Malay Roychoudhury’s poems
Translated in English
Nay-Ballad
From uncoiled wings of the burning swan
after sea of blood was born out of green caterpillar
that skin sheared moon from cloud’s underbelly
ordered waves to abolish horoscopes on crabs’ breasts
.
On the evergreen epiglotis of lotus full to the brim
the pollen fiddling honey bee waved her double scarf
searched for drunk village of pride red beating crowd
humming songs sleeping side by side of worried distance
.
( Translation of ‘Na-Ballad’. Written on 15 August 1999 )
A Quasi Governmental Report
Unarmed military offered prayers
One tin water is for ten rupees
.
Underground river cut off from source
Habitually disgusted because of envy
.
Strong words used for sealing border
Public Works Department has broken
.
Since at the day’s end in share market
A woman’s body cut in two with sickle
.
Postal ballot in hand amid tomato field
Lying pristine with great expectations
.
Ambitious pair of shoes for parliament
Let them say whatever face betray
.
As if rice field is scared of Tiger’s roar
Daughter of cultivator is in ministry
.
Tired cuckoo-man grieving due to son’s death
From football field corner in direct shot
.
Solved the problem of freedom movement
On the forehead of dead that was the truth
.
( Translation of ‘Ekti Adha-Sarkari Protibedan’. Written in 1996 )
Sonpur Fair, Evening of Gumrahi Tart
Sliding jute curtain
flickers in tent lantern
dot beauty gait her
small coins in betel box
was counting tobacco scent
in broken wine glasses
.
half naked on rope cot
coin colour country liquor
leather shoes well oiled
beat stick resting at corner
and yellow stain turban
cheese-penis landlord
.
atoned in elephant shit
put red petticoat on shoulder
switched song amplifier
hemp torn milk wet
eye on eye sharp dark
depends on who is beneath
.
myrobalan under tongue
betel nut cutter in waist
box full of scent tobacco
corset on blown breast
strung undies on string
one suck tumbling tart
.
artificial hair on bamboo pole
hypnotized hornet-man
mosquito on naked bum
his thighs are of mafioso
one and five coins for police
she is whatever fair or pure
.
( Translation of ‘Shonpur Mela, Gumrahi Baier Sandhya’ )
Ruffian
I who am a swapping lapwing’s bullet ridden sky
was born out of drowned water filled bison’s horn
in idle-eye noon beneath the pearly neem tree
was enjoying black blonde’s adornment of soft-paw brows
in rain drenched gold-flower tucked in coiffure’s knot
.
I who am standing in front of grilled horizon of meadow-dawn
on the trampled foot-printed grass of mourning sun’s wet-earth
heard nightlong wood mite’s buzz in my last wallowed bed
thought why should purposefulness be bad my dear
is not there art of sweat-salt in labour of post a chair holds
.
I who asked gallinules what taste do you get from wings of butterflies
like chipko playing bride of thrice-wed groom’s hoof-sound headgear
am in a ship evading lighthouse’s beam a saw-teeth shark
in the Secretariat cage-lift with a clerk having breasts of Jamini Roy painting
bawled shrieks of rider throwing stallion’s bridle snapping neigh
.
I who am a whispering song sung in cricket’s musical notation
have trapped Hilsa fish shoals’ colours in vagina shaped nets
beneath the fig tree of hanged martyrs during freedom movement
from corners of caterpillar-chewed perfumed lemon leaves
flying out in sky from nape shaved hillock of stone chip proprietor
( Translation of ‘Tapori’. Written on March 1, 1990 )
Crematorium, 1992
During a paddy husk flying noon, from the corpse of a white-owl, gnat children
were stealing butter
with their hands having fragrance of rice crispies
picked up lightly the throttled shrieks of last akanda flowers
in the brittle breeze of Jaisalmer
sickly happy
at the spiraling city, blood drenched minute hand of wall clock
and the faces were beaming in wood fire warmth
pigeons fluttered making sounds of torn documents, just a bit
of living one’s own life
from those colours of sunset eyebrows, on the sad boat at web-tide
dead body wrapped in coarse mattress
I walked towards the gold rimmed estuary
in my palm I held the split moment of a knotted storm
at the breast beating grief of thrown parched rice
that was only mine
The Clapper
Then set out after repeated warning the grizzly
Afghan Duryodhan
in blazing sun
removed sandal-wood blooded stone-attired guards
spearing gloom brought out a substitute of dawn
crude hell’s profuse experience
Huh
a night-waken drug addict beside head of feeble earth
from the cruciform The Clapper could not descend due to lockdown
wet-eyed babies were smiling
.
in a bouquet of darkness in forced dreams
The Clapper wept when learnt about red-linen boat’s drowned passengers
in famished yellow winter
white lilies bloomed in hot coal tar
when in chiseled breeze
nickel glazed seed-kernel
moss layered skull which had moon on its shoulder scolded whole night
non-weeping male praying mantis in grass
bronze muscled he-men of Barbadoz
pressed their fevered forehead on her furry navel
.
in comb-flowing rain
floated on frowning waves
diesel sheet shadow whipped oceans
all wings had been removed from the sky
funeral procession of newspaperman’s freshly printed dawn
lifelong jailed convict’s eye in the keyhole
outside
in autumnal rice pounding pink ankle
Lalung ladies
echo forgets to shriek back sensing the beauty of sweat’s fragrance
.
thereafter
Operation Bullshit
ulcer in mouth
numb-penis young rebel’s howl on the martyr platform
non-veg heart daubed in onion paste
black eyed flowers
drenched lotus flower suffered from pneumonia
cloud’s forced roar on a hookah smoking octogenarian train
and lightning covered with gold laced spider web
frog-maid dropped a fat toad from her back
.
creamy hell-fairy of Babylon
fed medicine tablets to north facing clouds
swirling green fireflies on castor-oil lamp
splints of songs from the crown of ruffled hair comet-face princess
swan with blood-stained feet
prayed for a spring season for the repatriated armies
who arranged green-bed farmland for the shot-dead rebel’s parents
sulphur mist spread through secret savanna of lion-skin poachers
marriageable horseman The Clapper
Heigh ho
.
