing shitting from wings]--we have to keep faith--the rhymes have been perfect [ sound of farting pissing shitting]--whom shall we include--dear Yalam put on your socks and get ready--quick--search--Om Shantih--Oum Shantih--Ong shanty--navel oh peace--what a bad condition the hands are in after birth--no no a ladle of lentil--no no eight syllables [ sounds of pissing farting shitting ] bluff I would stay this bluffer night--
[ Suddenly sound of breaking glass utensils and simultaneously the stage plunges into dark.
Completely dark stage.
Lectures of all world leaders on stage.
Howls of female foxes after happy corpse eating festival.
Sounds of hair cutting scissors.
Whistle of forthcoming storm.
Sound of applying oil bath to a skirt wearing gypsy girl's thighs inside a tent.
From Torso's vagina sharp searchlight searches for Yalam. Searchlight focuses on all sides. Here to there searchlight searches for Yalam. Searchlight dances ti find out Yalam. Searchlight searches for Yalam only. ]
                         Curtain drops.

Basudeb Dasgupta's poem/story/critique AIRCONDITIONED GOD ( Translation of 'Airconditiond Debota' )

In the dangerous kingdom of silence is our raft floating
hundreds of corpses are visible on the shoreline
burned in sunlight for long they are deformed
those whose life had vibrated till now
in happiness and grief electric current
whose life once while vibrating 
from desire to desire
those lives had flown

In this dangerous kingdom of silence is our raft floating
burning sun overhead
on right is golden colour in the river
green carpet on sandy strip peeps
a naked man is seated on that strip all alone
seeing the raft he jumps in water
waves his hand while being washed away by tide
as is wants to say something
know one knows where he drowns in the heavy current
with half ton biscuit and a few saris 
this small raft floats downstream

Dark hall-room
lavender fragrance touches nose
many men are running this way trampling corpses of relatives
jumps over for a fistful of food
fights for it with each other
dies
hundreds of incorporeal species in electric light
though goods for charity are not sufficient
terrible dearth of vehicles
and in order to reach the distressed area the administration
never finds a way out
in the absence of diggers between one to one & half thousand
were buried in one pit Sir
payment was Rupees two per day
news further says that four persons in Bhootnath's house
died when the house fell over them when they were sleeping
though his state of affairs was more or less same
happiness was not meagre in that tiny house
today beneath open sky small time truck driver Bhoothnath
stoops with his head between his knees
the Sub Divisional Officer said.
Twenty rupees more could not be given today from poverty alleviating fund
because the person who has the keys to the cupboard has not come.

Sky is crowded with vultures---air is polluted---on twentieth floor signal---cyclone forecast---just now the relief boat has been looted---where there is no death the police hawks---National Highway No 34 is washed away---no piece of land is available so that help could be dropped---an insane girl is beating a tinplate and singing on the runway---missiles would be installed near the capital---quick feet someone has gone to have a nap at the hotel---bullet has been found from someones holed skull---youngest among the rebels was of eight years---our momentary humanity and lifelong crying is drowning in soft mud up to waist---presently inside the ring two bison are  fighting for sexual supremacy---wastes of turbulent sounds---pet piglet has pissed on beautiful lady's nylon---our mother came out with her dead child from jute field---a few nylon petticoat might be the reason for fire---vultures crowd the sky---in every civilization's cupboard a few skulls have been preserved---relief air planes propeller is hit by vulture---far away an insane girl is singing beating her tinplate---she will also die now---

I have covered my ears with both hands---I do not want to listen to outside sound---I have covered my ears with both hands---I am not able to listen to words uttered by me---therefore death--

You see the water turned yellow colour when you go for bath---I have been kept in the lowest hole---you have kept me away from my relatives---I do not have the power to go out---will you perform magic for the dead---will the ghosts come out and sing songs of prayer for you---Do the dead feel your mercy inside their grave---is your magic visible only in darkness---will your religion be ever known in this country of oblivion---our flesh do not have health---we do not have peace in our bones---dread has uprooted us---here everybody wipes his face and says---I have not committed any sinful act---

Wednesday 1 April 2015

Raja Sarkar's poem SOME BLACK FLOWERS AND THEIR SORE ( Translation of 'Kichhu Kalo Phool O Taar Khato' )

