july - dec 2013 contributors · contributors poetry and essays: thomas tranströmer seamus heaney...

Shabdaguchha

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ContributorsContributorsContributorsContributors

Poetry and Essays: Thomas Tranströmer Seamus Heaney Shaheed Quaderi Stanislao G. Pugliese Sambhu Rakshit Roni Adhikari

Robiul Manik Robidas Subash Rassel Ahmed Rahul Roychowdhury Rahman Henry Nino Provenzano Naznin Seamon Lidia Chiarelli

Krishnendu Kumar Das Jyotirmoy Datta Joan Digby Hassanal Abdullah Gaetano Cipolla Dhanonjoy Saha

Colin Dodds Bishnupada Ray Binoy Barmon B. Amore Animesh Chandan

Letters: Zakeria Sirazi

Stanley H. Barkan Belal Beg Shameem Chawdhury Sumit Ranjan Das Rudra Kinshuk Robiul Manik Preety Sengupta Mahbubul Alam Akhand Khan Hasnain Aaqib

Cover Art: Helen Bar-Lev

$6.00 Shabdaguchha Press ISSN 1531-2038

Shabdaguchha, 85-22 85th Street, Woodhaven, NY 11421, USA. Printed in the United States

Double Issue Vol. 16 No. 1/2 July - Dec 2013

Shabdaguchha

An International Bilingual An International Bilingual An International Bilingual An International Bilingual

Poetry JournalPoetry JournalPoetry JournalPoetry Journal

kã¸”Q KweZv cyi¯‹vi 2013 †c‡jb Kwe k¤¢y iw¶Z [page 53]

Editor: Hassanal Abdullah

Shabdaguchha, an International Poetry Journal in Bengali and English

Issue 61/62

July - Dec 2013 Vol. 16 No. 1/2

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w.shabdagu

chha.com

Thomas Tranströmer Seamus Heaney Shaheed Quaderi Jyotirmoy Datta Sambhu Rakshit Nino Provenzano

Joan Digby and many more . . .

Shabdaguchha

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Vol. 16 No. 1/2 July–Dec 2013 $6

Editor: Hassanal Abdullah Advisor: Jyotirmoy Datta Assistant Editor: Naznin Seamon Consulting Editor:

Leigh Harrison, Shameem Chawdhury Correspondents: AKM Mizanur Rahman (Bangladesh) Prabir Das (India) Nazrul Islam Naz (London) Special Correspondent: Romel Rahman (Dhaka) Publication Management in Dhaka: Shilpi Nag

Copyright © 2013 by Shabdaguchha Press All right Reserved

Shabdaguchha, a Bilingual (Bengali-English) Poetry Journal, Published by the editor, from Shabdaguchha Press. Subscription rate is $12 per year in the United States and $15 in other countries. To subscribe, please send check or money order in US Dollar payable to Shabdaguchha. All correspondence and subscriptions should be addressed to the editor: Shabdaguchha, 85-22 85th street, Woodhaven, NY 11421, USA. Phone: (718) 849 2617 E-mail: [email protected] [email protected] Web Site: http://www.shabdaguchha.com Shabdaguchha accepts submission throughout the whole year. Poetry, written in Bengali, English or translated from any language to these two languages, is always welcome. Book review and news on poets and poetry could also be sent. Each submission should accompany with a short bio of the author. E-mail submissions are more appreciated, but Bengali written in English alphabet is not acceptable.

Shabdaguchha Press Woodhaven, New York

ISSN 1531-2038 Cover Art: Helen Bar-Lev

Shabdaguchha, Issue 61/62

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Mahaprithivi Birinchiberia, Purba Sreekrishnapur,

Purba Midnapore 721635, W. B., INDIA

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Phone: (718) 658 6676

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Shabdaguchha

kã¸”Q my „k¨, mycvV¨, mym¤úvw`Z

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eB‡gjv 2014-G cÖKvwkZ n‡jv Kwe I weÁvbx abÄq mvnvÕi cÖ_g Kve¨MÖš’

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—abÄq mvnv Avcbvi KwcwU msMÖn Ki“b!

A bilingual collection of the

Selected Poems of Dr. Humayun Azad (1947-2004)

Trasalated by

Hassanal Abdullah Edited by

Stanley H. Barkan

Publisher: Bivas

To get your copy in the USA please e-mail:

[email protected]


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Editorial: Shabdaguchha celebrated its 15th anniversary with a 3-day International Poetry Festival, the news of which is published in this issue in Bengali. Poets from at least 12 different languages gathered in three different venues last summer to mark the milestone of the magazine. We are grateful to Poets House, the Queens Library, and Casa Barkan for hosting the events. It was quite a good experience for all of us. The moments of the events will be with us forever, and we hope to bring more events like this for our poets in future. Among the many achievements of the events, the joyful smile on Stanley H. Barkan’s face after receiving the Shabdaguchha Lifetime Achievement Award was remarkable. This year, Sambhu Rakshit, a poet from West Bengal, India, received the 7th biannual Shabdaguchha Poetry Award. Mr. Rakshit lives in a remote village, Brinchiberia, where he has been editing a poetry journal, Mahaprithivi (The Universe) for more than 42 years. His book, Lament for a Beloved Voice was published in 1973, two years after the liberation of Bangladesh. The tone and voice in his poetry depicting human existence within the galactic reality of the universe is unprecedented. Surprisingly, none of the so-called giant national literary institutes came forward to congratulate this extraordinary achievement of the poet. Shabdaguchha is thrilled to acknowledge him with long overdue honor and recognition. Poet Jyotormoy Datta, a well-known poet and essayist, translated two of Sambhu Rakshit’s poems for our readers which are published in this issue bilingually. As we are stepping into the 16th year of publication, we know that our responsibility to reach to the poets of the world is getting wide spread. And so to fulfill the demand, we presented Seamus Heaney and Thomas Tranströmer from English to Bengali translation, and Nino Provenzano from Sicilian to English, as well as many more poets in original Bengali and English for our readers.

Shabdaguchha

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Bilingual Poetry (Benali-English)

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Shabdaguchha

hvÎv ïi“ n‡jv GKwU bZzb cÖKvkbv ms¯’vi eB‡gjv 2014 Avgv‡`i cÖKvwkZ MÖš’: cÖeÜ

1. GKvËzinxb evsjv‡`k, †ejvj †eM KweZv

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†hvMv‡hvM: 0191-536-9334 GKwU K‡i eB wK‡b AvcwbI _vKzb Avgv‡`i mv‡_!

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†ivW-4, evmv-6, †m±i-7 DËiv XvKv

gy‡Vv‡dvb: 0171-504-0047 [email protected]

cvIqv hv‡”Q kã¸”Q DËiY I

ebcvsïj ÷‡j


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Sambhu Rakshit

LAMENT FOR A BELOVED VOICE-9

You brightly repeat yourself, I picture in my mind your lost home wrapped in your loneliness, your gift is a long ecstasy beyond the

senses I drink you, you rise in clouds of billowing dreams

verdant poet, herder of dwarfs in temple yards you are slumped at the altar like a drunk

sounds pulsate from stars being cooked in the interior of galaxies those universes that are mere condensates of imagination

and these hours frozen at noon all stillness at center and edges

deep and calm are your eyes with its layers and layers of memories a messenger from a river in Alaska

immemorial chamois poised forever on top of a rock you are safe as the woman next door, you are silent

an ampoule with cultures of viruses unidentified by toxicology a glacier poised above Asplay-Geiss

moon rising on the rim of planets welcoming to life you are radiation, you are support, you are friend and more,

you are . . .

Translated from the Bengali by Jyotirmoy Datta

Shabdaguchha

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wcÖq aŸwbi Rb¨ Kvbœv-10

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GB GK kã †_‡K †f‡m D‡V Ab¨ MÖn Zvivq emwZ ’vcb Ki‡e wK Zviv


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8. Hello Hassanal, We 'met' after many years. I think I had seen your wife then, but the son was not born. In the mean time, you have been working steadily in the creative field as it is clear from 'Shabdaguchha' and your poems in them. This is wonderful, and I congratulate you.

With Stanley you have met some other American poets also, and have expanded to include poets from other countries, as well as to take Bengali poetry to other magazines. You would not know, but let me tell you that in the mean time I also have been 'working'. I have 38 published books, and three more will come out by next year. I have won many Awards and Gold Medals for Best Writing also.

Yesterday's programme at Poets' House was very nice, if sparsely attended. Stanley had written to me that he will slip me in, and you took my name also. Thanks for giving me a few minutes to read my work.Hope to see you at other such events. With wishes Preety Sengupta, August 24, 2013 9. Dear Mr Hassanal Abdullah, No news from you for a long time. Felt a litle concerned about your safety in the wake of Storm Sandy. Hope everything is fine with you.

Is your quarterly [Shabdaguchha] coming out regularly? Are you coming next February?

