காற்றாடித் திருவிழாக்கள்,2) இம்மை

ரிஷி கவிதைகள்



1) காற்றாடித் திருவிழாக்கள்


காலங்காலமாய் நடந்தேறிவருகின்றன காற்றாடித் திருவிழாக்கள்.
கில்லாடிகள் தான் போட்டியாளர்களும், புரவலர்களும், ஏன்,
பார்வையாளர்களாகிய நாமும்கூட.

கையிலுள்ள நூலின் அளவும், வலுவும்
தெரியாமலிருக்க வழியில்லை.

இக்கரையில் கணுக்காலளவு நீரில் நின்றுகொண்டு
’காப்பாற்றுவோம்’ என்று
மின்னும் எழுத்துக்கள் பொறிக்கப்பட்ட பட்டங்கள்
மும்முரமாய் பறக்கவிடப்பட்டவண்ணம்...

அதைப் பார்த்துப் பெருங்குரலெடுத்துச் சிரித்தவாறே,
கோரதாண்டவமாடிக்கொண்டிருந்த நரமாமிசபட்சியொன்று
எரிசிறகு விரித்துயரே பறந்துபோய்
நூல்களையெல்லாம்
ரத்தம் வழியும் தனது கூர்நகங்களாலும், பற்களாலும்
அறுத்துப்போட்டது.
நூறாயிரக்கணக்கான சிரசுகளையும்.

சிதறித் தெறித்துப் பெருகியோடிய கதறல்களை சிலர்
எடைநிறுத்துப்பார்க்க சிலர்
கடைவிரித்துப் பொருள்சேர்க்க சிலர்
தாம் மட்டுமே பொருள்பெயர்க்கத் தகும்
என உரிமைகொண்டாட சிலர்
பதிவுநாடாக்களில் சேகரித்துக்கொண்டு காலத்திற்குமான
கலைப்பொருளாக்க சிலர்
வேகவேகமாகக் குழியாழம்பறித்து அவற்றைப்
புதைத்துவிட்டு எதுவும் கேட்கவில்லையே
என்று கதைத்திருக்க......

தொடரும் காற்றாடித் திருவிழாக்கள்.

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2) இம்மை

ஆரம்பமும் முடிவுமற்ற ஒரு பயணத்தில் நான்; பொடிநடையாக.
சில சமயங்களில் காலணிகளோடு; பல நேரங்களில் வெறுங்காலோடு.
திடுமென முளைக்கும் சிறகுகள் வரமாய்; சாபமாயும்கூட.

வழிச்செலவில் காற்றின் தீண்டல் வருவாயாகவும், பெருலாபமாகவும்
உயிர்நிறைக்க, ஒரு நெகிழ்வில் கண் தளும்ப அண்ணாந்து
”ஐ லவ் யூ “ என்கிறேன்.
அதி ஆனந்தத்தில் ஆங்கிலமும் தமிழாகிவிடும் தானே!

நடக்கும் நேரம் என்னை மீறி பாதங்களடியில் நசுங்கலாகும்
நுண்ணுயிர்களின் நினைப்பு குற்றவாளியாக உணரச்செய்யும்.
நல்லவேளையாக, எல்லா நேரங்களிலும் இல்லை.

எனக்கான நச்சுமுட்களும், கூர்கற்களும் சுட்டெரிக்கும் கதிரோனும்,
அமிலத்துளிகளும், வலியும் ரணமும், வேதனையும், வாழ்வீர்ப்புமாய்,
காலடித்தடயங்களை கவனமாகத் துடைத்து சுவடழித்து
என்னை வரலாற்றில் இடம்பெறச் செய்யும் போட்டியிலிருந்து
முற்றுமாக விலக்கிக்கொண்டு வெறுங்கையோடு
போய்க்கொண்டிருக்கிறேன்.

வாட்களோடு எதிரே வ்ரும் சிலர் உலகில் இதுகாறும் நடந்த, நடக்கின்ற, நடக்கவுள்ள படுகொலைகளையெல்லாம் நான் செய்த்தாகச் சொல்லி
கண்களையும் கைகளையும் திருகி முறிக்கத் தயாராய் சூழ்ந்துகொள்கிறார்கள்.

வாதப்பிரதிவாதங்கள் ஏதுமின்றி நாலாயிரம் ஆண்டுகள் கடுஞ்சிறைவாசமும், கழுவேற்றங்களும் என்று தீர்ப்பெழுதப்படுகிறது.

”பழிபாவம் புரியவில்லை, பணங்காசு கையிலில்லை. பின் ஏன் என்னை..?.”

”கேள்வி கேட்டால் கூடுதல் தண்டனை கிடைக்கும். பேசாமல் வா”

”உறக்கம்போக என் மொத்த வாழ்க்கையுமே நாற்பதாண்டுகள் கூட நீளாதே
இனியான என் வாழ்க்கை இருபது வருடங்களுக்கும் குறைவாக இருக்கையில்
எனக்கு இடப்பட்டுள்ள தண்டனையை எப்படி நிறைவேற்ற இயலும்?” _

”அதற்குத் தானே இருக்கின்றன உன்னுடைய அடுத்தபிறவிகள்”.


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குகை என்பது ஓர் உணர்வுநிலை - ரிஷியின் கவிதை

குகை என்பது ஓர் உணர்வுநிலை

ரிஷி

1)

காற்றாடிகளாக முடியாத காகிதத் துண்டு
துணுக்குகள் என்றாலும்
சொடுக்கியிழுக்கும் கைகளின் பிடியில்
சிக்காத பூரணத்துவம் கொண்டவை.
தலைக்கு மேலே சுற்றிச் சுழன்று
தரையிறங்கிக் கொண்டிருந்தன.
விழுந்த இடம் பொசுங்க
எழுந்த பிணவாடை
உனக்கு துர்நாற்றமென்றால்
எனக்கு சுகந்தம்.
அகராதியிலடங்காது இந்த மாற்றம்;
இரண்டறக் கலந்திருக்கும் இருட்குகையில்.

