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Daivik Apr 2021
আনন্দময়
আমার হৃদয়
নব বর্ষের প্রথম সূর্যোদয়

ঠাকুরের গানে নাচে পাখি
এই দিনকে এত ভালো বাসী
সাদা লাল অম্বরের নীচে
খেলে বাংলার সবাই বাসী

নুতুন বছর আনে উন্নতি
এতই আমার প্রার্থনা
শুভ নববর্ষ
পয়লা বৈশাখের শুভকামনা
Shubho noboborsho
Daivik Feb 2021
আমার মনে আছে ভালো করে
ওই দিন
আমি শুয়ে ছিলাম
তোমার কোলে

তুমি কেন গেলে
আমাদের ছেঁড়ে
চিরকালের জন্যে

ওই দিন
আমি ভুলবোনা
ওই শীতকাল
ওই জ্বলন্ত আম কাঠের
তাপ
এখন মনে পরে
আমি ক্রন্দিত
মনের মধ্যে
পথভ্রষ্ট
এই জীবনে

তুমি কেনো চলেগালে
আকাশের জন্যে
In bengali
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Come As You Are
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come as you are, forget appearances!
Is your hair untamable, your part uneven, your bodice unfastened? Never mind.
Come as you are, forget appearances!

Skip with quicksilver steps across the grass.
If your feet glisten with dew, if your anklets slip, if your beaded necklace slides off? Never mind.
Skip with quicksilver steps across the grass.

Do you see the clouds enveloping the sky?
Flocks of cranes erupt from the riverbank, fitful gusts ruffle the fields, anxious cattle tremble in their stalls.
Do you see the clouds enveloping the sky?

You loiter in vain over your toilet lamp; it flickers and dies in the wind.
Who will care that your eyelids have not been painted with lamp-black, when your pupils are darker than thunderstorms?
You loiter in vain over your toilet lamp; it flickers and dies in the wind.

Come as you are, forget appearances!
If the wreath lies unwoven, who cares? If the bracelet is unfastened, let it fall. The sky grows dark; it is late.
Come as you are, forget appearances!

Keywords/Tags: Tagore, translation, Bengali, come, forget appearances, hair, bodice, feet, anklet, bracelet, beads, necklace, sky, clouds, cranes, cattle, toilet, lamp, wind, mascara, eyeshadow, mrburdu

These are modern English translations of poems by the great Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), who has been called the "Bard of Bengal" and "the Bengali Shelley." In 1913 Tagore became the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Tagore was also a notable artist, musician and polymath.

The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.



Unfit Gifts
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

At sunrise, I cast my nets into the sea,
dredging up the strangest and most beautiful objects from the depths ...
some radiant like smiles, some glittering like tears, others flushed like brides’ cheeks.
When I returned, staggering under their weight, my love was relaxing in her garden, idly tearing leaves from flowers.
Hesitant, I placed all I had produced at her feet, silently awaiting her verdict.
She glanced down disdainfully, then pouted: "What are these bizarre things? I have no use for them!"
I bowed my head, humiliated, and thought:
"Truly, I did not contend for them; I did not purchase them in the marketplace; they are unfit gifts for her!"
That night I flung them, one by one, into the street, like refuse.
The next morning travelers came, picked them up and carted them off to exotic countries.



This Dog
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Each morning this dog,
who has become quite attached to me,
sits silently at my feet
until, gently caressing his head,
I acknowledge his company.

This simple recognition gives my companion such joy
he shudders with sheer delight.

Among all languageless creatures
he alone has seen through man entire—
has seen beyond what is good or bad in him
to such a depth he can lay down his life
for the sake of love alone.

Now it is he who shows me the way
through this unfathomable world throbbing with life.

When I see his deep devotion,
his offer of his whole being,
I fail to comprehend ...

How, through sheer instinct,
has he discovered whatever it is that he knows?

With his anxious piteous looks
he cannot communicate his understanding
and yet somehow has succeeded in conveying to me
out of the entire creation
the true loveworthiness of man.



Patience
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

If you refuse to speak, I will fill my heart with your silence and endure it.
I will remain still and wait like the night through its starry vigil
with its head bowed low in patience.

The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish,
and your voice will pour down in golden streams breaking through the heavens.

Then your words will take wing in songs from each of my birds' nests,
and your melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.



Gitanjali 35
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been divided by narrow domestic walls;
Where words emerge from the depths of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not been lost amid the dreary desert sands of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward into ever-widening thought and action;
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.



Gitanjali 11
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Leave this vain chanting and singing and counting of beads:
what Entity do you seek in this lonely dark temple with all the doors shut?
Open your eyes and see: God is not here!
He is out there where the tiller tills the hard ground and the paver breaks stones.
He is with them in sun and shower; his garments are filthy with dust.
Shed your immaculate mantle and like him embrace the dust!
Deliverance? Where is this "deliverance" to be found
when our Master himself has joyfully embraced the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all forever!
Cease your meditations, abandon your petals and incense!
What is the harm if your clothes become stained rags?
Meet him in the toil and the sweat of his brow!