Do keep in touch. Regards. Zakeria Shirazi, Dhaka, December 20, 2012 10. nvmvb evsjvq ïay KweZvB †j‡Lb bv, evsjv KweZvi Bs‡iwR cvVKI ˆZwi K‡i hv‡”Qb Zvui wØfvwlK KweZvcÎ kã¸‡”Qi gva¨‡g| evsjv KweZvi mxgvš— cÖmv‡i nvmv‡bi G wbiew”Qbœ cÖqvm cÖksmbxq| †ejvj †eM, wbDBqK©, 31 Rvbyqvwi, 2014

Some of these letters have been reprinted from Facebook

Shabdaguchha

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3. 16 †m‡Þ¤i, 2013 GeviKvi KweZv Drme GK bZyb gvÎv †c‡q‡Q| cÖev‡m ciev‡m evsjv KweZv Drme `xNw`b a‡i wbqwgZ fv‡e Pvwj‡q hvIqv Kg K_v bq| me‡P‡q eo K…wZZ¡ evsjv KweZv Drm‡e g~javivi Kwe I Ab¨vb¨ fvlvi Kwe‡ì m¤ú„³ Kiv, Avi †mUvB Kwe nvmvbAvj Avãyj−vni e‡ov mvdj¨| Gevi KweZv Drm‡ei †h msev` wewfbœ cÎcwÎKvq cojvg Zv‡Z evieviB g‡b n‡”Q Drm‡e †hvM w`‡Z †h cvijvg bv †mUv GKUv e‡ovB Avc‡mv‡mi welq n‡q iBj| Awfb›`b, KwVb GKwU Abyôvb myPvi“fv‡e m¤úbœ Kivi R‡b¨| 29 AvMó 2013 Awfb›`b! Kwe nvmvbAvj Avãyj−vi Ô¯Zš¿ m‡bUÕ mwZ¨Kvi A‡_©B evsjv mvwn‡Z¨ GKwU we‡kl ¯’vb AwaKvi K‡i wb‡”Q| †jL‡Ki c`PviYv mvwn‡Zï Ab¨vb¨ †¶‡Î we‡kl K‡i Dcb¨v‡mI †`L‡Z PvB| ggZv kvgxg †PŠayix, XvKv 4. gvbbxq m¤úv`K gnvkq, Avcbv‡ì cwÎKv/†jLv/eB †c‡j mg„× n‡e Avgv‡ì mvwnZ¨PP©v| cwÎKvi kªxe„w× Kvgbv Kwi| evsjv mvwn‡Zï Rq †nvK| fv‡jv _vKzb| abëv`| g‡bvR gvwR, Avmvb‡mvj, 27 RyjvB, 2013 5. Avcbvi KweZv wb‡q †jLvwU Kgwc−U K‡iwQ| †jLvwU Avcwb †`‡L‡Qb cÖexi `vm-Gi KvM‡R [AvR‡Ki KweZv, kvwš—wb‡KZb], IUv‡K e‡ov K‡i GKUv eB‡q ms‡qvRb K‡iwQ| eBUvi bvg, A¶i‡hvRbv| cÖKvkK, AwfRvb, eB‡gjv 2014, KjKvZv| i“`ª wKsïK, KjKvZv, 22 Rvbyqvwi, 2013 6. Avbw›`Z njvg Avcbvi BwZevPK gš—e¨ †`‡L, †¶cPywiqvm wbijm cÖ‡Póvq Avcbv‡K cv‡k †c‡j Lywk ne| Avm‡j evsjv‡`‡ki cÖ_g mvwii Kwe‡ì mv‡_ Avgvi Lye †ewk cwiwPwZ †bB, Rvwb bv Zvu‡ì Kv‡Q Avgv‡ì e−‡Mi Rb¨ wKfv‡e †Kv_vq †hvMv‡hvM Kie| LyeB fvj nZ Ges mv‡_ Avgv‡ì Kv‡Q AcÖZ¨vwkZ nZ hw` GB e¨vcviUv‡Z Avcwb GKUy AMÖYx f~wgKv wb‡Zb, †nvK bv Avi GKwU my›ì msL¨v, `yB evsjv wg‡k hvK mvwn‡Zï †mZyeÜ‡b, Avwg Avkv Kie Avcwb GKUy AMÖYx n‡q GKwU cy‡iv msL¨v evsjv‡`k cÖ_g mvwii Kwe‡ì †jLvq fwi‡q Zyjyb| cy‡Rvi wVK c‡ii msL¨vwU Avcwb hw` ivRx _v‡Kb Zvn‡j Kiv †h‡ZB cv‡i| Avkv Kwi wbivk ne bv| BwZnvm mv¶x _vK‡e GB e−MwUi Rb¨| mywgZ iÄb `vm, KjKvZv, 6 †m‡Þ¤i, 2013 7. Avm‡j AvR †h Avwg A¶ie„Ë Q‡›` PP©v K‡i hvw”Q Zv GB ¯Zš¿ m‡bU iPbv Ki‡Z wM‡q Avcbvi Kv‡QB †kLv Avi Avcbvi ''KweZvi Q›`'' eBUv c‡o I Av‡jvPbv wjL‡Z wM‡q †ek A‡bKUvB A¯úóZv `~i n‡q‡Q|

Avcbvi ¯Zš¿ m‡bU iPbvi cÖ‡qvRb GL‡bv dywi‡q hvqwb| Avcwb n‡”Qb G d‡g©i m„óv| mªóv, m„wó bv K‡i wK K‡i _vK‡e| iweDj gvwbK, XvKv, 22 Rvbyqvwi, 2014


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LAMENT FOR A BELOVED VOICE -10

hence, as I break free from the turbulence of your attraction field, a number of clownish geese take to their wings

in what is the mere memory of a sky gush out, O dumb ore, from the wombs of marbled earth

where man and nature have lain on top of each other, striated seams,

emerge in pulsating jets and glowing lava flows let lightning crack a black sky riding the back of glaciers

I hear the thunder of the feet of tall rain the long-distance runner

I, no, not just I, we all are delusional, sea-sick, the wind-sock being invisible

our eyes cannot make out either the wind's direction or its speed yet we plunge into oncoming mountainous waves

in ships, lumbering land castles, fortified to the top of its battlements

in preparation for an attack from the valley we follow a course charted by men with white hair

setting the white mist gunpowder aflame across seas where weeds smell of cloves

and jellyfish of cardamom seeking a land where even the grass is golden while you still sing to us of an ancestral home

can you turn us back from wandering across galaxies can you enchant us into staying close,

say, on a green moon attendant on a huge rusty planet

Translated from the Bengali by Jyotirmoy Datta

Shabdaguchha

8

Lidia Chiarelli

CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE (for Lawrence Ferlinghetti)

The strong and bright colors

of a mural catch me

into a spiral of lights while I walk down Kerouac Alley

on this hot July morning

A sign in the window: "Sit Down and Read"

invites to enter.

The old wooden floor creaks under my steps.

Between innumerable bookshelves

I can now breathe the words of freedom

that here—as always— take shape.

And you,

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, still hang around these books

going up and down these stairs bringing your message of solidarity and peace

to the oppressed of the earth

after all these years you still are

"The voice of those who have no voice the voice of the invisibles of the world…”


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Letters to the Editor: Letters to the Editor: Letters to the Editor: Letters to the Editor: That third, and final, Bengali event at Casa Barkan was a definite apotheosis, a gathering of so many poets representing a variety of cultures—Jewish, Sicilian, Turkish, Yiddish, Korean, Catalan, Coptic, Italian—all in tribute to Hassanal Abdullah's very worthy Shabdaguchha. Stanley H. Barkan, Marrick, NY, December 25, 2013 1. Dear Mr. Hassanal Abdullah,

I would, first of all, like to congratulate you for doing such a tremendous service to literature of various languages including Bengali and English. I have gone through your works and the reviews by Nicholas Burns, Stanley H. Barkan and others. Wow, what a creditable job you have been doing. I feel so offended to realize that though I have been writing for more than two decades, I was not aware of you and your work. Now that I have known you, you seem to be an epitome of commitment for literature.

I hope you would like to publish and translate my poems in Bengali if you please. Although it is completely optional on your part, I would like to request you to go through the collection of my poetry which is also available at various websites; and I will be sending the same to you for publishing it on your magazine.

I think nothing in this message will offend you as this is full of sincerity and belongingness for you. Thanks.

Awaiting your response. Khan Hasnain Aaqib, March 22, 2013 2. Hasanal Bhai, It's quite a long time that there's no communication with you: however, the entire fault belongs to me, no doubt. My name is Mahbubul Alam Akhand, a poor tranlator, I was once fortunate to meet you a few years ago, probably during the period of writing and publishing Nakshatra O Manusher Prochhad[an epic].

Anyway, the reason I dared to disturb you is: there was a poem of a Palestinian poet I translated for Shabdaguchha. If you can remember it now, probably it was in an issue in 2008. If it is possible, I earnestly request you to send the poem in both version by mail. Thanks and regards, Mahbubul Alam Akhand , Dhaka , June 14, 2013

Shabdaguchha

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f~uBqv Avnmvb nvexe


9

TIMES SQUARE

Switch on switch on once more

lights at Times Square.

Sw itch on for m e in m y last n ight in N ew Y ork.

The hot air in the streets is a gentle cloak

that wraps me up.

Like windmills moving and moving don’t stop your dance.

Let my eyes get lost

again into your

whirl so sweet

so intoxicating.

