Gautam Jain's Reverser

Gautam Jain’s Reverser

One Gautam Jain, with wars disgusted,
Did once invent a strange device
That drew upon the Earth’s rotation—
Along with lentils, served with rice.

And when that fine machine was started,
It monitored, with ease, the world,
Detecting, through its deep inspection,
Each and every object hurled

At speeds beyond the chosen setting
Gautam Jain had set it at—
Speeds that signaled swift destruction—
Far beyond what ball and bat

Could ever reach to—though, more truly,
Those like me have merely guessed
At what Gautam had created,
Knowing things he knew of best.

‘Momentum’, ‘rate of change’, and ‘jeera’… \1
Were things he spoke of (some invented). 
The few who understood him nodded,
Along with those who just pretended. 

****** 

This wonderful device, of genius—
This thing that Gautam Jain had made—
Was ending (so we hoped) our mayhem—
Bringing peace, for which we’d prayed!

It detected man-made fires,
Explosions starting, near and far;
Reversed the speeding objects’ motions,
Quenched the fires—and ended war!

Conflagrations, used for arson,
Blasts gigantic, meant to shatter,
Snagged at targets, were transported
Back to strike at each attacker!

Gautam Jain, through wits and labors,
Did achieve this great success.
He called this thing “The Great Reverser”,
Hoping it would end our mess.

It seemed to us that this invention
Might perhaps bring peace, at last,
And also cure our constant racing—
By slowing all that moved too fast.

****** 

But then, some devious, scheming humans
Found a way to turn it ‘round!
And so we see this dire destruction
That never ceases to astound.

On observing his invention
Turned around, our Gautam Jain
Cried, “Alas! The Earth’s rotation,
Rice, and lentils—all in vain!”

Quite unable, then, to bear this,
Gautam whispered to his wife,
“Though this act might grieve you sorely,
I must surely end my life!”

Gautam’s wife (whose name escapes me)
Cried out loud on hearing this.
“Surely, dear, the Earth’s rotation, 
Rice, plus lentils—could not miss?

“But seeing that some twisted humans
Once again have thwarted peace,
Could the yearly revolution
Be, perhaps, the missing piece?”

******

“Joined with sabzi and with roti, \2,3
This might thwart the evil ones.
Nothing surely beats chapaati! \4
That’s on what my engine runs!”

Sage are women such as her,
Nameless though they're wont to be.
Simple, plain, in thoughts and words, 
They still have sight to deeply see.

Heartened by his wife’s devotion,
And by all her sage advice,
Gautam did a calculation,
And did away with daal and rice. \5

Turning, too, from turns diurnal,
Or even mensal, scorning fear,
He turned to turns of more duration—
Starting with the solar year.

Through the days and nights he labored—
Not just merely “dawn to dusk”.
He slept upon the office flooring,
Beating even Elon Musk!

******
 
Using wits, and using knowledge,
Deep, of chemistry and cooking,
Using physics, with masaala,… \6
Gautam went, for answers looking! 

“Did Gautam then achieve successes?”
You might ask. I do not know.
He well might still be at his labors.
Wish him well! I now must go.

I hear, afar, the planes that thunder
Where the sky is lit with flame.
On the nightly news, they’re saying,
“Gautam Jain’s the one to blame!”

By reversing his “Reverser”,
More of children now are burned.
But then, by being born, those children
Surely, such a fate, have earned.

Bless the ones that seek to slaughter;
Curse the ones that pine for peace.
Gautam Jain and his Reverser 
Are proof enough. I’ve said my piece.

2023 November 26th, Sun. 
Berkeley, California

Notes (translations of words from Hindi-Urdu)
1. jeera: cumin seed
2. sabzi: vegetable
3. roti: bread (usually unleavened, whole-wheat, flat and round)
4. chapaati: subcontinental roti made on a griddle
5. daal: lentil stew
6. masaala: spices

Pori-পরী

পরী

.

চুপি চুপি এসেছিলে তুমি, 

রাতের ঘুমের ঘোরে। 

চাঁদের আলোয় দাঁড়িয়ে ছিলে, 

আমার ঘরের দোরে। 

.

প্রথম আলোয় জেগে উঠে আমি 

এসেছি তোমার খোঁজে। 

নদীর তীরে দেখেছি তোমায়, 

কুয়াশা-ভরা ভোরে। 

.

দেখতে দেখতে ভেসে গেলে, হায়, 

জলের শীতল স্রোতে। 

হতে গিয়ে তাও হলো না তাই 

চেয়েছিল যা হতে।

.

কি কারণে এসেছিলে গো,

কি কারণে গেলে? 

কিছু টুকু তাও সান্ত্বনা পাই, 

সেটার জবাব পেলে। 

.

বৃহস্পতিবার, ২৪ জুন, ২০২০ খ্রি, 

ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক

.

Free of Sin

Free of Sin 
    

    
    
There are little birds that fly and perch
And chirp and sing out loud.
The wind is blowing through the leaves
And chasing waves on grass.
I hear the sounds as water flows
Along the little creek.
It rushes and it idles, swirls,
As frogs and insects leap.

The fish are splashing in that creek
And swimming in the pond.
The clouds are sailing through the sky
Of hues of blue above.
Who cares, on such a day as this,
While blinking in the sun,
For all the things for which this race
Of humans madly run?

******

The thoughts I thought upon that day,
The feelings that I felt,
Have risen in my mind today
And help me live again.
I remember sights and sounds
And scents—and on my skin
The touch of air and rain and sun—
And all that rain cleared day.

I saw the raindrop as it shone,
Suspended from a leaf.
I saw the rainbow in the sky,
While breathing in and out.
How pleasant was that air, that warmth
Of sun upon my skin.
In such a trance as that, it seemed
This world was free of sin.

2017 December 7th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
 

When Hera Spurted Out her Milk

When Hera Spurted Out her Milk

When Hera spurted out her milk,
did others realize
that going shopping too, one day,
could make a mortal wise?

While walking to the supermarket,
I found I'd lost my way.
But then I realized I'd strayed
beyond the Milky Way.