Last Curtain
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

I know the day comes when my eyes close,
when my sight fails,
when life takes its leave in silence
and the last curtain veils my vision.
Yet the stars will still watch by night;
the sun will still rise like before;
the hours will still heave like sea waves
casting up pleasures and pains.
When I consider this end of my earth-life,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the illumination of death
this world with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare its meanest of lives.
Things I longed for in vain and those I received, let them pass.
Let me but truly possess the things I rejected and overlooked.



Death
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

You who are the final fulfillment of life,
Death, my Death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for you;
for you I have borne the joys and the pangs of life.
All that I am, all that I have and hope, and all my love
have always flowed toward you in the depths of secrecy.
One final glance from your eyes and my life will be yours forever, your own.
The flowers have been woven and the garland prepared for the bridegroom.
After the wedding the bride must leave her home and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.



I Cannot Remember My Mother
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I cannot remember my mother,
yet sometimes in the middle of my playing
a melody seemed to hover over my playthings:
some forgotten tune she loved to sing
while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother,
yet sometimes on an early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers fills my room
as the scent of the temple’s morning service
wafts over me like my mother’s perfume.

I cannot remember my mother,
yet sometimes still, from my bedroom window,
when I lift my eyes to the heavens’ vast blue canopy
and sense on my face her serene gaze,
I feel her grace has encompassed the sky.

Keywords/Tags: Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, India, Indian, poet, Bengali, sea, seashore, children, mother, dog, love, lover, patience, curtain, death
Kelsey Banerjee Jun 2020
a heap of rice
with small stones and salt
this red sari I am wearing
is a story
I cannot write.
So I am walking
with my bag of rice.
I give it to maa,
to you I give the salt
the stones I put between
today and tomorrow.

Bangla:

কত দেব?
এক গাদা ভাত
ছোট পাথর এবং নুন সঙ্গে
একটা লাল শাড়ি আমি পরা
এতা একটা গল্প
আমি লিখতে পারি না।
তখন হাটছি
ভাতের থলে সঙ্গে
আমি মা কে দিয়েছি
তোমাকে আমি নুন দিয়েছি
পাথর আমি রাখছি
আজ এবং আগামীকাল মাঝখানে।
Playing around, working with some Bengali vocabulary and trying to make a picture with some simple images.
Kelsey Banerjee Jun 2020
she said:
don’t forget!
milk, oil, flowers
our offerings, our worship.
my hands are broken
but still you kiss each finger.
I remember
milk for kheer,
oil for the lamp,
flowers for Shiva.
to me these are nothing.
in your eyes the world sleeps
can I sleep in them, too?

Hindi:

वह कही:
मत भूलना!
दूध, तेल, फूल
हमारा प्रसाद, हमारी पूजा
मेरे हाथ टूट गए हैं
लेकिन अभी भी तुम एक एक उंगली चुंबन।
मुझे याद है
खीर के लिए दूध,
दीपक के लिए तेल,
शिव के लिए फूल।
मेरे लिए ये कुछ भी नहीं हैं।
तुम्हारी आँखों में दुनिया सो रही
मैं उन में सो सकते हैं भी ?


Bangla:

ও বলল:
ভুলে যাবেন না!
দুধ, তেল, ফুল
আমাদের নৈবেদ্য, আমাদের পূজা।
আমার হাত ভেঙে গেছে
তবুও আপনি প্রতিটি আঙুল চুমু।
মনে আছে
খিরের জন্য দুধ,
বাতি জন্য তেল,
শিবের জন্য ফুল।
আমার কাছে এগুলি কিছুই নয়।
তোমার চোখে পৃথিবী ঘুমায়
আমি কি তাদের মধ্যে ঘুমাতে পারি?
Sometimes I like to create poems to practice my languages...perhaps they aren't strong, but I'm looking at using simple images and words to create meaning. Started with Hindi -> Bengali and then translated back to English.
Nuha Fariha Jun 2019
Cockroaches peering between the shattered plates scattered once they heard the slap of Shanta’s footsteps up the narrow halls. 5’4 in white socks and brown sandals, she commands the room, her yellow sari, a beacon in the darkening winter days. Mrs Tagore’s radio leaks through paper-thin walls.

Pagla hawar badol diney/ Pagol amar mon jegey othey

Out the **** elevator, she glides above dull linoleum floors to her two room cardboard box. Salina’s neon pink birthday banner hangs on, cobwebs burrowed between ‘A’ and ‘L’. She put the meager groceries away, and hung the bag out the window next to of her neighbor’s drying *******, cold air a mercy from the heat of the stove. Next door, the radio blares on.

Chena shonar kon bairey; Jekhaney poth nai nai re, Shekhaney okaroney jaai chhootey

Lamb’s breath sauteed with cumin, onions, garlic and green chillis from Aladdin’s Grocery on 14th and Jasper clings to her collar like an expensive perfume. The water hisses when it’s poured over, steam rising in protest. She traps under the lid, allowing a single stream to whistle her a lonely tune.

Ghorer mukhey, aar ki re? Kono din shey jabey phirey/ Jabey na jabey na, deyal joto shob gelo tootey.