suffering from angst of a little unrecognition
the garden which lifted the betel-nut palms on little finger
in long distance cyclone
below the lamppost
covered by clothes of rain
that broken gait is his form
the profile which searched for relaxing waves
the universe in tandava trance
mouth blocked with leucoplast tape inside a temple
The Clapper
.
when fire separates from smoke
within that flash
the epiglotis
feels bitter between two heart beats
feverish rebels invade through sluice-gate
palash flowers united themselves in blooming red during the cyclone
just like futureless in zoos
in the last breeze
tin-bordered clouds exploded firecrackers
as if The Clapper will appear just now
.
in the morning the sweeper gathered all clappers assembled during night
in painless love
shoved sick Ganges river in a bag
one or three colour flapping rainbow
food plates were found in graves
bone columns fell due to wails of exploiteds
nobody is happy
when asked how are you replied
fine
handed over rings of barbed wire from their waist
.
after the oath ceremony of depraved
corpse collectors started visiting towns and villages
people prayed for their right to cry
somewhere else The Clapper
in fractured health
was trying to correct the songs of birds
in star flickering darkness
pillow hugging rainy nights
fish smelling asthma of slippery catfishes in Palamou Jehanabad Rohtas districts
on the eyelids of snail-chin old woman gray dusts of salt-petre-sulpher
.
for listening to songs of small wide-eyed fishes of half rotten Hooghly river
winter’s fine moult came out of cobra-girl’s attire
suddenly a porcupine
kapok flowers in red wedding dress
young sunflower stared on the side
healthy crab danced in hot oil raising her two scarlet hands
white muslin soft fairies leaped in rice-bowl
after he wept in darkness The Clapper smiled in light
listened to the jingle of shackles with which he was tied to hospital bed
nightlong tick tock of incarceration of the table clock
.
( Translation of Bengali poem ‘Hattali’ )
Blood Lyric
Abontika, my house was invaded midnight in search of you
Not like her not like him nor like them
Comparable not to this not to that not to it
.
What have I done for poetry plunging into lava-spewing volcano ?
What are these ? What are these ? Result of searches at home
of Poetry ? Bromide sepia babies from Dad’s broken almirah
of Poetry ! Mom’s Benares sari torn out of hammered box
of Poetry ! Breaths are recorded in the seizure list
of Poetry ! Show me show me what else is coming out
of Poetry ! Shame on you; girl’s half-licked guy ! Die you die
of Poetry ! Wave piercing sharks chew up flesh & bone
of Poetry ! AB negative sun from small intestine knots
of Poetry ! Asphyxiated speed stored in impatient footprints
of Poetry ! Delicate tart-glow in piss flooded jail
of Poetry ! Mustard flower pollen on prickly feet of bumblebee
of Poetry ! Hungry farmer in dirty loincloth on salty dry land
of Poetry ! Rotten blood on feathers of corpse eating vultures
of Poetry ! Sultry century in faded humid spiteful crowd
of Poetry ! Black death shrieks of intelligence in guillotine
of Poetry ! You die you die you die why didn’t you die
of Poetry ! Fire in your mouth fire in your mouth fire
of Poetry ! You die you die you die you die you die
of Poetry ! Not like her not like him nor like them
of Poetry ! Comparable not to this not to that not to it
of Poetry ! Abontika, they came in search of you, why didn’t take you along !!
( Translation of Blood Lyric )
Mumbai 2011
Nail Cutting and Love
Tagore, this is for you after one fifty years :
who clipped your nails in offshore lands–
that foreign lady ? Or the chick adulators ?
There isn’t any photograph of yours with
your hands placed on laps of young ladies
cutting nails ; your feet on Ocampo’s knee ?
May be the girls on whose shoulder Gandhi placed
his wings, cut his nails. As you know, it’s so painful
to reach the nail-cutter up to one’s feet at old age–
oh, men like me without young girls for company
are aware. Love’s strange demand from senile age.
Gossipers say Sunil Ganguly did have for each nail
a struggling poetess. Joy Goswami also have had
the same ; the girls closed eyes and jumped into muck.
I’d seen Shakti Chattopadhyay’s lover clipping his nails
in the small Chaibasa room. Does Sharat do same for Bijoya ?
Yashodhara, did Trinanjan ever cut your nails ?
Subodh, have you ever took Mallika’s feet
on your lap and cut her nails ? Just a glance
at the feet of a poet tells you how lonely he is.
Think of Jibanananda ; he has been searching for
Banalata for thousand years for his nails to be cut.
( Translation of Nokh Kata O Prem )
Mumbai 2010
Immortality
Those who beat us to death after village court trial, they
did not spare you as well, Abontika ! We rotten corpses
drift in muddy Hooghly river ; what was our crime ?
You are Party boss’s wife, I am just an uncivil nobody.
There were endless praise of communism in last 33 years ;
nothing for lovers. For whose benefit were the tomes–
whatever are left of the rotten corpses of lovers remain
metamorphosed domestic bullocks yoked to grinding,
useless party-worker. Better to exude on chariot of waves
to the seas clutching each other in oceanic splendour.
( Translation of Amaratwa )
Kolkata 2006
Salt & Betrayers
You touched my sweat with your tongue
Abontika, and had said, ‘Ah salty beauty
heart of heart…scent of masculinity…’
That day, from Police custody to Court
rope tied to my waist and handcuffed
I walked along with murderers hoodlums;
circus loving crowd on both sides of road.
The betrayers, who volunteered in
court to testify against me, said, when
they came down from witness-box, ‘No,
the sweat was sweet and not salty ; thus
no question of treachery could arise–
and should not be marked as Betrayers.’
( Translation of Noon O Nimakharami )
Kolkata, 2005
The Spam Mistress
This is interesting ! In a flash you entered my desktop with mail
topless polygirl your smiling invite for a black night fling
The hungry wolf in me looks at Baudelairian dark Venus.
In funny English you’ve written on your belly you love me
princess Africa hooker girl exposed trapdoor for love
adorable soft thighs. What’s that, colour or blood on shaman-nails ?