And so, I found nirvana in
a borough of New York,
beside an arrow sign that said,
"The Home of Kosher Pork".

Ah wonders, that, in wandering,
we sometimes stumble on!
But when I went next day, that sign
and store were vanished—gone!

And then, recalling how I'd been
suspended, out in space,
beyond our starry whorl, I knew
I'd landed on my face.

Oh Zeus, and your green-eyed wife,
with spurting mammaries!
How strange, that we and all were born
from household rivalries!

******

But wait! A fellow told me, who
has doctorates and more,
that truth is stranger, far, than all
we dolts were told before.

So you and all your kin are myths,
Jehovah-Allah too!
The devas and asuras are
an ill-imagined crew.

And verily, the truth is such
as Arjuna could not
conceive, though he beheld, in awe,
what humans have forgot.

So in that mouth immense, wherein
this universe was swallowed,
there were such things that mortals such
as we could not have followed.

As Krishna sat beside him,
being a devil-god indeed,
Arjuna then was bent, in awe,
to do the dreadful deed.

So drawing out his arrow from
its quiver then he drew
his bow, as horses galloped towards
the kinsmen that he slew.

******

So then, resolving to return
to this, the world that's plain,
I turned towards my home again,
with something to explain.

"So where's that kosher ham?" she said.
"There's a sandwich I must make."
But all I then could do was stand
and in my innards shake.

2016 November 6th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
-------------------------------------------------
  
For the reference to Hera and her milk, please see
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milky_Way_(mythology)
and look under "Greek and Roman". This describes a Greek myth about the origin of our galaxy.
     
For the reference to Arjuna and his vision of the true nature of his charioteer, the god Krishna, please see:  
http://www.thenazareneway.com/gita_chapter_11.htm
This is a horrifying passage in the Bhagawad Gita, part of the Hindu epic Mahabharata.
   

I Wish That I Were Free Again

 
I Wish That I Were Free Again
 
I wish that I were free again
to climb up on the roof again
to try to fly my kite again
to see it dip and dive and then
to see it climb towards the sky,
to see the soaring clouds on high,
to watch the kite-hawks wheel and dive,
to watch the thunderstorm arrive,
to see the lightning flash and then
to hear the thunder crash and then
to see the birds go flying by,
to feel that wind from regions high,
to see my kite go down and die,
to reel the broken string and then
to flee the lightning and the rain—
I wish that I were free again
to climb up on the roof again
to feel that downdraft—bracing, cool,
to learn the things not taught at school
that I remember to this day
and will until I fade away—
to see the changing of the light,
to marvel at that eerie sight,
to see the storm approaching fast,
to dare to stay and be the last
to leave the roofs as lightning flashed
and roaring loud the thunder crashed,
to hear the sound of drumming rain
on roofs of tile and tin again,
to see the palm trees dance and sway,
to see how night was made from day,
to feel the rain, upon my skin,
that washed away this world of sin,
to leap in lashing, pouring rain,
to live that childhood once again,
I wish that I were free again—
but then I think of those not free
to climb up on the roofs like me,
who slept on pavements till the rain
came down upon them yet again,
who huddled then in misery,
and then I wake—from fantasy.

2016 September 2, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Dur Theke Prem--দূর থেকে প্রেম

এটা শুধু একটা কাব্যিক রোমান্স, আমার নিজের সাধারণ জীবন যাপন থেকে খুবি দূরে৷
-----------------------------------------------
The earlier recording has been replaced by a slightly better one.
 

This might not be available on mobile phones and some networks.
To hear the audio recording in Google's Chrome browser:
  1) first, click the triangular play button on the right, above;
  2) then click either:
    a) that button again to play the audio in the background (on this page);
    or
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The procedure in other browsers might be slightly different.

Record music and voice with Vocaroo >>
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দূর থেকে প্রেম

আহা, সুন্দরী! দেখেছি তোমারে
দূর থেকে, পড়েছি প্রেমে৷
যা কিছু বলার, তোমার চাহনে
রয়েছে কন্ঠে থেমে৷

মুগ্ধ হয়েছি তোমার দৃশ্যে,
ভক্ত হয়েছি আমি৷
গেয়েছি কীর্তন, এতদিন ধরে,
জানিনা কি করে থামি৷

বলেছি নিজেকে, মর্ত নারীকে
করেছ মনে মনে দেবী৷
এ পাপের কারণে, ভুগবে৷ তবুও
নমেছি তোমারে, দেবী৷
  
নিরাকার গুরুর গুণগান গেয়ে,
মাথা নত করে যে,
বুঝবে কি কখনো প্রেমের ধর্ম,
যতই উদার সে?
  
মাটি থেকে বানানো প্রতিমায়, উপোসে,
অঞ্জলি দেয় যারা,
সইবে কি, তাই বলে, আমার দেবীকে,
যতই মেনেছে তারা?
  
চুপিচুপি কেবল গেয়েছি গীতি৷
লুকিয়ে করেছি পূজো৷
তোমার পায়ের ধূলি, ও প্রিয়া,
চুমিয়ে হয়েছি দ্বিজ৷

দেখোনি আমার মর্মে, তুমি
শোনোনি আমার গান৷
জানো নি তোমার চাঁদের মুখের
জোয়ারভাটার টান৷ 
  
নিমেষের হাতের স্পর্শে অথবা
চোখের মিলনে যখনো
জ্বলেছে বিদ্যুৎ, বুকে ও অঙ্গে,
স্তব্ধ রয়েছি তখনো৷

যদি কোনো দিন মনে পড়ে সেই
ইতস্ততঃ আমার,
হেসেও তখন ক্ষমা কোরো একে—
এই দ্বিধা ভরা প্রেমিক তোমার৷

রবিবার, ৫ই জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি
(চতুর্থ, পঞ্চম ও অষ্টম স্তবক: বৃহস্পতিবার, ৯ জুন)
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক

   

As Souls Who're Freed

As Souls Who're Freed

 It always breaks my heart to see
A bird that's caged that once was free.

And so I also take delight
In seeing wheeling birds in flight.

I thank you, Jean, for filming this
And posting it for viewers' bliss.

