Friday, December 9, 2011






FOX

I
His long, shy snout gleamed in the scraps-yard
startled, his trot through the back yard gleamed now and on
I raised him from the merely four footed
I was hooked on his humble tail
and his strange greenish howl
in the quiet of night
II
Inside the bamboo grove is this home
secure in a quiet hole
once I lit a straw torch and leaves
at the entrance to his hole and smoked him out
wailing he jumped straight into our net
the cruel knots of the net overflowed
with our joy and our fun.
It kept captive the dusky destiny of that fox
III
made a cage for him while he feigned dead
finally, he had a bite of the alien food!
soyabean for meat, the spotless white of rice,
a green vegetable brew, biscuits,
and the domesticated affection of milk.
Fat broke into his unbroken rest
and lodged under his hide.
He glowed and his reflexes slowed
and he was getting duller everyday.
IV
Once I hitched him on to a clay cart
had his legs shod with brass
his mouth in an iron muzzle
and I saw tears stream down his eyes
in abject degradation
Yet he pulled the flesh of my body
and the joy of my fat
He wound his way to the dignity of labour
to the dignity of civilization
his round of life had drastically changed.
V
he was the lone mystery in the woods of my life.
I had seen him dig and take out
the milk white body of my kid sister
buried inside that grove
the sister that had filled my childhood
and from under the banana tree
he looked me straight in the eye
and I thought his teeth sank into my bosom
I felt strangely attracted to him since then
VI
And on a primitive day
when the vulgar sun had bared its teeth
and caught the earth in myriad cobwebs
I found an ugly greed growing in me.
I had him out of the cage,
"I will cut your ears to make me a lamp"
the lullaby that mother put us to sleep with
I cut off his ears and then speared his heart
to stop all throbbing.
I skinned him, the brown hide that kept his flesh hidden
his last movement was there in his blood.
VII
no zoology text recorded the taste of his meat
or even of his greenish howl
the taste got on to my head
the taste spiraling swirled
in the recesses of my head.
It soothed my direly hurt soul
and my body glowed in pristine wings.
... so much luxury, so much effort
and such a heinous murder
for this my late meal!
             [ Translated by Pradip Acharya ]

Thief
1
My father caught him
In the betel-nut garden
And he rubbed his eyes and sobbed
Acting them out
Keeping time to our burst of shouting
And to the little swishes of our bamboo twigs.
We also became strong that day
With the vapour of Father’s proud and swelling chest.
We bound him hand and foot
In the Saturday-market, that was the punishment fixed for him.
The whole of the mid-day he shines
In the bunches of ripe betel-nuts.
2
He is an ancient thief
In the creases of his rough skin
Sleeps the marks left by the beating of bamboo twigs.
He jumps about in the betel-nut leaves
Faster than the birds.
Pitchers for carrying water, small water pot
Choppers and axes and sometimes
The shining white dhoti of someone
Is also the marked out thing in the winkling of his eyes.
And what a charming scene
When the villagers chase him
He jumps and jumps over the bamboo gates
Drain after drain
With what abandon his dhoti flies
Tearing the green
How his sweaty muscles glistens and go out of sight
Raising a tide of mysterious joy in our mind and body
Thus he becomes our own
The whole village, all the householders
Trees and creepers are all cages
And search for his vigorous arrival in the dark.
3
And he laughs in the horizon
With his paleface lined like the face of a sage
and sticking out cheeks bones.
With his wild way of life
He becomes the most mysterious being
in my tiny green world.
And did he soak, did he soak me up also
With his primitive dance-posture?
For stealing from under my grand father’s pillow
I brought him ‘bidi’s
4
My deserted homestead of my past
Is now devastated and of concrete.
Trees and shrubs of stone and brick
Breathe with leaves of glass panes
In this jungle of glass
Where is it lost, where is it lost
That mysterious ancient being of mine?
I want that he steals
From my dining table the iron apples
The bronze grapes, the fleshy chopper
And from the fridge the white could laughs.
             [ Translated by Ajit Barua ]





Nilim Kumar's poetry
Translated by Abhigyan Anurag

Born in Pathsala, Barpeta district, Assam, Nilim Kumer is one of the most popular poets of contemporary Assamese literature. He has published a total of 17 collections of poems; and some of them are Achinar Akhukh  (1985); Bari Kunwar  (1988); Swapnar Relgaari (1991); Seluoi Gadhuli  (1992); Topanir Baagicha (1994); Panit Dhou Dhoubor Mach (1990); Narakashur; Atmakatha. He has also authored a number of novels—Matit Uri Phura Chitrakar; Akash Apartment; Athkhon Premar Uppannyas. He is the President of The Call of the Brahmaputra, a socio-cultural literary organization of Assam. He received awards like Raja Foundation award, 2009, Uday Bharati National award, 1994. His poems have been published in Treasure Trove, a 25-volume literary project on Assamese literature in English translation Edited and Compiled by Abhigyan Anurag.