Which country are you from, mischief-sissy ? Kenya Uganda
Zambia Burkina Faso Congo Cameroon Sudan Niger ?
I am sure you’ve ganged up in Mumbai’s Nijerwadi.
How did you know I have never slept with an African chick !
Delightful to say the least your lighted lap sex appeal
you know quite well . That’s why invite for an embrace.
How many Rupees or Dollars for that experience
you haven’t indicated ; just a call to meet at Meera Road
Junction, where you’ll descend in flesh from digital beauty.
( Translation of Spam Premika )
Mumbai 2009
Green Angelgirl
Oh, so you are the divine beauty I read about
in adolescence, whom Toulouse Lautrec, Rimbaud,
Verlaine, Baudelaire, Van Gogh, Modigliani et all
held on to waist curvature and took flights to
healing sweetness of inebriated light
blazing hallucinatory juice of green lichen
on the coloured thighs of sizzling dance girls
who broke rhythms and picked up their
contorted feelings on paper or canvas
At De Wallen crowds in Amsterdam
wide mouth I ogle at almost naked
showcased blonde dark brown ladies
sourced from all over the world
pink halo tinkling in semi-dark rooms
twenty minutes fixed missionary style.
I count Euros in my pocket and switch
to the old controversy of form versus content :
which generates more happiness and how
is Absinthe different from others ?
The guide retorts, ‘Why don’t you sleep
yourself and see semen turning green !’
( Translation of Sobuj Devkanya )
Amsterdam, 2007
Love Returns or Love Does Not Return
Saw you Abontika squatting on a milestone in gracious moonlit midwinter
your back and chest still carrying 44 year old dust and dry grass
wail mark of rashes all over your body due to moon’s crime, aha, result of peity
you were shivering may be due to a vortex of hookworm in abdomen
your ivy strand golden hair flowed down your shoulders up to waist
seated on the sign-stone completely naked on third day of November
guides of death in guise of mosquitoes sang Death Metal around your head
you do not remember the last lover who deserted you at this place.
I said, ‘Abontika, do you still possess the 9mm pistol
with which you had killed me ?’
Waving your Naxal hand you brought down the pistol from air and
emptying all bullets on my chest you said,’Ya, here it is !’
I scooped out 44 year old bullets from my chest and placed on your invisible hand–
You said, ‘That’s good, we shall meet again Comrade.’
( Translation of Prem Pherey Pherey Naa )
Mumbai 2009
Elopegirl
I could not find you in your bedroom , what a mess, am at a loss
Abontika, which river has seduced you ? I unanchored my iceberg boat
have a look, in Keleghai Churni Gumni Joldhaka Mayurakshi Kangsaboti rivers’
currents, no trace of scent of your sweat, am sad, the fishermen also
could not find your blind touch, full-moon is in the dark,
how would I manage, onions are not weeping, shit,
bangles are clamourless, in which dream you have saved the kisses
I could not locate, you could have informed someone, reflection of your face
you had thrown away along with mirror, oh what a problem, at least
you could have left behind bed sighs, why the almirah is empty,
whom did you donate hair-oil from pillow and birth-mark of your navel
I could not recognize the voice of your mind, toothbrush is without music
slippers are without dance, why do you give such agony Abontika, your
name used to be tied with your fallen hair, I could not find even after sweeping the floor,
your office going road is waiting for you inside cobweb of spiders
your fish-breath drawing routes on the palm has gone astray
there, there, that bugger with whom you fled, his
musical notes of shoe-marks are loitering on the marble floor
( Translation of Elopekanya )
Mumbai 2012
Stoniness
Midnight may be called a kind of colour dogs dislike
stones too despise being locked up whole life within its breast
if picked up by someone at midnight it hurts their solid guilt feeling
it wakes up and listens to the dog’s moans
why is there such difference with a dead snail which even after death
has the right to nurture her lover’s gestures inside heart
probably because of blessings of sighs of couples
even a drunkard would not throw a dead snail at a dog
would abuse if he steps on it and hurts himself
but that is done by all lovers amid busy crowd
in the flesh of the snail whispers of his lover
continuously resonate to respond to sex-waves
pity the stone without a female organ
( Translation of Pathorata )
Mumbai 2012
Counter Discourse
Relentless salty invite of sea was telling me I am not the same I used to be dear
I am not because after my legs were tied to railing of a hospital bed
cultivators’ river and labourers’ river were flowing separately on both side of bed
an enforced discipline in which the sun rises and sets only once throughout the day
if one has to draw comparison one would say it is not wedding vows of frog and snake
when the half-wet seed has for the last time embraced its sprout
I knew I was not as I used to be as locks of all words have been opened
days are such that roses refuse to bloom without bonemeal of saints at roots
and some bugger has spitted red at the corner of the sky and fled
may be… may be… the raven seated upon the head of scarecrow
from the rag-stitched water of the pond during springtime noon
I have cleaned and picked up the last piece of shadow of my own
( Translation of Counter Discourse )
Kolkata, 30 March 2000
Objectivity
Regaining consciousness in a trickle
Hands & feet tied and mouth gagged on a railroad track
The silent whole
Shirt and trousers daubed in dew
Whining crickets drone
A rural gloom studded with night-chilled stars
Can’t shout as mouth is wool of spew
Ribs and shinbone smitten — not possible to move
Stiff stonechips bite at back
How beautiful is the world and peace everywhere allround calm
A pinhead light is rushing on rail route piercing the one-eyed dark
( Translation of Pratyaksha )
1986
Kurmitola, Jehanabad, 1989, Evening
Mother
while standing in waterweed, in the kitchen, in her petticoat, was caught
by police, her hair unkempt
in wintery autumn flying horses stored in glass jar held in left hand, knitted in loincloth
a comet from the yellow piece of cloud
she floated her boat made of hay, unconcerned, lilies within shouts of children
I know what will happen to her now
Abdul, Gafoor’s brother, was first to bring the news
but Mother gave up, hazy domesticity in the dusts of her brows
why did she conceal behind Goddess Kali’s lamp-oil
broken pulses and rice crumbs brought from Murshidabad
a little sun tainted skin, in unknown fear, palm on her chin, forgot her own name
