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Indian Poetry

Mind Without Fear

Rabindranath Tagore

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up
into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason
has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action---
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Translated by
Little Flute
Purity
Moment's Indulgence
Sympathy
The Golden Boat

Little Flute

Rabindranath Tagore

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

Translated by
Mind Without Fear
Purity
Moment's Indulgence
Sympathy
The Golden Boat

Purity

Rabindranath Tagore

Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing
that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing
that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my
love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it
is thy power gives me strength to act.

Translated by
Mind Without Fear
Little Flute
Moment's Indulgence
Sympathy
The Golden Boat

Moment's Indulgence

Rabindranath Tagore

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.

Translated by
Mind Without Fear
Little Flute
Purity
Sympathy
The Golden Boat

Sympathy

Rabindranath Tagore

If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would you say ‘No’ to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me, Get away, you naughty little puppy?’
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me, and never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby, mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?
Would you shake your finger at me and say, ‘What an ungrateful wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night?
Then, go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will never let you take me in your arms again.

.....`સમદુખિયો ....

ધાર કે માડી,
તારો દીકરો નહિ ,
હું કુરકુરિયું હોત ,તો ?
રખે ને તારા પીરસેલા ભાણામાં ,
ભાત ખાવાને મોં નાખું ...
એ બીકે શું તું હાંકી કાઢત મને ?
ખરું કહે ,માડી !
મને ફોસલાવવાની વાત
લગીરેય કરતી ના .
તું શું કહેતે મને ,
હડે,હડે...હડે...
આ કૂતરું અહીં ક્યાંથી ?
તો જા,મા ! જા .
તારે ખોળેથી મને ઉતાર .
તારા હાથે હું ભાત નહિ ખાઉં.
તારા ભાણાનો કોળિયો
હવે મને ખપે ના .
ને હેં મા...!
માન કે તારો દીકરો નહિ,
હું પોપટ હોત... તો ?
રખે હું ઊડી જાઉં ,
એ બીકે ,શું તું મને
સાંકળે બાંધી ,
પીંજરે રાખત પૂરી ?
ખરું કહેજે ,માડી !
મને પટાવવાની વાત
લગીરેય ના કરતી ...
શું તું મને એમ કહેતે .
“ ઓ રે ,અભાગિયા પંખી !
સાંકળ તોડીને
પીંજરું છોડીને,
ઉલ્લુ બનાવીને મને
ઊડી જવું હતું તારે ,
એમ ને ?
જો તું મને એમ જ કહેવાની હો ,
મને તારી ગોદેથી ઉતાર ,
મને તારા વહાલ ખપે ના .
તારો આ ખોળો ખપે ના
હું તો મારે વનમાં જઈને રહીશ .
રવીન્દ્રનાથ ટાગોર
( બંગાળીમાંથી અનુવાદ સુભદ્રા ગાંધી )

Translated to Gujarati by Subhadra Gandhi

Translated by Poet from Irish to English
Mind Without Fear
Little Flute
Purity
Moment's Indulgence
The Golden Boat

The Golden Boat

Rabindranath Tagore

Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the paddy it started to rain.

One small paddy-field, no one but me -
Flood-waters twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village painted on deep morning grey.
On this side a paddy-field, no one but me.

Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.

Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile -
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.

Take it, take as much as you can load.
Is there more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense labour here by the river -
I have parted with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me as well, be kind, take me aboard.

No room, no room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare river-bank, I remain alone -
What I had has gone: the golden boat took all.

સોના-નાવડી
રવીન્દ્રનાથ ટાગોર

ગાજે ગગને મેહુલિયા રે, વાજે વરસાદ-ઝડી;
ગાંડા નદી-પૂર છલિયાં રે, કાંઠે બેઠી એકલડી :
મ્હારા ન્હાના ખેતરને રે, શેઢે હું તો એકલડી.

મ્હેં તો ધાન વાઢી ઢગલા કરિયા,
ડૂંડાં ગાંસડી-ગાંસડીએ ભરિયાં,
ત્ય્હાં તો વાદળ ઘોર તૂટી પડિયાં,

ભીંજુ ઓથ વિનાની રે, અંગેઅંગ ટાઢ ચ્હડી;
મ્હારા ન્હાના ખેતરને રે, શેઢે હું તો એકલડી.
સ્હામે કાંઠે દેખાય રે, વ્હાલું મ્હરું ગામડિયું:
ગોવાળણ શી વાદળિયે રે, વીંટ્યું જાણે ગોકળિયું !