So too, perhaps, we both shall fly
As souls who're freed, when bodies die.

And if our dying be the end,
We yet at times can still pretend.

So in our dreams our minds can fly,
As gulls and pigeons, through the sky.

And from on high we then might see
The ones below—like you and me.

2016 May 20th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York

https://www.facebook.com/jeanmarie.offenbacher/videos/10154242368729292/

Exile-IV

Exile-IV

We can long for what’s no longer.
We can pine for loves we’ve lost.
We can wish we were with kinsfolk
Or friends we had when young.

We can love our native country.
We can miss its speech and song.
We can yearn, when we’re in exile,
To be back where we belong.

And then, upon returning,
And seeing a nephew smile,
Within our native city,
We might rejoice a while.

But then there are the conflicts
That even roil one’s clan.
And we learn of crime, corruption—
So we’re back where we began.

Yet we see that all is changing—
That nothing’s ever still.
For some, the change is better,
For more, it’s more of ill.

The fantasy that distance
And time created goes.
We’re in our native country
And it still is full of woes.

For those like us who left it
And never could return,
Such thoughts arise in dreaming
And then we wake and turn.

2016 February 5th, Fri, 6:51 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
----------------------------------------------
  
Related posts:
   

• Exile-III  (http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2016/01/exile-iii.html)
• Exile-II  (http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/04/exile-ii.html)
• Exile  (http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/03/exile.html)

      

The Sunbird

  

The Sunbird  

The Sunbird

Arjun Janah, 2015 Dec 15th 

 
It was sometime before sunset,

As the afternoon wore on,

That the sunbird had been spotted

As it flew above the clouds.

And we watched as it descended—

Those brave enough to stay,

While the others fled, some screaming

That we all should run away.

It spiraled, slowly sinking

As it spread its giant wings—

And its shadow crossed the ocean,

As the song primeval sings.

How many generations

Had it been since it had come,

I wondered, as I watched it,

And my heart began to drum.

Around me, men were running,

As the bravest feared and fled,

For the sky was changing color—

And it seemed to turn to red.

The sun was strangely yellow—

By the sunbird’s shadow dwarfed.

In fear, I started running,

As a madman cried and laughed.

It seemed it was the ending

That the prophets had foretold.

But I lived, and I’m recounting

What I saw—who now am old.
   

But I was then a young man,

And I did not know of fear—

Until I saw that sunbird,

With its talons, swooping near.

If you ever see the sunbird,

You should swiftly run and hide.

If you're prudent, then in hiding,
Till it passes, do abide!

  

For that madman and some others

Who had stayed, when we had run—

They were taken by that sunbird,

As it rose above the sun.

    

We could hear them faintly calling

As it carried them away.

I remember still their voices

As I near my ending day.

   

That’s the story of the sunbird

That I saw, with these my eyes.

But some others, who are younger—

They will say I’m full of lies.

  

Believe them, to your peril,

Or hark to what I say:

If you ever spot the sunbird,

You should wisely hide away.
 
 

Crimson Sunbird
http://www.desktopwallpapers4.me/animals/crimson-sunbird-14183/

   

2015 December 15th, Tue.

Brooklyn, New York

   

Probhater Pal—প্রভাতের পাল—The Distant Sails

This is written using verb conjugations and vocabulary that would now be considered archaic, but which were still in use in much of what we read when I was in elementary school in Bengal.  I have provided, again, two Roman transcriptions. The first follows the current standard pronunciation and is summarized in the preface to the post at  Bharot Xadhin (India Free).

I have inserted (in blue) after each stanza in that transcription, an approximation to a word-for-word translation into English.  When a reader whose first language belongs to the European mainstream tries to decipher those inserts, she/he might note how weird the syntax of Bengali appears to someone  encountering such a syntax for the first time.

The reader might then begin to appreciate how strange and difficult the syntax of an European language, such as English, seems to an Asian who is a native speaker of, say, Turkish, Hindi-Urdu, Bengali, Tamil, Mongolian, Korean or Japanese—unless that speaker has been exposed, from an early age, to either that European tongue or to a syntactically similar language.
 
The second transcription is the "machine transcription" obtained via http://google.com/translate, which I have lightly edited, in the way that I had described in earlier posts. Notes on that transcription scheme are at the very end of the post at  Beside the Sea--Xagor Tire .

Finally, at the end of the current post, there is a translation into English, which is fairly literal.
--------------------------------------------------

প্রভাতের পাল

প্রভাতে নদীর কিনারে দাঁড়াইয়া,
দেখিলাম দূরে, পাল
মেলিয়া চলিতেছে, হাওয়ার বাহনে,
দূর দেশের সাম্পান৷

কোথা হইতে আসিয়াছে,
ভাবিয়া ভাবিয়া,
মনে মনে ভাসিয়া দূরে,
আসিলাম বন্দরে৷

দেখিলাম, বিদেশি শহর৷
পাসে ক্ষেত৷ দূরে,
বনে ঢাকা পর্বতমালা,
কুয়াশা চুড়ায়৷

ঢেউয়ের উপর দুলিতেছে জাহাজ৷
দূরে ও নিকটে পাল৷
দূর থেকে দেখা, পিপড়ার মত,
বিদেশী শ্রমিকের ঝাঁক৷
   
‘ইহা কি বর্মা, নাকি মালয়, ছিয়াম,
কাম্বোজ, ভিয়েত, চীন?’
স্বপ্নে যেন প্রশ্ন কাহার
কানে আসিল ধীর৷

‘জানি না,’ কহিয়া দিলাম জবাব,
‘জানি না, কোন দেশ৷’
বলাতে, দেখিলাম দৃশ্য যেন
নিমেষে হইল শেষ৷

ফিরিলাম নিজ দেশে,
শীতল সকালে৷
দেখিলাম, দূরে, সেই পাল
অদৃশ্য প্রায়৷

কোথা হইতে আসিয়াছিল সেই
দূরে দেখা পাল,
জানি না৷ জানি না, তাহা
কোথাকার সাম্পান৷

সকাল ১০:৩৮, শনিবার, ১৩ই জুন, ২০১৫ খ্রি 
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
--------------------------------------------------

If you are looking for an English translation that is more easily comprehensible than what is given, directly below (in the blue inserts after each stanza), please see the very end of this post.