ABHIGYAN ANURAG
(Translator)
     Born in Bezera in Kamrup district, Assam, Anurag has published two novels in Assamese, namely Arabinda Kalita Zindabad (Long live Arabinda), 2001 and Mrigatrishna (The mirage), published serially in Assamese fortnightly Prantik, 2003. Arabinda Kalita Zindabad has been adopted dramatic version by a reputed cultural troop, Abahan Theatre, Assam) and Mrigatrishna has been approved as television serial in Hindi for North East Programme, Guwahati Doordarshan, Assam. Former Sub-editor of The Assam Tribune and The North East Times, English dailies being published from Assam, his Markin Sahityar Rup Aru Rekha, 2008, is a collection of Assamese essays on American literature. Anurag has till date published twenty two short stories, scattered in various Assamese magazines, and more than hundred non-fictional essays on society, life, literature and politics. He is the Editor & Compiler of Treasure Trove, a 25-volume literary project on Assamese literature in English translation. Weblink & Email: www.abhigyananurag & bidisir@gmail.com


This is Radha


This is Radha
Dead,
I smear nail polish
On her cool nails
Sharply red.

Rubi Gupta

                        
The underwear of Rubi Gupta had not dried out
On the day the Jallianwala Bagh massacre took place.
While gathering clothes, hung them out to dry
Up in the concrete roof
She noticed
All of her clothes had dried out
Except her underwear.

Frightened she was
Since the evil occurrence there must be
On earth
On the same day
When her underwear
Got dry late.

Now and then
I think of Rubi Gupta
Who lived in a novel’s protracted house
Nobody knew about the world tragedies’ link
With this tiny wear.
Even she cannot let others know it too.
The underwear of Rubi Gupta had not dried out
On the day of world’s terrible quakes,
Volcanoes, tsunamis and massacres.

She was never at ease without underwear
Even without wash.
In her childhood
Her mother taught
Not to stay sans underwear.

Now she only shivered with apprehension---
Was her underwear dry?
She ironed her underwear
On a rainy day.

To save the world
She tried her hardest.
………..


 Slippery floor



After tiling our house floors
No inconvenience we have
In our conjugal life.
Only we step firmly
On the slippery floors.


Of poetry



The poem had disappeared before you read.
What you read now is just some signs of its loss.
That there was a poem there—
The poem leaves something
To prove it,
So that you can identify the poem
Finding its dress, foot wears etc.

Your dress, your foot wears
Is it your identity?
Then why should we ignore poetry?
We must unfasten poetry
To make it a slave for thousands of years.
Poetry passes by the verandas of dream
Disregarding the pain of the poet.
As flashes, as twilight we see poetry
Disappearing before its reading.

And if somebody thinks him
To be a conscious reader of poetry
Or a poet who wrote Samyaveda the other day
The poetry loses its confidence on them too
And disappears before its writing and reading
And in the province of any critic
(Of course they do not have such province)
It laughs and laughs and laughs.
-----------------                                                                                                

Four Moons



We have four moons
Now in our sky

Three out of them
Stops giving milk
The rest is flowing
Silver stream

Several poets sing for the moons
Under this sky
Many moons die at several poets’ hand
Becoming stiff,
Several poets let loose
Those moons in thousand in woman’s hairs
That never returned.


We have four moons
Now in our sky

I want to save
Those four
For the children.