damp shadows on her hung face
brain completely naked
in drizzling dewdrops, smiled a skinny deer
wooden shoes on snow, sky facing wolves, she cried whole day
the priest
drew blood in a syringe from her hand
pain at the corner of her lips, was tired to climb the stairs
( Translation of Kurmitola, Jehanabad, 1989, Sondhya )
To Save People of West Bengal
I do not know why
inside pinkflesh jailhouse of a shark’s stomach
during domesticated dangers in a wet honest alley of wayward rains
when the 205 route bus carrying darkness on shoulders reached Babughat
driver said go carefully to other side of river as it has gone for spawning to the sea
you must be aware apart from rotten corpses other funerals have been banned
I do not know why
in the No Entry zone where only scoundrels win
saw the parasite-ear crater-mouth reporter counting
with painless hands of Duhshasan ashes of last breath from burning pyre
whose only job was to contradict other people’s opinion in the motherland of bugs
I do not know why
men who prefer to lend tongue instead of ear to rumours
when they made it free to board and eat for accepting disorder as peace
victory arose from self named grave of poison smeared sheepfold
everyone was shouting Hail Revolution but we do not want transferable jobs
I do not know why
the day ditched girl inside frog-echo water-well
floated upward — sweet memory of iron-weight at grocer’s shop
was balancing wheat flour for Satyanarayan Puja
demeanour was such as if southern breeze was tickling fishes brought on land
I do not know why
faster than dementia of a wound’s remembrance of pain
I saw funeral ants in a row carrying candy particles on corpse’s forehead
( Translation of Pashchimbanger Manushkey Banchatey Holey )
Mumbai, 17 February 1999
Democratic Centralism
To be honest I became plywood leader after giving up cultivation of teeth & nails
when I am in disguise my real appearance slips out
is there any original work other than self-hostility ? Tell me !
To be honest I am a loose eagle haggard in dilapidated sky
I feign to pretend and pass it on as life
I lead domesticity in a hackery on swimmer dribbling stream
To be honest I hammer out stone from heart of stone and find
through sandy glance rows of turtle-flesh eater gout sufferers
searching for wing-flight smiles from drowned girl’s livid lips
To be honest while I weep during adulterated smoke offerings of ghee
I create truth create death create up & down circles
the snake was inside its hole I insert my hand to bewitch it as well.
( Translation of Ganatantrik Kendrikata )
Kolkata, 27 November 1999
The Empty Womb
After having layers of dust on ear lobes on breeze stitched paddy field
when cobra children started dancing around me
pointing nude fingers toward husky darkness
I saw jingled sounds of sunrise amid whispers of rain
the four squared universe seen through soft barrel hole of a rifle
which was encircled by a thorn crowned slogan-wet wall
After the garden came forward to receive me
dancing bells of cobra mom-dad were strewn all over grass
and cobra housewife reminded several times
she would expose and reveal the real thing
The lady whose beauty I had ravished just by a glance at her
I could glean through twisted arms of her sexless embrace
my horoscope on dazzling liquid breast of the crab
licked with smooth kissing lips by cobra housewife
At the happy eating festival of the menu-card funeral
the sick street dog licked its own shadow from bodyfur
and over the bread crumbed map only then
ant columns marched from one country to another
( Translation of Shunya Garbha )
Ahmednagar, 12 October 1997
Two Worlds
We know we are incapable of redemption
but because of it why in your rain-echo drenched stingy lungs
piranha shoals would swim wearing pink raincoats
Rumour is your veins carry ashen flight of one-dialect pigeons
we’ve heard you used to tame fat-belly clouds with your blind vision
you used to tuck donkey brays of your daily diary in your armpits
and now you claim that even Karna of Mahabharata did not donate his vote
Everybody is aware that only coffin bearers are immortal
since you did not get someone to talk to in darkness of semen
you searched for an one-shot lover in clocktowerless city
you scoundrels don’t you have any address or it is your sinister blood
that the wrinkled mirror carries your pulpable image throughout the day
Shame shame shame you want back the breath after you breathe it out
I thought you would apply your power of doubt
instead you are shredding your prehistoric body-hair with ding dong cotton-gin
My best wishes you get both hands of Duhshasana of Mahabharata
with which you may count the sparkles of flints in your fort of smoke
( Translation of Duti Bishwa )
27 April 2000
Bite
India, Sir, how long will you carry on like this, really, I feel awful
India, I ate your jail food for complete one month which means for 30 days
No job since September 1964, you know India, would you mind lending me 20 bucks ?
India, those guys are very bad, even rats are eating away your grains
What did Suhrawardy advise you in the Control Room India ?
O tell me — I am really happy, promise, I can make faces !
And I do not know where Kolkata is hurtling in this bitter renaissance
India, why don’t you get a few of my pulp published in Nabokallol magazine
I’ll also become saint, or guide us to Santiniketan
We would be servant of literature, you would give me a set of cultural attire
Let us go to country liquor den Khalasitola today evening, we would cook Bengali culture
India, why aren’t you exploding an atom bomb, fireball suits the sky !
Do you want to try LSD ? Both of us would sunbathe at Nimtala crematoria
India, here, take this handkerchief, wipe your specs
In this election please help me win, I’d contest from Chilika lake
Which lecture of yours is going to be published in tomorrow’s newspaper, India ?
I have snatched the key from them which keeps you going
India, I surreptitiously read the love letters written to you
Why don’t you cut your nails ? There are dark patches beneath your eyes
Why don’t you apply colour to your teeth these days ?
You kill in revenge but blame us for murder when we follow you
Don’t think I am just a cat’s paw
How about a self-compromise eating one’s own heart
India, withdraw Section 144 of Penal Code from paddy fields
Send all great books to Vietnam, Huh Huh
May be the war will stop
India, tell me what exactly you want !!
( Translation of Kamor )
Hungry Bulletin, 26th January 1966.
Chicken Roast
Puff your plume in anger and fight, cock, delight the owner of knife
smear sting with pollen and flap your wings.