મ્હારે ચૌદિશ પાણીડાં નાચી રહ્યાં,
આખી સીમેથી લોક અલોપ થયાં,
દીનાનાથ રવિ પણ આથમિયા.

ગાંડી ગોરજ-ટાણે રે, નદી અંકલાશ ચડી,
એને ઉજ્જડ આરે રે, ઊભી હું તો એકલડી;
મ્હારા ન્હાના ખેતરને રે, શેઢે હું તો એકલડી.

પેલી નૌકાનો નાવિક રે, આવે ગાતો : કોણ હશે ?
મ્હારા દિલડાનો માલિક રે, જાણે જૂનો બન્ધુ દિસે.

એની નાવ ફૂલ્યે શઢ સંચરતી,
એની પંખીશી ડોલણહાર ગતિ;
નવ વાંકીચૂંકી એની દ્રષ્ટિ થતી:

આવે મારગ કરતી રે, પ્રચંડ તરંગ વિષે;
હું તો દૂરથી જોતી રે, જાણે જૂનો બન્ધુ દિસે.
પેલી નૌકાનો નાવિક રે, આવો ગાતો : કોણ હશે?

કિયા દૂર વિદેશે રે, નાવિક ! ત્હાંરાં ગામતરાં ?
ત્હારી નાવ થંભાવ્યે રે, આંહીં પલ એક જરા

ત્હારી જ્યાં ખૂશી ત્ય્હાં તું જજે સુખથી, મ્હારાં ધાન દઉં તુંને વ્હાલથી; મન માને ત્ય્હાં વાવરજે, હો પંથી !
મ્હારી લ્હાણી લે તો જા રે, મોઢું મલકાવી જરા !
મ્હારી પાસે થાતો જા રે ! આંહીં પલ એક જરા !
કિયા દૂર વિદેશે રે, નાવિક ! ત્હાંરાં ગામતરાં ?

લે ! લે ! ભારા ને ભારા રે, છલોછલ નાવડલી, બાકી છે ?- વ્હાલા મ્હારા રે ! હતું તે સૌ દીધ ભરી.

મ્હારી જુની પછેડી ને દાતરડી,
મ્હારાં ભાતની દોણી ને તાંસલડી,
તુંને આપી ચૂકી બધું વીણી વીણી.

રહ્યું લેશ ન બાકી રે, રહ્યું નવ કાંઈ પડી, રહી હું જ એકાકી રે, આવું ત્હારે નાવે ચડી; લે ! લે ! ભારા ને ભારા રે, છલોછલ નાવડલી,

હું તો ચ્હડવાને આવી રે, નાવિક નીચું જોઈ રહે, નવ તસુ પણ ખાલી રે, નૌકા નવ ભાર સહે; મ્હારી સંપત વ્હાલી રે, શગોશગ માઈ રહે.

ન્હાની નાવ ને નાવિક પંથે પળ્યાં,
ગગને દળવાદળ ઘેરી રહ્યાં,
આખી રાત આકાશેથી આંસુ ગળ્યાં.

સૂતી સરિતાને તીરે રે,પડી રહી હું એકલડી,
મ્હારી સંપત લઈને રે, ચાલી સોનાનાવડલી.
મ્હારા ન્હાના ખેતરને રે, શેઢે હું તો એકલડી !


અનુવાદ :ઝવેરચંદ મેઘાણી
મૂળ કાવ્ય :
Translated to Gujarati by ઝવેરચંદ મેઘાણી

Translated by Poet from Irish to English
Mind Without Fear
Little Flute
Purity
Moment's Indulgence
Sympathy

Dead body No 14

Subodh Sarkar

I am Dead body no 14 which has no name
No state, no school nor district
On spring nights while stealing my bread
On winter nights while playing my flute I witnessed a bomb
Should I flee or play on… since then I’m fourteenth

While stealing stale rice on autumn mornings
While watching Bagdi girls bathe in summer afternoons
While catching students, naked in Polaash tree groves
I wondered whether to flee or play my flute or undress-
I got to be that Dead body no 14.

