ShaktiPoems of a Rebel

Shakti Chattopadhyay

translated byPinaki Poddar

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© 2011 Pinaki Poddar

All Rights Reserved

ISBN-10: 1463662122

ISBN-13: 978-1463662127

Introduction

Shakti Chattopadhyay was the enfant terrible of modern Bengali Poetry. Since 1962, when his first poems were published, he remained one of the most prominent poets of Bengal till he passed away in 1995.

His unique voice spoke to the urban youth of post-World War II generation. His distinct style – though filled with a deep angst –

``Why did you bring me in?Take me back.''

had always remained lyrical and rooted in earthiness of his homeland.

The poems softened in later years with acclaimed collection I may Go, But Why?. He received Sahitya Akademi – the most prestigious literary award of India in 1983.

Here are few poems by this great poet translated for international lovers of poetry. As the translator, I am aware of Pablo Neruda's comment:

``What's lost in translation is poetry''.

I acknowledge my friends: Kingshuk Dasgupta, Malay Nath, Saurabh Sircar and Snehomoy Sinha for their editorial and, more importantly, moral support.

Pinaki PoddarHermosa Beach, CaliforniaSeptember, 2011

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To a moon-faced beauty who ushered me in to

Shakti's world

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List of PoemsYarasandha............................................................................7Willow Grove......................................................................10Melodies of Joy ..................................................................12Aboni, Are You Home?......................................................14The Key................................................................................15I, Who Never Gave a Damn..............................................17Not Happy Hour,Not Moments of Joy...........................................................19The Postmen in the Forest of Fall.....................................24For Once, You .....................................................................27All of Us...............................................................................29Will Post Poetry on the Trees............................................34For whom has He come?...................................................39Stains of Blood....................................................................41Departed..............................................................................42Pain.......................................................................................44I May Go, But Why?...........................................................46Epitaph.................................................................................48

Yarasandha

Why did you bring me in?Take me back.

The face cold as darkThe sad eyes poor as dry lake Let your mother take you back.

No more this arid fieldOf sharp stem of paddies,Harvested.Oh, my bloody feet ...

Why did you laborOn the crunched bed of strawTo usher me in?Take me back.

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Smell of rotten paddies,Green moss Fishy smell of sardinesAll my sensesAre now cookie jars in your kitchen

Now when I can't see The hands and feetOf limbless night Where have you brought me in?

I can not seeThe hands and feetOf limbless night.

Soft wind blowsThe sea must be closeYou tie me upIn cruel wrinkled grip

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Meaning, If I approach the beachWith whatever I gotThe sea will recedeThe cold will retreatThe death will recede

Then you might haveGiven birth to DeathInstead of Life

I am darkWill remain darkWill become dark

Why did you bring me in?Take me back.

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Willow Grove

Faint aroma weighs my heart Please take me to the Willow Grove Still willow, mild and deep skyCan't bear any moreIn my static mindO my Love Please take me to the Willow Grove

River lost in the dessertSorrows, buried deep,Suffer my heartRoam in my veinsRain's a mirage

O Camel in my deep veinPlease take me with you

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Cacti scattered far and wideWell water, deep and dark, further down –O Camel, O deep CamelPlease waltz or swing

How steep is the glowing mound?Not a mound but a hookA parrot's teethStatic sky never lets me goThe dead violin chainedDarkens the night

Tattered tent on my ribsOld Bedouin munches melonI ask: ``Hey Old man,Let's go to Orange City''

What was his aim?Moon stuck to the moon.

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Melodies of Joy

Today, the picture's wilted in the roomNot like that twilight of monsoonRain soaked flowers on the gardenMelodies of Joy.

The boy no more herds in that fieldThe banyan no more weeps on his fluteStill the rain draws lightnings`midst the thunderclouds

Did not she knowTime like thisGrabs the rooster's comb?

Did not she knowThe waste of heartIs never to be?

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Did not she knowThe heart is not as big As the gift of gab?

Did not she knowNobody knew herAs much as I?

Today the picture's wilted in the roomNot like that twilight of monsoon Rain soaked flowers on the gardenMelodies of Joy.

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Aboni, Are You Home?

Neighborhood sleepsDoors closed tightI hear incessant knock of the night``Aboni, Are you home?”

It rains here `round the yearCattle clouds roam Dejected tall green grassGrabs the door:``Aboni, Are you home?”

I doze off Distant pain latent in my heartSudden knock of the dark:``Aboni, Are you home?”

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The Key

Still have your favorite keyThe one you had lostHow do you now open the vault?

Still have that spot on your chin?Sudden urgeTo write to youBefore journey begins for a new land

Kept that key For all these yearsWith utmost care.``Do you want it back?Please let me know''

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Your luminous faceAwash with tearsIn memories' attic``Do you want it back?Please let me know''

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I, Who Never Gave a Damn

Commotion on the shore``Whose corpse floats on the river?Where was his home?”

Night's waves only ramble:“It is I, who never gave a damn”.

