This blog is a place for English translations of prose and poetry from Indian languages. Please consider this note to be a standing invitation for translation contributions. If you have a translation that you think is good enough to go online, then send me email. I am Crazyfinger. I can be reached at crazyfingerorg@gmail.com.
A friend of mine alerted me to this new poem by Afsar, asking if I wanted to give it a shot translating it during this weekend. Here it is. The original is "Naalugu Metukulu" posted here.
Image courtesy Internet: Snow Storm painting by J.M.W Turner
Having made a home atop a mountain Can I say I am afraid of wild animals?
Having made a home on the seashore Can I say I am scared of foaming waves?
Having made a home inside the market Can I say the noise embarrasses me?
Since I am born into this world When praise or blame comes I cannot let brimming anger Disturb my mind’s calm.
Cennamallikarjuna!
My Translation of Akkamahadevi’s vacana – Bettathe Melae Maniaya Maadi
This Kannada Vacana was translated from the book Vacanas of Akkamahadevi by Menzes and Angadi, 1973. You can hear the above vacana being sung in the second half of the video below.
My excuse for the long gap in posting is the usual lamo one: too much work. But honestly I did try my hand at one or two poems but it is depressing when they don't come out right. At last I managed two Siva Reddy poems. Both are from his collection of poems "Anthology of poems on woman" that I got recently. I am not entirely sure if I got the "munagada deesukuni" in the 3rd line of Dream right.
A Dream
She Slept just like that Snuggled in front like a puppy - Over her Summer seasons may pass Rainy seasons may pass Cold winds of winter may pass But The spring that arrived late Just sat at her feet,
She slept just like that As though someone bundled up A long drawn dream and Forgot to take it while leaving
Burrow
I have a way I will crawl away into it But, what does she have Darkness without trails All around iron walls dug in, Nowhere she can go Wherever she goes, It is back again to within - In it is way too dark Brooding, agonizing Into the emptiness Head split in Thousand empty pieces - No choice Each and everyone Must search for himself The burrow that leads Out of life
The scanned copies of Telugu versions are below: Dream is "Oka Swapnam" (12 Dec 2007) and Burrow is "Sorangam" (3 Sept 2002).
Two discoveries this week brought me back into the folds of re-collecting. First I found out on the internet that Bhargavi P Rao had passed away a while ago. I still remember talking to her about "The Gift of Magi," the O. Henry story. Wasn't it only in 2007 that I ran into her at the airport...? What happened?
The second discovery was K. Siva Reddy, the Telugu poet for this post. I could only find this to link to online, this Introduction to the collection of translations of a few of his poems. Fascinating to read he taught English at V.V. Degree college between 1967 and 1999. So in my school days at V.V. High School, I would have run into him. More poignant, a cousin of mine who was a student at the degree college - were he alive today - would surely have recalled him.
Here is my English version of his Telugu poem "Oka Nelavanka." (One crescent moon). The scan of Telugu version from his collection, below.
Crescent Moon
Arms and legs Thrown this way and that way As though not hers She sat
Like a concrete heap Driven in way back when On the road side Is she in this world, don't know As though she was swimming inwardly As though unable to know which shore to reach As though like an ocean parching Somewhere beyond the sunset Unaware of anything
Wind rustling in the hair Drawing crazy lines on her forehead
The cheap ring on the finger Bringing back some memory
With a gentle palm on its head Caressing the dog that Wagging its tail Sat next to her A faint smile in the corner of lips Appearing playfully, like a Crescent moon not quite yet
Some week days it just is near impossible to do anything other than your day job. So tired and jaded I aimlessly began reading Ismail's poems again last night. These two stayed in my head until this morning. Short ones (short, not simple) are easier to write them out in English because of the compactness of the presentation...Here are two of Ismail's poems. They both can be found in Telugu original here. First poem below, Door, is the poem "Talupu" and the second, A Grave for a Poem, is the poem "Padya Samadhi."
Door Upset with me Suddenly opening the door You left
For bursting open The door I closed For your sake long ago Letting in sunshine and air Many thanks
A Grave for a Poem
Digging deep the poem, is the poet
Beneath tons of dirt
Beneath tons of heart
Lies covered the poem
Who buried it this deep, don't know
Got to get out the coffin
Digging days and nights
May be it'll come alive
At the touch of a breath
Digging the poem deep
When the casket lid was opened
Everytime from within
The cadaver that comes alive
Is the poet himself
Among other discoveries I made recently is Afsar's poetry. I think this is Afsar but if it is not this Afsar, please correct me. My main reference continues to be this article by Ismail and this is where I found Afsar's name and began digging for more. Before soon I am drawn to his this Telugu poem, with a somewhat hesitant title: Kondaru Snehitulu...Nanna...Oka Artharaatri (English: A Few Friends...Father...One Midnight).