Note that the blue inserts provide close to word-for-word translations from the Bengali, preserving the original word order.  This is meant to help those who seek a better understanding of the words and syntax of the Bengali original.

For the Bengali postpositions -e and -te, I have uniformly used the (suffixed) English preposition "in", although -e and -te could also signify "at", "on", "into", etc., depending on the context.

Bengali has a principle of  "least redundancy", "economy of endings", "least effort" or "laziness" -- call it what you will -- through which (among other things) plural endings are dispensed with when not required for clarity.  So the word pal ("sail" or "flock/herd") could, depending on the context,  mean either "sail" or "sails "(or "herd" or "herds").  I have translated pal in the blue inserts as "sail".  In the more idiomatic translation, at the very end of the current post, I have written "sails" instead, envisioning a sampan (Chinese-style flat-bottomed  boat or small ship) with more than one sail.

In Hindi-Urdu, tense, person, number and gender are all reflected in the verb declensions. The form of a Bengali verb changes with tense and person, but not with number or gender.  The English verb form changes with tense, person and number, although for the last two the only form that still differs in standard modern English is the third person singular (in the present tense and, for the auxiliary verb, in the present perfect tense).  I have, in the blue inserts, used the singular forms of the English verbs.

In Bengali, the verb "to be" is usually omitted in the present tense.  I have followed this practice in the blue inserts.  So be ready for some verb-less sentences in these inserts.

If the blue inserts are incomprehensible even after several readings, please take recourse to the translation at the very end of this post.
--------------------------------------------------

Probhater Pal

Morning Sail

Probhate nodir kinare da~r’aiya,
dekhilam dure, pal
melia coliteche, haoar bahone,
dur dexer xampan.

morning-in river's edge-in standing,
saw-I far-in,  sail
unfurled moving-is, air’s carriage-in,
far country’s sampan.

Kotha hoite axiache,
bhabia bhabia,
mone mone bhaxia dure,
axilam bo`ndore.

Where from come-has,
pondered pondered,
mind-in mind-in floated far-in,
came-I port-in.

Dekhilam, bidexi xo`hor.
Paxe khet.  Dure,
bone d’haka parbatmala,
kuaxa curae.

Saw-i foreign city.
Side-in field.  Far-in,
woods-in covered mountain-necklace [chain],
mist peak-in.

D’heuer upo`r duliteche jahaj.
Dure o niko`t’e pal.
Dur theke de`kha, pipr’ar mo`to,
bidexi sromiker jha~k.

Wave's on swaying-is ship.
Far-in and near-in sail.
Far from seen, ant like,
foreign workers’ flock.

‘Iha ki Bo`rma, naki Malo`e, Chiam,
Kamboj, Bhiet, Cin?’
Xo`pne je`no prosno kahar
Kane axilo dhir.

"This-the ? Burma, not? Malaya, Siam,
Cambodia, Vietnam, China? "
Dream-in as if question whose
ear-in came slow.

‘Jani na,’ kohia dilam jo`bab,
‘Jani na, kon dex.’
Bo`late, dekhilam drixxo je`no
nimexe hoilo xex.

“Know-I not,” said gave-I reply,
“Know-I not, which country.”
Said-in, saw-I vision as if
blink-in became end.

Phirilam nijo dexe,
xito`l xo`kale.
Dekhilam, dure, pal
o`drixxo prae.

Returned-I own country,
cool morning-in.
Saw-I, far-in, sail
invisible almost.

Kotha hoite axiachilo xei
dure de`kha pal,
jani na.   Jani na, taha
kothakar xampan.

Where from came that
far-in seen sail,
Know-I not.  Know-I not, that-the
which-place’s sampan.

xo`kal 10:38, Xonibar, 13i Jun, 2015 khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk

morning 10:38, Saturday, 13th June, 2015 AD
Brooklyn, New York   
--------------------------------------------------

Prabhātēr Pāl

Prabhātē nadīr kinārē dām̐ṛā'iẏā,
dēkhilām dūrē, pāl
mēliẏā calitēchē, hā'ōẏār bāhanē,
dūr dēśēr sāmpān.

Kōthā ha'itē āsiẏāchē,
bhābiẏā bhābiẏā,
manē manē bhāsiẏā dūrē,
āsilām bandarē.

Dēkhilām, bidēśi śahar.
Pāsē kṣēt.  Dūrē,
banē ḍhākā parbatmālā,
kuẏāśā cuṛāẏ.

ḍhē'uẏēr upar dulitēchē jāhāj.
Dūrē ō nikaṭē pāl.
Dūr thēkē dēkhā, pipṛār mata,
bidēśī śramikēr jhām̐k.

‘Ihā ki Barmā, nāki Mālaẏ, Chiẏām,
Kāmbōj, Bhiẏēt, Cīn?’
Sbapnē yēna praśna kāhār
kānē āsila dhīr.

‘Jāni nā,’ kahiẏā dilām jabāb,
‘Jāni nā, kōn dēś.’
Balātē, dēkhilām dr̥śya yēna
nimēṣē ha'ila śēṣ.

Phirilām nija dēśē,
śītal sakālē.
Dēkhilām, dūrē, sē'i pāl
adr̥śya prāẏ.

Kōthā ha'itē āsiẏāchila sē'i
dūrē dēkhā pāl,
jāni nā.  Jāni nā, tāhā
kōthākār sāmpān.

sakāl 10:38, Śanibār, 13i Jun, 2015 khri 
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
--------------------------------------------------

The following English translation is fairly literal.  However, I have added, to this translation, an explanatory, somewhat repetitive,  concluding stanza that is absent in the original.
--------------------------------------------------
     
The Distant Sails
  
From the river’s shore, I saw, this morning,
far away, with sails unfurled,
a sampan, from a distant land,
driven by the wind.

I wondered where it came from,
and wondering, I floated in my mind,
it seemed, until I saw,
across the waves, a busy port.