Italy

Shabdaguchha

10

Nino Provenzano BEAUTIES NOT YET SEEN A flower of a beauty not yet seen can blossom often when you least expect it, facing the sea on sharp and rocky shores or on the slopes through brambles and thorn bushes. It even blossoms where there is no rain, or in a sunless valley full of mud, out if its beauty touches me inside, I do not ask myself its pedigree. This is true also when I read a poem, or listen to a song, or see a painting, study a sculpture, or a photograph. If there is beauty there, my soul will know. Beauty is truth that travels by itself, it crosses human limits and shows up before the eyes of those possessing it and those who search for it, with sighs and longing. Of this truth and this art I live the sweet and concentrated honeyed essence, and through its insubstantial drive I reach a world containing beauties not yet seen. THE RETURN Just like the bird that goes back to its nest, I to the nest I honor so return, and even if my breathing is belabored, when I set foot there I feel quite secure.


55

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Shabdaguchha

54

wQ‡jv cy‡iv w`b| kã¸”QÕi bvbv w`K Zy‡j a‡i e³e¨ iv‡Lb cÖexY mvsevw`K ˆmq` gynv¤§`Dj−vn, kã¸”Q KweZv cwÎKvi m¤úv`K Kwe nvmvbAvj Avãyj−vn Ges Kwe I cÖKvkK ÷¨vbwj GBP eviKvb| KyBÝ jvB‡eªixi c‡¶ ¯vMZ e³e¨ iv‡Lb wg‡mm Wwim †Rvbm I wgm †mwjbv kviwgb| D‡Øvabx m½x‡Zi ciciB g~j g‡Â Dcw ’Z Kwe mvwnwZ¨K mvsevw`K wkíx‡ì GK m‡½ †gvgevwZ cÖ¾¡j‡bi †fZi w`‡q ïi“ nq G w`‡bi Abyôvbgvjv|

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11

The sea, the mountains, and all I admire embrace me with their long and open arms and like a prodigal son who’s come back, I too return, if only for a few days. But why return if then I must depart since my departure causes suffering? Perhaps it would be better not to come. I’d spare my heart such a distressing time. I come because my heart is still convinced that here it left behind some things of value. I come because this ancient tongue of mine will die in exile if I don’t come back. I long to feel the warmth of this my sun. I yearn to see this sky and this blue sea. I taste the flavor of each fruit I see, and in their sweetness I take pride and joy. I smell the fragrance of each blossoming flower that makes in turn my heart and soul rejoice. That is why I come back. It makes me proud to have been born in my Casteddammari. Translated from the Sicilian by Gaetano Cipolla

Shabdaguchha

12

B. Amore REVELATIONS (for Katriina and Silver) Tall, blond, slim, poet and music-maker each a master of their craft joined in love and art She, a weaver of magical words drawing fantastical images in the space before our eyes He, calling forth hidden sounds from wood and steel, Dancing with bow and drumsticks to the tune of his interior voice A marriage of spirits sharing with us the purity of their harmonious dreams A rare glimpse into an inner world that holds the outer in a full embrace


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knx` Kvìx ¯Zš¿ m‡bU beŸB `k‡Ki cÖavb KÉ¯i nvmvbAvj Avãyj−vn| Zvui m‡bU mg~‡n welq êwPÎ¨ †Zv Av‡QB, Dciš‘ m‡bU iPbvi wPivPwiZ ixwZ eR©b KÕ‡i K_¨ Q‡›ì g‡a¨ AvKvw•¶Z `vX ©Zvi mÜvb K‡i‡Qb| Zvui cÖwZfvi, Avgvi g‡Z, GKwU Zvrch©c~Y© êwkó¨ n‡”Q, e`vb¨Zv| †cÖ‡gi KweZvi cvkvcvwk Avš—R©vwZK ivRbxwZi i“waiv³ i“`ª iƒc‡K cÖZ¨¶ Kwi| Avevi †Kv‡bv †Kv‡bv iPbvq cjvZK gyn~‡Z©i Av‡jv-Qvqv‡KI wZwb †MÖßvi K‡i‡Qb wbcyY kãwkKvixi g‡Zv| G-K_v ¯xKvi Ki‡ZB nq †h mv¤cÖwZK Kv‡j evsjv KweZv‡K hvuiv Hk¦h©evb K‡i Zy‡j‡Qb, nvmvbAvj Zvu‡ì Ab¨Zg|


13

Both lovers, like Rumi, of the divine in all things Blessing us with their visions transmuted into magical art Vermont

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Bishnupada Ray QUE SERA SERA whatever will be, will be but I am terrified like a little mouse hoping against hope that a trapdoor may open so that I may escape to a heaven or to a hell but there is only suffocation as transparency is lost even in the most intimate of human act and relationship a terrified little boy stands shaking by the roadside a speeding vehicle has just missed hitting him a torn shoe and a used old broom hang on a bamboo pole. JOURNEY TO ITHACA there is no time for the depth so we float on the surface for ten years before we can steer ourselves home with hope our only homing device as we set sail on the ocean of pain


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Then: what appears at first to be an abrupt break or switch in register to Sicily. But in re-reading these poems together, the reader will notice a common genetic code or heritage. The light, the cadences of language and history, the sacredness of the stranger and guest: Barkan ties Israel and Sicily together not by geographic proximity but by a shared cultural outlook. Wracked by sacred and secular history, by Eros and Thanatos, by Old Testament severity and Greek mythology, Israel and Sicily are palimpsests upon which the history of humanity is writ large and small. “Nèspuli” are “wetting my open / fingers / tangled with / garlands / of leaves and flowers”; “Babbaluci” are from a time “when a simple people / climbed out of the valleys / to find the wind / to touch the source.” “Lemons” are “so numerous they fall unpicked / upon the mythic earth.” In “Antimanifesto” the poet “descended down the trail / through vineyards where shepherds / in secret groves listened to tales / of Trinacrian messengers from the new world.” Some poems are a melancholy reflection on the ruins left by the 1968 earthquake that ravaged Gibellina and parts of Sicily. As ever, Sicily invites meditation and contemplation: “Tranquilità” fosters a sense that “I am in between / in the center of my being. / The present is present, / the past does not intrude. / Mind & body are one. / No more where I am, I am not.” With the English originals on the verso pages, Scalabrino’s Sicilian renderings on the recto pages and photos by Giuseppe Mineo of Barkan in Sicily, Raisins with Almonds is a charming, melodic and musical tribute to two extraordinary cultures.

—Stanislao G. Pugliese Queensboro Unico Distinguished Professor of Italian and Italian

American Studies Hofstra University

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Book Review Stanley H. Barkan, RAISINS WITH ALMONDS/PÀSSULI CU MÈNNULI, translated into Sicilian by Marco Scalabrino. Mineola, NY: Legas Publishing, 2013. For four decades, Stanley Barkan has been writing poetry and publishing that of others from around the world in his Cross-Cultural Communications publishing house, run, literally, from his house on Long Island. Almost single-handedly, but with the assistance of his talented artist wife Bebe Barkan, CCC has published in more than 50 different linguistic, ethnic, and cultural idioms. For this herculean cultural production, Barkan has been granted numerous awards and honors, with CCC being recognized with the Poor Richard’s Award (in honor of Benjamin Franklin), for a quarter century of high quality publishing. Stanley Barkan’s unceasing championing of foreign writers has meant that his own work has sometimes had to be put on the back burner, so to speak. But now, after thirteen years in the making, readers have the opportunity to read a remarkable collection of poetry that embraces Barkan’s two great loves: Jewish culture and Sicily. Raisins with Almonds has a dual character both in content and form. It is divided into two parts: Under the Apple Tree (Sutta l’aruvulu di pumu) and Sicilian Light (Luci di Sicilia). Under the Apple Tree begins with an imaginative re-thinking of the original Hebrew creation stories, from the Creation of Adam and Eve (“it was man / who wrote the myth”) to the naming of animals (“It took a woman / to properly name / the birds of Paradise”), to the rays of light (rather than horns), that appeared on the head of Moses (Michelangelo and his Mosè in San Pietro in Vincoli were victims of a bad translation). There is a moving poem “Father and Son” that shifts across emotions and generations with grace; “Immortality,” a sardonic short piece; and “The Cats and Dogs of Tel Aviv” who come to a mutually understood form of tolerance; a lesson to Jews and Muslims in the Middle East. There is the heartache of a child lost to war (“Still Waiting for the Phone to Ring”) and the curse of muteness (the worst for a poet) for “Forgetting Jerusalem.”


