Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Progoti-প্রগতি

 
প্রগতি
 
 প্রগতির গান গাইছো তুমি—
 নতুন যুগের জয়।
 নিষ্ঠুরতার অন্ত কোথায়?
 জীবের চোখে ভয়।
 বোমার ঝড়ে ঝাঁকছে ভূমি,
 কাঁপছে শিশু, হায়!
 
 মা-বাবা যে কোথায় গেলো!
 কোথায়, দিদি-দাদা?
 এই প্রগতির দাপট দেখে,
 ভাসছে চোখে ধাঁধা।
রাত পোহালো, প্রভাত এলো
ধুঁকছে, রক্ত মেখে

এই প্রগতির উগ্র প্রচার 
হচ্ছে যতই দেশে,
গানের ধ্বনি উঠছে জেগে 
ততই তীব্র ক্লেশে।
 
 রবিবার, ১০ মার্চ, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
 বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফর্নিয়া
.
 
 

Monday, November 14, 2022

Yin and Yang-2022-11-14


Yin and Yang (2022-11-14)
 
Wins are glorious, losses hard to bear.
The ego waxes—or the ego wanes.
Pride and courage cede to shame and fear.
When self is lost, what essence still remains?
 
The world we live in is a cruel place—
And so it was before we humans spread
Our special blight across the planet’s face—
And so it will be when we all are dead.
 
And yet, for every cruelty, we still can find
In humans, like in other beings, this—
The presence, often quiet, of an action kind—
And so, for every bruise, a touch of bliss.
 
Can “light” be known, without its counter, “dark”?
So kindness and its opposite are twinned,
And every color in the rainbow’s arc
Has tinged the ones who’re graced—and those who’ve sinned.
 
So yang and yin are nestled, each in each—
And good and evil too are born as twins.
And this we learn—and try in turn to teach—
The one who loses beats the one who wins—
 
For loss can give us depth of mind and heart,
And winning lead to hubris, which, in turn,
Can cloud the eye and dull the hearer’s art.
The plant that eats the sun will also burn.
 
In troubled times, it might become the norm
To seek a magic potion, spell or charm.
And yet, beneath the roiling of the storm,
There flows the ocean deep—with all its calm.
 
2022 November 14, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Beloved, Where Are You?


Beloved, Where Are You?

The sun is warm upon the skin,
The sky is blazing blue,
And I am walking in the sun
And thinking still of you.

The little birds are chirping as
They fly from tree to tree,
And feelings, long held captive, now
Are rising, wild and free.

The winter has departed and
The spring is here to stay.
It seems that we were walking in
The spring, but yesterday.

The trees are dancing in the breeze,
As they had danced before.
But you, who’d stood and smiled at these,
Are now with us no more.

The greens of newborn leaves are flames
That rise towards the blue.
The sky and earth are singing—yet,
Beloved, where are you?

2018 May 24th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
---------------------------------------------------

Note: Any connections that such hinted romances may have with the scribe's own life (which has been mostly ordinary and unromantic) are tenuous at best. 
  

Saturday, May 19, 2018

The Darkness of Noon


The Darkness of Noon

Bow to the ones who are rich, my friends!
Kneel for the ones who have goons on call.
These are the gods of our times, my friends.
Toil at the feet of our Pharaohs tall.

The human race is a servile one,
For those who had pride are dead and gone,
Except for the ones who have clearly won.
They straddle the land that we are on.

******

Gone are the ones who had striven and died.
Lost are the causes for which they fought.
Rich are the ones who had stolen and lied.
Poor are the sons of the men who rot.

The mothers had wailed and the daughters had wept,
But who can remember the reason they did?
The truths are forgotten, the falsehoods are left.
The darkness has gathered, the moon has been hid.

******

When will the clouds and the dark be dispersed?
Where is the courage and where is the truth?
Where is the learning with which we were versed?
When will the trodden be rid of the boot?

The ones who are workers can gather and rise,
And bring down the ones who have risen on high,
But first they should strive to be wary and wise,
To sift what is left of the truth from the lie.

******

Strive then, oh worker, to question and learn!
Learn to distinguish the fine from the dross.
Then you will see that your sense will return.
Then there’s a chance you’ll recover your loss.

You never will bow then to those who are rich.
Your knee will not bend for the lord or his goon.
The humble will smile, as you know which is which.
The Pharaohs will see then the darkness of noon.

2018 May 19th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Friday, June 23, 2017

Baba (Dear Father)


Baba (Dear Father)

The summer solstice came and went—and now
the date approaches when you left this life
and so returned to nothingness again.

