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Saturday, February 2, 2008

Hindi poems translated by me

Hindi Translated Poems
The Boat
O Brother, I must return home,
Please take me on your boat.

I got delayed in the market,
In all that haggling and purchase;
It was a luminous mirror
Which caught me in its spell:
But ,poor me, its price I could not pay.

Was it not sheer craziness on my part,
With just a cowrie in my purse,
To hang around near shops
Selling the finest cosmetic fripperies!
Who’d care for a pauper like me?
I suffered silently the salt on my wound.

I won’t be much of a burden for your boat,
Poor I am but I’ll give you all my love,
Will sing you the songs of Meera and Soor,
And pay you the few coins that I get.
I put my head on your feet; have mercy.
O Brother, I must return home,
Please take me on your boat.


The Etcher
My fame was your love,
I thought it was my due.
You came down on your own,
I thought I had summoned you!

Electric light took me across
The darkness that was doomed.
The light drew me into the forest
To the den of the dacoits.

Moonlight must have writhed in pain! –
As clouds had hemmed in the moon.
Even your dream had cheated me,
What to do, it was already morn.

Colours of your picture didn’t fade
You’d lovingly painted on my heart.
Even sculptors of tomorrow would say
That ‘Rudra’ was an etcher, not a poet.

These are two poems by Late Shri Ramgopal Sharma ‘Rudra’ (1 Nov 1912 – 19 Aug 1991), a lesser known poet from Bihar, who had taught me as a Hindi teacher in a Patna school. Here are two of his poems, translated by me, submitted as a tribute to his memory.
Shri ‘Rudra’ worked as a translator in the State Rajbhasha Department. He was better known in the literary circle in Bihar and as one who could draw tears by singing his poems in public poetic meets, in a melodious voice. His poetry is rich in textural quality, and marked by an intense lyricality. He died a tragic death by getting entangled in a roadside live electric wire as he was returning home on his bicycle on a dark night.

The Joohi Bud
By Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’
Indolent, on a lonesome woodland bine
Lay lapped in leafy bowers – in wedded bliss –
lost in dreams of love-
A snow-fresh, soft, sweet maid – the Joohi bud:
Its eyelids sealed.

‘Twas vernal night time.
Loitering in some land remote
Was the lonely Breeze, love-lorn, forlorn
- the Breeze they call the Malaya.
Memories surged up,
Of that sweet murmur in reunion,
Of the moon-laved midnight,
Of the tremulous, lovely limbs of his love.

And lo, the Breeze – over lakes and groves and brooks
And sylvan mounts and tangles of vines and bushes,
- He came bouncing, and made love to the blossomed bud.
And she lay slumbering, unaware, naturally, of her lover’s breath.
He pressed a kiss on her cheek
And the whole bine-curl swung and quivered,
Still she awoke not nor sought excuse
Nor oped her sleep-flushed eyes.
An air of indolence and languor…!
Drugged - was she? – with the wine of youth.

Wantonly unkind, he was hard, oh, too hard on her –
Shook up amain with fitful gusts
The dainty petite frame,
Pinched, too, her plump cheeks.

Startled, the maid rolled her bewildered eyes
And espying her spouse in bed (or hard by)
She chuckled, her chin dipped and nestled,
And bloomed afresh in hue of love.

Nirala (1899-1961) is perhaps the greatest among modern Hindi poets, the leading light of the “Chhayavad school “ of modern Hindi poetry. ”Joohi ki kali” , written in 1918, is his earliest poem, embodying the true romantic spirit of the resurgent poetic mode. It was published in his second volume of poems Parimal (1929).
Translated from Hindi by B.S.M.Murty
Seadusk
Nalin Vilochan Sharma
Dunes of sand like cats curled asleep,
The waves lapping-playing on their paws.
Cloudlambs grazing sun’s greensward
Dauntless, unamazed.

I walking in an infinite void –
A vagrant point on the yellow sands –
Across the eternal triangle
Of sky, earth, and the shoreless sea.

As the backwash of my voyage
Are visible only : cigarette-smoke
Trailing on the wind; on the sands,
A number of footprints
To be full when the waves will sweep them over.

Nalin Vilochan Sharma (1916-1961) was Professor of Hindi at Patna University and a renowned Hindi poet and critic.He led a small group of poets, during the 1960s, who professed a manifesto of a new strain of experimental poetry called “Nakenvad” formed from the initial letters of their names: Nalin, Kesari and Naresh, during the 1960s. This poem is a typical example of that school of poetry.
Translated from Hindi by B.S.M.Murty

The Last Song
Let’s, go Love,
Beyond the Moon.
Oh, let’s Love!

Let’s hide among the stars,
And flee from this earth, this world.
Hold me fast,
I’m in a swirl of intoxication.
Wake me up
From this shadowy sleep.

Life, even if it ends,
Let not love’s journey end.
Oh, let’s go Love!

Pain raced through your veins,
As I listened to the song,
As if in a dream,
Wandering among the stars,
Holding your hand,
Sharing your pain.

It was a dark sky,
Splashed with glittering stars,
And the plaintive song
Echoed through them.

But I sensed a dark shadow,
Following up close behind.
I wouldn’t look back,
But rather hold your hand
Evermore tightly.

You gave me a faint smile
On your pallid lips.
My hand shook nervously
And the dream melted
Into tears.

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