IMPORTANT STANZAS FROM ALL POEMS BASED ON OLD QUESTION PAPERS MEG-14 : CONTEMPORARY INDIAN LITERATURE IN ENGLISH TRANSLATION Of MASTER OF ARTS (English) Term-End Examination
REQUIEM - Kynpham Singh _ Khasi
The moans that floated into the still autumn nights were borne by the cold onto the season of winds carols
Her very name calls upon God to protect but there she was moaning as naturally as a sleeper snoring No doctor came....
And finally, only two titanic tarantulas One black, the other with a crimson chest, Crept with slow hairy step, like skulkers of the night, and hauled her off to their invisible lair.
Such a young girl such a sweet girl such promise …
Sermons were shouted. Gossips were floated. Palms were read. Tea and biscuits were distributed. Then, her sudden demise was sadly lamented :
https://pyotra.tumblr.com/post/130181741796/i-the-moans-that-floated-into-the-still-autumn/amp
THE STONE SPEAKS IN THE FOREST - ChandraKant Mura Singh - Kokborok
A man with a broken heart came today Accompanied by his lady love Sprayed dreams and tears on the stone And went away rowing upstream. - II
THE LAST DREAM - Ibomcha Singh - Manipuri
All of her flesh and bones They had consigned to the flames But how she continued living No one can understand.
Lifeless fields stretch scorched and dry Like death in silence.
That weak old woman looking at us Across the wide of water Yes she was the ancient goddess of the village.
In the early hours of daytime Up and down the village They are all having nightmares The old woman looks on wet - eyed.
Lifeless fields stretch scorched and dry Like death in silence The thick smoke of cowdung-cakes envelope the hollow souled village.
Useless old woman this is Very wicked old woman this is The village was laid waste by her Hunting ghosts she had sent
https://www.jstor.org/stable/23343138
TREE AND THE SAGE - Harbhajan Singh - Punjabi
And now with my spring bloom I wish to go somewhere else "It has been too long a stay here Now is the time to move on. - II
Thirst is to plunge headlong Without learning to swim Without a barge and a pole Into the roaring whirlpools
Fruits make me bow And then I crave to be sweet And linger on a palate
I regret no season Because over and over again Have I resurged Never did I know When the fall hit me And when I regained the green Anew, afresh
The pages of scriptures fluttering in the air Would perch on my leaves The songs of the sparrows Weaving into my tresses Became my way of life.
THE STARE - Raghuvir Sahay - Hindi
No, I would continue to stare at the one hundred bald pates in silence. The fixed stare of my dead machine-gun.
What were the words on my lips when I died. You seem to know them better than I You wrote : I had said 'Help'. May be I had said 'Liberty'. now that I am dead I cannot remember
Death does not come to all of us in the same manner nor do the dead become equal in death for they were not so before. The body is the residue of struggle ...
What makes one hundred fat heads hang -- The load of wisdom ? The weight of reverence ? The burden of shame ?
The body is the residue of struggle incorporating in itself one battered eating bowl, One soiled hair comb and the breakage within The only element to escape is a cry Which in essence, is an undetermined internal matter still under study.
THE MOON - Dinanath Nadim - Kashmiri
I whispered Hope to my hungry belly, and gazed and gazed With hungry looks at the moon-flooded sky. - II
The moon looked like a pancake and The hills looked hungry; and the clouds put out The fire in western skies.
But in the east The wood nymphs lit the moon's cooking stove In whose soft glow shoots of the steaming rice Seemed to spring upon the hills.
The moon looked like a pancake as she rose Behind the hills. She looked dull as a robe. of pampore tweed worn off thread bare and torn at the collar-band out of which peep the scars on a marble breast, and pale as a counterfeit silver coin which robs a coolie of her mite.
The Bumble bee
The garden has withered in autumn,
It might be deserted soon,
O bumble bee, the black bumble bee ! Wherefore are you so sad and forlorn ?
THE MOMENT OF COURAGE - Padma Sachdev - Dogri
The Dark of the wall Louge for that moment of courage, When, in full sight of all, My hands Will stretch out For a drink. - II
MOTHER SERIOUS - Nirmala - Telugu
My ears like twin boats Carry the weight of your words ? Remember ?
