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Archive for the ‘Marathi’ Category

Poetry Reading

Monday, June 21st, 2010

As I was reading out a poem
the audience was listening as I read
And as the audience was listening to me
I was reading the faces of the audience.

As I continued to read…
There came a moment – who knows why –
when a couple of them wrinkled their noses
And astonished, I said to the poet in me
"What's the reason for this?"
And he answered me,
"It was to be expected…
All that's happened is
the settled sludge has been stirred
and the water's grown cloudy."

As I was reading out a poem
the audience was listening as I read
And as the audience was listening to me
I was reading the faces of the audience

As I continued to read…
There came a moment when
a couple got up and left
But the eyelids of the others
seemed ready to shed rain
And, distressed, I said to the poet in me,
"Why is this happening?"
And he answered me,
"It's only natural
All that's happened is
the moisture pent up till today
is looking to break out."

As I was reading out a poem
the audience was listening as I read
And as the audience was listening to me
I wa reading the faces of the audience

As I continued to read…
There came a moment when
I saw embers flaring in the pupils of their eyes
And, frightened, I said to the poet in me,
"What's this that's happening?"
And he answered me,
"It was this I was waiting for
All that's happening is
the dynamite fuses, nearly burnt out,
are trying to falre up again."

As I was reading out a poem
the audience was listening as I read
And as the audience was listening to me
I was reading the faces of the audience

As I continued to read…
There came a moment when
I saw a dazzling brilliance in their eyes
And, curious, I said to the poet in me,
"Why is this happening?"
And he answered me,
"It's inevitable.
All tha's happening is
they're marching in battle
on this fearful darkness."

As I was reading out a poem
the audience was listening as I read
And as the audience was listening to me
I was reading the faces of the audience

Found that interesting Marathi poem by Damodar More (translated by Priya Adarkar) at Dr. Navras Jaat Aafreedi's Social Activism blog. Thanks Rahul Gautam Vardhan, for the tip.

To Dear Aana

Monday, June 14th, 2010

The sunset does not bury our sorrows,

nor does sunrise bring new hopes.

Everything continues, relentlessly.

Society, bound by her rituals of ages,

chews up chunks of human flesh

in blind fury:

the horse she rides

bleeds and foams at the mouth;

she holds the reins

of an ancient system;

her predator's ears

listen to the twittering of birds;

in the orthodoxy of her world

passion and intensity are ridiculed.

Therefore, dear Aana,

you ought not to have cherished expectations 

of a lingering kiss in the long night. 

 

By Suresh Kadam, translated by Vilas Sarang. Source: Poisoned Bread: Marathi Dalit Literature.

To be or Not to be born

Sunday, May 9th, 2010

Mother, you used to tell me

when I was born

your labour was very long.

The reason for your long labour;

I, still in your womb, was wondering

Do I want to be born-

Do I want to be born at all

in this land?

Where all paths raced horizonwards

but to me barred

All of you lay, eyes fixed on the sky

then shut them, saying

calmly, yes,

the sky has a prop, a prop!

Your body covered

with generations of dire poverty

your head pillowed

on constant need

you slept at night

and in the day you writhed

with empty fists tied to your breast!

Here you are not supposed to say

that every human being comes

from the union of man and woman

Here, nobody dare

broaden the beaten track.

You ran round and round yourself

exclaiming YES, of course

the earth is round, is round.

Mother, this is your land

flowing with water

Rivers break their banks

Lakes brim over

And you, one of the human race

must shed blood

struggle and strike

for a palmful of water

I spit on this great civilization

Is this land yours, mother,

because you were born here?

Is it mine

because I was born to you?

Must I call this great land mine

love it

sing its glory?

Sorry, mother, truth be tell

I must confess I wondered

Should I be born

Should I be born into this land.

 

By L.S. Rokade, translated by Shanta Gokhale. Source: Poisoned Bread -Marathi Dalit Literature.

People

Monday, May 3rd, 2010

They may burn

They can burn

Each other……

A single ignition sufficient

Here to make blasts

Every where

Illiterate becomes learned

By putting theories in his favour only. 

 

By Madhao Dahale, Translated by Rajendra Ankushe. Source: Dalit Poetry Today. 

Nishedhanama

Saturday, April 24th, 2010

Your produced regions of deception

With sharp beaks take my bites, in the surrounding intense wailing,

And beautiful crudeness you call literature 

Dazzled by ornate words you call Mahakavi

You worship dirt covered with flowers

To infinite poverty you narrate story of king and queen

You write literature, write shashtras and philosophy of convenience

But here is the dominance of some people

I will go saying it by showing, wailing

While going I won't remain dumb I will go cursing this clutter

…….

Let the earth be shattered

The sounds of bells in ancient temples

rung to extinguish me be razed

……

The clothes of the assassins will torrentially tear

All tents of sins I will without hesitation burn

While going I won't remain dumb I will go cursing this clutter

I have given answers on coming while going I will carry questions.

 

Excerpts from Yashwant Manohar's collection of poems: Uttangumpha. Source: Dalit Literature: Nature and role.

Stove (cul)

Saturday, April 17th, 2010

Last night’s cooking fire
Whelped on your doorstep

Your core burned
Ceaseless in her womb
Your bed sucked
Her dry of
Upside-down fortune

Now you must burn
Illuminating dusk
Keep your nest
For her chicks

And of course you must
Bloody your hands
Seek a knife
To cut the cord

Cover yourself my girl
And don’t weep
For the cooking fire
Of yesterday birthed
On your doorstep.

 

Poem By Dalit poet Prathiba Pore translated by Gauri Deshpande. Source: Images of women in Maharashtrian Literature and religion.

Return

Tuesday, April 13th, 2010

I do not need your sky

You return my wings you had chopped.

I do not need your bread

You return my hands you had hacked.

I take my own course

I ask you to return my feet.

I am conscious of my duties

I want you to restore my rights.

I want nothing that is yours

Better return what is mine.

By N.T Poghe. Source: Dalit Poetry Today.

Yashodhara

Saturday, April 10th, 2010

O Yashodhara!

You are like a dream of sharp pain,
life-long sorrow.
I don’t have the audacity to look at you.
we were brightened by Buddha’s light,
but you absorbed the dark
until your life was mottled blue and dark,
a fragmented life, burned out,

O Yashodahara!
The tender sky comes to you for refuge
seeing your shining but fruitless life
and the pained stars shed tears
My heart breaks,
seeing your matchless beauty,
separated from your love,
dimming like twilight.
Listening to your silent sighs,
I feel the promise of heavenly happiness is hollow. (more…)

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