15

but this deceptive surface is as bewildering as the mysterious depth we have seen the burning city we have seen womanly lust treachery and utter disregard for values we have seen tyrannical systems and stop-gap measures things that turn a decent man into a sadist or a savage we have seen sensuous forests with luscious red flowers and virile phallic shoots our qualities are put to work and all our elements to furrow into the watery mass for a pathway to salvation our probity our holiness hang by a thread as we plunge into a sea of temptations so we tighten our chastity belt and weave our dreams to the loom after Ithaca, where? I wish to have a guileless sleep ah love, let us be true this miracle – this true love is what I missed. India

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Colin Dodds

WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD, SPILL-O That guilt formless and fathomless chased Spill-O to a small room in a desolate part of time and town so he could breathe the air he’d always prayed was there. SPILL-O’S CAREFUL DAYS One day, the horrors Spill-O had seen or imagined, were mercifully dimmed to his eyes. “Not that thought, not that one either.” These are his careful days, when to act is to awaken every insult that came before. Grace omits emotion, while old voices murmur murder on the periphery. Spill-O became a new man. He took that new man for a walk through friends and flies, around streetcorners where the traditional confusions reign. He boycotted the telephone and the park. It felt like his last days on earth,


49

gwnlvmyi gi‡jv AcNv‡Z Gevi e‡jv †Kvb gy‡L wK ewj mZ¨-wg_¨vi Rb¥ BwZnvm! Kvi ev Kvu‡a ivL‡e wÎc` †`vl eY©‡Pviv! bv cvjv‡bvi Ki‡e Avd‡mvm&! †m Kvi‡Y AvwgI gvZvj nvIqv Abyf‡ei Kov †b‡o ej‡Z Gjvg Rvbvb w`‡Z B‡”Q K‡i e‡ov †Zvgvi Avgvi gy‡L gy‡L ¸nvevmx AÁ `v`vi AwZe Avk¦v‡m GLb Zywg †fK, fÊ Qv‡ov Avgvi Kv‡Q Zywg Novi Rj cvÎ ey‡S iO Pwo‡q AvR‡K gnvKvj ZvB‡Zv Avwg gvZvj nvIqv Dwo‡q †`‡ev meB; ev®ú K‡i ay‡q †`‡ev nvRvi jxjvi †L`! XvKv

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Awb‡gl P›`b wewcZvi mv¶vZKvi AvR‡K Avwg gvZvj nvIqvi g‡Zv fvwm‡q †`‡ev me Rb¥vewa Rb¥ Awfkvc wf‡¶ K‡i wdi‡e †h hvi g‡Zv Zey Avgvi cv‡e bv Avk¦vm w`we¨ w`‡q ejwQ †kv‡bv †di ivZyjPiY; †m Kvi AwaKvi ivavi ey‡K, †`‡n ¶yavi fvi mvg‡b †c‡j wb‡Zv Avgvq †W‡K †m Kvi‡Y gvZvj nvIqv Avwg mwZ¨ K‡i ewj, †`vl wb‡qv bv Zv‡Z eqm wKš‘ eqmx ¯v` Pvq bex Zywg †div‡e Avgvq? mgq w`‡q eqm gv‡cv Zywg †f‡e Avgvi GKyj-IKyj hvq Zywg †kLvI cvc-c~‡Y©i `vq ¶yavi wnmve gv‡cv Abycv‡Z! Dcmx gb w`jvg †Zvgvi nv‡Z Gevi Zywg hv †`‡e ZvB `vI ¯M©, †e‡n ’ n~i-†M‡jgvb Aáix‡`i †gvn KvgvZy‡ii c_ nvuUvevi dvu Avgvi †ejvq wØPvixwbi w`‡j Acev` †`ªŠc`x‡K †fv‡Mi BwZnvm ZLb †Zvgvi †e-wn‡mwe jxjv KY©‡KI Rb¥ w`‡j Zywg Bmy¨ Qvov Rb¥wb‡jv hxï Gme †h‡bv M`¨-c`¨ †Ljv, Ksm, iveY aŸsm n‡jv K…ò, iv‡gi nv‡Z Agi eiI †Zvgvi wb‡Ri †`Iqv


17

between the collapse of his resistance and the collapse of the rest. He swayed mutely down the street. He puts himself to bed, carries the bag, helloes the good morning. These acts can be made new only carefully. The obvious man still longs to lurch at the lurching carrot. A doorman wearing a hat and a medal shouts “When will you see you’re not welcome?” at him. What sort of conclusions can the obvious man draw from that? But above the obvious man, in the high weightlessness, Spill-O can see clear to Coney Island’s parachute drop and he can see there are no parachutes left. The obvious man indulges his character, says “Why not?” and eats himself alive down the street. Like he’s got forever to act out his uncondemnable offenses. The obvious man thinks it’s a blink, but a whole year’s gone blind. Careful. Spill-O relies on subtle reins and careful days. He stops the crying engines. He stops everything except a kind of quiet. He pens apologies to the women he has wronged

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with his temper and his tantrums. It hurts, but the pain feels like a promising experiment. Grace is the continuity of a squint now. It’s the Subtle Spill-O’s chance, if he does have one. SPILL-O AT THE CLOSE OF THE PISCEAN AGE He will have fish on his breath if the angel comes to collect him. And it may. Spill-O has left little room for anything else to happen.

SPILL-O AND THE WHITE COCKROACH A night of television eventually boils down to two or three pornographic hieroglyphs and Spill-O becomes what the cockroaches see him as. A friend stops by to tell him about a man who got lost in the forest of numbers between 2 and 3 and had to be tossed in a bin. Even Napoleon had years like this, with no good anecdotes. Walking through the town at night, the sky is pointed right at Spill-O’s head. But it isn’t loaded anymore. A fugitive from childhood, he travels the crooked horizons.


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myfvl iwe`vm eY© weev` mg — eY© †Pbv, mg — kã Rvbv bZzb wKQz †bB, †mB „k¨cU weKU PvIwb wecwËm~PK fve wewbgq; A Av B Avgvi †KD bv, K L M GivI bq fyjµ‡g wj‡L †d‡jwQ K_v, eY© weev` A_P wQ‡jv wPiKvj KÕwU gvÎ ¯ieY© msL¨vwaK¨ e¨vÄbeY©‡K Pwi‡q hv‡”Q Av‡Rv †eu‡P _vK †Zvgvi Ans bxiv _vK bxivi g‡Zv GKv fy‡ji gvïj w`‡Z n‡e hLb Awfgv‡b gv_v gywo‡q †be K_viv †ewi‡q co‡jv c‡_ K_viv ej‡jv A‡bK wKQz K_v‡ì dzj`vwbwU Kvu‡Pi K_viv nvu‡U DPz wbPz, K_v‡ì A‡bK iKg fvi K_v‡ì welYœ ¯fve K_v‡K w`jvg AvR‡K QzwU K_v †nvK `vi“Y we”QzwU Zey me K_vi †kl GB †h K Gi mv‡_ A Gi Lye fve †Pv‡Li Av‡o Kv‡jv †Mvjvc †dv‡U| gywk©`vev`

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†Kv‡bv ¶wZ †bB Avgv‡K gvbyl e‡j Aw¯Kvi Ki‡Z cv‡iv

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19

The moon spies him on the bridge, says he won’t escape. But Spill-O saw a sign, one new thing—a white cockroach— run its jagged course across the floor. SPILL-O IN THE PALACE OF ETERNITY The current beginning, is an early scene, a curtained hour in the American Motel Experience. Knowing his own holy volatility, Spill-O deliberately left the night table out of his designs. His scouts scouted, his engineers surveyed. The motel was the actual and ideal body for his American Soul. A pyramid of two institutional mattresses rose to harmonize a sky of rough stucco. Spill-O fell through the days like a bead of water through a series of fists, broke through the thin crust of ghosts and ascended to skies of ever more venal angels. The call finally came from the front desk. They told Spill-O just one word and it lasted forever. Massachusetts

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Joan Digby

BUBBLE Inside the tennis bubble there is no blinding sun or gusting wind those summer scapegoats for the double fault that happens anyway. In the white cocoon the game establishes a winter rhythm to the sound of droning heaters that circulate stale air salted with the acrid smell of sweat. Outside the winter rain chills to sleet and the high-pitched hollow patter on the taut shell plays counterpoint against the slow percussive beat of a long rally. On the hour courts change players silently like workers changing shifts without ever knowing the next team


45

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iwb AwaKvix ivwÎi Kv‡Q †Lvjv wPwV ivwÎ, Abš—‡K Qyu‡q hvI nvZ a‡iv ¯úk© K‡iv Aeqe| Avlv‡p e„wó‡Z mœvb K‡iv, Avev‡iv Amy ’ nI... Aiw¶Z AÜKv‡i †fRv c_ a‡i nuv‡Uv Mfxi ggZv wb‡q cÖYwZ RvbvI cÖK…wZ‡K, ˆPZb¨ mËvq wd‡i cvK †Zvgvi AvKv•¶v| †cÖ‡g Z_v Zxeª we‡l Zzwg bxj nI... Rvwb, Zzwg n‡Z cv‡iv bxjvf wbwLj bxjKÉ, Avwg ZLb euvPvi ¯cœ †`wL µgk, cÖMvp| †Pv‡Li Pzjv‡Z K‡ZvKvj cywo‡qwQ Kve¨ivZ, Zey †k‡l Ab~w`Z nqwb cÖfvZ| mf¨Zvi ARš—vq cv_‡i cv_i N‡l m~‡h©i wVKvbv AuvwK, GKwU †fv‡ii Rb¨ Ges ivwÎi `‡ivRvq Kov bvwo| bvixi bvg b`x GB c_ wg‡k hvq b`x Rj A‰_ mgyÏyi m~h©v‡jv‡K Rj —¤¢ †hb GK cvnvo cÖvPxi| cÖ‡kœi kvmb fv‡O AZtci Qy‡U P‡j fq Zey f‡q eyK Kuv‡c †Kb †hb gv‡b bv kvmb| me wKQy g‡b nq c‡o Av‡Q AÁvZ Avov‡j A‡Pbv evZvm †Quvq muvB muvB kix‡ii fuvR... gvqvex †Pv‡Li R‡j Rb¥ †bq AcjK b`x RjKó Rj‡g‡q Avnv‡i bvixi bvg b`x| XvKv