So mother too had left, a month before—
like you, before the school-year came to end
and set me free, for August and July—
too late, that year, for her—and then for you.

And so your daughter too had gone—before
you both—and left us all disconsolate.

******

Now school is ending—and there’s time to pause,
returning home—to sit within a park,
the playground of a school, bereft of trees—
with tar and concrete, where there should be grass.

So here I sit and bask in summer’s sun—
or swelter, as those summers come to mind,
beneath those skies that arced in brilliance,
beneath that sun that burned our darkened skins—
and in that land where you and I were born.

******

How close and distant were the father, son—
how rare and dear the tears that you and I
had wept, across the years and continents.

By culture, I was bred for reverence—
and more for elders than for all the gods.

But here I sit and weep, in quietude,
with little children’s voices wafting by,
remembering you, who once was little too—
and flew your kite, beneath that tropic sun.
 
******

How many children cry for parents lost,
how many parents for their children gone—
how many for a sibling or a friend,
or elder, younger—who is now no more…

So little time for joy—or even grief,
amidst the hustle of the city’s streets,
amidst the passage of a harried life…

How precious then, this time at summer’s start—
to pause and find the time to think of you.

2017 June 22, Thursday, 4:31 pm
playground, Public School 186
between 76th and 77th Streets, off 16th Avenue
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York 
  

Friday, March 3, 2017

Likhbe Xexe Je-লিখবে শেষে যে-The Writer at the End


There are five items in this post: 

  
  • 1. the Bengali original (লিখবে শেষে যে)sparked by a Facebook post by Sanju Saha;
  • 2. a Roman transcription (Likhabē Śēṣē Yē), via Google's site, http://translate.google.com, that follows the standard spelling in the Bengali script;
  • 3. another Roman transcription (Likhbe Xexe Je), of the author's devising, that follows the standard Bengali pronunciation, rather than the standard spelling; 
  • 4. a voice recording of the Bengali;
  • 5. a translation into English (The Writer at the End).
--------------------------------------------

Item 1: Bengali Original
   

লিখবে শেষে যে

অনেক কিছু লেখার ছিল,
লেখা হল না৷
ভাবছি, কাকে বলব এখন,
বলার ছিল যা৷

ছিলে যখন পাশে, তখন
ব্যস্ত ছিলাম, তাই
লিখছি এখন, দিনের শেষে,
মনের কথা, ভাই৷ 

আসছে না, সেই বুকের ব্যাথা,
কাগজ কলমে৷
বসে আছি, তার-ই আশায়,
লিখবে শেষে যে৷
  
শুক্রবার, ৩রা মার্চ, ২০১৭ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক

https://www.facebook.com/sanju.saha.5/posts/1258502847518557
--------------------------------------------

Item 2:  The following is a Roman transcription made via http://translate.google.com.

Likhabē Śēṣē Yē

Anēka kichu lēkhāra chila,
lēkhā hala nā.
Bhābachi, kākē balaba ēkhana,
balāra chila yā.

Chilē yakhana pāśē, takhana
byasta chilāma, tā'i
likhachi ēkhana, dinēra śēṣē,
manēra kathā, bhā'i.

Āsachē nā, sē'i bukēra byāthā,
kāgaja kalamē.
Basē āchi, tāra-i āśāẏa,
likhabē śēṣē yē.

Śukrabāra, 3rā Mārca, 2017 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka

https://www.facebook.com/sanju.saha.5/posts/1258502847518557
--------------------------------------------  
  
Item 3: The following is a Romanization made using the transcription scheme outlined briefly at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html and even more briefly (but perhaps too compactly) below.
  

  • x = sh, c = ch.
  • t and d are dental (with the tongue tip touching the backs of the upper front teeth)—as in Latin languages.
  • t' and d' are alveolar (tongue tip to upper gum ridge)—as in English.
  • h is used as an aspirant (an addition of a puff of breath to a consonant, as at times done in English).
  • All other consonants are roughly as in English, but without aspiration.
  • All vowels, including those at the ends of words, are pronounced.
  • All unmarked* vowels are as in Italian and Spanish, but mostly with intermediate length (duration).
  • ~ nasalizes the preceding vowel, faintly.
  • Stress (loudness) and elongation (extended duration) are usually placed on the first syllable of a word, but are slight, and there is no slurring of vowels in unstressed syllables.
* Marked Vowels
  • o` is like the first vowel in British orange, being a rounded, open, back vowel, of intermediate length.
  • e` is as in hat, being an unrounded, open, front vowel, of intermediate length.
Again, both of these vowels have intermediate length (duration). 
 