I saw a city, in a foreign land.
Nearby were fields and farms.  Afar
were wooded mountains—and their peaks
were shrouded then in mist.

Ships were rolling on the waves.
Their sails were far and near.
And in the distance, I could see
the workers in the docks—like little ants.

“ Is this Burma?  Or is it Malaya, Siam,
Cambodia, Vietnam—or China?”
I heard this question, spoken soft and slow,
within my dream.

“I do not know,” I answered,
“I do not know this land.”
And as I spoke, the vision
came to its end.

I was back in my land,
in the cool of the morning.
I saw, afar, those sails
about to disappear.

I do not know from where it came—
that ship I saw in the distance.
I do not know.  I do not know
from where it came—

those sails of the morning,
that sampan
of my dreams—I do not know
from where they came.

2015 June 13th Sat, 10:38 am
(translated into English July 18th, Sat.
with a final stanza added to the translation)
Brooklyn, New York
  

দূরের থেকে প্রেম—Durer Theke Prem—Romance from Afar

 
These ditties are fiction.  My own experiences in the field of romantic love have been very limited, but I seem to be making up for that in these amours I am spinning in my dotage.

I seem to be doing this spinning, in the main, in two languages.  There might be some significance in that—or not.

One of these languages is my mother tongue, Bangla (Bengali).  My formal education in this language was poor and interrupted, and my reading in it has been very limited.  So my Bengali vocabulary remains, to a large extent, at the level of a student in elementary school.

The other language, English, was once, along with troops, armaments and more, a vehicle of colonial rule in my land of birth.  It is also the primary language of the country I have lived in for the past forty years.  But I still have my strong native accent and I still have to struggle to pronounce English words in either of the two main standard ways.  That is a handicap indeed when venturing to write poetry.

Nevertheless, here's yet more of the froth.

Once again, I have provided, following the piece in the traditional Bengali script, two Roman transcriptions (this time, with Google's version first) and then a translation into English.
---------------------------------------
 
দূরের থেকে প্রেম

দূরের থেকে ভালবাসা,
দূরের থেকে প্রেম —
রইবে কি সে বছর ধরে?
বল আমায়,  মেম৷

মাঝে মাঝে চোখাচোখি,
মাঝে মৃদু হাসি,
এই দিয়ে কি চলবে গাড়ি?
কহ,  প্রাচ্যবাসী৷

টানতে হবে, ঠেলতে হবে,
নইলে যাবে থেমে৷
সকল দেশে, পথের ওপর
খাটনি আছে,  প্রেমে৷

উত্তরে যাও, দক্ষিনে যাও,
পশ্চিমে বা পূর্বে,
ততই কথা সত্যি হবে,
যতই দূরে ঘুরবে৷

দূরের থেকে, প্রেমের বাঁধন
হবে ক্রমে ক্ষয়৷
ভালবাসা পেতে, সখী,
দিতেও কিছু হয়৷

বিকেল ৫:৩৪, শুক্রবার 
৩রা জুন, ২০১৫ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক 
---------------------------------------

The Roman transcription directly below was obtained via http://google.com/translate.  I have lightly edited this "machine transcription".  This was done mainly to remove unnecessary short a's (those that should not be pronounced) and to put in capitalization and periods that had been left out.

Those who are not familiar with this transcription scheme, but wish to use it to learn (or at least correctly pronounce) Bengali, might want to read the note at the very end of the post at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2015/07/beside-seaxagor-tire-sagar-tire.html.
---------------------------------------

Dūrēr Thēkē Prēm

Dūrēr thēkē bhālabāsā,
dūrēr thēkē prēm—
ra'ibē ki sē bachar dharē?
Bala āmāẏ, mēm.

Mājhē mājhē cōkhācōkhi,
mājhē mr̥du hāsi,
Ē'i diẏē ki calbē gāṛi?
Kaha, prācyabāsī.

ṭāntē habē, ṭhēltē habē,
na'ilē yābē thēmē
Sakal dēśē, pathēr ōpar
khāṭni āchē, prēmē.

Uttarē yā'ō, dakṣinē yā'ō,
paścimē bā pūrbē,
tata'i kathā satyi habē,
yata'i dūrē ghurbē.

Dūrēr thēkē, prēmēr bām̐dhan
habē kramē kṣaẏ.
Bhālabāsā pētē, sakhī,
ditē'ō kichu haẏ.

bikēl 5:34, Śukrabār 
3rā Jun, 2015 khri
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
---------------------------------------

The transcription scheme used below is my own and is briefly summarized at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html.
---------------------------------------

Durer Theke Prem
  
Durer theke bhalobaxa,
durer theke prem—
roibe ki xe bo`chor dhore?
Bo`lo amae, mem.

Majhe majhe cokhacokhi,
majhe mridu haxi,
ei die ki colbe gar’i?
Ko`ho, praccobaxi.

T’ante ho`be, t’helte ho`be,
Noile jabe theme.
Xo`kol dexe, po`ther opor
khat’ni ache, preme.

Uttore jao, dokkhine jao,
poxcime ba purbe,
to`toi ko`tha xotti ho`be,
jo`toi dure ghurbe.

Durer theke, premer ba~dhon
ho`be kro`me kho`e.
Bhalobaxa pete, xokhi,
diteo kichu ho`e.

bikel 5:34, Xukrubar
3ra Jun, 2015 khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
---------------------------------------
 
Below this is a translation of the poem into English. In all but a few lines, the translation is fairly literal.   However, those attempting to decipher the Bengali from the translation should be warned that word-order in Bengali is radically different from that in English.

This is true, not only for Bengali, but for most Indian languages, and indeed, most Asian ones, (with the Sinic, Malay and Mon-Khmer tongues being notable exceptions) relative to most European languages (with Turkish and some of the Samoyedic and Uralic languages being the main exceptions to the European ordering).

In particular, postpositions are used rather than prepositions, and the standard word order is subject-object-verb, rather than subject-verb-object as is standard in most of Europe.  However, thanks to case-endings (usually case-postpositions), there is considerable flexibility in the word order, be this for emphasis or for other effect. This is a boon when writing in rhythmic verse.
---------------------------------------

   

Romance from Afar

The love that is from far away,
The warm, imagined kiss—
Can this remain, for years and years?
Do tell me, western miss.

