Wednesday, July 24, 2013

একটি মোরগের কাহিনী, সুকান্ত ভট্টাচার্য/ The Rooster's Song by Sukanta Bhattacharya









একটি মোরগের কাহিনী
একটি মোরগ হঠাৎ আশ্রয় পেয়ে গেল 
বিরাট প্রাসাদের ছোট্ট এক কোণে, 
ভাঙা প্যাকিং বাক্সের গাদায় 
আরো দু'তিনটি মুরগীর সঙ্গে। 
আশ্রয় যদিও মিলল, 
উপযুক্ত আহার মিলল না। 
সুতীক্ষ্ণ চিৎকারে প্রতিবাদ জানিয়ে 
গলা ফাটাল সেই মোরগ 
ভোর থেকে সন্ধে পর্যন্ত- 
তবুও সহানুভূতি জানাল না সেই বিরাট শক্ত ইমারত। 

তারপর শুরু হল তাঁর আঁস্তাকুড়ে আনাগোনা; 
আর্শ্চর্য! সেখানে প্রতিদিন মিলতে লাগল 
ফেলে দেওয়া ভাত-রুটির চমৎকার প্রচুর খাবার! 

তারপর এক সময় আঁস্তাকুড়েও এল অংশীদার- 
ময়লা ছেঁড়া ন্যাকড়া পরা দু'তিনটে মানুষ; 
কাজেই দুর্বলতার মোরগের খাবার গেল বন্ধ হয়ে। 

খাবার! খাবার! খানিকটা খাবার! 
অসহায় মোরগ খাবারের সন্ধানে 
বার বার চেষ্টা ক'রল প্রাসাদে ঢুকতে, 
প্রত্যেকবারই তাড়া খেল প্রচণ্ড। 
ছোট্ট মোরগ ঘাড় উঁচু করে স্বপ্ন দেখে- 
'
প্রাসাদের ভেতর রাশি রাশি খাবার'! 

তারপর সত্যিই সে একদিন প্রাসাদে ঢুকতে পেল, 
একেবারে সোজা চলে এল 
ধব্‌ধবে সাদা দামী কাপড়ে ঢাকা খাবার টেবিলে ; 
অবশ্য খাবার খেতে নয় 
খাবার হিসেবে
***
The Rooster’s song
Sukanto Bhattacharya
One rooster suddenly found itself some shelter
In one corner of a huge mansion,
In a pile of old packing crates
It set up house with a couple of hens.
Even though it now had shelter,
It did not have food enough to make it happy.
It let out piercing calls of protest
Till its throat hurt,
From dawn till dusk.
But no sympathy was to be had from the deaf bricks of that house.

It then decided to go looking in the rubbish;
Amazing! There, every day he found
The most excellent food that others had thrown away.

Then one day, came someone to stake a claim
A few dirty ragged men kept alive only by hunger;
Now the weaker rooster went hungry once again.

Food, glorious food, just some, not too much!
The desperate rooster tried to find food,
Inside the mansion’s gates a couple of times
But every time there was someone to drive him out.
The little rooster could only dream
Of all the food that must surely be within!

Then one day, he really did manage to find his way in,
Straight to where the food was
On the table laid with a snowy white cloth;
But this time, not to eat
But to be eaten.


Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Tagore Translations Giveaway!



If you are a lover of Rabindranath Tagore’s writing and his songs, you will love this! A chance to win a three book set of translations of Tagore’s songs, stories and poems! Winners will be randomly picked from ‘Likes’, ‘Shares’ and ‘Comments’. They will be announced on the 13th of July, 2013 by midday
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/ruma.chakravarti
https://www.facebook.com/RumasBookLaunch
Blogs:
http://animikha.wordpress.com/
http://banglarmukh-ruma.blogspot.com.au/
Your books will be sent to you by registered post, wherever you are. Good luck!



Monday, July 8, 2013

Amalkanti, Nirendranath Chakravarti



Amalkanti

Some of us had dreamed of being teachers, others doctors or lawyers.
Amalkanti had never wanted to be any of those things.
He dreamed of becoming sunshine!
That shy light that paints the afternoons
When the rain ceases and crows call the evening close,
That light that lingers in boughs and leaves
like a slight smile upon the lips.

A few of us have become teachers, others doctors or lawyers.
Amalkanti could not become sunshine.
He now works in the darkness of a press.
Sometimes he comes to see me,
We drink tea and talk of unimportant stuff till he says, ‘I must be going’
I then see him off at the door.

The friend who is now a teacher,
Could have been a doctor if only he had wanted,
The one who had wanted to be a doctor,
would have done just as well as a lawyer.
So everyone got their wish after all, except for Amalkanti
He could not become sunshine.
The same Amalkanti, who once thought so much about the sun
That he had dreamed of being sunshine.

Excerpt, Amalkanti 
Nirendranath Chakravarti

Friday, May 17, 2013

নীরা তোমার কাছে , সুনীল গঙ্গোপাধ্যায়/ Neera Tomar Kacche by Sunil Gangopadhyay/In Your Debt, Neera




In your debt , Neera

Who was that talking on the stairs so calmly?
After someone left closing the door, you still stood there for a while
Hands and chin resting on the railing, no one will think of you as stilled lightning
A little dark, a shade stolen from the leaves of the lotus,
You stayed
And I suddenly thought of Neera as I looked at you, Neera.

In the whole year I only get to see you twice
For Holi and Saraswati Puja, both days of extreme colour
In all those flowers and all that colour, only two days in a whole year -
On those two days you are a bit different, somehow a different Neera
On the other 363 too many things enclose you like guards.

