Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Monday, August 30, 2010
B !½o \olºtj uÝio®
FuÃn?w !ul ecISdn»I;w \olº;w \oltÃ°hoêI;w
B !½o Cçè
B !½otb RnÌw uÝio»oçè
IncWw B !½o FÁodnWm Ppeo»Hw CçÁHw IoSÁHw Ht·
B !½o HÊbnboçè
B !½o FÁodoçÁm No^w ec®
FtÂ IeoXIjnbo Rn° DcetÃâ¿o
AXnWm FtÂ IeoXI³
B !½o CÁoÈ
Aetb IeoXIjn·n° C\oÆw u\cwueWw
Hç !kÆtS Xpc¿m ]oleotIn=uÄn³
h|Ðw !k FÁn !k eojotInÉnw
GtÂ ]oleoÆw ej±»Æw !Áo° !l¿nboçè
ej±ÁuÃn³ Rn° B uXnSotÂ IcboëtS
AXm edob Hç uXn½otd¿o
AeotS Rn° !jo®
uXnåIcboëtS ]otÁÆw Rn°u]nbo
uXntSnç !kbo² AdoÆè
!kubntSnÃw Rn° u]nboÈ
uXnâI;tS Ieo an^anWm Rn°.
h|Ðw uXnâI³ FÁe eojotIn=è
The elephant in the forest
Is the fish in the water
Fish is caught from the water
Water remains in tact
Elephant is caught from the forest
Fish is turned into curry fried
Elephant is made to lift logs
It is caparisoned and paraded in the festival
The water only going on moving
The forest smuggled by the elephant burst out
Men flew, scream
The elephant in the forest is not the fish in the water
Translated by K.Sachidanandan
A Letter to Malayalam Poetry
Met you on the river one day,
Sat together for quite a while.
The river has a window, you said,
Through it I will fly away.
Kept remembering what you said
Even after I left you to reach my village.
If the river has a window, it must be a house;
If you wanted to fly away, it must be a jail.
I live among the poor,
In a hutment just like theirs.
Eat what I get.
Have to fetch water from afar,
Hear father calling me a dog.
Have to clear mother’s shit and piss.
Tins, sandals, bottles, paper,
My job is to pick and sell them all
People call me rag-picker,
Carriages refuse my knapsack.
Yet I called you.
You didn’t come.
I know your people:
Those like big buildings.
They locked you up
In stanzas and metres.
You saw the world through a hole,
Tripped and fell against household things.
Won’t forget the way you looked at me
As, decked in silks and smiles,
you sped away to the temple in a car.
Tired of it all, eh?
A girl may long
to see the woods,
to sleep in a thatched hut,
to wade through filth and slush.
She will burn in the sun,
catch a fever in the rain.
What you want is freedom, right?
That is all we have:
You can say what you like,
can bathe in the brook,
can chirp with the wagtails
visiting the compound,
can sit on a mat on the veranda.
Mother and father will
keep you company.
I will come rushing after work.
Can lie down on a supper
of gruel and sprouts
or just watch the sky.
Owl hoots should scare you,
Then I will cover you with love.
Translated by K.sachidanandan
When we part
When we talk about
Parting from the house
Everyone has his or her own affairs
This place has to be sold and divided among
The youngest daughter has to be married and sent out
Elder son left home long, long ago
Younger has reached nowhere
You too will go
Where shall we go in this old age?
We shall be dead and gone soon
Younger sister threads the needle
My daughter has been served rice
by her mother
she comes in between and touches me
Mother we too will part
And later die
Never will we unite in such a house
Shall we later ever meet anywhere?
Now the child runs around us
Tomorrow is the social and the group photo
Don’t forget to turn up
I have paid the money
We have to stand close to each other
Says one girl
The readers may think
It happened in college years back
Fine ,you can think so
Had a life estranged
From every one in every way
So I just went underground
To my limited shelters
What do you think?
How does a poor,low caste fellow,
Dark to boot,live in kerala
Have you an idea?
Yes this is the experience of different people, in different places
Including that of woman
Don’t always read it as mine
That’s why I said
It does’nt have to be college
If it is,
We can strike work together,
But mind you I will disappear once in a while?
Haven’t you seen those who disappear once in a while?
She shows me the photo
One who stalked her is standing
Just behind her
Of her own caste
It’ because of this decease
He chose to stand there itself
You can remove him
And have my picture there instead
Time has changed
I am not doing that
There is a cursed life some Malayalees live all along
Translated by K.sachidanandan
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I know a girl
Who has a big mole on her right cheek.
She lived some distance away
By the hillside with cashew trees.
Whenever she passed along the alleyway
By the side of my home
I would look at her, removing that mole.
She would pass on, head bent.
Isn’t she the daughter of that
Woodcutter, she has no friends—said Mother.
Later, a woodcutter married her away
And she got a family and children.
There are no cashew trees there now.
That there was something missing in my poems.
Isn’t it the problem of a big mole?
I asked. Translated by: A.J.Thomas.