Likhbe Xexe Je


O`nek kichu lekhar chilo,
lekha holo na.
Bhabchi, kake bolbo e`khon,
bo`lar chilo ja.

Chile jo`khon paxe, to`khon
be`sto chilam, tai
likhchi e`khon, diner xexe,
moner ko`tha, bhai.

Axche na, xei buker be`tha,
kagoj ko`lome.
Boxe achi, tar-i axae,
likhbe xexe je.

Xukrobar, 3e Marc, 2017 Khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk

https://www.facebook.com/sanju.saha.5/posts/1258502847518557
-------------------------------------------- 

Item 4:  This is a voice recording of the Bengali. This might not work on cellphones. Please click on the rounded-triangle play button on the right of the composite icon below. In some browsers, you might have to click twice. Adjust the volume on your device as needed.


Record music and voice >>
--------------------------------------------


Item 5: The following is a translation into English.
  
The Writer at the End

There was much to write
that wasn’t written.
I think—to whom will I tell
the things I had to say?

When you were by me, I
was busy, and so
I now attempt to write
my thoughts, dear friend.

What is in my heart
does not come to my pen.
I am waiting for the one
who will write at the end.

Friday, 3rd March, 2017 AD
Brooklyn, New York

https://www.facebook.com/sanju.saha.5/posts/1258502847518557 
  

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Death-III


Death-III
 
Oh death—departure of the life that was,
that only now exists in memory—
how bitter is your taste—and yet how sweet.
How dreadful is the blow that sets us free.

What use, regret?  How now to pay the dues?
How much, that’s precious, snatched and swept away!
No court, that takes or rules on our appeal.
Our only recompense is that of tears.

And yet, can death extinguish love—that lasts
when all the rest is seen as transient?
We yield the body and the mind to death,
but not the things that stay within our hearts.
  
2017 February 2nd, Thu., 9 pm,
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York.
In memory of our beloved 
daughter, sister, mother, friend
Anita (T’ukul) Sen (born Bose),
who passed away earlier today, in Kolkata,
mourned by her son, Anirup, 

daughter-in-law Nabanita,
grandson Rimpu and many others

(Last stanza added 2017 Feb. 7th) 
-------------------------------------------------------

Related:


Death
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/06/death.html
 

Death-II 
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/12/death-ii.html
      
For secure, encrypted connections, change addresses from http to https. 
  

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Love's Labor Lost--Broverbs for Valentine's Day


Love's Labor Lost?
(Broverbs for Valentine's Day)
    
We can sit and scribe our verses
From now until we die,
But who, if asked to read them,
Will find a reason why?
 
We can sow our seeds of wisdom--
And weep, that all our toil
Was wasted, since the seedings
Were all on barren soil.
 
We can spend our waking lifetimes
In struggles, pay the cost
From what we left neglected,
Yet see our labors lost.
 
We can teach and we can nurture;
We can fuss, as carers must.
We can build, with patience, structures--
And see them turn to dust.
  
****** 
  
So when we're in the twilight,
With darkness drawing near,
We then might slow from slaving
And pause to shed a tear.
  
But then it's time to wipe it
And wistfully to smile,
For if, with heart, we labored,
It was surely worth our while.
 
And if some satisfaction,
Some pleasure in the task,
For a year or for an instant,
Was ours--what's left to ask?
 
Let's leave what's past to others,
And what's to come to fate.
The present time is precious
And not for waste in hate.
  
****** 
  
There's joy in our creations,
However small they be.
We bring them through gestations
And then we set them free.
 
Like children, they may flourish.
Like seedlings, they may die.
How many are our hatchlings--
How few will live to fly?
 
We seek for recognition.
A smidgen should suffice.
We warm our hands with praises--
For soon, we'll meet with ice.
  
Our children may be stolen.
With broken hearts, we cry.
But if we know they're tended,
With souls content, we die.
  
******
  
We labor for the joy of it.
We labor for our bread.
We labor for the smile we get,
From duty and from dread.
  
And when we shirk our labor,
We're often in torment.
Some say they live for pleasure,
Yet rarely are content.
  
Our lives are often muddles.
What hubris, then, to say
It's pleasure, love or duty
Or work that clears the way.
 
We can live for just this instant;
We can live for what we lost;
We can live to build the future.
In each, there's always cost.
  
******
 
And those, who're truly humble,
Of their virtues, might be proud,
But equally, of those failings
That they rarely speak of loud.
 
For those, who see no failings
In themselves, are surely blind,
And those, who see them clearest,
Are souls of deepest mind.
 
