Monday, March 12th, 2012
The seed, dying,
promised the crop
The little flower, withering,
promised the fruit, with a smile,
The forest, burning,
promised the conflagration
The sunset, shaking hands,
promised the sunrise
Immortality is beautiful.
Embracing time, it
promised a new world.
My translation of the Telugu poem 'amaratvam' by K.G. Satyamurthy ('Sivasagar'), from his collection of poetry 'Sivasagar Kavitvam'.
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2011
Hanging from the neck of the sky's skeleton
The war moon
He has nuclear bombs all over his body
The fangs of butcherliness in his eyes
Sitting as a judge
On the giant skeleton of the Pentagon
He passes the death sentence on some nations
He doesn't know of the full moon.
Amavasya is all that's there!
My translation of the Telugu poem 'yuddha chandruDu' by Sivasagar (K.G.Satyamurthy), from the collection of poetry 'kavita 2008' published by Sahiti Mitrulu. The poet says he was inspired by Janet Aalfs' 'War Moon'.
Thursday, April 29th, 2010
What can I say Sir!
My son Yesobu
died in the war
my son who could conquer Neerukonda*
lies sacrificed on a slab of ice.
He left with a smile
and has returned as a corpse
smiling, he calls 'nAnna'*
he went on foot and has returned a bridegroom
a flowering plant has returned as a fallen banyan
he has returned.
What can I say? and how?
people turn up here as at a fair
in throngs and throngs,
addressing them, speaking of
my son's 'sacrifices, patriotism'
you, Sarpanch babu! Sir!
When he stopped
people washing their animals
in the tank
didn't you, with a whip
lash my son's chest
mark him with stains?
In the cinema outside our village
for buying a big ticket*
and sitting alongside you
didn't you scheme
to cut his hands legs?
Was it your daughter who looked at him
or he who looked at her
I do not know but-
to kill lionlike Yesobu
you wove the noose,
how can we forget this history!
We know all this
does the rain wash away the wounds, Sir!
On the untouchable's eyelids
these truths stand erect
like crowbars driven into our hearts.
Mothers! Sirs!
My son's death:
this isn't the first,
many times in our village
he died and lived
to live he joined the army
as a corpse, he has returned alive.
Ayyo!
my mind's not in my mind
my mind's not in my mind
Sir! In my eyes
the pyre dances
son! Yesoba! Yesoba!
Yesoba! My father!
For you
I'll weep like Karamchedu*
for you
I'll weep like Chunduru*
for you
I'll weep like Vempenta*
I'll weep like yesterday's Gosayipalem*!
Father! As a teardrop big as the sky
I'll pour like a storm for you!
Elders! Lords!
Salutations!
I wish to curse you
a basketful of curses
I wish to drive a basketful of wild ants
to bite you all over,
to see my son's corpse, arriving
like armies of ants
and disappearing like swarms of locusts,
you patriots!
Wait a second
if you're made of pus and blood, shame and honour
if your liver hasn't melted yet
answer this untouchable's questions:
not my son
you've come to visit his corpse
do you agree?!
My son dead is a veera jawan
alive he's a Mala* jawan
What do you say?
Answer me!
Swear on your Manu
as a pigeon and a snake
can't be linked
your upper caste pride
can't go with patriotism.
Elders! Lords!
Listen! Listen to the untouchable word:
between the village and the wada*
there's a Kargil,
from grandfathers' forefathers' age,
burning between us
this Kargil war
hasn't stopped, it goes on.
Son! Yesoba!
On the third day
if you can't return
find the time
to return some day
and wipe my tears! Father!
-My translation of K.G.Satyamurthy's ('Sivasagar') Telugu poem kodukA! yEsobA!, written in 1999 (from his collection of poetry: 'Sivasagar Kavitvam').
*neerukonDa, kAramcheDu, chunDuuru, vEmpenTa, gOsaayipaalem are all villages where incidents of organized violence against Dalits occurred. The word 'konDa' (in Neerukonda) means 'hill'.
*nAnna: father.
*Mala: a large Dalit sub-caste in South India, mainly found in Andhra Pradesh.
*big ticket: refers to a class of seating in village cinemas where patrons sit in chairs, unlike the other major class where everyone sits on the floor.
*wADa: short for Dalitawada, or Dalit hamlet/quarter in a village.
Friday, April 9th, 2010
The Sun's a weaver
with rays as threads
sky as the loom
he weaves the rainbow
The Sun's a hunter
with rays as arrows
the sky his forest
he hunts down cheetahs of darkness
The Sun's a lover
in the first light of millions of rays
he descends from the sky
and loves earth's silent eyes, deeply.
My translation of Sooryudu, a Telugu poem by Dalit poet K.G.Satyamurthy ( 'Sivasagar'). Source: his collection, Sivasagar Kavitvam (1968-2002).