There there beyond dawn's window insolvent gambler's sky
and here is that bed---
floating balloon in heavy air ! Earthly life...
One or two men fly towards sun after touching my body
but stll they have their roots in bed
mingled with body in dawn's bed 
in slices fresh sunlight--
Songs of which life is being sung ? In immobile silence
which cub's cry enters home cut in pieces ?
...incoherence of trance settles down, and
heavy sighs pick up one-grub men
towards some mystery....this starry imagination !
The life which is between death's calm and pain
at that moment extends two arms and descends
in this scaly body wherein during this journey
some black flowers and their sores were allowed to bloom

Karunanidhan Mukhopadhyay's story ABOUT BIRTHDEATH ( Translation of 'Janmomrityu Samparkey' )

          My only son Arok died today at 6:45. Broncho Pneumonia. I crossed the river and took him to other side. On the sand spread. Sat at a place and brooded for a long time. Then I tied a heavy stone with his body and dropped him in the middle of Ganges river.
I had to spend two hours in search of a stone.

          I have returned home. My wife is crying incessantly. I do not have any power to erase human sentiments.

          Today there was plenty of time during afternoon.

          I was born at Kashi. Dad at that time was with Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose's group of  Indian National Army. When I was of two and half years Dad took me to Rangoon. Dad left Indian National Army and joined the police. About ten years in Rangoon. Thereafter siren, blackouts, newspaper headlines, hospital. Directly back to Khidirpur on a ship. From Khidirpur to Kashi again.

          Came to know that Dad has married a Burmese women. From then on against society, against culture, against myself fight goes on. Could not get educated. Dad's monetary help stopped when at class ten. That is the time I started to fall. Help! Help !! Help!!! 

          During childhood I loved to paint. I was the first boy in class. Everything became jumbled up once I entered the world of drawing. Hired a room at Kashi and opened my own studio. Looking at my paintings people said I was insane. Mother sister and other members of the house called me mad and kicked me out. I was the eldest son of my family. Went to Marriage Registrar and married a Kayastha caste girl. I am not allowed to enter home because I became a Non-Brahmin. 

          Nobody is there for me. Nobody is there for me.


          

Shakti Chattopadhyay's poem Border Proposal ( Translation of 'Simantoprostab' )

A beggar boy had loved to like food
and examined
paddy plants spread in moonlight, at the roots of paddy
like silent waterfilled butter
glossy puffed up paddy in earth's simplicity
will the paddy turn into boiled rice ?
Silent God may talk
iron may melt
like dorsal women on the world wood plank ?
But the beggar boy had loved to like food.
Loved to like, many philosophy in life
even beyond life, intoxicated in cannabis
in life without paddy, without woman, without moonlight there  is    something above.
God is there above all to torture the wayfarer
God is there above all the wandering ascetic
God is there above all for human beings
busy in order to give two bowls of boiled rice to the beggar boy
contemporary like grass, bigger than bus
to carry every and all.

Beggar's good boy was shaved head many bad boys
they did not bother about love
they are also alive they are also clean
there are good fruits on earth like gooseberry
beggar's good boy bad boy has fallen away from beggar father's belly
with amazing disorder fact on earth is now peace for China, liberty depressed
etcetera  wait near war
stop all kinds of war
let natural deaths die
let us die, let us go with our known death
arrange the marriage of Kennedy with Khrushchev
do not allow them to abort their womb's bomb-boys
let their bomb-girls die in their womb
let their be life aborting marriage anniversary each year
if Khrushchev Kennedy is not there will there be progenitress ever?
Then stop violence megaton war firefall
otherwise the hungry will tear off flesh according to requirement.
From the party of snow hyenas disturbed India's border  
lack of religion's red flag with body's limping hunger
and watching  painted hunger drawn on snow hyenas' eyes of women's cheek devouring 
Chief Minister, send a posse of Hungry poets
they don't not know how to write, knows extra-mundane methods of how to swallow 
they would eat the entire border and discuss in Coffee House
probably there is not much difference in modern poetry and prose
marriages take place in Bangladesh at 30 minutes past 3
gift leather garland of Bentink Street to Jyoti Basu
how was Soumitra's acting in China Expedition
why are not people ready to accept poetry just like boiled rice
will they accept when war is over ? Even beggars are able to understand poetry
why would you not understand Dear Professor, Chief Minister Sen?

( Published by the poet himself in a Hungry Bulletin during border war with China in 1962 )