21

that replaces them. Cold simulation of summer games— winter tennis casts no shadows on the gray surface overhung by floodlight. BIRTHDAY VISIT Last night my mother took a holiday from death and met me in a diner in my dream. We sat up high on counter stools, watching the chef as he deftly butterflied filets sliced from a perfect leg of lamb. The meat was pink, soft, flowing with aromatic juice. “Would you like that,” I asked as he prepared a plate with firm new potatoes and spinach hinting of thyme. “I don’t eat food anymore,” she said without envy or longing—“but I still like to watch.” WOMAN’S WORK I don’t iron and I don’t do windows, though once in the greatest while, usually on the eve of an epic journey, I get the urge to try my hand at such archaic chores. By the time I’m finished windows are visibly streaked

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and garments flattened to a cuneiform of creases. I feel good about my handiwork despite these minor imperfections. After all, dishevelment is expected in the clothing of a traveler; and besides, I’m already thinking of my homecoming in late summer, when streaks of garden light that shame my art imitating nature will be streaming through the windows that are clean enough for me. New York


43

iv‡mj Avn‡g`

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Avgvi †mŠ›`h ©‡eva wd‡K n‡q Av‡m Rxev‡k¥i AÜKv‡i kvjMv‡Q KwPcvZv Avmvi Av‡MB P‡j †M‡Q mvuIZvj igYxiv BZ —Zt c‡o Av‡Q cvwLi cvjK, Mjvgvsm Avwg e‡m _vwK KweZvi KvQvKvwQ wUjvi Icvi †_‡K hw` WvK Av‡m msnZ Drm‡ei cvnvo Uc‡K g„Zz I cvwj‡q hv‡e XvKv


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Krishnendu Kumar Das DESTITUTION Night is over, the world will move now, another long day, don’t know I’ll spend how. A dull morning wake up, raising my worry heads finding old brick as my pillow, road as last night’s bed. Repeating the same old song, throughout the time, you may have a limit, but the whole world is mine. You may be a tycoon, a cruel game maker I am the victim of yours; I am a roadside beggar. Flower bunches, cake & parties, all those you can see my whole world is dark, life is not happy with me. Put on the AC, on a long drive, you gotta have fun I’ve all the time, for a long walk, always under the sun, Don’t know my destiny; don’t know where I’ve been I’m there like an old leaf, stumbling in the wind. A temple down the road, all sits there to pray, your wish will come true one day, my wish is still gray. Listen to me crying oh God! Let me live one more day each day will pass away, I’ve nothing more to say, Coming to this world, when able to see the light, it was a born in sin, each day is a tough fight. Helper helps the needy, they got shelter and shed, oh! I am deprived there, nobody counts my head. Don’t think I’ll die one day, no, not, never always living in hell , I’m a common beggar. SPIRIT Tough fight is over, damaging my leg. all arms are opened, eight wars at a stretch. I’ve crossed the limit; I’ve never stopped, jumping with my full force, the last canal was blocked.

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saving my master, putting on the back; full of shells and bullets, with the sky so black. Running between others, the enemy all round trying to hit me out, the war front was not bound. Winning all the battle, winning with my pace I will never loose, I will never give space. Blood is flowing now, with severe pain still lot more to come, & lot more to gain. Leading from the front, covering my side keeping up the spirit, the next sun will be bright. My spirit is my passion, I’m a loaded gun I’m a wounded battle horse, the horse of a long run. Denver, Colorado


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AÜKvi gv‡Vi Icv‡i †cÖZ-wckv‡Pi msnZ Avb‡›` my ~iZg Drme cvi n‡q †M‡j Pvi †`qvje¨vcx wbR¯ Av‡jvi ù~i‡Y Avgvi †jŠwKK evwo mycyix Mv‡Qi Abvkªqx cÖwZev‡` ¯úw›`Z D‡Vvb evB‡i Syg‡KvjZv †`v‡j evwo wd‡i `‡ivRv †Lvjvi Av‡M gy‡Q †dwj c‡_i we¯§q `yÕcv‡ki evuke‡b cÙcyKy‡i h‡ZvB e„wó †nvK GK †gvgevwZ †_‡K Av‡iK †gvgevwZi wkLv R¡‡j I‡V wech© — cÖYZ yÕ‡PvL †R‡bwQj mg — †Mva~wj‡ejv e‡bi †fZi kvš— b`x dz‡ji AvOyj wN‡i iv‡L cÖù~wUZ †`n ¯úwa©Z kc‡_ eKz‡ji g„ yM‡Ü ùywiZ Abb¨ GK RivRwUj wiismv AvR Avwg mvivivZ †Zvgvi †Pv‡Li w`‡K ZvwK‡q _vK‡ev 4. em‡š—i weï× wbq‡g hw` Mvu v dz‡U _v‡K Z‡e †K‡bv Avgvi m¤úbœ evMv‡bi gvjZx jZvi Qvqv Avw`Mš— †Mvjv‡ci Qwe †Pv‡Li mvg‡b †_‡K m‡i hvq evMv‡b †divi w`b †kl n‡q †M‡Q K‡e G‡Zv ¯úó g‡b c‡o Kiex, gwj−Kvdyj †Mvei wbKv‡bv D‡Vv‡bi WvwjgMv‡Q †NvwlZ `xwß wRnŸvi RoZv wb‡q mvivw`b †Zvgv‡K †W‡KwQ GKw`b AZ…ß †cÖwgK cÖwZmvg¨Zvi emš— cÖn‡i AvKv‡k Av‡jvi †iLv †Ku‡c wM‡qwQj A¯úó welv‡` kãnxb we‡ùvi‡Y wØZxq wbg©vY †kl n‡j †h mg — wkíx †gN Ges AvKv‡ki Qwe Gu‡KwQj Zv‡`i m¤ú‡K© Avwg fvwe: wbgMœ fv‡jvevmvq Zviv Qyu‡qwQj D¾¡j †iv‡`i w`b mnRvZ †g‡Ni dvUj †e‡q †b‡g Avmv we‡K‡ji Av‡jv

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iweDj gvwbK w`bhvcb ivwÎi gkvj R¡‡j DV‡j Avgiv G‡K A‡bï kixi nvZovB eviv›`vi cÖmbœ U‡ei dzj¸‡jv Avgv‡ì Rv‡b AvgiY Aš—tmvi Aw¯—Z¡ †PZbv jyß—M~p AvksKvq †R‡b wbB hviv mgy‡ ªi ey‡K †bŠKv fvwm‡qwQj; evZvm †f‡O †f‡O Zviv K‡ZvUv mdj Adzivb Aby‡cÖiYvi m~h© Zywg †R‡b bvI: Avgv‡ì cÖvZ¨wnK w`bhvc‡bi M−vwb †bB, kZ Acgv‡bI Avgiv w ’i; mgy ª †R‡b‡Q Avgv‡ì jeYRj kixi m~h©v‡ —i w`‡K wgjb msiv‡M AkÖ“Z Mv‡bi †P‡q AZjvš— †XD‡qi myi e‡ov †ekx †jvfbxq †PZbvD™¢yZ, AÜ Kwe GB K_v †g‡b wbwnZ †ev‡ai gaïv‡Z P‡j †M‡Q †cÖwgKv‡K †d‡j, Pywcmv‡i c−vweZ m½xZ Avgv‡ì wkivq wkivq i‡³i AwgZ,—R¡‡j I‡V ¯vZx Zviv, mßwl©gÊj AvKv‡ki †Kvbw`‡K †`‡L bvI Avgiv Gevi †bŠKv fvmve w`M‡š— 2. †RvQbvi ¯Ztù~Z© Ae‡iv‡a Zviv‡ì wecwYweZvb AvR eÜ wQj †P' LwPZ †MwÄ K¨v‡c mvZ Fwli Ajm w`bhvc‡bi M−vwb— †KD eva mv‡a wb; wbR©b mvÜ¨ Awfmv‡i m¤£g nviv‡bv Avwèvmx igYx‡K al©Y Ges k−xjZvnvwbi AvcvZ cv_©K¨ eywS‡q ejwQ‡jb ¯§vU© GK †g‡q mvsevw`K K¬vš— kn‡ii MwjNyuwR, nvuUyRj, Kv`v cvi n‡q Avwg Rvwb †Kvbc‡_ †M‡j ZvovZvwo †div n‡e `ª“Z LyP‡iv cqmv ¸‡b †`‡L wbB ev`yo‡Svjv ev‡mi mvwi mvwi Pjš— wgwQj 3. G‡KKwU k‡ãi AvNv‡Z bvwi‡Kj evMv‡bi wbR©bZv †f‡O PyuB‡q PyuB‡q c‡o Avwg wbgMœ Lv‡ji Rj †_‡K D‡V Avwm


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†Uvgvm UªvÝ‡Uªvgvi Abyev`: nvmvbAvj Avãyj−vn GKwU g„Zy i ci

GK`v GK SvuKywb‡Z a~g‡KZyUv Kvuc‡Z Kvuc‡Z wcQb †_‡K †d‡j †M‡jb †jR| Avgiv †Mjvg g‡a¨ Xy‡K| wUwfi iwOb Qwe¸‡jv Avm‡jv †Kgb Svcmv n‡q| VvÊv kx‡Zi aviv †V‡j em‡jv ZLb †eRvq †n‡m †Uwj‡dv‡bi Zv‡i|

B”Qv n‡j ZeyI †KD Bw¯‹ †Ljvq kx‡Zi †iv‡` hvw”Q‡jv †ek, eb ev`v‡oi †fZi w`‡q, nq‡Zv S‡i c‡owQ‡jv `yÕPviLvbv cvZv| mv¶x Zviv nq‡Zv wQ‡jv AZxZ †Kv‡bv †Uwj‡dv‡bi LvZvi|

ü`wc‡Êi `vcv`vwc GL‡bv ZvB wK gaygq wKš‘ Zey Qvqv¸‡jv kixi †_‡K A‡bK †ekx ev —eZvq †Niv| mvgyivB‡qi kixi †_‡K Zv‡K †gvov †jvnvi †ewo — W«vMb Kv‡jv A ¿cvwZ— †hgb A‡bK `vgx|

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†fv‡ii cvwLiv Siv dy‡ji civ‡M MvwoUv m¤ú~Y© †X‡K †M‡Q Avwg KvQvKvwQ wM‡q Ii Nyg fvwO‡q †èvi Av‡qvRb Kwi| nvRv‡iv cvwLi ewa©Z KvKjx ïb‡Z ïb‡Z mvbM−vm cwi| †U«b †÷k‡bi Kv‡Q GKwU †jvK msev`cÎ †K‡b— A`~‡i `vuov‡bv gvjevnx UªvK Rs c‡o hvi kix‡ii cy‡ivUvB jvj n‡q †M‡Q; †iv‡` †NvZ †NvZ Ki‡Z _v‡K| †Kv_vI †KvbI k~b¨Zvi †jkgvÎ †bB| em‡š—i GB DòZvi Ab¨wc‡V kx‡Zi eviv›`v— †KD GKRb †mLv‡b wecbœ nš— š— n‡q Qy‡U Av‡m GUv Rvbv‡Z †h Zviv Acev` w`‡q Zv‡K PvcKv‡Z PvcKv‡Z cwiPvj‡Ki Kv‡Q wb‡q hv‡e| ¯§„wZ‡mŠ‡ai wcQb w`‡q „k¨c‡U GKwU mv`vKv‡jv g¨vMcvB G‡m c‡o, Avnv, cvwL! Ges GKwU Kv‡jv cvwL AvovAvwo Ggb wbfi©Zvq cvLv †g‡j fv‡m h‡Zv¶Y bv „k¨c‡Ui mewKQy KvVKqjvi wkíK‡g© iƒc †bq, Zv‡i †g‡j †`qv mv`v PvìwU Qvov: †h‡bv c¨v‡jmwU«bv K¨qvi| †Kv_vI †KvbI k~b¨Zvi †jkgvÎ †bB|


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Akvš— DRv‡b AveviI cvwo †`‡e nZvkvi †b‡q MwjZ kixi Akixix Ny‡i †eov‡e wbKv‡bv D‡Vv‡b `xN©k¦v‡mi Mfxi K¤ú‡b cÖKw¤úZ K‡i PZyc©vk, w`b I ivwÎ Avgv‡ì mÜ¨vi a~‡ci mv‡_ wg‡jwg‡k GKvKvi n‡e Sjmv‡bv Pvgovi MÜ, eY©nxb Rj n‡q DV‡e jvjvf, cwiav‡bi my „k¨ my‡Zvi ey‡bvb †_‡K nq‡Zv ev †ewi‡q Avm‡e fvOv Pywoi †QvÆ GKLÊ KvuP eyK c‡K‡Ui Mfx‡i nq‡Zv jywK‡q _vK‡e †kl AvZ© wPrKvi kv‡U©i †evZvg wQu‡o Avm‡ZB cv‡i †ewi‡q Avkvi †`vjvPj A_ev evuKv‡bv †Vvu‡Ui we`ª“c I myZxeª N„Yv b~cyi Rov‡bv cv m‡Rv‡i wbqZ bvo‡e mvgªvRëv‡ì Mwe©Z ìRv fMœ —~c †_‡K UmU‡m `y‡Uv †PvL wP‡b †b‡e me Ges wb_i nevi Av‡MB mk‡ã Qyu‡o †`‡e GK `jv _y_y...

cÖZ¨qx AvL¨vb aviv‡jv `vu‡Zi mvwi, j¤v b‡Li welv³ AvuPo wKQyB GLb ARvbv bq Avi; KywUj Pvnbx wbf©yj †bqv hvq wP‡b― wbqwZi ewj‡iLv ¯úóZi n‡j ey‡S wb‡Z †ìx nqbv mgvwß KLb! welYœ mg‡q GKvKx NyNyi K_vB g‡b c‡o Ny‡i wd‡i, mwn‡mi †P‡q †Xi †Rv‡i †Qvuov A`„k¨ Pvey‡K ¶Z-we¶Z n‡jI †K‡bv †h‡bv gy‡LvkB me‡PÕ cÖ‡qvRbxq n‡q I‡V Av‡e‡Mi Kw¤úZ `xNj mxgvbvq| Z_vwc civ — bB| Ny‡i `vuov‡bvi `„p cÖZ¨‡q Avev‡iv h~_åó ¸wU¸wU c_ Pjv A¯”Q GKvš— Avqbvq weå‡gi †`vjvPj AwZµg K‡i... wbDBqK©

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gi“i †`‡k So DV‡j nq wK †mUv Am½wZ? †nvK bv Zey gvbyl †Pbv †RvivRywii †jbv‡`bv ¶vš— hw` Ki‡Z cvwi ¯vaxbZvi ¯cœ‡`‡k Ae‡k‡l †`‡ev cvwo| wØavnxb fv‡jvevmv wØavnxb fvjevmv Kw¯§b Kv‡jI wQ‡jv bv †Kv_vI ¯v‡_©i wbKl NyjNywj Py‡q bv‡g cÖZ¨vkvi KK©k wbeÜ gy‡Lv‡ki myiw¶Z Avov‡j; ¯cœiv cÖvqk nvivq Awj‡Z Mwj‡Z Abv ’v Avi Awf‡hv‡Mi †Pvivevwj‡Z| me©nviv †cÖg mybmvb eviv›`vq `yt‡Li mxgvš— †c‡iv‡bvi hš¿Yvq cvqPvix K‡i ivZfi, Kzqvkvq †f‡R Zvi `» kixi Ges KvgbvZß AvKv•¶v Db¥Ë Av‡e‡M, wLowKi cvk w`‡q wbqwgZ nvuUv †bwo KzKziwUI Ng©v³ nq Z…òvi Av¸‡b A_ev †j‡MB _v‡K Abvev`x nevi Avk¼v weP~Y© Kivi †h‡bv GB †gv¶g mgq †cÖg Zey GKvKxB _v‡K evuRv mgq‡K m½x K‡i Awek¦vmx c„w_exi †`v`©Ê cÖZvc cÖej D‡c¶vq... AvZ© wPrKvi `xN© †_‡K `xN©Zi jv‡ki eni... Z_vwc wecbœ mf¨Zv we‡eKx nqbv KL‡bv †¯vcvwR©Z ¯vaxbZv µgkB bZRvby weivb f~wg‡Z wcÖqgyL¸‡jv KvZivq A_ev wb_i c‡o _v‡K Awfkß †cvov gvwU‡Z bZyb exR nq‡Zv DV‡e KL‡bv Avevi Pviv n‡q, Mv‡q _vK‡e i‡³i Avfvm mybmvb bxieZv LvbLvb n‡e gyL”Qwe †f‡m DV‡j KL‡bv


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fve‡Z AevK jv‡M Kxfv‡e Avgvi ms‡KvP‡b †e‡o I‡V KweZvi †`n| Avgvi RvqMv AwaMÖn‡Y KweZv ev‡o| Avgv‡K mwi‡q †`q †X‡j; Zvici Ni †_‡K †Rv‡i Qyu‡o gv‡i| `ycyi wZbUv mvg‡bi cÖvq Rbk~b¨ iv —vq `yÕRb wfwLwi, cv-nxb GKRb wf¶v K‡i h_vixwZ Ab¨R‡bi wc‡Vi c‡i e‡m| nVvr `vuwo‡q c‡o †hgb ga¨iv‡Zi iv —vq †KvbI Rš‘ †nWjvB‡Ui Zxh©K Av‡jvq Nvo mvgvb¨ Nywi‡q cybivq †`Šov‡bvi cÖ —ywZi Av‡M gyn~‡Z©i R‡b¨ _v‡g— Zvici i“×k¦v‡m cvi nq iv —v; †iv‡ ªi DËv‡c, †Ljvi gv‡Vi †Q‡j‡`i g‡Zv k~b¨Zvq Nwo¸‡jv ZLbI wUK wUK K‡i hvq| bx‡ji ¯ú›`b †Qv‡Uv cyKyi †cwi‡q hvq| cv_‡ii Mv †e‡q D‡V msKzwPZ Kv‡jv †iLv wdKwdK K‡i nv‡m| Avi mv`v D‡o wM‡q S‡oi gwY‡Z c‡o| †Nvovi Ly‡ii wb‡P Pvcv c‡o `ycyi wZbUv Ges hLb AÜKvi Av‡jvi †`qv‡j aea‡e— kni ZLb nvgv¸wo †`q mgy‡`ªi w`‡K kKy‡bi ywe©YxZ jvjmvi gv‡S R¡jR¡j Ki‡Z _v‡K|