The eyes that meet from time to time,
The shy and furtive smile—
Will this sustain, dear eastern maid,
Love’s train, for mile and mile?

Without the pull and push, the train
Will slow and then will stop.
In every land, there’s labor on
The tracks, for every love.

Go north or south or west or east.
You’ll find it’s always true.
The more you wander from your love,
The more the loss you’ll rue.

The distance wears away, in time,
The ties that let it live.
To get of love, my dearest, you
Will also have to give.

5:34 pm, Friday
June 3, 2015
Brooklyn, New York
  

What?

 
What?

I ventured out at twilight and I saw, beside the lake,
Where the woods were dark, and the water light,
What seemed to be, perhaps—
A man…

I’d seen a figure small—no more, in height, than just a child,
Walking, in the shadows of the woods
And out, where I could see—
And back.

And as I watched, across the lake, I saw it turn and look.
I froze—and when it saw me, so did it.
And time—and everything—
Stood still.

And then, it turned and went into the woods!  I stood and stared.
I felt a shiver, running down my back.
And so I turned—and ran—
And ran!

I only stopped when I was out of breath and far away
From where I’d seen what seemed to be a man.
But really, what was it?
A ghost?

I panted, bent and held my knees. I tried to catch my breath.
But then, before I could, I ran again—
Away, away, not looking
Back.

And I was lost by then, upon a field—and it was dark.
But when at last I stopped, I felt again
That tingle on my skin—
And turned.

It wasn’t there—it wasn’t there!  I felt a great relief.
I took a breath of air.  I almost laughed,
But couldn’t, lacking breath.
I sat.

The moon was out—a crescent, hanging low—and stars.
And as I watched, the sky was filled with them.
They twinkled, and it seemed
They laughed.

I rose up then and slowly sought to find my way towards home.
But still I knew I should avoid that place
Where I had seen it stare
At me.

On getting home, I quickly shuttered doors and windows tight.
I lit the lamp and saw, through window glass,
Its twin.  I could not see
Outside.

And when I crept in bed, beneath the quilt, I shivered still.
I hardly slept, and woke in sudden fear,
For every sound, it seemed,
Was it.

And so, I told myself, “You cannot sleep, except in bits.
You toss and turn. You wake and start at sounds.
You’re anxious, full of fear—
Of what?”

But as I said that “what”, I felt, again, that shock. I saw
Those eyes that locked with mine, across the lake—
Those eyes, that seemed to be—
Of what?

“Oh nonsense!  What a stupid fool you are!  A coward too!
It was a man you saw—a little man,
Who also turned and fled—
From fear.”

And so I tried to scold myself.  I felt some comfort spread
From zones of reason to the rest.
I breathed a sigh and sought—
Some rest.

And when I woke again, the dawn was there.  And with that light
I felt that fear of darkness disappear.
It seemed, it was a dream
I’d had.

So I dismissed it then, and rose and went about my day.
But when the sunset neared, I felt unease.
I could not go towards
That lake.

So every night, I close my doors and windows tight.  And then
I eat my dinner and I try to sleep,
But often wake again
In fright.

I wonder, “What was it I saw, at dusk, across the lake,
That walked out from the woods?  It looked at me
And I at it and then—
I ran.”

I wonder, “Does it also fear, like me? And does it fear
The one it saw, across the lake, at dusk—
That great big one?
Does it?”

I sense an ebb of tension then.  I even laugh.  I feel
A passing pity for that little thing
That seemed to be a man—
Or what?

This doesn’t last. I say, “Tomorrow, I will go again
To stand, at dusk, beside that lake and gaze
across.”  But then, I know
I can’t.

2015 May 2nd, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
   

I Do Not Know the Words

 
I Do Not Know the Words

As I was walking on the street, a whisper came to me.
It seemed an eerie whispering, and so I paused to hear.
And then I heard a voice that called, as if across a sea.
And though it sounded distant, yet I also sensed it near.
 
“They know the words,” that whisper said, “so all can sing the song.
They know them well.  And one may lead, while others sing along.
But then another takes the lead. You’re hearing what they feel.
They share in song—and everything—where no one needs to steal.”

I heard that voice that seemed to be so far, so distant, yet
Was also there within my heart, as close as it could get.
“I do not know the words.” I said, “I do not know the words.
Do tell me what the meaning is. To me, they sing like birds.”

For I had heard a singing then, behind that eerie voice,
That rose and fell in cadences, as if a hidden sea
Were breaking on a distant shore, from which a random breeze
Had carried sound across the miles and so by chance to me.

But though I heard that singing still, that voice had ceased to speak.
And so I strained to hear that song, which still was distant, weak.
And as I listened, I discerned the words—they still were strange,
But slowly, one by one, they came within my hearing’s range.

And to this day, I hear that song.  It pulses in my mind.
For me, it's still a wondrous thing.  A passing spirit, kind,
Had given me this gentle song—that whispers, like the sea
May do, when quite a distance from the place we chance to be.

“I do not know the words.” I’d said, “I do not know the words.”
But I could hear the feeling in the song.  That still remains.
And though I’d said it sounded like the singing of the birds,
It sings to me of hopes and loves—of all our joys and pains.

“They know the words,” that voice had said, “so all can sing along.”
And one by one I hear them sing—I hear them sing that song.
They share in this, and everything, where no one needs to steal.
And though I’ve never met them, I can hear the way they feel.

And still I daily walk the streets, within the city’s sphere.
And there are times I’m full of grief, of madness and of fear.
But then I hear that song again, and so my heart is lifted.
I thank the spirit then for this—this drop of kindness, gifted.

I wish I understood the words.  But then, it doesn't matter.
For there's a place for words and there's another place for song.
And so at times the words we speak appear as useless chatter.
For those are times to listen—and perhaps to sing along.