Now I feel my life, even if eased like the cotton that touches the naval blood of an infant, under the weight of my ears, will break down.
I have no wish to live any longer, dear son ! with hollow words of empty concern with loveless strokes
My ears like twin boats carry the weight of your words ? Remember ? You were a small boy and I breasted you even in your sleep.
My life – flow rolling down my eye — "She may not go now Shh ! She will hear ! Be silent
Like the dot in a question-mark I am slipping down memory lane And you give me a brain-teaser !
KITCHEN - Vimla - Telugu
Our children are about to enter These lonely kitchens, Come, for their sake, Let's demolish These kitchens now.
Inhuman, it sucks our blood, robs us of hopes and dreams. a demon, a vulture eating into us bit by bit all our lives. Kitchen culture, Kitchen talk, Reduced to kitchen maids and cooks.
I MET WALT WHITMAN YESTERDAY - K.Ayyapa Paniker - Malyalam
Yesterday or the day before - I met Whitman : I met Whitman talking aloud in solitude about the populace.
Why do your people get away when they meet your people as if they are not your people ? Do you prefer whites to blacks ?
Atom or Atman — Which of these do your scientists strive after ?
Hey, Whitman ! I call out. My friend — the voice had drawn near — look, he said, Columbus' geographical error, history's gain.
Do you have in your land still those sages, who eating only their silences, counsel their rulers
The earth here speaks of the same things to us Those who have ears do not listen.
Grasses, rivers, hills, clouds, woods, clouds woods, hills, rivers, grasses, hills, clouds and rivers, woods, bridges, rails, airports and cars, factories and telephones come, let's walk up to the pacific coast.
SRI RADHA - Ramakanth Rath - Oriya
I do not know if a love annulling all other loves will suddenly arrive and command my destiny of old age, disease and death
I then collected all half-formed desires, joined them together, rushed towards you like a gale and entwined my fingers in your fingers
What impudence in the sunlight! The wind's thoughts are wandering as though it has seen the long-banished lover; living in disguise in the neighbourhood.
The day people said I was an unfaithful wife I became Radha, the first and the best among women in love.
May be the darkness of the last night fought a bloody battle in the ultimate moments of its empire of silence or meaningless words. The small residues of its existence are already crumbling. - II
The river, and the forest across the river no longer look the same. How long can my sickly firmament remain immutable ?
The morning today Tells me it shall take away all consciousness From this life And all the other lives I have yet to live. It says all this in a strange language In words different from all the words I've known.
Such tumult in the heart is altogether new. I do not know if on a bend of my life or of the path to the river a discomfiture lies in ambush.
JUST ONCE TRY - Shakti Chattopadhyay bengali
We need everything. We shall build houses and home shall raise a lasting pillar of civilization. When the silvery fish is gone scattering stones in water Just once try to love.
It's good to have some stones in your heart — the cry is then echoed back. -
ORPHEUS - Sitanshu Yashashchandra - Gujrati
The eagles crying out in sharp shrill notes; The eagles of the under - world burst into the sky. - II
The blind eagles, quite incapable of looking behind; Grieving eagles who never ever had any loved one; The eagles who never ever had any loved one; The eagles crying out in sharp shrill notes; The eagles of the underworld burst into the sky.
Layers of rock slide on each-other, lava liquid flows cascading down, Cave roofs are pushed and splintered. mistakes and fine follies howl, Every eye begets its many dreams
A NOTEBOOK OF POEMS - Namdeo Dhansal - Marathi
https://www.jstor.org/stable/23336501
I have handed over, my notebook of poems Long back to Kabir. There is no Kabir in this market.
How can I write the alphabets of constellations on the old paper ?
This chill touch of water snaps the rope of desire. Don't blow the water. The face of my autobiography will be lost. - Autobiography
The shaky image in the mirror of water is my own. The pure, white mass of foam on the top of the waves Touchingly pass through space and time. - Autobiography
You do not open the door Though I have arrived at the destination How can I write the alphabets of constellations. on the old paper ?
This tradition does accept The promise of liberation, The wings of desire are just growing in the empire of darkness
No comments:
Post a Comment