Here is my English version. I was not quite sure if I wanted to retain the title of the original Telugu poem so I picked something else, not thinking too much about it.
Crossings
Not afraid No matter how dark it turned Even when This path in the wilderness This bridge through darkness Is still not familiar I heaved my body To pass through it nevertheless
Do you remember? In some dark evening farm field Caught in the thicket of trees How we crossed the night Singing loud crazy song?
On the face, that was Forced to turn back From time to time On this ever-changing journey, Lines of so many fears Shadows of doubts The fear When only death in that instant Seems like a relief Do you remember?
When, Right in the middle Waving a red flag to life A friend was seen On that frightening morning Broken in pieces On the locomotive tracks What words did I write to myself? Not a word came out at that sight
As such Journeys stopped halfway Is not new for this life!
On an emaciated night He, what matters who it was? Quietly over the beam Swinging his healthy, ruddy body Left us, tossing a beam of a final smile At our faces Even then whatever did we do? Other than a weary lifeless speech?
A smile Cut in the middle Was still new then! Even so... There isn't much to do then!
How small darknesses Turn into enormous deaths Can never be understood How some deaths surround us Like enormous darkness Is being realized everyday
Dad, That deathly moment, when Telling me to wash for the last time They all shoved me In front of your lifeless body, Showed up in last night's dream Severed from my sleep I fell Into a deep darkness
Crying, I was there just Till morning The bridge through darkness The fearsome farm fields Empty skies Everything is you
May I be able to say… Standing in the unfamiliar darkness No, I am not afraid?
The 13th century poet Janabai belongs to the varkari sect in Maharashtra. One of her poems sung by Kishori Amonkar is translated here. Her abhangs or poems reflect her luminous personality with keen perceptions and ability to articulate complex problems that have only grown bigger in present times, particularly for working women.
That her poems are available and are still sung is a miracle of sorts. Born Shudra, as a motherless child she was offered as a bonded laborer and was soon orphaned. This all too familiar background leads to what scholars call a ‘silence’ !
Becoming familiar with silences is a strange experience: it disquiets, elevates, guides and very often leaves one feeling lost. Quietly lost, we search to dispel it, like sitting in a hot, still, shade-less afternoon, with our eyes scanning treetops for movement of wind, the slightest leaf rustle a welcome sound. How many explanations run through our minds to account for nature’s erratic reticence, for that single afternoon? Was it really silent? Or only the usual noises unheard?
The written worlds, filled with the workings of the world with their own silences, the distinct cadence of female voices, are now gradually texturing the leaves of books, where once they appeared soundless. The understanding, that the unlettered Indian woman’s thoughts can never grace a book as words to be read, enjoyed and contemplated upon, supports lots of research claiming that she is ‘silent’. Since she does not use this medium, she rarely questions this notion of the lettered. This supports the blatantly wrong assumption that she is also an unthinking individual. Her thoughts and wisdom remain inaccessible to us, because we choose not to listen.
Janabai shares dais with her contemporaries Sant Dynaeshwar and Sant Namdev - poet saints of Maharastra. Her 300 odd abhangs have become part of Namdev’s repertoire of devotional songs to Lord Vittal. Here is one where the Lord Vittal works alongside her. These are not household chores as is usually described for a housemaid. This is work, labor that provides her food and shelter.
While Jani fetches water Lord Rishikesh follows her * He assists her always By filling water pots When Jani draws water He carries heavy pots Yard’s swept, cowdung smeared, He then washes the dirty clothes. Says Naama’s maid Jani. *missing line
Why talk about some of her thoughts now? Well, just reading her verses reminds me of modern workplace dilemmas of gender equity, prescriptive and descriptive roles in labor distribution and fixed notions of status. The insights into her times are pertinent for our times also, since the social fabric remains largely unchanged for large sections of the Indian society. There is a universality to her observations that binds women and minorities all over the contemporary world.
In many of her poems as in this one, she takes on the normative and inverses the logic with casual ease. The lord becomes her partner at work and sometimes her assistant. She elegantly tackles dignity of labor in a society which functions precisely on the opposite of this. The lord shares all her jobs; in the process he becomes a low caste sweeper and a dhobi (washerman).
In other verses she conveys complete disregard to gender fixity and gender stereotypes. The male god Vittal becomes vittabai a woman. She demands that vittabai now comb and braid her hair, now rub her back and the lord gladly obliges. With ‘I am he’ or So Ham, she transforms female to male, human to god, dissolving all dualities.