Today is Salina’s birthday, her plastic table mat is still in its place on the three legged table propped against the living room wall. Shanta puts down a chipped white ceramic plate, cuts out a slice of angel birthday cake and lights a candle, a spell casting soft gold on the old crayon drawings on the plaster walls. She sits in a plastic chair and watches the door. The song reaches its crescendo.

Brishti nesha bhora shondha bela/Kon Boloraam-er ami chaela/ Amar shopno ghirey naachey maatal jutey, joto maatal jutey.

Each echo of stilettos makes Shanta hold her breath. Perhaps this year Salina will finally come back, perhaps this year the door will open and her daughter will smile, will hug her, will laugh as her mother cries. On the table, wilted jasmines, calling cards left unused, Salina’s poems cut from magazines, the word collage blurring together. “My mother's hands/calloused/call me/ bruised mango/this is love”. Each ticking of the clock another blow, another **** collecting on the plate.

Ja na chaayibar tai aaj chaayi go, Ja na paayibar tai kotha pai go? Pabo na pabo no

Mrs. Tagore’s song ends. The candle wax melts on the cake, the cake is thrown away, the room grows dark. Shanta collapses next to the stove. She undoes her yellow sari, loosens her blouse. When she strokes herself, when she comes, she bleeds, she is coming home.
chitragupta Mar 2019
আঁধারে দুর দিগন্তের কোমল আলো তুমি
ভূবনের অন্ধকারে আশার প্রদীপ জ্বালো তুমি

গ্রীষ্মকালে দুরন্ত স্রোতের কালবৈশাখী তুমি
মধুর চেয়েও মধুর কণ্ঠের কোকিল পাখি তুমি

প্রথম বর্ষায় রাঙা মাটির ভেজা গন্ধ তুমি
আমার মনের সংগীতের সুর ও ছন্দ তুমি

ভোরের বেলায় কানের পর্দায় কলরব তুমি
একঘেয় দিনের অন্তরালে উৎসব তুমি

বরফ মাখা কাঞ্চনজঙ্ঘার সোনালী ভোর তুমি
বঙ্গোপসাগরে ঢেউয়ের কোলে কল্লোল তুমি


এ কি অদ্ভূত খেলা, চেতনা আর নেই এ মনে
খুঁজে পেলাম না, হারিয়ে গেলে যে হৃদয়ের কোণে
People say when I'm at my worst, I write my best.
I think they're telling me not to fall in love again.

Translation:
Gentle twilight in the horizon at dusk, it is you
A lamp of hope in the darkness of the earth, it is you

The furious speeding summer tempest, it is you
The call of the cuckoo, sweeter than honey, it is you

The smell of wet red soil on the first rains, it is you
The tunes and rhythm of the song of my heart, it is you

The chirping of birds at dawn on my eardrums, it is you
A festival at the heart of a mundane day, it is you

A golden dawn above snow capped Kanchenjunga, it is you
A strong current amidst the waves of the Bay of Bengal, it is you


What is this strange game, my mind has lost all consciousness
Couldn't seek you, hidden somewhere in the corner of my heart.
Gabriel K Sep 2015
She borrowed her dad's car
one time
a VW Golf
3 series
graphite
we drive along Marylebone
Great Something Street...Crescent you know by the Park
turned left
a couple times
right
parked
Hanover Square
at night.
Rain
breath condensed on glass
I didn't write:
I heart You
unfortunately
nothing like that
by the time I had the heart it was too late,
she didn't write Yasmin 4 Gubs 4eva with her finger
it wasn't forever
but she put her hand in my pants
which was nice
undid my flies;
I made
vague
encouraging sounds
she open her mouth
you know
wide;
the engine ticked as it cooled,
footsteps echoed outside...
I gave thanks in heavy breaths
she released her grip,
sipped
quite sparingly
from the Volvic
gazed
ambiguous
with hooded lids.

We exited the vehicle
took a walk round W1
Piccadilly
Quaglino's
table for two
she had news to tell
news.
I order a bottle of Malbec
Argentinian steak
rare
“Madam?”
the waiter waved away
she had news:
she was pregnant
“Is everything alright sir?”
the waiter stalls;
there was no scope for uncertainty
she'd done the test three times
we were with child.

She'd arranged a termination
that's what they
she
we call...'d it,
The Marie Stopes Centre
Whitfield Street,
she didn't canvass my opinion
view
it's her body
she was 19
I was 22,
she needed to take action
move
she could handle me
like a McDonald's milkshake
****** off
then break the news.
It may be maybe now maybe
occasionally
I might idly imagine the hypothetical child we missed:
an Anglo-Bengali girl
unruly
cute
sixteen,
but you know what you gonna do?
We didn't take dessert
coffee
walked back to the car
in the Square
drove around
Regent's
Haymarket
Carlton
you know the steps
down,
the statue
Churchill
never give in.
We park the car
the Volkswagen Golf
get in the back
rearrange clothes
she wanted to feel me inside her
she said
before we went home.

We drove to the station
in the rain
where I kissed her
hard
taste of Maybelline
***
and steak.
© Gabriel K

— The End —