A vice that's partly conquered
Is like a foe defeated;
It's best to leave it extant,
Lest hubris be repeated.
  
The greatest pride of humans,
We're told, is that of pride.
Yet pride, in honest labor,
Is a lion each can ride.

****** 
 
In all things, there's a balance;
There's yang that waits in yin.
Too little--and we're tortured;
Too much--and we're in sin.
    
What's savored best at leisure
Is rarely sensed in haste.
Who never knows of hunger,
Can scarcely know of taste.

So too, a length of failure
Lends flavor to success.
And each is best, not scanty
But neither in excess.
   
Let's take what we are given--
And that, with gratitude.
Why pine for what was owed us?
We owe, in plenitude.
 
2016 February 14th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Saturday, December 26, 2015

In the Gray


In the Gray
  
In the gray that marks the winters
Of the coastal polar climes,
I’ve wandered on deserted streets
And mouthed my dismal rhymes.

In the silences of holidays,
I’ve passed by windows lit,
Conversing with my lonesome self,
With remnants left of wit.

And so it is with exiles
And so it is with those
Who’re born to die in prisons
Or live in those they chose.

We humans are a social lot—
And wounded loners need
Some company to soothe their souls,
So healing can proceed.
 
How many days and weeks and months
And even scores of years
We humans bear, removed from those
For whom we shed our tears?

In the gray that marks the winters
Of the lands towards the poles,
The migrants gain their living, while
They slowly lose their souls.

There is light and there is darkness.
There is evil, there is good.
And then—there is the grayness
That blurs what’s understood.
  
So we wander in our limbos
In the foggy shades of gray
And we wonder how it happened
That we lost, alas, our way.

“...and deliver us from evil.” 
In the school that I attended,
We would say this in the morning
And again when classes ended.

But we never said a prayer
That said, “Save us from the gray.”
In my dotage, still in exile,
I should say this every day.

2015 December 26th, Sat. 12:51 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York 
  

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Dawn and Dusk


Dawn and Dusk  
  

Seven Arriving at Bliss, 2008 Jan.
https://todayeye.wordpress.com/category/elevated-subway/

The sunset and the sunrise—these are times
when the changing light appears to touch
the swirls within us.  So our moods can rise
and ebb, like ocean tides, with light and dark.

For most of us, the vision of the dawn
awakens hope and gives us strength to strive.
But when the sun is setting, then we sense
emotions darker, and we turn within.

And so this waxing and this waning is
a dance that weaves its way among the rest,
as yang and yin and day and night entwine
to make the fabric that we know as self.
 
We fear the dark, for we were once the prey,
descended from the trees, who could not see
the predators that woke to hunt at dusk.
And being apes, we still revive with dawn.

******

But now the workplace and the home are lit
when night has fallen on the land and sea.
We cannot see the stars, the galaxy,
behold the planets, catch the meteor’s streak…

And oftentimes, we never see the sun—
because we run to work before it climbs,
and venture back at dusk or later still—
while those on night-shifts sleep their days away.

******

Can we escape our natures that were built
through ages when we lived beneath the sky?
Can we adapt to be like bats that climb
at dusk from caves to forage through the night?

I do not know.  We’re plastic, we can flow.
We venture where no other beings go.
And yet our genes and instincts still remain.
To alter these, we need the centuries.

So when I could, I tried to greet the dawn
and view the dusk, with self as offering.
Alas, I now but rarely see the stars
and only in the summers feel the sun.

And so, I’ve lost, with others, much of that
which woke the life and soothed the soul in turn.
I'll try again to meet with dawn and dusk,
so I can be what I was meant to be.


Queensboro Plaza Sunset, seen from the elevated 7 line, 2008 Jan.
https://todayeye.wordpress.com/category/elevated-subway/page/2/

2015 August 6th, Thu. (first four stanzas)
& August 9th, Sun. (last six stanzas)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Beside the Sea—Xagor Tire—সাগর তীরে—Sāgar Tīrē

 
This is a curious piece, with some archaisms that might seem incongruous.  It is followed by a translation into Bengali, which is in three versions:
  1. firstly, in my own strange Roman transcription scheme, which follows the pronunciation rather than the standard spelling, as was briefly summarized in the preface at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html ; 
  2. secondly, in the beautiful traditional Bengali script, attempting to reproduce the the standard spelling;  
  3. and finally, in the Roman transcription (which I will refer to as the "machine transcription") provided by the software program at http://google.com/translate.  A note on this transcription can be found at the very end of the current post.
Hopefully, these three versions, taken together with the English original, might be of some assistance to those attempting to learn Bengali.  However, for those with little or no prior knowledge of Bengali, nor of other Indian languages, a word-for-word translation might be needed, as the word-order is radically different between English and most Indian languages.  I have not provided this here.