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†ijc_ ivZ `y‡Uv: Pviw`‡K †RvQbvi NÖvY| ga¨gv‡V †U«b †_‡g †M‡Q| eû`~‡i kn‡ii Av‡jvi bvPb w`Mš— †iLvq †h‡bv kx‡Z VKVK K‡i| †hgb ¯‡cœi gv‡S †KD GKRb GgbB Wy‡e hvq †h wd‡i G‡m KL‡bvB g‡b Ki‡Z cv‡i bv †m GB N‡iB wQ‡jv| wK¤v †KD hLb Ggb gvivZ¥K †iv‡M c‡o †h Zvi mgq cy‡ivUvB `xN©k¦vm n‡q hvq; n‡q hvq iƒcK_v wK¤v Avw`M‡š— gnvkxZ| †U«b cy‡ivcywi MwZnxb| ivZ `y‡Uv: Zxh©K Pvu‡ì Av‡jv| †R‡M _v‡K gvÎ K‡qKwU Zviv| BwZnvm m¤úwK©Z 1 gv‡P©i †KvbI GK w`‡b Avwg mgy‡ ªi KvQvKvwQ wM‡q Kvb †c‡Z ivwL| Zylvi ZLb AvKv‡ki g‡Zv bxj| m~‡h©i DËv‡c m‡egvÎ mvgvb¨ Mj‡Q| RgvK…Z Zylv‡ii wb‡P kxZj cvwbi dvu‡K gvB‡µv‡dvb ewm‡q †iv` GKv‡š— Ki‡Q KvbvKvwb| D‡V Avm‡Q ey ey | `~‡i †KD GKRb, g‡b nq, †`vjv‡”Q Pvì| BwZnvm †h‡bv: eZ©gv‡b Avgv‡ì| Awff~Z n‡q Avgiv ïbwQ| 2 mw¤§j‡bi gZb GBme Doš— e-Øxc cÖvq †f‡O hv‡”Q...


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bvRbxb mxgb

bvg Rb¥m~‡Î GKUv bvg AvgviI wQ‡jv jvKx n‡e †eva Kwi wKš‘ IUv GLb Avgvi bq Avi| AvgviI bvg wQ‡jv: k¨vgv, Avwg `xcÖ, Avwg ïf, Avwg Zyh©, Avwg Rq, Avwg iY... Avgiv ¯vaxb, D”Q¡vm, D¾¡j, DËvj, Zi½, `yR©q, `yiš—, wec−e... A_P cÖ Ë bvg †bB Avi Avgv‡ì †Pbv bv‡g WvK‡j †KDB eyS‡Z cvwi bv †Kbbv wQwb‡q wb‡q‡Q mËvi meUyKy GK`j `vuZvj nv‡qbv; Avgiv GLb Avjv`v †KD bv; Avi ZvB wfbœ †Kv‡bv bvg †bB, AvR †_‡K Avgv‡ì mw¤§wjZ bvg cÖRb¥ PZ¡i| wg‡_¨¸‡jv wg‡_¨¸‡jv AvuK‡o a‡i cÖej kvmvq wfbœ †`‡n fv‡jvevmvi bó Avkvq ¯cœ †ev‡b ¯cœ¸‡jv †Kej fv‡O gvScÖn‡i gwa¨ Mv‡O fyj gvby‡li A‡c¶v‡Z mgq Kv‡U hv‡”Q †Zv w`b Ggwb K‡i hvK bv cv‡U wK Av‡m hvq Kvi wK ¶wZ!

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k~b¨ M„n‡KvY... AÜKvi cÖvq... †R¡‡j w`' mÜ¨v cÖ xc cwo eªZK_v †ZvgviB g½j Kvgbvq | ¯vgx Zywg! 'cig ¸i“'...Ab¨ †KD †Zv bq, gv wkwL‡q w`‡qwQj `vqgyw³i †mB ïf¶‡Y... Rv‡bv, wb‡R‡K e‡jwQ †ivR †Kv‡bv GKw`b IB Rvbvjvi wMÖ‡ji dvuK M‡j wVK D‡o hve my ~i AwPbcy‡i, mewKQz †Q‡o... g„Zz ey‡K K‡i... cÖwZev` KiwQ eis wbwf‡q `vI R¡jš— IB †gvgevwZ¸‡jv, Nb n‡Z `vI AÜKvi AviI GKUy! IB d‡Uv †_‡K G‡K G‡K Ly‡j bvI me dz‡ji gvjv, Ges Qyu‡o †dj AwR©Z hv wKQy g~j¨‡eva cyY¨mwjjv M½vq! myMwÜ i“gvj †i‡L G‡mv f¨v‡Ui AveR©bvq... P‡j G‡mv †mfv‡eB, †hfv‡e GZ¶Y nvuUwQ‡j †gŠb wgwQ‡j| wb —ä| cv‡q cv‡q, `‡j `‡j... Gevi G‡m `vuovI GB LycwP N‡ii †PŠKv‡V nv‡Zi Avj‡Zv †Qvuqvq UyK& K‡i Ly‡j †d‡jv eÜ ìRv... `¨v‡Lv, wKfv‡e Avgvi †cv÷g‡U©g Ki‡Q G mf¨Zv! KjKvZv


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AZtci mg‡SvZvi my xN© Syjš— †mZz— hv w`‡q mg — hvbevnb P‡j hv‡e, b¶‡Îi wb‡P— GLbI Rb¥vqwb Ggb gy‡Li wbP w`‡q, †MvÎPz Z gnvk~b¨Zvq, AmsL¨, AÁvZ, Awbw`©ó av‡bi wk‡li gv‡S| 3 gnvKwe †M¨‡U 1926 mv‡j Avwd«Kv ågY K‡iwQ‡jb wMU-Gi QÙ‡e‡k Ges †`‡LwQ‡jb mewKQy| †Kv‡bv †Kv‡bv gyL g„Zz i AeëwnZ c‡i Av‡iv cwi¯‹vi n‡q I‡V—¯”Q n‡q hvq Ab¨me wKQyi †_‡KI| hLb msev`cÎ¸‡jv nv‡Z nv‡Z P‡j hvq, GKwU wekvj evwo †f‡m I‡V hvi me¸‡jv RvbvjvB Kv‡jv, GKwU Qvov| Ges Avgiv †mLv‡bB †`wL †W«wdD‡mi gyL| 4 cÖwZwµqvkxj I Pigcwš’iv AmywL, weevwnZ †jv‡K‡ì msmv‡ii g‡Zv, GKmv‡_ emevm K‡i; Iiv G‡K A‡bï Øviv cwiPvwjZ, G‡K A‡bï Dci wbfi©kxj| wKš‘ I‡ì mš—v‡biv I‡ì †Q‡o hvq| cÖ‡Z¨K mgm¨v Zvi wbR¯ fvlvq †Ku‡` I‡V; DrcvwUZ m‡Zï w`‡K i³ †Pvlv nv‡qbvi g‡Zv †Qv‡U| 5 evwo¸‡jv †_‡K Lye †ekx `~‡i bq, †Lvjv RvqMvq GKwU cy‡iv‡bv Le‡ii KvMR gv‡mi ci gvm cwiZ¨³; nvRv‡iv msev‡` fwZ© So I e„wói AvµgY, w`b I iv‡Zi mÂvj‡bi †fZi Av‡ — Av‡ — Rj I Kv`vq wg‡k fwel¨Z AvMvQv ev mwâ Rb¥v‡bvi AbvMZ cÖwµqvi Wv‡K, evov‡”Q eqm| †hgb A‡bKw`b a‡i ¯§„Z¸‡jv Rg‡Z Rg‡Z GK mgq mËvi Ask n‡q hvq|

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mxgvm wnwb Abyev`: webq eg©b Kv‡jvRvg AvM‡÷i †kl w`‡K cÖej e„wó Avi †iv‡` cy‡iv mßvn Ry‡o Kv‡jvRvg cv‡K cÖ_‡g GKwU D¾¡j †e¸wb `vbv Av‡iv K‡Zv jvj meyR Mx‡Ui g‡Zv k³ cÖ_gwU gy‡L cywi, mywgó kuvm Nb `ªv¶vi g‡Zv G‡Z wg‡k Av‡Q MÖx‡®§i i³ wR‡f †j‡M _v‡K `vM, †R‡M _v‡K Kzov‡bvi †jvf Zvici jvj, ¶yav Avi ¶yav— `y‡ai †KŠUv, gUiïwUi Rvi, AvPv‡ii eqvg eªvqv‡i ¶Zwe¶Z nvZcv, Nv‡m †fRv Ry‡Zv e„ËvKvi LogvV, k‡mï †LZ, Avjyi Avev` †nu‡U †nu‡U Kywo‡q Kywo‡q Sywo‡Z fiv mey‡R †V‡m †M‡j VK VK kã ev‡R bv Avi Ic‡i ivLv cyi“ó Kv‡jv`vbv, †PvL PKP‡K KvuUvi AvuP‡o KvUv‡Quov Pvgov R¡j‡Q nv‡Zi Zvjy e−yweqv‡W©i g‡Zv PUP‡U UvUKv Rvg †Mvqv‡j Rwg‡q ivwL GKw`b mœvbN‡i †Pv‡L c‡o— Zvi gv‡b Bu y‡i Lv‡”Q Avgv‡ì m¤ú` MÜ Qov‡”Q, MvRv‡bv im, wgó kvumI UK; Kvbœv cv‡”Q Lye, GUv wVK bq †KŠUvfwZ© me c‡P †kl— eQi eQi Gfv‡eB _v‡K, Gfv‡eB c‡P| AbymiY jvOj Ges †Nvov w`‡q gvV P‡l evevi Kvu‡ai †cwk¸‡jv †dvjv-†dvjv †bŠKvi cv‡j evZvm †j‡M‡Q K‡l


