అనువాదలహరి

Motherland … Aranya Krishna

(Telugu Original: Aranya Krishna. From  : కంజీర 6 డిశెంబరు 92)

Start digging out this land—

You shall find skeletons

with sweat still fresh on their foreheads.

Delve deep into this earth—

You shall  meet the Radius and Ulna of a farmer

who set here with Sun on some silent dusk…

Dig this soil—

You shall sure hear the heavy breathing of the starved millions

that sunk to the ground one Autumn.

The core of this earth bears

Legions of fossils of man  than religions.

Man is an offshoot of this earth

Gods! They are never born here,

They just annex this land

break up and sear men

with the weaponry of Temples and ballot-boxes.

Come on! Let’s start with seeds and ploughs

And other tools and implements

To level this rugged ground plucking out weeds

To make this land and people… fertile.

After eliminating the enemy

Let’s prostrate before panicles of paddy

that decorate this earth signalling new creation.

Aranya Krishna  Photo Courtesy:  BOOKS ADDA
Aranya Krishna
Photo Courtesy:
BOOKS ADDA

After 6th December … Nida Fazli

(From the Telugu Translation of Srivatsa of Hindi Original by Nida Fazli)

.

.

Get Up!

Don fresh clothes.

Come out of the house.

Whatever had happened, happened.

Day breaks after night…

A morrow after today.

Whatever had happened, happened.

History means only this:

Breath

So long as it ticks;

Hunger

So long as it burns inside;

And  Thirst

so long as it dries up tongues.

Pick up your plough, shoulder it,

And walk farm wards.

Whatever had happened, happened.

The beasts are tired of

sprinkling blood in all walks.

Burn like a faggot

in the stove again.

Whatever had happened, happened.

Umpteen have died…

What for?

Deprived of everything…

What for?

Whatever had happened, happened.

The chaos churned out questions

Dissolves the dreams of life.

There are psalms

praising God in temples,

‘Ajah’ s invoking Allah

In Masjids…

But where is man?

For him

Another alienation song.

Whatever had happened, happened..

Water Clock- Arudra

.

The train you await

runs always a lifetime late.

Unable to wait for eons

you get into some train.

Your baggage of ideals

TTE  books under “excess luggage”

You will be compelled to dump your trunks

of yearnings in the break-van of dreams.

Before you could load all your luggage

the rain would start leaving the platform.

So,  better you leave behind some of it

with your favorite  heroes.

You shall never reach your destination in your lifetime.

Hence, resigning “Gee God! what have you done!”

stay put,  wherever you are!

.

(తెలుగు మూలం : నీటి గడియారం- ఆరుద్ర)

Muse And Modernity … Tilak

Pal!

There is prospect for modernity when it imbibes poesy.

For that matter, poesy itself is modern.

But just for the touch of modernity and to say something new,

why do you trouble yourself and torture me

with your borrowed-,  ill-digested experiences,

senseless imagery and haggard presentations

warping words without purport and restraint

trying to one-up Dylan Thomas in imitation?

To write

“In the wee hours of yesterday, I swallowed two knives

Poured Sulphuric acid on my tonsured head and chest,

clipping my lips  I stacked them on your  back,

At this moment, my eyes are goldfish in potion”

appears  novel and glamorous.

But this is childishness plus madness multiplied by decadence.

This decoction  backfires

this culture generates degeneracy.

Obscurity in poetry is permissible at times

But the reader should catch

The contours of your experience,

it must leave an indent,

that darkness should be translucent.

A poem should always open up

a  fresh lease of firsthand experiences

that greet and grind the reader.

Each word is potent, each word is fine-edged,

each detail has a meaning, a propriety,

waggling pebbles  in a can, don’t dub it as great music,

curse me not in ire, brother, I am not angry with you.

A harness makes no horse of an ass,

Donning Khadi makes no politician a Gandhian,

Modernity confers no acceptability to everything new ,

costumes can’t turn a commoner into a king

A prosaic idea cannot be poetic by rhyme.

Poetry is an alchemy…the secret of which only a poet could know .

Kalidasa knew—   Peddana knew

Krishna Sastry* knows– Sri Sri* knows.

Try to live in the present… reflect contemporary times,

Ventilate your house opening up all windows, welcome all currents in.

No matter what you say, it must be yours

It must come out from within, tearing you open.

Don’t resurrect the dead genres from the vaults of the past

Don’t drive into the open the crazy horses of  ideas without tack and harness

Brother! Poetry must reveal the fulgent expanses lying within.

It must expand the bourns of creative consciousness

whether it spits fire or sprays manna

Beauty and Joy are its ultimate aim.

(Telugu Original:  కవిత్వం – నవత్వం …  బాలగంగాధర తిలక్ )

* They were alive when the poem was written. And the sense of the word used in Telugu conveys both the past and present tenses. For clarity, the distinction is used here…. Murty

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