Carry me again in your womb

(1)

Carry me again in your womb, ma

Could not I know what happened
In those ten months
How I passed
That snooze
That night’s darkness
Where were your lips, breasts, vagina

Oh! Ma
Call my father

I’ve dug a night
In the heart of the soil

(2)

It’s evening
In your navel

Lighting your eyes
Like a lamp
Wind caught its fire

Brown puff of river spreads
Along the field

(3)
My father is waiting
On the river bank

A rock of history

The river has not unfastened my father
See, see
My father has kissed in the lips
See, how she is puffing up

Has stretch out
Her womb

(4)

Ma, come as rain drops
Press ant hill to fall off
Wet the dhekia night

Get wet in the stone lips
Stretch out your uncombed hair
On father’s face

Get closer
Chest deep
Aquatic grass
Of mournful night

Call my father
From river side

(5)

I’ve also a secret link with the river
If the river curses me
If I’m given birth
As a snail
Ma, river shade is in my eyes

(6)

Was not I ever for your womb

Was not my father ever for your lips
For your breasts and womb

Why had you made sleep
In the bed head
Licking and licking that stone


(7)

After being naked
Stay naked

Hide yourself
In the darkness of dhekia

I would come, I would come

I would forget water
Being a snail
Never I blame the river
Never I blame my father

See, see Ma
I’m a broken sun
Into your womb.

House

Here I left her
To meet my mother

Mother was not there
Left for my father

While returning
She was also not there

Mother could not also find
My father
He had entered the house
After return

I could not also find her
I had too entered the house
After return.


Crematory

In the waters

A crematory there is
For the fish.

In the sky
A crematory there is
For the stars

A crematory there is
In the jungle
For the greens

But where’s that crematory?

The ghostly tree even did not say
Where the crematory is
Where the birds consigned my beloved
To flames.


The beautiful women

The beautiful women get down from the city bus
And walk along the footpath. The bell in the town rings for eleven times
When the women arrive. The town keeps all of its windows to see the beautiful women. They dazzle in unique warmth when in the wool market.
The beautiful women never try for poetry. They shampoo once in a week and comb hair under the sun. A poet named ‘Hemanta shes’ composes ballads for them. The vegetables like to have a lift in the hand baggage of them. The beautiful women shop inners for their men. They take tastes of phuska in the street. The beautiful women become raring to go home back before sunset. The beautiful women get on the city bus against the rush. The town then fades away in distress. The city cannot follow the beautiful women. But, if they wish, the beautiful women can hunt the city.


Cloth-stand

Balancing on three wooden legs
My cloth-stand rests on.
Clothes lay in a heap
And the ironed clothes hang on hangers
To attract my mornings.
The legs of jeans pants
Loiter.

I would love you from tomorrow

I would love you from tomorrow
As I’m unavoidably busy today



Your hairs I see you today in the twilight
I would measure it out tomorrow
Is the length so
As love requires

We would roam about
On a decrepit rickshaw tomorrow
As you know well
Decrepitude is an embellishment of love.

Kindly do not use perfume tomorrow
Smell of sun shine and sweat
Would please both of us
And then the cold drinks could
Beautify our lips

You like ice cream?
I would ask you tomorrow

Would I meet you at that place
Where I met you today?
Would bear the same
I saw in you today?

Do not disappear tomorrow
Since I do not have any of your identity

I would get introduced with you tomorrow
And would address you as ‘Tumi’
Would you do the same?


I would love you from tomorrow
As I’m unavoidably busy today


Sea

Therefore the sea could never go to sleep

Always
The moon accompanies the stars
To have bath in its heart

The wind wants to sleep with it
The fish and the snails too

The boats and the ships
Dye its heart with vermilion

But it falls in love with
That girl who roams to pick up the snails
And does not go down to its heart

Therefore the sea could never go to sleep.


As a tree

She called me as tree

I get on from
Knee deep water

She trembled in winter
And the leaves of her body
Fell off

It’s surprising
How she knew about fire in my blood

She trembled in utter cold
And I smeared my blood
On her body

She was not really a tree

Coming through my blood
She wanted to rest on my bank

It’s surprising
How she saw
The empty bank of my bank

She called me as a winter tree.


Kindly

Kindly
Just die for one minute
Before reading this poem
Just forfeit a one minute from your longevity
Just one minute
For me

Because I want to be the last creature on earth
I want to knead my fervent life with death on this planet
I want to see the world’s last scenes---
The lights getting dark, the greens growing yellow,
The yellow assimilating in the darkness, the steady sea waves,
The restless of desert houses, the great deaths of the rivers and mountains,
And the last screams of all burning matters.
I want to see—
The fall of high structures, the rise and fall of civilization, stillness of the five elements
And my soul
Foaming with infinite longevity
At the edge of your doom

Kindly leave me alive
To see the scene of this dear world
Donate a one minute from your longevity
In turn
I assure you, I would compose my last poem
In praise of your generous heart
And the great death of the world

Kindly
Just die for one minute.