As I said : Twist arms and keep them bent
roll the rug and come down the terrace after disturbed sleep
Shoe-boots—-rifle—whirring bullets—shrieks
The aged undertrial in the next cell weeps and wants to go home
Liberate me let me go let me go home
On its egg in the throne the gallinule doses
asphyxiate in dark
fight back, cock, die and fight, shout with the dumb
Glass splinters on tongue—breast muscles quiver
Fishes open their gills and enfog water
A piece of finger wrapped in pink paper
With eyes covered someone wails in the jailhouse
I can’t make out if man or woman
Keep this eyelash on left-hand palm–and blow off with your breath
Fan out snake-hood in mist
Cobra’s abdomen shivers in the hiss of feminine urination
Deport to crematorium stuffing blood-oozing nose in cotton-wool
Shoes brickbats and torn pantaloons enlitter the streets
I smear my feet with the wave picked up from a stormy sea
That is the alphabet I drew on for letters.
( Translation of Murgir Roast )
1988
Repeat Uhuru
Hood-covered face, hands tied
at the back…On the alter plank
breeze frozen in bitter hangman’s odour
who composes time ?
Doctor Cop Judge Warden or None !
I unfurl myself in the dungeon cloud
where salt-sweating history of dirt is tamed
the rope quivers fast at first
Weak jerks thereafter calm, with dumbness of bawl
wherein bards and butchers repeat their fall
I revive my rise.
This rising is singular. None other for the monster of words
whose feet adore the ruined universe.
I don’t face the gallows every time to keep alive
a dynasty of faith of those who are spawned for death.
Translation of Arekbar Uhuru
Homology
I am ready to be mugged O deadly bat come
Tear off my clothes, bomb the walls of my home
Press trigger on my temple and beat me up in jail
Push me off a running train, intern and trail
I am a seismic yantra alive to glimpse the nuke clash
A heathen mule spermed by blue phallus ass
( Translation of Monushyatantra )
1986
Chicken Roast
Puff your plume in anger and fight, cock,
delight the owner of knife
smear sting with pollen and flap your wings.
As I said: Twist the arms and keep them bent
Roll the rug and come down the terrace after disturbed sleep
Shoe boots ….rifle….whirring bullets….shrieks
The aged undertrial in the next cell weeps and wants to go home
Liberate me ... let me go... let me go home.
On its egg in the throne the gallinule doses
Asphyxiate in dark... fight back, cock, die and fight, shout with the dumb.
Glass splinters on tongue….breast muscles quiver
Fishes open their gills and en fog water
A piece of finger wrapped in pink paper
With eyes covered someone wails in the jail house I cant make out if man or woman.
Keep this eyelash on left hand palm…blow off with your breath
Fanout snake-hood in mist .... Cobra’s abdomen shivers in the hiss of femme urination.
Deport to crematorium stuffing blood-oozing nose .....in cotton wool
Shoes brickbats and torn pantaloons en litter the streets
I smear my feet with the wave picked up from a stormy sea
That is the alphabet I drew on for letters.
(Translation of ‘Murgir Roast)1988
Counter-Man
Circumcision made me apostate
I thumped thighs and turned Tartar
The king will go and evil eves raped
Just as tutored Nadir Shah
I’d kiss the sword and leap in air
On galloping mare a burning torch
I proceed towards falling outposts
The metropolis burns
A naked priest elopes with Shiva’s phallus.
(Translation of ‘Palta Manush’) 1985
Preparation
Who claims I am ruined? Since I’M without fangs and claws?
Are they necessary? How do you forget the knife
plunged in abdomen up to the hilt? Green cardamom leaves
for the buck, art of hatred and anger
and of war, gagged and tied Santhal woman pink of lungs shattered
by a restless dagger?
Pride of sword pulled back from heart? I don’t have
Songs or music. Only shrieks, when mouth is opened
Wordless odor of the jungle; corner of kin and sin-sanyas;
didn’t pray for a tongue to take back the groans
power to gnash and bear it, fearless gunpowder bleats:
stupidity is the sole faith---maimed generosity---
I leap on the gambling table, knife in my teeth ...Encircle me
rush in from tea and coffee plateaux
in your gumboots of pleasant wages
The way Jarasandha’s genital is bisected and diamonds glow
Skill of beating up is the only wisdom
In misery I play the burglar’s stick like a flute
Brittle affection of the wax-skin apple
She-ants undress their wings . ....before copulating
I thump my thighs with alternate shrieks: vacate the universe
get out you omni-competent
conch shell in scratching monkey-hand
lotus and mace and discus-blade Let there be salt rebellion of your own saline sweat
along the gunpowder let the flint run towards explosion
Marketeers of words daubed in darkness
In the midnight filled with young dog’s grief
In the sick noon of a grasshopper sunk in insecticide
I reappear to exhibit the charm of stiletto.
(Translation of ‘Prastuti’) 1985
Motorbike
I am on mobike Yezdi Yamaha
When flanked by horizon gallop backwards through sand blizzard
tinsel clouds explode at my feet without helmet
and speed-split air at eighty
in midsummer' s moon
each sound-cart recedes
onrushing lorries flee in a flash
no time to brood but Yes
accident expected anytime
may even turn into a junk-heap in a drought-nursed field.
(Translation of ‘Motor Cycle) 1986
The Light
I get a thud-kick in pitch dark thick on belly and tumble
Hands tied at the back on damp floor shack to humble
Lights flash on face eyes blind in case I spin
Then lights go off a boot or two rough on chin
I feel blood drips and snail down the lips in trickle
The glare blinks on and off and on and off in ripple
A hot metal rod scalds hard breast broad to snip flesh warm
The lights hem in piercing thin a ruthless swarm
Red eyes get shut in blinding rut my vision erode
Final blackout in grisly rout in elliptic node
I prepare my grit to encounter the hit as a fightback code.