2015 May 25th, Mon
“Memorial Day “ in the U.S.A.
Brooklyn, New York
     

The Minstrel

The Minstrel
 
I met a minstrel on the road
And walked with her a while.
I heard her singing as she walked.
I listened, with a smile.

And this is what she said to me
Upon that twisting way.
Her every word remains with me
Unto this very day.

“I found you just by happenstance,
And while I have your ear,
I’ll sing to you the songs that come,
Before they disappear.
 
“I’ll sing to you of land and sea,
Of sky that vaults above.
I’ll sing to you of innocence,
Of tenderness, of love.
 
“I’ll sing to you of villages
Beside the rippling lakes.
I’ll sing to you of sentience,
Of consciousness that wakes.
 
"I'll sing to you of mountains and
Of foothills and of plains.
I'll sing to you of dancing
At the starting of the rains.
 
“I’ll sing to you of patience and
Of science and the arts.
I’ll sing to you of courage and
Of hopes in human hearts.
     
“I’ll sing to you of swirling clouds,
Of thunder, lightning, rain.
I’ll sing to you of rapture and
Of sorrow and of pain.
 
“I’ll sing to you of sunrise and
The fiery, blazing noon.
I’ll sing to you of sunset and
The brightly shining moon.
 
“I’ll sing to you of multitudes
Of men and ants and stars.
I’ll sing to you of horrors and
Of all the senseless wars.
 
“I‘ll sing to you of present times
And also other things.
I’ll sing to of history
And what the future brings.
 
“I’ll sing to you of turbulence
And of the times serene.
I ‘ll sing to you of what I've felt
And what I've heard and seen.
 
“And when you’re tired of what I sing,
Then you can bid me leave.
But when I’m gone, with all my songs,
I trust you will not grieve.
 
“I do not know from where they come,
the songs you’ll hear me sing,
Perhaps you’ll hear that singing too,
When I have taken wing.
 
“And then perhaps you’ll seek for one
Who’ll lend, to you, an ear,
And hope she will be stirred by what,
Through you, she too can hear.”
 
And so that minstrel sang to me
Her songs of light and dark.
And though the years have passed since then,
I still, to them, can hark.
 
And just as she had said to me,
I hear a singing too,
That comes from where I do not know,
So I can sing to you.
 
2015 May 14th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York  
    

Leprechaun?

 
Leprechaun?
  
While walking in the morn, I met the mist
that still was hiding in the shadowed glen.
And though I said, “Hello!” it answered not
or in a language that I did not know.

For though I felt a breeze and just a touch
of chill that seemed to reach within my soul,
I did not linger long enough to figure out
what issued from that mist within that glen.

I fancied, as I neared the light, that there,
behind me to the right, a figure crept,
of stature small – that mist and shadows then
appeared to swallow when I turned my head.

And so I strove to hasten then my stride,
yet felt a shiver moving down my spine.
And when I stepped out in the morning light,
within a clearing, I was glad indeed.

And later, I was told, there lived within
that narrow valley, rarely touched by sun,
a being – last of those who’d lived before,
who now were gone, whilst leaving only him.
 
So was it fancy, or a living thing –
perhaps of human or of fairy kind?
I do not know, but still I will not go
again alone within that wooded glen.

2015 March 8th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Cosmos-II

   
Cosmos-II
   
You say that you have lost your sense of self,
been sundered into pieces, scattered, strewn…
You ask me how you might collect yourself.
I wish I knew a method to rejoin
your broken bits. Instead, I’ll offer this.
   
If you were free to leave this Earth and roam
the depths, and with the solar wind could fly
beyond the planets and the comet-clouds,
you then might glimpse the truths that some deny.

When lost within the interstellar dark,
or even out between the galaxies,
there’s still that foam that bubbles up from naught
and gives you substance, likewise giving birth
to all that swirls and feeds the fiery dance.

And in the interstices, you might find
the workings of that universal mind –
the Brahma of the pantheists – that bears
the Yahweh-Allah feared by Abraham...

******

That desert god was jealous, as were those
the Greeks had placed upon Olympus high.
And if indeed the gods are judged by what
is deemed as their creation, surely then
they’re all a heartless bunch of nincompoops.
 
And yet, perhaps, within the endless void,
on seeing distant lights that flare and die,
you’d come to hear the murmuring of those,
who still persist in asking, “Why, oh why?”
 
And if there be an answer, you’d return
and share with mortals what that reason is.
And if there isn't, or it can’t be known,
you still might tell your tales of wondrous things
to us, who’re bound by our terrestrial birth.
  
To travel out, upon a flare, and see
our local sphere – and then, the dark, to view –
to turn towards the fading sun and be
where nothing is – might bring you back to you…
 
******
 
You’re lost and scattered?  So, the atoms are.
The light is speeding out to who knows where.
And yet, amidst that chatter – hear the song.
The atoms chant in all their alto keys.
You’re born to die – and yet you still belong.
 
So why such travels out, to realms of cold?
Why leave your planet’s womb to course the dark?
Such ventures, you might leave to natures bold,
and turn to journeys inwards, on this ark…

For all the truths you might discover there,
beyond the planets and the cloud of Oort –
You'll find them here, upon this spinning Earth
and in that self that viewing can dissolve –
to leave that void that still gives birth to all...

So I have offered you a dream and then
have told you that it's worth is null and naught,
except perhaps to see the trap in which
the ones who're lost and those who're found are caught.
 
2015 January 16th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
 

For Every Love Denied

 
For Every Love Denied

   
I walk tonight and see a rising moon –
And so recall that Luna’s silver light
Lends magic to the lovers’ trystings, as
It casts that shadow that’s a lover’s plight.

The joys of love are celebrated, but
Its sorrows give, to songs of love, their depth.
When love’s accepted, we rejoice – and yet,
At being rejected, some are more adept.
 
But those, who’ve weathered their romances past,
And so, in many ways, can shield their hearts,
Too often may forget their innocence
Or when they first were pierced by Cupid’s darts.
 
For every love, sincere, that’s been denied,
For every lover scorned, abandoned, I
Now make lament.  The moon that rises, full,
I see reflected in a wistful eye.
 
