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Five Poems of Joy Goswami Translated from Bengali by Oindrila Mukherjee
 And washed away with care the colour of my scream Your bone and stone ornaments dried on wet rock And Night would spread its blue-black skin upon the water Then, it wasn’t in this land I lived! The animal hides you gave me to wrap around my waist I laid beneath my head to sleep on the island sand In the distance a whale released water through its nose, in the early morning sun One by one all the corals emerged from the sea - One day a wandering Marco Polo anchored his ship One day Columbus too - Who was first, who second, can you remember? - And once On his way back from his long desolate exile Crusoe, Robinson; he spent a couple of hours with us Dined with us on long fish roasted in fire Not a single bone in them - “excellent” he remarked in dense creeper-covered forest, I noticed the way the early morning sun flashed - while speaking with you from beneath his nutbrown beard there flashed such a smile - Then, it wasn’t in this land I lived! Tonight why do I recall that tent upon a rock Why do those bone and feather ornaments sparkle in the dark? Here where the butterflies are lightless and the minerals damp as a cold From sleeping bodies warm vapour rises constantly If I try to wash the wound of my scream, then From the water there will rise a crimson smoke! But running will not help! I will fetch the rocks and warm them Warm them and whet them Soon their inert tips Will sharpen and glisten And then Do you remember one time in the dark how A drunken bear pounced on you And I with just such a sharp rock Flattened him right there, in the sand? (--Anya Desher Kabita; collected in Kabita-Sangraha (Vol.1),[1990])
Lay yourself down, when you wish to be born lay yourself down in a grassy field meadow pasture lay yourself down and say Ma Baba Ma Baba Soon your body will become this tiny in the morning Office-goers will see on the grass drops of dew Your one drop will vanish with the warmth of the sun, go, Go if you wish to be born say to the clouds Ma Baba Ma Baba The clouds will hurl you from their womb such rain such rain such rain Down below a beautiful maiden enters her bath in a roofless rented bathroom Today there isn’t enough tap water when the rain comes Her joy as she embraces you to her bosom such love such love such love.... (--`Kalgharer Roopkatha', Patar Poshak, [1997])
Dusk has fallen. Go home. Don’t wait any more. Trees, flats, trees, signboard, trees In between the slate sky - in the distance, shops by evening Every scooter, Maruti Flashes light and turns by the culvert The same storm that came and went seven days ago Is coming back again. On the street dust swirls with the paper bag The wind’s voice gradually rises to a roar. What a strange restlessness Has begun to tremble in the suburban pond’s water... Go home, wait no more. Go and see The child you left behind with the nanny Was playing when he fell asleep on the floor In the jungle of small and big toys. (--`Premiker Janye Aar Apekkha Koro Na ', collected in Kabita-Sangraha (Vol.3), [2000])
A name I’ve written on a blade of grass On the date my mother breathed her last. (--`Batshorik', Ghumiyecho, Jhaupata? [1990])
 An eye had wandered, to another’s beloved, her leg. When, carelessly, her sari lifted just a little - Outside, the rain comes down. A lantern’s been lowered underneath the table, in the dark Now and then the fair lustre of a hidden foot drifts up... The fault is not in the eye. There was no choice but to look. Wasn’t there? Why? -- Rainspray rushes in noisily Wasn’t there? Why? -- Flowering bushes leap on barbed wire Wasn’t there? Why? -- From the one who has no right Everything is concealed by a fringe of embroidered lace... Now the rain has stopped. Now she too has left the room. Only, the breeze returns. Only, like the eye of a powerless man From time to time the lantern beneath the table trembles. (--`Ekti Brishtir Sandhya ', Ghumiyecho, Jhaupata? [1990])
These poems have been translated during a workshop at the University of Florida, Gainesville, Florida. The workshop was conducted by Dr. Sidney Wade, a poet, translator, and a professor of Creative Writing at the same University.
Published August 4, 2004
Translated by Oindrila Mukherjee. Oindrila Mukherjee lived in several places in India but spent the longest time in ... (more). Illustrated by Nilanjana Basu has been regularly illustrating for Parabaas. She lives in New Hampshire. Click here to send your feedback * To
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©Parabaas, 2004