(Translation of ‘Aalo’)1985
Classic Fraud
Classic fraud get down from palanquin
I’ve quit the job of a slave
A chopper now seethes from waist up to shin
It’s not a free kitchen to be in the queue with an enamel tin
O virgin money come crisp and rave
Green-frock butterfly in the unemployed’s land
Swoosh and jingle in a parachute. And
Cops keep a watch and censor my letters
Heavenly boss---how long in fetters
I’ll spring up on all fours and snip your neck
Climb the corn shack and wave
Henna-dyed hair on a hay-staired deck. Well!
Classic fraud come down on your own or face hell.
(Translation of ‘Dhrupadi Jochchor’)1986
Objectivity
Regaining consciousness in a trickle
Hands and feet tied and mouth gagged on a railroad track
The silent whole
Shirt and trousers daubed in dew
Whining crickets drone
A rural gloom studded with night-chilled stars
Can’t shout as mouth is wool of spew
Ribs and shinbone smitten---not possible to move
Stiff stone chips bite at back
How beautiful is the world and peace everywhere all round calm
A pinhead light is rushing on the route piercing the one-eyed dark.
(Translation of ‘Pratyaksha’)1986
House Arrest
I kick the door planks and reveal a midnight yell
Whoever’s home I’ll break it open.
Take care of your deity, your woman, gold and slaves
False documents, Henceforth the hearth is mine
Throw off your things on the road when day breaks.
Summer from corn, coconut shadow from doormat,
afternoon clouds from clothes
Affection from jewels and hunger from dinner utensils
Kick them all out through the main entrance as a token.
Not arrested now as there are many more in line.
(Translation of ‘ Baridakhal’) 1986
Dilemma
While returning I’m hemmed in. By six or seven. All
Have weapons. I knew it when I came
Something bad was going to happen. But framed
My mind that first attack would not be from my call.
A mugger holds the shirt-collar and blurts: Want a dame?
Why here? Mama and not in chawl?
I keep my cool, teeth on teeth. Right then a blow on chin
Feel the hot blood lather.
A jerk and I sit down. In my socks I spin.
A stainless knife beams in halogen shadow
Rama inscribed on one side and Kali on other.
The crowd disperses. Power in the name of gods
Not known to all. Why are men jinn
Why don’t they love the lover? The six or seven encircling me
Withdraw mysteriously.
(Translation of ‘ Dotana’) 1986
Uncle Chapter
Yudhishthira
Hey you Pandava Chap Yudhishthira
Climb down from your multi storied flat and come in the lane
Brihg Krishna Bhima Nakula and other lackeys
Daggers hockey sticks soda water-bottles and iron chains
Tell Draupadi to have a glimpse from the sill
I’m weaponless alone
Dhrishtadumna Duryodhana not with me
I donated my forefinger at your behest when I was young
Your victory-cry will now be ripped open
Unchain the bitch of mahaprasthana and fight me
I’ll fight left-handed yet won’t budge
Call me mugger and call me lumpen
I’ll fall on the footpath with frothing lips
Speeding mules will emboss their hooves on my back
You’ll flay my navel with broken blade
Press cigarette butts on my arse
Bludgeon my ribs with a wool=covered mace
But I’ll show you
I’ll rap my feet on the ground and put a halo around the earth.
(Translation of ‘Meshomashay Parba’)1986
Existence
Midnight knock at the pin drop door.
You have to replace a dead undertrial.
Shall I put on a shirt? Gulp a few morsels?
Slip off through the terrace?
Door-planks shatter and wall plaster flakes
Masked men enter and enflank
“What’s the name of that squint-eyed guy
Where’s he hiding?
Speak up, or come with us !”
I choke in terror: Sir, yesterday at sunrise
He was lynched by a mob.
(Translation of ‘Astitwa’) 1985
Throne of the Weevil
O antsucker tongue of the shy mammal
delighted in one-horned matrimony
terrestrial aqua and aerial
host-beast of the smuggler moll
ruminant antelope
earth roamer water-cat the perfumed bitch
ate up the sonorous black hole and established
a slave kingdom in this ditch.
(Translation of ‘Ghunpokar Singhasan’) 1986
From ‘Jakham’
Awning ablaze with toxic fire above me
I lie watching the winged blue of this crawling sky
putting down the crushing anger of my suffering
I cross exam my nocturne doubts
pushing a gramophone needle over the lines of my palm
I scan the prophecy
armature on the left turned slag long ago
now eye flesh twitching in the smoke of malay’s burning skeleton
dismantled tempests sweep by at 99mph
uniform queues of wrist watched zombies tattle trade cyclic seine
a swinging bat threatened me in this black dungeon
800,000 doorless jamb stare for eternity over the liquid meadow
16 division ravens whirl around my torso for 25 years
my bones reel clutching my raw wounds
my peeled flesh blood
flaying my skin I uncover arrogant frescoes of my trap
ageless sabotage inside the body
patrolling darkness in the hemoglobin
I’m deciding what to do with me now
I’ve inherited emergent vengeance polished for 6000 years
tugging at man’s insensibility scraping old plaster of my skin
fingernails look magnanimous after the meal
people are returning home on tortoise back
failing to search out my heart in my body
man training man the fair-spoken codes of war & hospitality
gathering fallen limbs from the torso we’ve to retreat to
I lie lazily closing both eyelids wrapped in sun flakes
coked reeks conspiring in my veins turned loose
ohh
from the vapour of brain’s angry kernel
technicoloured nitrocellulose oozes over dreamlined retina
letters of sympathy heaped against half closed futureless door
my black muscles rust
equally true corpses of geniuses & fool... slime simultaneously into earth
each woman is waiting with a conversion chart in her desolate womb
Gandhi & Attila’s equi-chemical blood
streams through same veins
nothing happens to me... nothing will happen to this earth either
neither could I practice usury like the rest of mankind
nor shoot dice made of human bones
seeds floating in air try to slouch roots
into my unfertile swea-tbeads
I dreamt of my failure in Bumghang’s apple orchard
I couldn’t choose the luxurious comfort of an insect
sleeping in the cushioned kitchen of a corn’s kernel
I’ve been spitting inside my body for the last 25 years
scraping off from mirror’s knave mercury self-savior imprints of my violent face
each & all having a certificate from the burning-ghat doctor
for their performance of duty until last breath
2000 hounds released from out of my skull
haunting me for 25yrs
sniffing the alleys trod by women I advance toward their
amateur abode
my heart-lump split open in terror
when I looked at footprints on dark pavement
sounds of dripping sand have evoked my skin pores
my spine burnt smoke billow through chimneys of skin
ants drag flesh copses through moth made clay veins
damn barefoot amid sea gulf I proceed
to sullen den of vultures
I’ve experienced magic simultaneously of food
concealing envious tints of blood & pus
perverse sugarcane brain sucks
liquid philanthropic dirt out of earth
my Dirt my Love my Blood
clouds drift by like pieces of discarded bloodseained cloth
I now recall Bluegirl’s sick left tit….