It is often difficult to translate a poem in a literal fashion. But in this case, much (though not all) of the translation is quite literal, without, hopefully, too much harm to the sensibilities. Some might say that this is because of the seemingly absurd nature of the content. Nonsense translated literally might at times make just as fine a nonsense as the original!  Protesting feebly, I will leave you to judge.
--------------------------------------------------------
     
Beside the Sea

When waves reflect the sun at noon
Or dance beneath the shining moon,
Beside the broad and shimmering sea,
I walk and watch and wait for thee.

When seagulls flee before the squall,
To thee, across the waves, I call.
When swells are heaving in the dark,
Thine answer comes.  I turn and hark.
 
But then I ask, “Is that the wind?”
So heaven tortureth those who’ve sinned.
Yet, unrepentant still, I cry,
“The gods’ commandments, I defy!”

******
  
As ants that crawl upon the land,
Can humans ever understand
The deep, the vast, the endless sea,
With all her trove of mystery?

How stormy was the sea that day,
When I saw thee go thy way.
But even when she's still, I see
Her whim hath cruelly taken thee.

******
    
By fortune met and separated,
Are those, who might perhaps have mated,
If chance and destiny had turned
And what the gods decreed had spurned.
 
And so, to where I last had seen thee,
On that day so gray and windy,
I return—to seek and pine,
By that shore, where thou wast mine.

At sunrise, when the air is chill,
Beside the sea, I’m walking still,
As I had been at sunset time,
With thoughts of thee—and this, my rhyme.
 
2015 June 21st, Mon., 6:57 pm
Gravesend Bay, Brooklyn, New York
(translated into Bengali, July 1st, Wed.)
--------------------------------------------------------
 
Xagor Tire

Dupurer roder nice, rater ca~der aloe,
nace jo`khon xari xari d’heu,
ha~ti to`khon bixal, jhikmike xomudrer tire,
tomar o`pekkhae.

Xo`nkocil jo`khon palae jho`r’er theke,
to`khon tir theke d’aki tomae.
Rater o`ndhokare, d’heuer xaxer majhe,
Xuni je`no dure, tomar jo`bab.

To`be bhabi to`khon, “Ot’a ki haoa?”
Papir pir’o`n—nixt’hur debder xasti et’a!
Nachor’ ami, c~echie ut’hi tai,
“Manbo na ko`khono, tomader dabi!”
 
******

Pi~pr’er moto d’angae he~t’e be`r’ae manux.
Tara ki ko`beo bujhbe eke?
Ei gobhir, o`xim, o`par mo`haxagor?
Ei dha~dha-he~yali bho`ra mo`hol?

Jho`rer majhe gele tumi
ei xagorer buke.
Xagor jo`khon xanto, to`khon
tao to dekhi xet’a.

******
   
Je ko`pale jeta, xei ko`palei har!
Kon po`the je xanti chilo, dut’i be`lar xukh,
Janbo na go, janbo na go,
Janbo na go ta.

Ei o`kul, obiram xagorer tire,
pe-e-o, har’ie chilam tomae.
Tai to barbar axi—rate, dine.
Bhabi, tumi e`khon kothae?

Xondhe be`lae xurjo d’obe,
bhor be`late ot’he.
Dui belatei, tomar kho~je,
ha~t’i, xagor tire.

xondhe 6:57,  Xombar, 29e Jun
Grevzend’ Be, Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
(Banglae onubad, Budhbar, 1la Julai)
--------------------------------------------------------
   
সাগর তীরে
  
দুপুরের রোদের নীচে, রাতের চাঁদের আলোয়,
নাচে যখন সারি সারি ঢেউ,
হাঁটি তখন বিশাল, ঝিক্মিকে সমুদ্রের তীরে,
তোমার অপেক্ষায়৷ 

শঙ্খচিল যখন পালায় ঝড়ের থেকে,
তখন তীর থেকে ডাকি তোমায়৷
রাতের অন্ধকারে, ঢেউ এর শ্বাসের মাঝে,
শুনি যেন দূরে, তোমার জবাব৷
  
তবে ভাবি তখন, "ওটা কি হাওয়া"?
পাপীর  পীড়ন—নিষ্ঠুর দেবদের শাস্তি এটা!
নাছোড় আমি, চেঁচিয়ে উঠি তাই,
"মানবো না কখনো, তোমাদের দাবি!"

****** 

পিঁপড়ের মত ডাঙায় হেঁটে বেড়ায় মানুষ৷
তারা কি কবেও বুঝবে একে?
এই গভীর, অসীম, অপার মহাসাগর?
এই ধাঁধা-হেঁয়ালি ভরা মহল?
  
ঝড়ের মাঝে গেলে তুমি
এই সাগরের বুকে৷
সাগর যখন শান্ত, তখন
তাও ত দেখি সেটা৷
   
****** 
 
যে কপালে জেতা, সেই কপালেই হার!
কোন পথে যে শান্তি ছিল, দুটি বেলার সুখ,
জানব না গো, জানব না গো,
জানব না গো তা৷
    
এই অকূল, অবিরাম সাগরের তীরে,
পেয়েও, হারিয়েছিলাম তোমায়৷
তাই ত বারবার আসি—রাতে, দিনে৷
ভাবি, তুমি এখন কোথায়?

সন্ধ্যে বেলায় সূর্য় ডোবে,
ভোর বেলাতে ওঠে৷
দুই বেলাতেই, তোমার খোঁজে,
হাঁটি, সাগর তীরে৷
  
সন্ধ্যে ৬:৫৭, সোমবার, ২৯এ জুন
গ্রেভ্সেণ্ড বে, ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
(বাংলায় অনুবাদ, বুধবার, ১লা জুলাই)
--------------------------------------------------------

Directly below is the "machine transcription" (from http://google.com/translate)
of the verses in Bengali script directly above.  A note on this machine transcription has been added at the end of the post.  I have lightly edited the transcription, as described at the start of that note.
--------------------------------------------------------
  
Sāgar Tīrē

Dupurēr rōdēr nīcē, rātēr cām̐dēr ālōẏ,
nācē yakhan sāri sāri ḍhē'u,
hām̐ṭi takhan biśāl, jhikmikē samudrēr tīrē,
tōmār apēkṣāẏ.

Śaṅkhacil yakhan pālāẏ jhaṛēr thēkē,
takhan tīr thēkē ḍāki tōmāẏ.
Rātēr andhakārē, ḍhē'u ēr śbāsēr mājhē,
Śuni yēna dūrē, tōmār jabāb.

Tabē bhābi takhan, "Ōṭā ki hā'ōẏā"?
Pāpīr pīṛan—niṣṭhur dēbdēr śāsti ēṭā!
Nāchōṛ āmi, cēm̐ciẏē uṭhi tā'i,
"mānbō nā kakhanō, tōmādēr dābi!"

******

Pim̐pṛēr mata ḍāṅāẏ hēm̐ṭē bēṛāẏ mānuṣ.
Tārā ki kabē'ō bujhbē ēkē?
Ē'i gabhīr, asīm, apār mahāsāgar?
Ē'i dhām̐dhā-hēm̐ẏāli bharā mahal?

Jhaṛēr mājhē gēlē tumi
ē'i sāgarēr bukē.
Sāgar yakhan śānta, takhan
tā'ō ta dēkhi sēṭā.
  
******
    
Yē kapālē jētā, sē'i kapālē'i hār!
Kōn pathē yē śānti chila, duṭi bēlār sukh,
jānba nā gō, jānba nā gō,
jānba nā gō tā.

Ē'i akūl, abirām sāgarēr tīrē,
pēẏē'ō, hāriẏēchilām tōmāẏ.
Tā'i ta bārbār āsi—rātē, dinē.
Bhābi, tumi ēkhan kōthāẏ?

Sandhyē bēlāẏ sūrẏa ḍōbē,
bhōr bēlātē ōṭhē.
Du'i bēlātē'i, tōmār khōm̐jē,
hām̐ṭi, sāgar tīrē.

Sandhyē 6:57, Sōmbār, 29ē Jun
Grēbhsēṇḍ Bē, Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
(Bānlāẏ anubād, Budhbār, 1lā Julā'i)
--------------------------------------------------------

Note on the "Machine Transcription"

I have lightly edited the machine transcription above, provided by the program on the server  at http://google.com/translate.  I have done this mainly to delete the unnecessary short a's that should not be pronounced and to include periods and capitalization that were missed by the transcription program.

Note that the remaining short a's in this machine transcription are pronounced as a rounded vowel, intermediate in length between the vowels in standard (British) English "ball" and "pot".  In certain cases, it is rounded further and sounds like the in English "rose" (without the diphthong and having a somewhat shorter duration). The long ā (which has a bar on top in this transcription) is pronounced like the vowel in standard (British or U.S.)  English "far", but with less duration.