She messes with family hierarchies; the lord is sometimes her mother, a child or an adult co-worker. The adored Namadev, whom she cared for as a child and throughout his life, was also not spared from her incisive examination. She points out that despite the egalitarian principles he espoused, he did not escape practicing inequality in his everyday interactions:
“Your wife and mother at your feet And sons are placed proudly in front This woman is kept at the doorstep --- No room for the lowly inside”
Jani is an eternal role model; her immortal thoughts are completely relevant to modern day negotiations. Her words and approach to work reminds me of my present boss; a smart, progressive, liberal human, who would rather work alongside us than delegate, who listens to how we want to do things rather than prescribing or describing our roles - someone who knows that labor and its benefits have to be shared:
“You leave your greatness behind you To grind and pound with me.”
She is not one who does not know her own power or how others derive from it:
“What will you gain by getting angry with me? We the devotees are the source of your strength You have no power of your own. Hari, haven’t I understood your secret?”
Her attitude to gender reminds me of my organization’s presidents, past and present tirelessly working to make it a gender sensitive and inclusive place. But what amuses me most is that she manages to say in 6 word couplets what is now being documented with tedious research involving entire departments with sumptuous resources and personnel to expose and correct the unequal power relations and exploitative nature of labor.
The ultimate weapon she deploys - God himself to be the scribe of this unlettered woman:
“I wrote down Jani’s words as she uttered them, Jnanadeva! Let it beknown to you This has not made me Any less divine…… The absolute truth is the paper and ink of eternity Vittal writes on it Incessantly with Jani….”
And marks her place in the world through the voice of God, no less:
“Jani’s victory Was proclaimed In the entire world!”
While enjoying the few translated versions of Jani’s poems and reading through the sparse material about her it is a powerful reassurance for me that the worlds Jani’s are indeed not silent. Searching through the dense noise to hear the clear music and wisdom in these ‘silences’ is deeply rewarding. To gain from their insights we need to listen to the silences, better yet, we need to include not exclude.
Sources:
The previously translated English versions in this post are referenced from: Images of Women in Maharashtrian Literature and Religion, Anne Feldhaus. And here
Two sources of introduction to Varavara Rao are here and here (poet's website). A founding member of VIRASAM (abbr. from Telugu words, translated into English they mean Revolutionary Writers' Association) his poetry is bound to charge even an old damp oak with a live fire desperate for illumination. Among many poets whose works I am familiar with, Varavara Rao is one man whose poems make me feel he is "our man," due primarily to his common man's language.
One more Telugu poet discovery I made last week: Kalpana Rentala. She blogs too, though infrequently. Below is the English version of her Telugu poem, "Rahasya Vaana," which means "secret (rahasya) rain (vaana)." I don't think "Secret Rain," makes sense for the title in English.
The last four lines are very tricky, and I don't quite see yet how I could write them in English in any other way. Something is lost, not seen in the English words below, a sort of a feeling of a heart that just began to race its beat at the onrush of a desire, that feeling is lost, I think. The "let us seize a little, come here," actually appears as the last line in the original Telugu. More important, the last two-word pair in the Telugu original, "itu randi," is addressing the someone in plural "you" form - which gives a sense that this calling is by a wife to a husband. It doesn't have to be. My point is that, that particular detail is missing in English. For a man reading this poem, reading the last two words in Telugu will most certainly elevate the soft feeling; these final two words will at once surprise him pleasantly, perhaps even a feeling of subdued strangeness will come over him. Nothing stirs a man with an inexplicable wonderment more than a feeling of love directed at him from a woman. That feeling which visits him from outside is, for him, not exactly the same as the one he feels for his woman. In feeling for a woman, a man is in his natural solipsistic self, in other words he is full of himself. But such a visitation almost always takes him out of his skin - or threatens to such a possibility - and I think that just might be at the root of a gentle discomfort he feels, and prepares him for the love. Jeez...did I write that...:- )
Furtive Torrent
The eyes can still hear Those footstep sounds Of the raindrops
The ears can still see That windswept beat Of the window pane
The unrest within Is still caressing the cheek
The wet mark Is still knocking the ocean's door
There no one mingles with anyone now
The furtive torrent that spares nothing for anyone Is emanating the youth Agitating the desires
Let us seize a little, come here That, so hard to let out-of-hand, seclusion That, unable to be near-at-hand, body That, moistening it like a fire, rain
--
On author background, I haven't had time to dig up enough about the poets to write an introduction but here is an overview by Ismail (the poet): "Sixty Years of Telugu Poetry: A telugu retrospective," that is quite good. I may have to hit the Creative Commons for the visuals since all my pictures are in black-and-white and I haven't found anything appropriate in them yet.
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