Vibrating with heart’s feeble flutter
Life’s whacklings are to be endured until death
with a dumb tongue
a blazing mantle hangs in place of my heart machine
plus-minus signs and compasses with broken needles
stream through my arteries
rifle’s dazzling nozzle & diesel-roller sleep
in iron-ore of earth
and stored deep down in zink’s brain
newspapers’ Yes & newspaper’s No
my feet do not realize
I’m controlling their speed & direction
I’m not sure if I’ll have to become unworldly
paying excise with an untransferable woman
I gloomed all through the winter forging my own signature
was born not wanting to be born
now without unlacing my shoes
I want to plunge into the glow less dark
everybody is making arrangements for Tomorrow
shoes are having sympathetic polish this evening
only for Tomorrow
yet even circular roads get hold of man’s legs
one day or the other
lusting for limbs 303 greased cartouches
stashed in new pineboxes rush up to frontiers of countries
2510 years after Buddha sprawled on Gandhi-lawn
model-’65 leftover shoes & umbrellas of cop & non-cop clashes
in the warehouse of cocaine & counterfeit money
Indian & Chinese citizens mirth together in ecstasy
I had lifted a 5-paise coin from a blind beggar’s palm
I had looted benevolent money of hearse-corpses
Out of parched groin
crossed death-panic on a boat not knowing how to swim
I may be censored I can not be disregarded
(Translation of ‘Jakham’)1965
Stark Electric Jesus
Oh I'll die I'll die I'll die
My skin is in blazing furore
I do not know what I'll do where I'll go oh I am sick
I'll kick all Arts in the butt and go away Shubha
Shubha let me go and live in your cloaked melon
In the unfastened shadow of dark destroyed saffron curtain
The last anchor is leaving me after I got the other anchors lifted
I can't resist anymore, a million glass panes are breaking in my cortex
I know, Shubha, spread out your matrix, give me peace
Each vein is carrying a stream of tears up to the heart
Brain's contagious flints are decomposing out of eternal sickness
other why didn't you give me birth in the form of a skeleton
I'd have gone two billion light years and kissed God's ass
But nothing pleases me nothing sounds well
I feel nauseated with more than a single kiss
I've forgotten women during copulation and returned to the Muse
In to the sun-coloured bladder
I do not know what these happenings are but they are occurring within me
I'll destroy and shatter everything
draw and elevate Shubha in to my hunger
Shubha will have to be given
Oh Malay
Kolkata seems to be a procession of wet and slippery organs today
But i do not know what I'll do now with my own self
My power of recollection is withering away
Let me ascend alone toward death
I haven't had to learn copulation and dying
I haven't had to learn the responsibility of shedding the last drops
after urination
Haven't had to learn to go and lie beside Shubha in the darkness
Have not had to learn the usage of French leather
while lying on Nandita's bosom
Though I wanted the healthy spirit of Aleya's
fresh China-rose matrix
Yet I submitted to the refuge of my brain's cataclysm
I am failing to understand why I still want to live
I am thinking of my debauched Sabarna-Choudhury ancestors
I'll have to do something different and new
Let me sleep for the last time on a bed soft as the skin of
Shubha's bosom
I remember now the sharp-edged radiance of the moment I was born
I want to see my own death before passing away
The world had nothing to do with Malay Roychoudhury
Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your
violent silvery uterus
Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace
Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream
Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm
Would I have been like this if I had different parents?
Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm?
Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father?
Would I have made a professional gentleman of me
like my dead brother without Shubha?
Oh, answer, let somebody answer these
Shubha, ah Shubha
Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen
Come back on the green mattress again
As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of a magnet's brilliance
I remember the letter of the final decision of 1956
The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished
with coon at that time
Fine rib-smashing roots were descending in to your bosom
Stupid relationship inflated in the bypass of senseless neglect
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
I do not know whether I am going to die
Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience
I'll disrupt and destroy
I'll split all in to pieces for the sake of Art
There isn't any other way out for Poetry except suicide
Shubha
Let me enter in to the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora
In to the absurdity of woeless effort
In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart
Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra?
Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition?
Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum -flux or in the phlegm?
With her eyes shut supine beneath me
I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize Shubha
Women could be treacherous even after unfolding a helpless appearance
Today it seems there is nothing so treacherous as Woman & Aet
Now my ferocious heart is running towards an impossible death
Vertigoes of water are coming up to my neck from the pierced earth
I will die
Oh what are these happenings within me
I am failing to fetch out my hand and my palm
From the dried sperms on my trousers spreading wings
300000 children gliding toward the district of Shubha's bosom
Millions of needles are now running from my blood in to Poetry
Now the smuggling of my obstinate legs are trying to plunge
Into the death-killer sex-wig entangled in the hypnotic kingdom of words
Fitting violent mirrors on each wall of the room I am observing
After letting loose a few naked Malay, his unestablished scramblings.
( Translation of Prachanda Baidyutik Chhutar )
I Danced with Tagore
Arrey Rabindranath, remember? I danced with you?
raised half-folk ding-dong around my fingers on monochord
from crowded Free School Street to the clove market of Sadar St
while walking along you said I am coming from Silaidaha
on my way to Alumuddin Office.