You have never seen me in an empty room, I have hidden my need
Never letting you see it, we have never tried to touch the emptiness
Within with both hands, nor tried to speak to each other within that silence
Or tried to breathe in the scent of your eyes as mine encircle you -
I have hidden my need, Neera
On every other day, I only have those two days with you.

Neera, you suddenly remind me of Neera!
I have never craved you, nor pulled on your strings
I have never tried entering your pure body using just any excuse
I have not defiled you with my bloody hands with perfect ease:
I only see you for Holi and Saraswati Puja – on those stairs
And today you stayed even after I had left
Neera, I am forever in your debt for Neera’s sake.

Translation(mine)


                                                        সুনীল গঙ্গোপাধ্যায়

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

এবার কবিতা লিখে, সুনীল গঙ্গোপাধ্যায়/ Poetry will give me these, Sunil Gangopadhyay



এবার কবিতা লিখে

এবার কবিতা লিখে আমি একটা রাজপ্রাসাদ বানাবো
এবার কবিতা লিখে আমি চাই পন্টিয়াক গাড়ি
এবার কবিতা লিখে আমি ঠিক রাষ্ট্রপতি না হলেও
ত্রিপাদ ভূমির জন্য রাখব পা উঁচিয়ে -
মেশপালকের গানে এ পৃথিবী বহুদিন ঋণী!
কবিতা লিখেছি আমি চাই স্কচ, সাদা ঘড়া, নির্ভেজাল ঘৃতে পক্ক
মুর্গীর দু ঠ্যাং শুধু, আর মাংস নয় -
কবিতা লিখেছি তাই আমার সহস্র ক্রীতদাসী চাই -
অথবা একটি নারী অগোপন, যাকে আমি প্রকাশ্য রাস্তায় জানু ধরে
দয়া চাইতে পারি।
লেভেল-ক্রসিং এ আমি দাঁড়ালেই  তোপধ্বনি শুনতে চাই
এবার কবিতা লিখে আমি আর দাবী ছাড়ব না
নেড়ি কুত্তা হয়ে আমি পায়ের ধুলোর থেকে গড়াগড়ি দিয়ে আসি
হাড় থেকে রক্ত নিংড়ে এখনো দাঁড়িয়ে আছি, ভিক্ষা চেয়ে মানুষের
চোখ থেকে মনুষ্যত্ব খুলে -
কপালের জ্বর, থুতু, শ্লেষ্মা থেকে উঠে এসে
মাতাল চন্ডাল হয়ে নিজেকে পুড়িয়ে ফের ছাই থেকে উঠে এসে
আমার একলা ঘরে অসহায়তার মতো হা হা স্বর থেকে উঠে এসে
কবিতা লেখার সব প্রতিশোধ নিতে দাঁড়িয়েছি ।




Poetry will still give me these

This time my poems will build me a palace
This time I want a Pontiac car from the proceeds of writing all this poetry,
This time I want even if I cannot be the President -
To raise my foot in a goose stepping stride.
This country has been herded like sheep for too long.
I have written poetry so now I want Scotch whiskey, a white horse,
Two chicken legs cooked in pure ghee, (no other meat will do)
I have written poetry and so now I want a thousand slave girls -
Or at least one woman who does not hide
To whom I can go down on one knee in public seeking indulgence.
I want gun salutes when I wait at level crossings
This time I am not going to give up my rights
This time I am going to roll in the dust like a stray dog and return
Blood drained from bones I still wait, stripping the humanity from your eyes
For poetry I have risen from fever, saliva and phlegm
And for poetry I have risen phoenix-like 
From drunken stupor and blinding rage
And from the lonely echoes of my bare room of verse have I risen
To exact all my revenge for writing poetry.


Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Neem gach/Neem Tree by Bonophool or Bolai Chand Mukhopadhyay (1899-1979)




=


Neem Tree


Some strip the bark and boil it.
Some rip off the leaves and grind them.
While others fry them up in hot oil.
To smear it on itches and skin rashes,
Infallible in skin problems.
Many also eat the young leaves
Sometimes even raw,
Or fried with egg plant.
Very helpful for the liver.
So many break off the young branches and chew them – keeps teeth healthy.
The traditional healer cannot praise it enough.
One growing next to the house makes the wise happy.
They say, the breeze blowing through a Neem is good, let it stay, do not cut it;
So no one cuts it, but no one looks after it either.
Rubbish collects about its base.
Someone paved around it – another kind of rubble at its feet.
Suddenly one day, a new person arrives
They gaze upon the tree with wonder, they do not strip off the bark, rip off the leaves
Or break the branches; they just gaze!
They say, ‘Lovely, how lovely the leaves, how beautiful!
And the clusters of flowers! Like stars that flicker in a sea of green!’
After looking on for a while, the person goes away.
Not a healer of the body, but of the mind – a poet.
The Neem tree wanted to go with him; but in vain, for its roots were deep.
It remained in the pile of rubbish behind the house.
The same as the domesticated, docile daughter-in-law next door….


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Adbhuth Andhar Ek/A strange darkness has descended on this earth by Jibanananda Das




A strange darkness has descended on this earth



A strange darkness has descended on this earth
Those who are blind, they see the clearest today,
Those whose hearts hold no love nor affection, unstirred by compassion,
The earth is at a standstill today without their advice.

The ones who still have deep trust in people
Those who see as natural
Great truth or rules, or art and effort,
Today their souls feed the jackals and the vultures.