Does ocean embraceLiving and the deadBoth so dearly?

Who knows ifHemlock is the right drinkElixir's poison?

Ennui inside intellectGrows day and night.

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Deep commotion on the shore``Whose corpse floats on the river?Where was his home?”

Night's waves only ramble:“It is I, without a care”.

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Not Happy Hour,Not Moments of Joy

The body trembles from head to toeThe wall meets the wallThe cornice to corniceThe pavement swaps at midnight

Time to return homeHome inside homeFeet inside feetHeart inside heartNo more than thatOr... more than that?

The body trembles from head to toeThe wall meets the wallThe cornice to corniceThe pavement swaps at midnight

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Time to return homeHome inside homeFeet inside feetHeart inside heartNothing more.

``Hands Up!''Raise your handUntil someone lifts you upInside the black van

Black van inside the black vanAgain inside bigger black vanArray of windows, doors and gravesHaphazard skeletons

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White mite inside the skeletonsLife inside mitesDeath inside lifeHence, death inside deathNothing more than that.

``Hands Up!''Raise your handUntil someone throws you Off the vanBut inside a bigger vanWhere someone always waits

Someone unknownBut she waits Like a flower inside a hard budSpider's golden web in her handShe will put the garland on you

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Your marriage is at midnightWhen the pavement swapsThe body trembles from head to toeWall meets WallCornice to Cornice

ImagineThe carriage is stoppedThe station is running

ImagineThe shoe is walkingThe feet are still

Imagine the craziest thingsThe babies carrying the deadRushing to the pyreThe deceased waltzingAcross the river of death

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That is not the happiest of hoursThat is not the moments of joyThe body trembles from head to toeThe wall meets the wallThe cornice to corniceThe pavement swaps at midnight

At the hour of returning homeHome inside a homeFeet inside a feetHeart inside a heartNothing more.

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The Postmen in the Forest of Fall

Seen the postmen in the forest of FallTheir yellow bags stuffed as bovine bellyPicking up sealed letters old and newAs egrets fish.Cautious and thorough,Not like postmen who keepLosing letters of our luscious love.

We drift apartHoping for mails from afarGetting letters from further awayPosting notes to past flamesMoving away from our kins

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We reveal our stupid greedWe see us no more in the mirror We float bare in the moonshine, aloneIn the backyard of our suburban home

We have not hugged for longWe have not kissed for longWe have not heard others’ singWe have not played with a crazy kidWe slide into the woodsOlder than the treesWhere leaves had leftImmortal marks on the rocksWe glide to a world beyond our own

Seen the postmen in the forest of FallTheir yellow bags filled like bovine bellyPicking up old letters anew

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A letter floats away from anotherA tree never drifts away from another tree.

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For Once, You

For once, try to love

You will see rocks inside the riverRolling down from the fishes’ heart.Rocks, rocks, rocksAnd water of river and seaBlue rocks turning red, red rocks blueOnce – only once – try to love

Store few rocks in your heartRocks do echo

When all tracks are slipperyPave the way with the rocksAs nude rendition of a poemAs rolling wavesAs glittered goddess of clayTo walk to the door of the dim stars of Fall

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Better to keep few rocks in the heartNever had a letterboxThe gaps of the rocks doubled as suchSome times, mind wants to build a home

Rocks from the fishes' heartSettling in oursWe need everythingWe will build dwellingsWill erect a permanent pillarFor a civil society.

O silvery fishYou swam away spreading out the rocksOnce – only once – try to love.

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All of Us

Someone was telling stories of our pastThroughout the morning

Throughout the morningNo one asked us to get upBut only told: ``Just sit and listen’’

No one claimed the daysYou had left behindYou leave money – Crowd will pick it upYou lose your way – Processions will follow your trackLeave a skeleton behind –The vultures will gossipLeave a door ajar – Panicky woman will steal your stuff

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Leave your home behind …Nothing, nothing is permanent

You had thrown your tattered shirt,Broken lantern, old papers,Stale letters and dry leavesSomeone always picked it upBut your lost days.

You only walk towards deathEveryone will preach:``This is LifeThis is NirvanaThis is WholenessThis is Society ReligionLiterature Zen Pain …’’

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Throughout the morningSomeone told stories of our lost daysThey never mentioned their sourcesNever admitted had they stolenOur lost dreams and memoriesThey told storiesOf peerless dreams and memoriesWe relived the tales we are losing for ever

Losing in the forests, fields, old notebooksBlackboards and fairgroundsBeaches and riverbanksBranches, roads and talkie housesLosing them in stations and piersIn metros and villages

Losing them in her hair, in his faceIn glances gazes and broken promises

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Losing, losing losing – Knowing never to reclaim Never to return To those days of storm sunSpring rain and fall

Those naked childhood days of coinsThose days of paper-boats Floating on the transient oceanAt the courtyard on a rainy dayThose whispering moonlit nightsUnder a shedding treeThroughout the morningSomeone told stories of our lost days

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That’s why we have not gotAnything done in the morn'Ever glued to our lost talesPlanning duties like policemenPlanning sniffer dogsTo find our stolen daysBusy with haphazard brainstormsTrekking the ups and downs of time

Suddenly they said: “Hurry up!The Train's hereGet up and get in!Or else the Tiger will eat you up”

We jumped, crawled, rushedTowards the future carriageFrom the beast thereTo the beast here.