Although the traditional Bengali spelling (and so also the machine transcription) makes distinctions between short and long versions of the vowels i and u, these distinctions are no longer audible in standard spoken Bengali.  Hindi-Urdu and most other Indic (Indo-Aryan) languages do preserve these distinctions of vowel-length (duration), some of which go back at least to the Sanskrit, if not earlier.

With the above reservations in mind for the short and for the loss of distinction between long and short forms of i and u, the letters ā, e, i, o and u represent, in this transcription, the same vowel sounds that they do in standard Italian and Spanish.  The letters e and o are usually written, in this transcription, as their long forms, ē and ō.  Although their lengths would sound closer to long than short to an English ear, Bengali, like most Indic languages (but unlike Dravidian ones) does not distinguish between long and short forms of these two vowels.

There is also a vowel sound in Bengali that is the unrounded partner of the rounded open vowel represented by the short a.  This is like the vowel sounds in standard English "cat" and standard U.S. English "fast", being intermediate in length between the two.  However, as this vowel sound was absent in Sanskrit and might be a fairly recent development in Bengali, there is no letter in the traditional alphabet for it.

So this vowel is usually represented (inaccurately) either by an e or, for historical reasons having to do with changes in the pronunciation of Sanskrit words, by one other means involving an a or an ā followed by a special joined form of the ẏ. (See below for .)  So the machine transcription, following the traditional spelling, also does not indicate this sound properly.

(In my own Romanization scheme, I use e` to represent this sound, and o` to represent its rounded partner.)

Most of the consonant letters have the values that they most commonly have in English. But note that c has the sound represented by the (unaspirated) ch cluster of English "chum".

The letter h, when it follows a consonant, indicates aspiration--an added puff of air.
  
One should also note that, while the machine transcription displays all three forms (ś, ṣ and s) of the unvoiced sibilant consonant, all of these usually have the same sound in standard spoken Bengali, This is close to the sound of the English cluster sh, with the exceptions being when s precedes a dental t, th or n, or when s or ś precede the simple r.  In these cases, s and ś have the sound that s has in English "sell".  Examples of this can be heard in stiti, sthān, snān, srot and śri.

The circumflex forms of the dentals tthd, dh, n and of the basic r are indicated, in the machine transcription, by a dot below the letter: ṭ, ṭh, ḍ, ḍh, ṇ and .  However, in standard Bengali, these are all pronounced more by the tongue tip touching the upper gum ridge, as in English, than in the true circumflex way that prevails in much of the rest of the subcontinent. This is especially true in most of East Bengal, which is now Bangladesh.

This gives spoken Bengali (especially that of East Bengal) and Ahomiya, to some ears, a "softer" sound than their distant cousins to the west, such as Hindi, Marathi, Gujerati and Punjabi, and also their closer cousin, Oriya, all of which, like the Dravidian languages, make sharper distinctions between circumflex and dental stops, pronouncing the former very strongly.

The nasal is represented in the machine transcription, below, by .  This symbol indicates that the preceding vowel should be nasalized.  In standard spoken Bengali, the nasalization is faint.

(In my own Romanization,  located above, between the English original and the translation in the traditional Bengali script, I have indicated nasalization with a tilde, ~, following the vowel to be nasalized.)

The n with a dot above () usually stands for the ng sound in English "singer, song, lungs" (but at times, and almost always in the East Bengal variant of the standard pronunciation, for its sound in English "finger, anger").

For those not familiar with certain historical issues in Bengali spelling, one should point out that the Sanskrit y is pronounced, in Bengali, as is j, both having the sound of the first consonant in English "jam".  The Sanskrit w, which has migrated, in many Indic languages, into v, has changed, in Bengali and some other eastern Indic languages, into b. This w turned b is no longer pronounced when it follows a sibilant.  So śbās is pronounced as "shahsh" would be in English.

The y with a dot on top () represents cases where the change to j has not taken place (usually between vowels) or is used with a vowel to indicate certain diphthongs.  In either of these situations, this is usually sounded as a short e (as in English "net").

There are a host of other things that could be discussed, including the "vowel harmony", especially evident in the central and western dialects of Bengali.  This can strongly alter the pronunciation of a vowel, because of the presence of a succeeding vowel (even when this second vowel has now vanished, due to contractions that have occurred in the past). This is only imperfectly represented in the spelling.  But I will stop here.
    

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Dead

  
Dead

They once were here but now are gone,
And no one knows to where.
And when they left, we thought they slept,
Released  from toil and care.

The days went by, the weeks and months –
The seasons and the year –
And then it dawned – that they had died,
Who still to us were dear.

