Anondo Bhoirobi - a translation

 

(An attempted translation of Shakti Chattopadhyay's Anondo Bhoirobi - original follows)  

Anondo Bhoirobi

Now in that room the picture hangs loose 

at monsoon’s end not how it used to be

the garden held rain-pecked flowers

Anondo Bhoirobi.

 

Now the pastures miss the shepherd boy

the banyan misses crying to his flute 

but still the rain spades at the cloud

carves out lightning grooves

 

Did they not know it is these times of loss

that leap and snatch the rooster’s red tuft

did they not know what a waste of heart

the miser’s left hand

 

Did they not know the city is more iconic

much more than this heart’s abode

did they not know as much as I had known 

from fingernails to shore

 

Now in that room the picture hangs loose 

at monsoon’s end not how it used to be

the garden held rain-pecked flowers

Anondo Bhoirobi.

 

আনন্দ ভৈরবী 
- শক্তি চট্টোপাধ্যায়

 

আজ সেই ঘরে এলায়ে পড়েছে ছবি

এমন ছিলনা আষাঢ় শেষের বেলা

উদ্যানে ছিল বরষা-পীড়িত ফুল

আনন্দ ভৈরবী।

আজ সেই গোঠে আসেনা রাখাল ছেলে

কাঁদেনা মোহনবাঁশিতে বটের মূল

এখনো বরষা কোদালে মেঘের ফাঁকে

বিদ্যুৎ-রেখা মেলে।

 

সে কি জানিতনা এমনি দুঃসময়

লাফ মেরে ধরে মোরগের লাল ঝুঁটি

সে কি জানিতনা হৃদয়ের অপচয়

কৃপণের বামমুঠি।

 

সে কি জানিতনা যত বড় রাজধানী
তত বিখ্যাত নয় এ হৃদয়পুর
সে কি জানিতনা আমি তারে যত জানি
আনখ সমুদ্দুর।

 

আজ সেই ঘরে এলায়ে পড়েছে ছবি
এমন ছিলনা আষাঢ় শেষের বেলা
উদ্যানে ছিল বরষা-পীড়িত ফুল
আনন্দ ভৈরবী।

 ❤

This is one of my most favourite poems of Shakti Chattopadhyay. I was intimidated but also tempted. Critiques, comments, suggestions are most welcome. I hope the English version will also be enjoyable to those who don't read Bengali. 

Arteries

Whenever I have looked at you

glass between us

your brown skin on fire

sweat beads glistening 

work worn muscles

skin dulled by dust 

Whenever I have looked at you

busy on my computer

from a cafe window or

across the parking lot or

through my balcony doors 

no time to spare

You who till the land so I grow

you who bring the water so I bathe

you who mine the fuel so I cook

you who catch the fish so I eat

however I try to look at us

arteries everywhere

Little Bar of Soap

 

The bar soap I use 

to wash myself

is a shade of pink 

that is almost cute 

I dropped it today 

and flinched a little

Caressed it with water 

until tiny white bubbles 

covered up the dent in 

slippery white freckles

But it appeared once again 

as the foam washed off 

I looked at it closely 

to whisper a sorry

it looked right back  

in a lopsided grin

That's when I noticed

this little pink blob

was carrying the dents

from all of the drops

Kitab Khana

A South Bombay neighbourhood

dusty but grand, houses

a home for books

Modern glass doors

solemnly held open

by the guardian of texts

The smell of new prints

greets me like a friend

I haven’t called for years

Shiny bestsellers preening 

up front, on manicured piles

mature ones stretching 

out back, confidently quiet

Women reading in aisles

men behind counters

you can hear the pages turn

A boxy wooden staircase

unfolding a mystery

of a mezzanine above

A line of “washed laundry

weeping dirty tears” by 

52 ways to be happy in life

sufi songs sleeping 

on the shoulders of a yogi

Languages of neighbours

form a skyline in the wall

So many ways of living 

under one roof

If only we could be 

as friendly as ideas

living on paper 

in a home for books

Moments

3 PM

yellow leaf trembles

a distant cuckoo calls out—

lengthening shadows

6 PM

stuffing my sketchbook
rows of dots and dashes—
pages wet with ink

9 PM

electric buzzing
these fluorescent white lights—
throbbing in my head

Are We There Yet

As I sink in my buttocks
into the chair’s depths,
loosen my armpits
I let the words fall
on the ground.

Words of my ancestors
piled on bedrocks
brought home by rivers
engraved by refugees

I can hear my jaw clench
in promises my father made
to his father.
I can hear my pelvis cry
in fear instilled in my mother
by her mother.

And as I fall close
to something like a nap,
air-conditioner humming
coffee mug blurring
breath getting longer
I hear a small voice
aged four or five—
are we there yet?

Are we there yet?

Shortest Path

What is a straight line-

I've often wondered.

On a plane it is s-t-r-a-i-g-h-t

on a ball,  c

                   u

                     r

                    v

                  e

              d.

Geodesics, they say,

are just the shortest paths,

yet stirring the formulas

with my Gaussian spoon

is a lot of hard work.

But then.. 

no one said easy 

and shortest seldom is.

Pause

Tonight is not so much 

for writing 

as much as it is 

for holding

Not hands, not a candle,

not that sort of light

But the darker

more solitary 

ways of life

Tonight is for seagulls

that sleep through 

the night

And for Madalena who 

counts the pause 

between waves

Promise

If you let me go now

I’ll come back years later

and make you a mountain

with all my pebbles

Post Piano

We speak once a week.

I know you’ve moved,

even found your favorite 

Indian food,

your favorite coffee,

croissants not yet-

you’re still too keen 

on perfecting bread.

I wonder if you'll miss

the linden in spring,

or magnolias rotting 

by the recycle bin.

When I visited there

you played a piece, 

a rushed, tense one-

like a reverie.

Sometimes I wonder,

and almost ask,

why you haven’t played 

since you saw me last,

and if you must ask

how do I know-

I hid a letter

in your piano.

Directly Above

I remember those huge sand coloured stones,

cubical and heavy, a thousand years old-

the sun’s golden syrup slithering off,

leaving the crevices hollow and cold.

I touched their sharp corners, sat on smooth tops

on long hikes or apartment hunts through the maze-

Jerusalem tiered into levels and steps,

stacked like a prayer I couldn’t quite place.

It is there that I found my phone map to be

limited in scope by a flattened design

when it said 'arrived', yet where I had to go

was not in front but directly above.

Then We Dance

Some rooms shall always

remain occupied 

I tried

Unanswered questions

buts and ifs 

won't shift

Uppers and downers

aren't able to move 

the groove 

Better to dance and

play along

the song

If indeed she is

here to stay

let's play

Teeth

It lay by the sink

like a silly half smile

acrylic and resin

molars canines 

I remember those teeth

and your concrete lips

my gradecard splayed

post mortem time

my belly in knots

yet turning around

your teeth sink into

the heart of a child

cut to the present

still staring at the sink

where your denture sits

like a silly half smile

The Distance of Smell

Two tiny morsels of Basmati rice,

long grain, cooked to perfection,

blooms on a plant I’d dropped off

with my keys

You’ve sent me a photo- 

the white dazzles my eyes

I caress my screen 

If only smell could be sent

Water Between Us

Children in the lake

shining like spoons

man dries himself

in white and blue

I watch from my window 

showered and fresh

with piped in water

from a distant place 

There's glass between us

watery and wide

is it me or is it bluer

on the other side