For every yearning for fulfillment that
Depended on another’s whim or choice,
I whisper recognition.  To that pain
Of unfulfillment, I give plaintive voice.

Let every maid, from grave or ashes, rise,
Who died a spinster, from her love denied.
Let every youth revive, to walk again,
Who yearned and aged – and till his passing pined.
 
And let those beings walk beneath this moon
And be the lovers they were meant to be –
If only for an hour, in that sweet delight –
And then, fulfilled, forever cease to be…
 
I walk tonight, beneath a rising moon
And so recall the joy, frustration, pain
Of courtship and rejection.  So I mouth
These verses now – that might be mouthed again…
 
2015 January 10th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Kiwi and the Little Frog

  
Kiwi and the Little Frog

Kiwi and the little frog

 














In a country far away that yet is very near,
There lived a girl called Kiwi who had vision sharp and clear.
And once, when she was walking, she saw, upon a tree,
A little frog was sitting – and calling out in fear.

“Oh what is it you’re fearful of?” asked Kiwi of the frog.
“Is it Mew, the kit-cat?   Or is it Woof, the dog?"
“Oh thank you!  It is neither.  I climbed upon the tree
To see how I could get back to my home that’s in the bog.

“But where that bog is hiding, I’m afraid I cannot see.
I’ve looked to west and eastward and south towards the sea.
And in the north there’s mountains.  But nowhere is that bog.
And I’m afraid of falling from high upon this tree.”

“Oh don’t you worry, little frog, whose name I do not know.
I know just where that bog is – it’s where it was before.
It’s there, behind the trees there.  I’ll climb up on this tree
And bring you down.  And then, from here, your way to home, I’ll show.”

So Kiwi climbed upon the tree.  She showed no trace of fear.
She brought that little froggie down, she’d seen with vision clear.
And then she showed the way for it to hop towards its home.
“I’m Kiwi.  You?”   “Oh thank you!  I am Ngaak – and you’re a dear.” 

So Kiwi helped that little frog called Ngaak and went her way.
And on the path she’d shown him, Ngaak then hopped and hopped away,
Until at last he neared the bog and heard the frogs there croaking.
“Oh there you are!”  His sister said.  “I’ve looked for you all day!”
  
2014 December 26th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
 

The Yeti and Me

The Yeti and Me

the yeti and me

I met with a yeti on a sunshiny day.
It could have been April, it could have been May.
“Good morning, dear Yeti!” I said to the hulk.
He gave me a grunt, for the sun made him sulk.
 
“Good morning!” I said, to the yeti, once more.
He grunted more loudly than he’d grunted before.
“Good sunshine to you, dear Yeti, my friend!”
And I saw that his patience was now at an end.
  
He grunted and snorted and came after me.
My smile, it was frozen. I started to flee.
With a leap and a bound, I jumped in a stream.
And I woke with a gasp from this weird little dream.
 
*****
   
Now humans like sun, when the weather is cold.
But the yetis like shade, as we should have been told.
So on days when it’s sunny, be very discrete
‘Round Yetis, who’re sulking because of the heat.
 
And whether in waking, or what’s only a dream,
Do stand by a tree or be close to a stream,
For if yetis approach, who are madder than hell,
That tree or that stream could serve you right well.
 
For everyone knows that the yetis can’t swim –
And of those who climb trees, the numbers are slim.
If the yeti is grown and is heavy, then why –
You’ll be safe in a tree, if you climb up on high.
 
2014 December 23rd, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
  

আবার তোমারে পাওয়া – abar tomare paoa

  
আবার তোমারে পাওয়া 


আঁধারে আলোয় দেখেছি তোমারে,
নিমেষে হয়েছ হাওয়া।
ডেকেছি, খুঁজেছি, কত যে চেয়েছি
আবার তোমারে পাওয়া।
  
কোথায় রয়েছ, জানি না, জানি না...
আকাশে উঠিয়ে হাত,
কেঁদেছি দিবসে, এসেছে জবাবে
লক্ষ তারার রাত...
 
স্বপ্নে ভেবেছি, দেখেছি তোমারে,
বুঝেছি, ভোরে উঠে, ভুল...
বাইরে বেরিয়ে, শীতল সকালে,
দেখেছি ফুটেছে ফুল...
 
নদির তীরে হেঁটেছি বিকেলে,
জলেতে দেখেছি তোমায়।
ডেকেছি, কেঁদেছি – মিলন তুমি
দেবে কি এবারে আমায়?

পাত্তা দেওনি কখনো, যদিও
হয়েছি ডেকে ডেকে হয়রান...
তাই ত ভেতরে,ধাপে ধাপে,
মরেছে আশা, নিবেছে প্রান।

আঁধারে আলোয় দেখেছি তোমারে,
নিমেষে হয়েছ হাওয়া।
ডেকেছি, খুঁজেছি, কত যে চেয়েছি
আবার তোমারে পাওয়া।
  
সোমবার, ১৫-ই ডিসেম্বর, ২০১৪ খৃ
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ য়র্ক
   
-------------------------------------------------
Abar Tomare Paoa

A~dhare aloe dekhechi tomare,
nimexe hoecho haoa.
D’ekechi, khu~jechi, ko`to je ce-echi
abar tomare paoa.

Kothae roecho, jani na, jani na…
Akaxe ut’hie hat,
k~edichi dibo`xe, exeche jo`babe
lokkho-tararo rat…

Xo`pne bhebechi, dehkechi tomare.
bhujhechi, bhore ut’he, bhul…
Baire berie, xito`lo xo`kale,
dekhechi phut’eche phul…

Nodir tire he~t’echi bikele,
jo`lete dekhechi tomae.
D’ekechi, ke~dechi, “Milo`n tumi
debe ki ebare amae?”

Patta de`o ni, ko`khono, jodio
hoechi d’eke d’eke ho`eran…
Tai to bhetore, dhape dhape,
moreche axa, nibeche pran…

A~dhare aloe dekhechi tomare,
nimexe hoecho haoa.
D’ekechi, khu~jechi, ko`to je ce-echi
abar tomare paoa.

Xombar, 15-oi D’isembo`r, 2014 khri.
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk