Tost/ Silence

 

Jason Symes

i dtost

a chanann sé  . . .

amhrán glinn an anama

in silence

it sings  . . .

silvery song of the soul

smaointe/ thoughts

 

Jason Symes

smaointe

lig dóibh imeacht  . . .

cén eagla atá ort

thoughts

let them go . . .

what's to fear

Kalli

Lean Kalli mé ar feadh ocht míle

go dtí an margadh, ionad trádála na mbó:

ainmhithe á ndíol mar dhaoir.

Beithígh gabhair bulláin camaill . . .

 

Dubh álainn agus sé bliana d’aois a bhí Kalli

an aois ab fhearr le bheith i do bhuabhall uisce.

Seasc a bhí sí. Chuir sí in aghaidh na dtarbh faoi mar

go raibh beartaithe aici nach mbeadh sí torrach arís.

 

Thar ár n-acmhainn, bheartaigh m’athair

ar í a dhíol. Thuig Kalli an scéal, measaim

ghéill dom agus mé á treorú

le slabhra cruach, ceann an tslabhra im’ ghlac

 

An ceann eile timpeall a muiníl.

Cúig bliana déag a bhíos. Ní raibh sí neirbhíseach

a thuilleadh tar éis dúinn dul isteach sa mhargadh

agus a n-áit féin ag díoltóirí ann

 

Ar nós na bhfógraí pósta

ar leathanach mór seachtanáin.

Shuigh Kalli agus gan aon mhothú le léamh uirthi

mar aiséiteach a bhí gar do nirbheána.

 

Shuíos sheasas shiúlas timpeall mar lao

ar deineadh faillí air. Níor cheannaigh éinne Kalli.

Lean sí mé an bóthar ocht míle abhaile

is ní raibh ceist ar bith ina súile.

 

Ní raibh a fhios agam an brón nó áthas

a bhí ar m’athair Kalli a fheiscint arís. D’fhéach

sé uirthi, sin an méid, mar dhuine den teaghlach

a chaill an traein.

Ajmer Rode

Kalli

Kalli followed me 8 miles

to the market where cattle were traded

or sold like slaves.

Cows goats bullocks camels . . .

Kalli was black beautiful and six

the prime age for a water buffalo.

She was dry. Repelled bulls as if she had

decided not to get pregnant again.

Hard to afford, my father decided

to sell her. Kalli seemed to understand.

She obeyed as I led her

by the steel chain, one end in my hand

the other around her neck.

I was fifteen. Her nervousness was over

soon after we entered the market

where sellers occupied

their given spaces like matrimonials

on a large weekly page.

Kalli sat with no emotion on her face

like an ascetic close to nirvana.

I sat stood walked around like a

neglected calf. No body bought Kalli.

She followed me 8 miles back home

with no questions in her eyes.

I wasn’t sure if my father was sad

or glad to see Kalli back. He just

looked at her like a family member

who had missed the train.

Ajmer Rode

fianna/ deer

 

Jason Symes

fianna . . .

gan de ghlór ann

ach a mbuille croí

deer  . . .

a heartbeat

the only noise

Ní Imíonn an tAm

Ní raibh Baje in ann dul síos go dtí na goirt

Anuraidh, bhí bata aige agus leis sin shroiseadh sé an clós

An uair seo níor bhain sé amach ach an póirse

Tar éis trí lá sa leaba, d'imigh Baje uainn.

D'imigh Boju

Ansin thosnaigh bean an tí ag imeacht

D'imigh sí ar dtús ón gclós go dtí an póirse

ag an bpóirse ba bhabhdán í a chosain an grán

a bhí á thriomú sa chlós

D'imigh an solas as a súile,

as a cosa, d'imigh neart na ngéag

agus nuair a bhí a cuid mianta ag imeacht

d'imigh sí féin ansin.

Lá amháin, thosnaigh cailín óg fiáin do mo mhealladh

ach bhíos-sa im' loch séimh, im' linn lena taobh

Bhí an óige ag imeacht uaim

san fhómhar buí, sna goirt

an rís ina chocaí

bhí an grán imithe agus aoileach ab ea é anois

Tá an domhan féin ag imeacht gach aon lá

Tá an t-atmaisféar ag imeacht isteach sa pholl ózóin

Le himeacht na síolóige, is an phlanda

imeacht na mbláthanna is na nduilleog marbh

imeacht na duilleoige is an phéacáin

imeacht na bachlóige is an bhlátha

leis na himeachtaí sin uile

d'imigh an loiteog bheannaithe de dhroim an domhain

Ach níor imigh an t-am

Níl an t-am ann

D'imeodh an t-am dá mbeadh sé ann.

Rajendra Bhandari

Time does not Pass

Baje has become incapable of going down to the fields

Last year, using a stick, he could reach the yard

This time he only made it to the porch

After a three-day confinement, Baje passed away.

Boju passed away

Then mother began to pass away

At first she passed from the yard to the porch

At the porch she became a scarecrow to the grain

drying in the yard

The light passed from her eyes,

from her legs, the strength to stand

even as her desires were passing,

she passed away herself.

One day, a wild young thing flirted with me

But like a calm lake, I pooled by her side

Youth was passing from me

In the yellow autumn, in the fields

the paddy was passing into haystacks

the grain had passed and become manure

The world itself is passing every day

The atmosphere is passing into the ozone hole

With the passing of seedling, and of plant

the passing of flower and dead leaves

the passing of leaf and shoot

the passing of bud and flower

with these passages

the venerable lotus passed from the face of the earth

But time has not passed

Time is just not there

Time would pass, if at all it existed.

Rajendra Bhandari

Pé créacht a fhágann fear ar bhean . . .

 Vatsyayana

as an Kámá Sútrá

Pé créacht a fhágann fear ar bhean . . .

Pé créacht a fhágann fear ar bhean  . . .

An fhreagairt do ‘spota’ is ea ‘bláthfhleasc’,

Agus do ‘bhláthfhleasc’ an ‘néal scaipthe’.

Ag ligean uirthi fearg a bheith uirthi,

Is mar seo a chuireann bean tús le hachrann

Beireann sí greim gruaige air

A aghaidh á brú síos aici agus ólann as a bhéal;

Léimeann sí air agus sánn a cuid fiacla ann

Thall is abhus, as a meabhair le dúil.

Scíth á glacadh aici ar ucht a leannáin,

Ardaíonn sí a cheann agus sánn a cuid fiacla ina mhuineál

Le ‘bláthfhleasc na séad’

Nó plaic ar bith eile atá ar eolas aici.

 

Ar fheiceáil an fhir di, fiú i lár an lae,

I lár comhluadair, agus an marc sin

A d’fhág sise air, gáireann sí

Gan fhios do chách.

Ansin, agus grainc uirthi mar dhea,

Ag ligean uirthi bheith ag tabhairt amach dó

Ar nós mar a bheadh éad uirthi, nochtann sí

Na marcanna ar a colainn féin.

Nuair a chaitheann beirt mar sin lena chéile

Go modhúil agus tuiscint acu do mhothúcháin a chéile

Ní éagfaidh a ngrá

Fiú in imeacht céad bliain.

 Vatsyayana from Kamasutra : ‘Whatever wound a man inflicts on a woman’ p. 76

 

Whatever wound a man inflicts on a woman...

the response to a 'dot' is a 'garland',

and to a 'garland', a 'scattered cloud'.

Pretending to be angry,

this is how a woman picks a quarrel

She grabs him by the hair

and bends down his face and drinks from his mouth;

she pounces on him and bites him

here and there, crazed with passion.

Resting on the chest of the man she loves,

she raises his head and bites him on the neck

with the 'garland of jewels'

or any other bite

she knows.

 

When she sees the man, even in the daytime,

in the midst of a group of people, displaying the mark

that she herself made on him, she laughs

unnoticed by others.

Then, pretending to wrinkle her face,

and pretending to rebuke the man,

as if in jealousy, she displays

the marks made on her own body.

 

When two people behave in this way

with modesty and concern for one another's feelings,

their love will never wane,

not even in a hundred years.

 

tr. Wendy Doniger and Sudhir Kakar (from Sanskrit)

Díchumtha

Tá pictiúr agam a thógas i Mumbai

de bhacach ina chodladh ar an gcosán:

liath, bríste gairid air, léine bhréan,

a scáil caite i leataobh mar bhlaincéad.

 

Scoilteanna sa chloch iad a ghéaga ba dhóigh leat,

aistear na seangán, tuirlingt na gcuileog,

cortha ag dianteagasc na gréine,

is féith i gcloch ina luí é, ón gclochaois.

 

Laistiar de tá slua ag baint taitnimh

éigin as draíodóir sráide agus iad beag beann

ar an radharc an-chomónta seo

de sheanfhear ina luí ar chosán.

 

Shíleas gur dea-phíosa cumadóireachta é,

thugas ‘Fear na Sráide’ air go pras

agus thugas suntas d’fhear na sráide san Ind

is cónaí air ar an tsráid.

 

I riocht duine a bheadh ag caoineadh

ina philiúr é a cheann atá ag tabhairt casaoide

anois dom toisc ealaín a bheith á cumadh agam

faoina ocras is faoina uaigneas.

Zulfikar Ghose

Decomposition