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Will Post Poetry on the Trees

Sitting in a seminar on a chairOf wood or may be of tinWet paint sticks on everyone’s back

Ladies’ eyes rove like detectives’They think something weird of himNot a domesticated guyCallous, poet’s kin

A writer, perhaps,or publishes others’ meritSomehow sticks to poetic habitsShags, craps,Sprinkles colored wordsIn monthly magazines

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I grow like a treeTowards the skyRupturing the roof

I grow, because I am alivePalaces do not growDoze insteadDwellings, fruits, Utopia, balls of dog ...

I am sitting on a tin chair in a seminar Reserved the next with my palmHoping for one without a foul breathClean, gentle, not a poetNot a dirty audienceNor a phony slob, moreover,Listens with both ears

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No one listens here,Everyone chattersNothing of heartNo whispers

In this seminarSitting and noddingAnd shittingI am currently sadLone and friendless

They are calm, fragrantSensible because they are poetsEnjoy kneading fleshEnjoy? Joy?Who knows joy?

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Actually I am a torrentA reckless stormRan when walking was proper

One day, will redeem through the woodsWill leave the citiesGo away wherever Without a botherWill ruffle up cities, villagesForests and menOn my wakeBut will I reach anywhere?

Anywhere means what?For what or whom?

Because don't know the answerWalking since I am awakeSince the break of dawn

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Only walking, walking onlyWithout looking backLeaving conferencesEndless recitals behindPoetic assault will gobble me upIn urban jungle.

No pebble knows me in this landWhere I have landed to reckonAnd be reckoned

To wander on a buffalo’s backIn a graceful joyWill carry the buffalo too at timesNever felt such power of a bondBecause never rode a buffalo before

Here I will post poetry on the trees

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For whom has He come?

Peerless God stands in the yardHeaps of Shiuli on one sideLocked life on the other

For whom has He come?Does anyone know for sure?

God is singingHis tired feet dusty, butStill dances in the tuneThe splinters splatterIn corners of slumber

God is cryingAlone

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The one who cries in the CongressSells goodness of men to play patriotClaims loose sand builds the castleHad never seen God

My God stands in every courtHeaps of Shiuli on one sideLocked soul on the other

For whom has He come?Does any one know for sure?

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Stains of Blood

A bright young torso, headlessSad stains of blood in the night

Residential windows were openIn the alleySo was the killer's swordBrutal and dangerous

The blind watchers do not questionThe mute audience never mutter

Why this cruel murder?Why this ruthless rage?What did my dear err in his prime?Which crime is this life guilty of?

Not for selfish reasons,He was guilty of revolt.

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Departed

That crazy youth returnedSmashing the Corporate

Many lived thereTheir deep roots grabbing territorySatiated and pleasuredDenying friendshipOf fire, wind and rain.

Why did he join the Corporate?Was loneliness too much to bear?Or does some secret pull bindMen, ocean and water To some dangerous chainsOne day?

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A man must be an axTo smash the CorporateOtherwise impossible –Saccharine domesticityGobbles freedom,Open fields, rush of wind

To depart one daySaying `Good Bye’Is mandatory

The one who breaks awayOne who can break awayIs a forceful crazyBound to his youth

Still – He left even without a good-bye

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Pain

If the poet is sad,Kolkata is pained too

Everyone opines Kolkata is cruelCunning, cheatHeartless, haggard old maidenSmashes babies on tar roads at timesThrows the poor down the drainCan Kolkata feel pain?

I know she feels painShe cries a lot,Inside.

Once you listen with careOn empty midnight streetsYour ear on the road

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You will hearSomeone's cryingBreathing painClouds roaringFrom the cave of her soul

Can one who cries every dayFeel pain?

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I May Go, But Why?

ThinkingIt's better to turn back.

So much dirt on my handsOver so many yearsNever thought of youAs You

Now, next to a ravine in the nightThe moon beckons: ``Come!''I stand on the Ganga’s bank, sleepyThe wooden pyre beckons: ``Come! Come!''

I may goAny way I wishBut, why?

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Will hold my childTo kiss her face

I will goBut, not now.

`ll take all of you with meWon't goAll of a sudden,Alone.

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Epitaph

The man passed awayAfter a comfortable life

He was a poetNeedy too

The publishers rejoicedHis demise

``Good riddance''They saidWill not disturb anymoreNo more turn up in the eveningAll dressed upTo demand cashOr else …

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No more threatsTo ransack the officeTo break the vaultTo set the house on fire

FinallyFire it isThat burned the man

He was a poetNeedy too.

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