Daily dawns another day;
I must up, to make my way.
Though I dress and drink and eat,
Move my fingers and my feet,
Learn a little, here and there,
Weep and laugh and sweat and swear,
Hear a song, or watch a stage,
Leave some words upon a page,
Claim a foe, or hail a friend –
Bed awaits me in the end.
Though I go in pride and strength,
I’ll come back to bed at length.
Though I walk in blinded woe,
Back to bed I’m bound to go.
High my heart, or bowed my head,
All my days lead but to bed.
Up, and out, and on; and then
Ever back to bed again,
Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall–
I’m a fool to rise at all!
Nocturne | Dorothy Parker
Always I knew it could not last
(Gathering clouds, and the snowflakes flying);
Now it is part of the golden past
(Darkening skies, and the night-wind sighing).
It is but cowardice to pretend.
Cover with ashes our love’s cold crater;
Always I knew that it had to end,
Sooner or later.
Always I knew it would come like this
(Pattering rain and the grasses springing);
Sweeter to you is a new love’s kiss
(Flickering sunshine, and the young birds singing).
Gone are the raptures that once we knew,
Now you are finding a new joy greater–
Well, I’ll be doing the same thing, too,
Sooner or later.
A Well Worn Story | Dorothy Parker
In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.
His eyes were hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.
Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town;
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.
In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.
Now what should I do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face,
And spoil a page with rhymes?
एक दिन भक से | Suddenly one day | Kedarnath Singh
एक दिन भक से
मूँगा मोती
हल्दी प्याज
कबीर निराला
स्वर्ग नरक
झीगुर कुहासा
सभी के
आशय स्पष्ट हो जाएँगे।
जैसे धूप खपरैलों पर
जाते-जाते
यकायक –
स्पष्ट हो जाती है
Suddenly one day
the meaning of
diamonds pearls
turmeric onions
Kabir Nirala
Heaven Hell
crickets mist
will become
clear
just as
sunlight
passing over
thatched roof
suddenly sparkles.
© Translation: 2002, Alok Bhalla
आना जब समय मिले | Come when you find the time | Kedarnath Singh
आना
जब समय मिले
जब समय न मिले
तब भी आना
आना
जैसे हाथों में
आता है जांगर
जैसे धमनियों में
आता है रक्त
जैसे चूल्हों में
धीरे-धीरे आती है आँच
आना
आना जैसे बारिश के बाद
बबूल में आ जाते हैं
नए-नए काँटे
दिनों को
चीरते-फाड़ते
और वादों की धज्जियाँ उड़ाते हुए
आना
आना जैसे मंगल के बाद
चला आता है बुध
आना
Come
when you find the time
come
even if you can’t find the time
come
like the strength
in hands
like blood
flowing through arteries
come
like the slow silent
flames
in stoves
come
come
like the fresh thorns
in babul trees
after the rains
shredding days
smashing promises
come
come
as Wednesday
arrives
after Tuesday.
Come.
व्यावहारिक लोग | Practical People | Raghuvir Sahay
व्यावहारिक लोग
एक दिन घर लौटा
हाथ में किताब थी
और फूलगोभी थी
वाह, कविता मिली
आजकल किताब फूलगोभी-सी नरम है
और फूलगोभी है आजकल की किताब-सी नीरस
तुरन्त एक सुन्दरी से कहा जा करके
देखिए अदलबदल लीजिए आप इन दोनों को
वह नहीं समझी
लोग बहुत व्यावहारिक हो गये हैं
कोई ऊलजलूल नही बोलते
एक मुनाफ़ाख़ोर सभ्यता में मज़ाक की जगह नहीं रह गयी
(मनोरंजन की है जो नफ़रत से पैदा हो)
कोई चीज़ अपनी जगह से मत सरकाओ
व्यापारी व्यवस्था को उसकी ज़रूरत है
फूलगोभी पढ़ने औ’ किताब खाने से लाभ क्या होगा?
Practical people
One day I returned home
In my hands a book
and a cauliflower
Wow! What a poem!
Nowadays books are as tender as cauliflower
and cauliflower as bland as books
Immediately I advised a beauty
“Look, you should swap the two over”
She didn’t get it
People have become very practical
They don’t speak rubbish
A profiteers’ society has no room for jokes
(only for entertainment, born of spite)
It’s important for the business order
to keep everything in its place
What would one gain reading cauliflower or eating books?
– from New Poetry in Hindi by Ludmila L. Rosenstein
जब वर्षा शुरु होती है | When It Starts Raining | Kedarnath Singh
जब वर्षा शुरु होती है
जब वर्षा शुरु होती है
कबूतर उड़ना बन्द कर देते हैं
गली कुछ दूर तक भागती हुई जाती है
और फिर लौट आती है
मवेशी भूल जाते हैं चरने की दिशा
और सिर्फ रक्षा करते हैं उस धीमी गुनगुनाहट की
जो पत्तियों से गिरती है
सिप् सिप् सिप् सिप्
जब वर्षा शुरु होती है
एक बहुत पुरानी सी खनिज गंध
सार्वजनिक भवनों से निकलती है
और सारे शहर में छा जाती है
जब वर्षा शुरु होती है
तब कहीं कुछ नहीं होता
सिवा वर्षा के
आदमी और पेड़
जहाँ पर खड़े थे वहीं खड़े रहते हैं
सिर्फ पृथ्वी घूम जाती है उस आशय की ओर
जिधर पानी के गिरने की क्रिया का रुख होता है।
When it starts raining
pigeons stop flying
the lane goes running out for a bit
and then returns
Cattle forget the way to pasture
and only guard the low humming
that falls from leaves
drip drop drip drop…
When it starts raining
a very oldish mineral scent
emanates from public places
and envelopes the entire city
When it starts raining
then there’s nothing anywhere
other than rain
people and trees
stand still where they stood
Only the Earth turns round
to come face to face
with the direction of falling water
This pathetic attempt at translation is a rough draft and needs drastic improvement.
On a Train | Wendy Cope
The book I’ve been reading
rests on my knee. You sleep.
It’s beautiful out there –
fields, little lakes and winter trees
in February sunlight,
every car park a shining mosaic.
Long, radiant minutes,
your hand in my hand,
still warm, still warm.
The More Loving One | W.H. Auden
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
Afternoons | Philip Larkin
Summer is fading:
The leaves fall in ones and twos
From trees bordering
The new recreation ground.
In the hollows of afternoons
Young mothers assemble
At swing and sandpit
Setting free their children.
Behind them, at intervals,
Stand husbands in skilled trades,
An estateful of washing,
And the albums, lettered
Our Wedding, lying
Near the television:
Before them, the wind
Is ruining their courting-places
That are still courting-places
(But the lovers are all in school),
And their children, so intent on
Finding more unripe acorns,
Expect to be taken home.
Their beauty has thickened.
Something is pushing them
To the side of their own lives.
Juvenilia 