Posts Tagged poem

Today, my friend Khalid Mir told me rather casually that he had been reading poems by Miroslav Holub. I had heard his name; and when K sent me this poem, I could not resist posting it here. Have read it again and again. For sometimes, I tell myself similar lines – of course in a highly unpoetical fashion. Yesterday,  I tweeted this verse from Ghalib: “Meri kismat meiN gham gar itna tha. Dil bhee ya rab kai diye hote“. Indeed many different ways to understand the heart and the one below is unique for its gritty imagery as well as playfulness.

Officially the heart

is oblong, muscular,

and filled with longing.

But anyone who has painted the heart knows

that it is also

spiked like a star

and sometimes bedraggled

like a stray dog at night

and sometimes powerful

like an archangel’s drum.

And sometimes cube-shaped

like a draughtsman’s dream

and sometimes gaily round

like a ball in a net. (more…)

Today is Sahir Ludhianvi’s death anniversary. Am reposting this poem for the readers.

Sahir Ludhianvi’s immortal poem Taj Mahal has always fascinated me. It takes a most unconventional take at this beautiful monument where the poet protests at the choice of a romantic rendezvous.

Today, I found a lovely translation of this poem. I am reproducing it below – but first a few lines from Urdu:

Yeh chaman zar yeh jamna ka kinara yeh mahal
Yeh munaqqash dar-o-deevar yeh mehrab yeh taaq
Aik shahanshah nay daulat ka sahara lay ker
Hum ghareebon kee mohabbat ka uraya hai mazaaq

Taj Mahal

The Taj, mayhap, to you may seem, a mark of love supreme
You may hold this beauteous vale in great esteem;
Yet, my love, meet me hence at some other place! (more…)

 Sahir Ludhianvi laments the way Urdu was treated by Indian nation-state as it became alien overnight.

Ikees baras guzray aazadi-i-kaamil ko

Tab ja kay kahi’n hum ko Ghalib ka khayaal aaya

Turbat hai kaha’n us ki, maskan tha kaha’n uska

Ab apnay sukhan-parvar zahno’n may sawaal aaya

(more…)

I had posted Ali Sardar Jafri’s lovely poem and now a reader Farah Aziz directed me to this blog where a beautiful translation of the poem has been shared.

The setting imperial sun
broke into two parts
On this very Border, yesterday.
The dawn of freedom was wounded
On this very Border, yesterday.
This is the Border of blood,
Tears, sights, and sparks,
Where we had sown hatred
And reaped a harvest of swords.
Here, stars struggled
In the eyes of dear ones.
Here, beloved faces
Flickered in streams of tears.
Here, a mother lost her sons,
A brother, his sister.
This border thrives on blood,
Breathes flames of despise
She slithers like a snake
On the bosom of our land.
She comes to the battlefield
Crested with all her weapons .

I stand on this Border
Waiting for the Tomorrow’s  Happy Dawn.

Manmohan Singh whom I have always held in high regard, disappointed millions in South Asia with his distastefully ill-timed hard talk during his Independence day address. As if Pakistan’s current misery was a time to blow India’s trumpet. He surely was also unaware of what his patriotic Indian poet, Ali Sardar Jafri had written years ago -Dialogue Souldn’t Cease. Here is an Urdu version with a full translation. Perhaps, someone should pass a copy of this poem to the exalted Prime Minister of India.

GUFTGOO BAnD NA HO
BAAT SE BAAT CHALEY
SUBH TAK SHAAM-E-MULAAQAAT CHALEY
HUM PE HAnSTI HUEE
YE TAAROn BHARI RAAT CHALEY (more…)

14th and 15th August are two dates that evoke mixed feelings for those of us who want a peaceful subcontinent free of jingoism and weapons. Thanks to a facebook friend, I re-read this amazing poem by Ali Sardar Jafri. It evokes the nuances of Partition and the Independence. That fateful August saw a man-made disaster and 2010′s August is witnessing an epic, horrendous natural calamity.

I must find (or render) a translation of this sensitive, powerful poem. Here is what the first verse says in my slipshod translation:

Yesterday, the sun split into two and diminished at this border

Freedom’s dawn was also wounded at this very border…

***

Isi sarhad pe kal dooba tha sooraj ho ke do tukade

Isi sarhad pe kal zakhmi huyi thi subh-e-azaadi

Yeh sarhad khoon ki, ashqon ki, aahon ki, sharaaron ki

Jahan boii thi nafrat aur talwarein ugaayin thi

Main is sarhad pe kab se muntazir hoon subh-e-farda ka (more…)

The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one;

Yet the light of a bright world dies

When day is done.

****

The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole life dies

When love is done.

Francis William Bourdillon

Thanks to Isa Daudpota  who sent me the text and the translated poems after he had heard Kamila Shamsie talk about her..

Fahmida Raiz, who graduated from Sindh University and married in 1965, has published several volumes of poetry. During the Martial Law regime she was editor and publisher of the magazine, Awaaz. In all, fourteen court cases of sedition were filed against the magazine, one of which (under section 114A) carried a death penalty. She escaped to India whilst on bail, with her husband and tow children, where she lived for seven years. She worked as Poet-in-Residence at Jamia Millia, an Indian university, during this period.

She has translated Erich Fromme’s Fear of Freedom and Sheikh Ayaz’s poetry, from Sindhi into Urdu. Since the restoration of democracy she has returned to live in Pakistan and served as Director General of Pakistan’s National Book Council in Islamabad when Bhutto’s Pakistan People’s Party was in power. (more…)

No sound of clapping comes from only one hand.
The thirsty man is moaning, “O delicious water!”
The water is calling, “Where is the one who will drink me?”
This thirst in our souls is the magnetism of the Water:
We are Its, and It is ours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hich bâng-e kaff zadan na-âyad beh dar
az yeki dast to bi dasti degar
Teshneh mi nâlad keh “Ay âb-e govâr”
âb ham nâlad keh “Ku ân âb khvâr”
Jazb-e âbast in `atash dar jân-e mâ
mâ az ân-e U va U ham ân-e mâ

– Mathnawi III: 4397-4399
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
“Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance”
Threshold Books, 1996
Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra

This caravan is not bringing our baggage — it has

none of the fire of our Friend.

Though the trees have all turned green, they

have caught no scent of our spring.

Your spirit may be a rosegarden, but its heart

has not been wounded by our thorn.

Your heart may be an ocean of realities, but its

boiling does not compare with that of our shore.

Although the mountains are very steady — by

God, they do not have our steadiness.

The spirit drunk with the morning wine has not

even caught a scent of our winesickness.

Venus herself, the minstrel of heaven, has not

the capacity for our work.

Ask us about the lion of God — every lion has

not our backbone.

Show not Shams-I Tabrizi’s coin to him who

has not our fineness!

– Ghazal (Ode) 695

Translation by William C. Chittick

“The Sufi Path of Love”

SUNY Press, Albany, 1983