One who can neither be abandoned, nor retained
Whose father’s not recognized and mother not yet tracked,
Nor whose mother’s lover, standing with straw-bundles is found
You couldn’t drown me in the pool nor burn me in the forest
But surrounded me with paramilitary troops,
Ha-ha, Should I stand up for a while?

Of theirs or of them, whose bullet killed me I do not know
They, or them, who shall carry by bier I do not know,
Ah I was so well off, stole rice, played my flute
But I shouldn’t have, if I could guess ants would screw my arse
Wouldn’t have guarded my house either with tremendously loud screams

I once ran away with a girl’s cloth in midnight
How cultured of her, to think it was Krishna when the thief was me!
One, who loves, just loves while some other bloke strips
I was caught stealing cows, wished to steal a mobile phone
But I’m numbered 14, without an heir or a hearse

Laid in the army grounds I can see India
You promised to love me by framing a constitution

You framed a constitution but you’re unable to love
When dead, we’re number fourteenth, when alive numbered fourteenth too
Burdened, as I stagger on, with republicanism, democracy and nuke deal

We’re shell-fishes, we’re God, we’re Christ, and we’re the STSC…
Couldn’t you keep a little more rice, reserved for us?

Translated from Bengali by Debayudh Chatterjee

Cuerpo Nº 14
Subodh Sarkar

Soy el Cuerpo no 14 que no tiene nombre
ni estado, ni escuela ni distrito
en noches de primavera mientras robaba mi pan
en noches de invierno mientras tocaba mi flauta
fui testigo de una bomba
¿Debo huir o jugar? ... desde entonces tengo catorce

Mientras robo arroz pasado en las mañanas de otoño
mientras veo a las chicas bagdi bañarse en las tardes de verano
mientras atrapan estudiantes desnudos en las arboledas de Polaash
me preguntaba si huir o tocar mi flauta o desvestirme-
tengo que ser ese cadáver no 14.

Uno que no puede ser abandonado ni retenido
cuyo padre no ha reconocido y cuya madre todavía no ha rastreado,
ni el amante de mi madre, hallado de pie con bultos de paja.
Tu no podrías ahogarme en la piscina ni quemarme en el bosque.
Pero me rodearon con tropas paramilitares,
Ja, ja, ¿Debo levantarme por un instante?

De los suyos o de ellos, qué bala me mató, no sé
de ellos, o aquellos, quiénes se harán cargo del féretro, no sé.
Ah, yo estaba tan bien, robaba arroz, tocaba mi flauta
pero no debería haberlo hecho, si hubiera adivinado
que las hormigas me joderían el culo
no habría defendido mi casa con gritos tan tremendamente fuertes.

Una vez me escapé con la ropa de una chica a medianoche.
¡Cuán culto de ella pensar que fue Krishna cuando el ladrón era yo!
Una, que ama, sólo ama mientras que el otro tipo se desnuda.
Me sorprendieron robando vacas, deseaba robar un teléfono móvil.
Pero yo soy el número 14, sin heredero ni coche fúnebre.

Tendido en los campos del ejército puedo ver la India.
Prometiste amarme enmarcando una constitución.

Enmarcaste una constitución pero no eres capaz de amar
Cuando estamos muertos somos el número catorce, cuando estamos vivos también.
Cargado, mientras me tambaleo, con republicanismo, democracia y tratado nuclear.

Somos crustáceos, somos Dios, somos Cristo, y somos el STSC...
¿No podrías guardar un poco más de arroz, reservado para nosotros?

Translated by Berni Sangit into Spanish from English
For Three Olive Leaves
Two Fires
That Man
I did not like the horizon
Relief

For Three Olive Leaves

Subodh Sarkar

The village, I was born in, had no railway tracks
The village, I played in, had no school
The village, where I went to look for my mother hosted a Banyan tree

From that Banyan tree, someone played the flute at might
I left my bed to scamper towards it
I found none, just a sweet voice said, why fear, come…

I ran and ran away and fell asleep under a river.