How final is a death.  It brings
To close, a life on earth.
And each of us will die, who once
Awoke to life and birth.

In sleep, it seems we’ve ceased to live,
And yet, we are alive.
In death, it seems we merely sleep,
Yet naught can dead revive.

I came upon a village once,
Where everyone had died.
But when I went to tell my friends,
They thought that I had lied.

They would not come with me to see,
And so I went again.
And in that village square, I knelt
In silence and in pain.

They once were born as infants and
Their lives of mortals led.
And then, one day, it seemed they slept –
But truly, they were dead.

And some might say, “They’re still alive
But in another realm.”
And who, with heart, will say they’re wrong?
For death can overwhelm.
   
They once were here but now are gone,
Where none can see or hark.
And who is brave enough to try
To dare those realms of dark?

2014 October 11, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Friday, October 10, 2014

Zombie

 
Zombie
 
In the canyons of the city, where the traffic winds its way,
I had wandered for a lifetime, so it seemed, that autumn day.
And the frenzy of the city, where the workers run and toil –
It had entered in my being, it had rooted in my soil.
 
I was born of man and woman, but had grown to something else.
For the god who reigned was Mammon, who is lord of human hells.
And all that is of Nature – of  water, earth and air,
Was routed, extirpated – what remained was my despair.
 
For so it is with workers, who must labor in the mills,
Where our demons are our masters, so our virtues there are ills.
Not the cycle of the seasons, not the surging of the tides,
But the pulsing of the street-lights is the rhythm that resides.
    
In the canyons of the city, in the factories of hell,
I had turned into a zombie, as I then could clearly tell.
As the winds of fall were blowing, as the rivers flowed to sea,
I was standing at the crosswalk, and I knew I’d ceased to be.
  
2014 October 10th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
    

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Meaning

    
Meaning
 
When conflict rages deep within, paralysis then reigns,
For when that fire consumes the brain, what trace of sense remains?
Then fear becomes our ruler, and our actions are constrained.
Our courage fails.  We stand and watch, as all our strength is drained.
   
We need our air, our water and our food, so we can live.
We also need philosophy, when wounded, to forgive.
And some would say we each require a share of empathy.
But meaning too is needed – or we lapse to apathy.
 
There’s caring in this world, and yet there’s also cruelty.
Betrayal and deception vie with truth and fealty.
But as we grow in body-mind, we each construct a map
That gives a meaning to the world – and this becomes the trap.
 
For when a tremor comes that shakes the base of what we’ve built,
Our edifices crumble, as the siltstone turns to silt.
And then we realize, as we are choking in the dust,
That all the meaning and the worth were only seen by us.
 
What’s left for us to live for, when the meaning has departed?
We labored long for nothing and we’re back to where we started.
But many years have passed – and now, we’re aged, defeated, worn.
We’re sickened from the madness and we wish we were unborn.
  
And yet, from dust and ashes, a phoenix still may rise.
And even as we’re humbled, its figure, we surmise.
And one may see a dragon; another sees a bird;
Another yet may realize – there is, for it, no word...
  
And so, with loss of meaning comes another kind of worth.
When all is seen as worthless, then we find in this the mirth.
And laughing at our egos and at all the world’s conceits,
We exit, and reenter, and we relish our defeats.
   
2014 September 22nd, Mon (first four stanzas)
and 23rd Tues (last three stanzas)
Brooklyn, New York
  

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Defeats

   
Defeats
 
A mother or a father might expend their lives
on raising children, who might then show gratitude
or not – or even harm the ones who nurtured them.

A woman might spend years upon a spouse
and have him leave her for another and
an artist might have labored long on work –
with little recompense or naught – and then
awake one day to find it stolen or
to find that punishment is his reward.

And what recourse have they, who face such things, except
to turn, when reason fails, to that philosophy
that others past had turned to, in their own defeats?

We labor hard and fail, and that’s defeat.
We rise from where we fell, to try yet more
and then succeed – or not.  And this, we know,
is hard enough, but when accomplishment,
for which we’ve paid with years of labor, is
appropriated, scorned, destroyed – what then?

It’s then we're tested, like the metal in the fire,
that’s heated till it glows, incandescent,
and yet retains, awhile, its own integrity.

The Buddhists and the Stoics have advised
that victory and defeat, like pleasure, pain,
are waves upon a sea whose depths are still –
and so should be acknowledged and observed
with tranquil eyes that see their transience
and that of the chimera called "the self".

The ones we love – they suffer and they die, before
or after we have left – and though we ache at this,
this knowledge may be used to act in gentleness.
 
2014 August 14th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York