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ivûj ivq‡PŠayix mf¨Zvi QvB eis bZyb GKUv MvgQv wb‡q G‡mv †eu‡a d¨v‡jv Aw ’f¯§, †hfv‡e, †hgb Av‡Q c‡o wb‡f Avmv AB k¥kvb wPZvq... GLywb fvwm‡qv bv M½vq, wKQyUv mgq `vI AviI| Ggb †Zv PvBwb wKQy‡ZB, Aš—Z PvBwb GB †fvi mKv‡ji Kyqvkvq P‡j †h‡Z... mKvj †`wLwb `ycyi †`wLwb we‡Kj †`wLwb †`wLwb †Mva~wj, wK¤v mvZiOv g — †Kv‡bv ivgaby †`wLwb wKQyB cÖvq...†`Lv nqwb ! A_P †Kgb ivZ n‡q M¨v‡jv `¨v‡Lv, GB A‡ejvq... hw` †Zvgvi kn‡i †Kv‡bv RxweZ gvbyl Lyu‡R cvI, hw` GKvKx †nu‡U †h‡Z `¨v‡Lv †jwjnvb m‡Zï ga¨gv eivei Z‡e, ZviB nv‡Z w`‡qv AB MvgQv cyuUywj | †ev‡jv, †Zvgv‡KB †W‡KwQj wPrKvi K‡i †klevi ! ZvwM` K¬vwš— †c‡o †d‡j †Zvgvi wb‡la gvb‡Z gvb‡Z SyuK‡Z SyuK‡Z AvKv‡ki iO AvR n‡q‡Q A‡Pbv Pvi †`qvj Ry‡oB ïay evav, Avi evav A`„k¨ nvZKov Avgv‡K RvwM‡q iv‡L cÖwZ¶‡Y, cwiPq KB?

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m¤§wZ †`‡e wK M„nx, mœvbN‡i? †dbvwqZ ev_Uv‡e K¬vwš— †bfv‡ev Avgvi †KejB c`¨| Kjg-†cwÝj-LvZv, mœvbNi †Kv_vq †h cv‡ev! GB †Zv †Zvgv‡K †`LwQ, †gvo‡Kvb¥wPZ myMÜx mvevb m`¨mœvZ, wmœ»-wWwRUv‡j Avgvi emš—gvm mœvbnxbv| FZy‡Z FZy‡Z evMvb dz‡U‡Q K‡Zv dz‡ji K¼v‡j! †fRv mvev‡bi MÜ| cÖK…ZB †fvi G‡jv bvwK? Avgvi evwMPvfiv AvqbvMvQ| Zywg wÌ wm‡g‡›Ui cvwL! b`xP‡i Ni‡`vi Doy°y, RvnvR-gvK©v Avgv‡ì wUb| bvfxg~j-DrmvwiZ i‡³ fvm‡Q evjyKb¨v`j ˆØZhgybv †mªv‡Z hvhvei-RvR‡Ki `ytL¸‡jv—Rj AvKvk weaev, wbt¯, †mœngqx, ggZviwOb| †bŠKv Ni, NiB †bŠKv| c_å‡g †b‡g cowQ R‡j, ˆØi_-cÖZvwiZ; Øvw›ØK Rxe‡bi d‡j †Zvgv‡K m‡›`n KiwQ, gv-hgybv, mRj cv_‡i| Avgv‡ì Mevw` g‡iwb, †bB; kKyb Svu‡Ki †gN I‡o| jÊfÊ b`xPi| Doy°y RvnvR AvR Avgv‡ì wUb| KvjSo, AvRI Zywg kvwš—Mvb? mge¨w_ eÜyZ¡-KwVb! PÆMÖvg


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wR‡fi AvIqv‡R †Nvoviv AvZ¥‡fvjv| my ¶ nv‡Z mvwR‡q‡Q cÖvwY¸‡jv wc‡V Avi cv‡q miÄv‡gi wfo Pjvq Pjvq D‡V Av‡m gvwU-ay‡jv jvMvg Qvo‡j nvuUv n‡q Av‡m axi| mviv gvV Ry‡o †N‡g †N‡g NyicvK wcUwcU †Pv‡L ZvKvq gv‡Vi w`‡K wVKVvK wKbv mvwi mvwi me `vM we‡K‡ji Av‡jv ax‡i ax‡i nq wd‡K| nvj-†Ìqv gv‡V c‡owQ †nvuPU †L‡q gvwU‡Z Ges Nv‡m LvB MovMwo evevi Kvu‡aB P‡owQ my‡hvM †c‡q gv‡V hvIqv hvq G‡Kev‡i mivmwi| †f‡ewQ AvwgI eo n‡q n‡ev Pvlv †PvL †evRv Avi k³ nv‡Zi †cwk Abymi‡YB †eu‡P _v‡K kZ Avkv Lvgv‡ii cv‡k evevi Qvqv‡Z †Nuwl| evievi cov evievi ïay Kvu v †QvU †m evjK K‡Zv eo n‡jv AvR wc‡Q c‡o _vKv evevi P‡¶ avuav Avi Zvi †Q‡j `~iMvgx gnvivR|

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ingvb †nbix AwaKí ivwÎbM‡i AwaKí ivwÎbM‡i µgewa©òy Qvqv; ivwÎbMi Lye dz‡j DV‡Q m‡mœn mgy ªevZv‡m g‡b K‡iv, KvbœvKvZi KvP-Kygvixi †`‡k †e‡R DV‡jv wecixZ AbyÁvi Pvu , †R‡M DV‡jv Abywm×vš—gq gw›ìvi Zvb; Dcmgy ª †_‡K A‰ah©-cvnvo Awã GK‡Rvov †PvL µgk Qvqvi mv‡_ GKxf~Z; Qy‡U hv‡”Q `~i AZjvš— Rj‡`‡k; g‡b K‡iv, gnxqmx hš¿Yvi AvuPj-wgbv‡i †mB iƒcmxi Ni µgNbxf~Z iv‡Z D‡o hv‡”Q weMwjZ A‡Pbvi w`‡K— aiv hvK, AwaKí ivwÎbM‡i Zvi Qvqv c‡o Av‡Q hw` g‡b c‡o `„k¨gvb ivwÎi Ae¸Éb dvjvdvjv KÕ‡i kãgvb nI, †evevaŸwb! K…òUvBjm AÜKvi, kxwjZ K‡Éi Kv‡Q mgwc©Z Mvb nI, myiv‡ivc‡hvM¨ n‡q †e‡R I‡Vv kã‡ivwnZ gv‡V gv‡V! cwiwgwZ‡ev‡a QvuUv †Kki `ywj‡q, K_v e‡jv, µgk ev`vwg †_‡K bxj-AwfgywL †Nvov! iwemwbœwnZ Zvc, UMeM hš¿m½x‡Z †e‡R I‡Vv... hw` g‡b c‡o,


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†KvgjKvÂbB AvR Avw`kxjv; wew”Qbœ ürwcÊB cv_‡ii †hŠ_Rb¥f~wg, we¯§„Z b`xi †ivl, K_v e‡jv, fy‡j hvIqv gy‡Li Av`‡j! †Mva~wjmoK †Kv_vI i‡q‡Qv Zywg; Kv‡Q-`~‡i, cÖKvk¨-†Mvcb, nq‡Zv †iv‡ì kvwo †m- „k¨ Avovj K‡i iv‡L; AÜKvi †Kv_vI dywU‡q †Zv‡j, A_ev †Zvgv‡K| Ny‡g wKsev RvMi‡Y Av‡Qv| nq‡Zv wØwea bq Avgv‡ì msÁv Avi msÁvnxbZvi gvSvgvwS AviI wKQy cwiw ’wZ †Mvc‡b †Mvc‡b Rvwi Av‡Q| mPj-g~w”Q©Z-Ávb ¯PvwjZ hv‡b hv‡”Qv †Mva~wjmoK a‡i, K¬vwš—we`vix mœvbN‡i; Ny‡g I ANy‡g LyuwR e‡é-IVv „‡kï PgK| nq‡Zv cÖwZÁv †bB| †d‡U †M‡Q, ˆPÎ‡k‡li wkgyj-d‡ji gZ; A‡MvPi, —ä gv‡V gv‡V| wZiwZi †Ku‡c DV‡Q ga¨‡deª“qvwi mÜ¨v AveviI bvg‡Q, DË‡ii wkwkiRov‡bv wng-nvumQvbv‡ì Wvbvi K¤ú‡b; ivwÎi dêy-AÜKv‡i Doš— Py‡ji dvu‡K nq‡Zv-ev dvêyb nVvr PgKv‡e! AvqbvMvQ †fRv mvev‡bi MÜ| †fvi G‡jv bvwK? Z‡e †Zv mœv‡bi †ejv †Zvgvi ILv‡b! e„wóMÜv ivwÎZ‡j †cwÝ‡j wj‡LwQ c`¨| ïK‡bv Z¡K, †K‡U w`w”Q Kj‡gi LÄi-Uv‡b

july - dec 2013 contributors · contributors poetry and essays: thomas tranströmer seamus heaney...

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