On your lips made of fire and water there was still
trace of Holy Song what heat what heat you threw away the
gabardine robe I found leeches on your pink person
there are lots of leeches in rainy Jorasanko
At the whiff of mutton kebab from Selim’s shop, What are
the muslims cooking, when you asked he replied, ‘Don’t you
know? Its bull meat! Why don’t you give a try? ‘
In the tea stall bald-headed goat-bearded Vladimir Illich
golden hair Vera Ivanova Jasulich and like your silver beard
Axelrod and Martov whose cheek was quivering
you asked, Where are their torsoes?
Since I was unable to stop my dance you wanted to
donate me your monochord as whoever got a chance has taken
away dances from your feet and now even during daytime
halogen lamps are on what joy what joy
Your three-legged chair is lying on Sadar Street balcony
you had broken it while making tumultous love, it is written
in your Autobiography with year & date what love what love
The horse of your carriage is singing like a cuckoo
grandpa Rabindranath and all those spawned from your
sperm are eating fried horse-grams from the floor
What are these? I replied, ‘crows’. What are those
called? I said, ‘You better ask Selim, he raises gangland
money in this area.’ What divinity what divinity.
(Translated from his original Bengali poem “Ki Bishaya Ki Bishaya”)
Sanitary Napkin
Malay Roychoudhury | Translation: Uttaran Das Gupta
Love is like that girl, who
had to drop out of school;
Three-and-a-half days each month,
Must wear dry grass tied in cloth;
In monsoon, the grass is green,
So, ash wrapped in cloth,
to soak up the blood,
seated quietly, alone, book-less.
Translation of Sanitary Napkin by Uttaran Dasgupta
Please Don’t Tell My Grandmother
He asked you not to like me,
So why did you, Neera?
Even now, I perform breaststrokes in caterpillar-stuffed north eastern clouds
He didn’t ask me for any poems for 50 years,
So why are you asking now, Neera?
Even now, standing in 10-foot-deep water, I wield icy rods
He wrote an editorial on my sub-judice case,
Turning an editor, why are you asking for my writing, Neera?
Even now, I love flatbreads stuffed with smoked penguin fat
He did not confess to being my anthology’s publisher
Why did you confess, Neera?
Even now, I have family-pack yawns in the face of families,
He didn’t like pronouncing my name
So why are you telling it to youths, Neera?
Even now, in bloody waters, I join the Bollywood chorus of tiger sharks
He had said I have nothing of a true writer
So why do you think I do, Neera?
At Imlitala, I knew rat roasts don’t taste too good without charcoal smoke
He said I have nothing creative in me
So why do you think I do, Neera?
Having burnt bank notes worth Rs 5,000 crore, I smelt death
He said I’ll never write poetry
So why do you think I have, Neera?
On the banks of Amsterdam’s canals I have heard doddering old men sing limericks
He transcended from sorrow to anger and anger to hate
Why are you so generous Neera?
Please don’t tell my grandmother.
Translation of Aamar Thakumakey Jeno Bolben Na by Uttaran Dasgupta
Comedy is Tragedy’s Parasite
What was the name of that editor of Janata? 1961:
On the front page, he wrote: “Won’t last, won’t last!”
Him? Maybe he is called Mogambo.
Then 1962, 1963, 1964, 1965, 1966
Who was that short man, wrote in the daily literary supplement
“That? How long will that last? Won’t last.”
What was his name? That man, at the Esplanade book stall
Can’t remember? Where did he go, that man?
In a famous little magazine he wrote—
Him? Maybe he is called Dr Dang
Then 1967, 1968, 1969, 1970, 1971, 1972
Can’t recall? Thick glasses, a swift stride—
Him? Maybe he is called Gabbar Singh
Why can’t you remember the names their fathers gave them?
Forgotten in just 50 years? Where did they go?
And that fellow who wore loose trousers and a bush shirt
And wrote so many times: “Won’t last, won’t last.”
Then 1973, 1974, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1978, 1979,
1980, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984, 1985,
1986, 1987, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992,
1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999,
2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007,
2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014
What? Can’t remember yet? What a strange fellow you are!
So many writers, editors, poets repeatedly
Wrote: “Won’t last, won’t last, won’t last too long
People will forget soon.” And yet you struggle
To recall their names? Then let it be!
Let Mogambo, Dr Dang and Gabbar Singh
Be their names in the history of Bengalis.
Comedy Holo Tragedyr Porgachha translated by Uttaran Dasgupta
Insomnia
Feel like writing; write
Feel hungry; eat
Feel love; do
Feel inflamed; burn
Feel addicted; drink
Feel funny; laugh
Feel like touching; touch
Feel like looking; look
Feel like cooking; cook
Feel like giving; donate
Feel like reading; read
Feel like laying; lay
Feel like pissing; piss
Feel like yawning; yawn
Feel hate; hate
Feel like shitting; shit
Feel like sneezing; sneeze
Feel hurt; cry
Feel like farting; fart
Feel like dancing; dance
Feel like singing; sing
Feel like breathing; am
No sleep
No dreams
Bengali poem Insomnia Translated by Uttaran Dasgupta
Homeland
Can’t say my Uttarpara ancestral home isn’t my homeland,
I know unidentified bodies, their eyes plucked out, float by in the Ganga.
Can’t say my aunt’s Ahiritola isn’t my homeland,
I know abducted girls are bound and gagged in Sonagachi nearby.
Can’t say my uncle’s at Panihati isn’t my homeland,
I know who was killed, and where, in broad daylight.
Can’t say my adolescent Konnagar isn’t my homeland,
I know who was sent to cut whose throat.
Can’t say my youth’s Calcutta isn’t my homeland,
I know who threw bombs, set fire on buses, trams.
Can’t say West Bengal isn’t my homeland,
I’ve the right to be tortured to death in its lock-ups,
I’ve the right to starve and have rickets in its tea gardens,
I’ve the right to hang myself at its handloom mills,
I’ve the right to become bones buried by its party lumpen,
I’ve the right to have my mouth taped, silenced,
I’ve the right to hear the leaders sprout gibberish, abuse,
I’ve the right to a heart attack on its streets blocked by protestors,
Can’t say Bengali isn’t my homeland.
Translation of Aamar Swadesh by Uttaran Dasgupta
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