And since that sleep, and since that great escape,
I’m still running… Many a sum I solved, much English I learned
The laptop was introduced, in came Paulo Coelho
In my flight to Greece I switched on my laptop
I heard that flute once more; I looked out of the window
Crossing Karachi, then Afghanistan, then Iran, and Cairo
As I entered I heard that flute again,
Come, what’s to fear, come…

Athens provided me a 22-floor hotel to live in
Per night 500 euros, meaning one night 27 thousand rupees
I thought a dhoti, a towel, a bit of bread will do
What more does a man need? Man still desires a laptop
And plans to ride a metro under the ocean
From my hotel window I saw a lovely city
It took us ages from Parthenon to the hotel.

As I had a bath, grabbed a beer and switched on the TV
No channel was broadcasted, emptiness, but in APT channel
That flute would still be heard, driving me out of senses,
Ah stop it at once!
I opened the door as soon as I knocked. Antigone,
Are you still fighting to restore the honor of your
Dead brother’ corpse? Does the state want crows and dogs
To feast on your brother?
No one has seen Antigone smile yet, I saw
Suppressed for 2500 years, that Pacific smile of hers
“I’m not Antigone, but Nasa Patapew Christofides
We met in a poetry-reading in Bhopal.
Won’t you let me in? Should I stand outside?

That flute reverberated in the hotel’s each corner
Telephones paralyzed, doorbells not working, TVs switched off
In all 108 rooms I could hear that flute play
Come along; take me to that very Banyan tree
But she smiled and replied, there’s no Banyan tree in Greece

But olive trees all around, Aristotle with an olive in his hand
Neither money, nor gold, I realized that for three olive leaves
I’m still alive.

Translated by Berni Sangit into Spanish from English
Dead body No 14
Two Fires
That Man
I did not like the horizon
Relief

Two Fires

Subodh Sarkar

Here, every child is scared to play
Here, every squirrel has a bullet-proof home
Here, every old man wants to commit suicide
There is no difference between a soldier and a man
No difference between the killer and the killed
Both are poor, both are hungry, both are tortured.

Poets of India, can you walk between two fires?

Translation from the Bengali by the poet


Dhá Thine
Subodh Sarkar
San áit seo tá eagla ar pháistí dul amach ag spraoi
San áit seo tá nead philéardhíonach ag na hioraí
San áit seo is mian leis na seanóirí lámh a chur ina mbás féin
Níl aon difríocht idir saighdiúir agus sibhialtach
Níl aon difríocht idir an marfóir is an té atá marbh
Táid araon beo bocht, ocras orthu, céastar iad araon.

A fhilí na hIndia, bhfuil sibh in ann siúl idir dhá thine?

Translated by Gabriel Rosenstock into Irish from English
Dead body No 14
For Three Olive Leaves
That Man
I did not like the horizon
Relief

That Man

Subodh Sarkar

I hate writing this time, but I must finish it,
Even though I could have done without it
That poem’s nothing valuable, the world would have
Least bothered, without this being written

I saw one man with a torch in one hand
Grasping a butterfly and burning its wings
Heard that his 18 year old son
Murdered him in Alexandria

Then why did I see him boarding a tramcar here in the heart of Kolkata?

Translated by Debayudh Chatterjee
Dead body No 14
For Three Olive Leaves
Two Fires
I did not like the horizon
Relief

I did not like the horizon

Subodh Sarkar

I did not like the horizon
But liked your eyes, a lot

I did not like the sea
But liked your mind, a catacomb of complexities

I did not like the thunderbolts much
But preferred more your slaps and your touch…

I didn’t like Saraswati, the Goddess of wisdom either
But let’s be honest and confess
That you standing nude, for ages, forever
Like Deity Love, and sex is far better

And far better is the fact that we’re opposite poles
In paddy fields let each damsel stand like Lakhsmi, in their role…

Translated by Debayudh Chatterjee
Dead body No 14
For Three Olive Leaves
Two Fires
That Man
Relief

Relief

Subodh Sarkar

You’re my relief of 4.10
After twisting my dormancy to life
And stropping to my sprinter to a halt
Ah come, we’ll bathe together in privacy

You’re my relief of 4.10
At Barista around then
Where truth and the lie have their tea together
Rumors are high on a kite’s far wing

You asked me to wait at 4.10
Its evening and here I am, still standing
Its night, the next night comes too, throughout-
Its my relief, still 4.10

Translated by Debayudh Chatterjee
Dead body No 14
For Three Olive Leaves
Two Fires
That Man
I did not like the horizon

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