2)

குகைவாயிலில் தினமும் மாலை
பீறிட்டுயரும் ஊற்றைப் பார்ப்பதில்
வரவாகும்
நீர்த்துப் போகாத பரவசம்.
அன்றும் பார்த்துக் கொண்டிருந்தபோது
செங்குத்தாய் உயர்ந்து விரிந்து
பரவியது
செந்நிறத் தண்ணீர்.
வண்ண விளக்கைத் தேடிய கண்களுக்குத்
தட்டுப்பட்டது
வெட்டுண்ட மனமொன்று.
கிளம்பியது குருதியென்று விளங்கியதில்
கலங்கி
வாலைச் சுருட்டிக் கொண்டு குகைக்குள்
ஒடுங்கிக் கொண்டது காட்டுவிலங்கு.

3)

தொலைவிலிருந்து பார்த்துக் கொண்டிருந்தது
தன்னைத் தானே.
கண்ணில் ததும்பிக் கண்ட வலியைக் கண்டு
வேடிக்கையாக இருந்தது.
காக்கைக் கொண்டாட்டமல்ல.
'உண்டென்றால் உண்டு; இல்லையென்றால் இல்லை'.
வலியும், இழப்பும், அவமானமும்
கையறுநிலையும் கூட
கடவுள் தான்.
குகையிருளில் பலவீனமாய் படுத்துக் கிடக்கும்
பெண்புலியின்
புண்பட்ட மென்மார்பை ரணப்படுத்துவதாய்
வீசியெறியப்படும்
எலும்புத் துண்டத்தால் எப்படி வயிறு நிறையும்?
தன்னையுந்திக் கொண்டு எழுந்து புறப்பட்டால்
தானே கிடைக்கும் பொழுதும் இரையும்.

4)

கண்களை இடுக்கிக் கொண்டு காத்து நின்றாள்
பார்த்த விழி பூத்து.
பூப்பெய்திய நாள் நினைவுக்கு வரவில்லை.
பசிக்கிறது என்றால் அதைக் கொச்சையாகப்
பொருள்பெயர்த்து
பெருங்குரலெடுத்துச் சிரிக்கத் தயாராய்
நாலாயிரம் பேர்.
ஊர் மறந்துவிட்டது.
நசநசவென்று பெய்யத் தொடங்கிவிட்டது
மழைமனம்.
வசவுச் சொற்களின் நிண ருசியை
வாய்க்குள் உணர்ந்தவளாய் மீண்டும் குகைக்குள் நுழைந்தவாறே
முனகிக் கொண்டாள் மூதாட்டி:
காசு தராமலே கிடைப்பாள் என்றாலும்
கிழப்பரத்தையைப் புறக்கணித்தல் தானே
குடும்பத்தலைவர்களுக்கு அழகு...

5)

வெளியுலகின் இடையூறின்றி வேண்டுமட்டும் கூடிக்களிக்க
இந்தக் குகையைத் தேர்ந்தெடுத்துக் கொண்ட பெண்புலி.
பூனையாகி புதைந்து கொண்டது
அடுத்துப் படுத்துக் கிடந்த இணையின் அடிவயிற்றில். கண்துஞ்சிய நேரம் போக மீதி காலமெல்லாம்
நக்கிக் கொடுத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தது நேசமிகுதியில்.
ஆடாமல் அசையாமல் படுத்தவாறே
பங்கெடுத்துக் கொண்டிருந்த இணையின் மனதில்
நிலைகொண்டிருக்கக் கூடும்
அடுத்த வேளைக்கான இரையின் நினைவு.
சிந்தாநதியொன்று குகையின் அடியில் சீராக
ஓடிக் கொண்டிருந்தது.
பார்த்ததில்லை என்றாலும் அதன் ஒலிகேட்டுத்
தண்ணெனக் கனியும் பெண்மனம்.
குகைப்பாறையின் திண்மையைக் கொண்டாடுவதாய்
மறுபடி மறுபடி முகர்ந்து பார்க்கும்.
வினைமுடித்ததாய் வெளியேறி மறையும் இணையின்
தளதளவென்று பொலியும் வாலைப் பார்த்து
களிப்பு பெருகும்.
'பாவம், எவ்வளவு தொலைவு செல்ல வேண்டுமோ' என்று
தனக்குள் கேட்டுக் கொள்ளும்,
விசனமும், கரிசனமுமாய்.
திரும்பி வரும்போதெல்லாம் விருந்துண்ட கிறக்கமாய்
நாவைச் சுழற்றி மிச்ச ருசியை அசைபோட்டவாறிருக்கும்
இணையின் தரிசனத்தில்,
ஒரு துண்டு இறைச்சியும் தனக்குத் தரப்படவில்லை என்ற
நிதர்சனம் ஓரங்கட்டப்படும்.
திரும்பாமலே போகும் நாட்களில்
திரும்பாமலே போயிற்று ஒருநாள்.
இரண்டு மூன்று நான்காய் உருண்டோடிய பொழுதுகளில்
சுருண்டு கிடந்தது பெண்புலி, குகையின் ஒரு மூலையில்.
இதுநாள்வரை இருளிலேயே ஆனந்தமாய்க் கண்மூடி
மல்லாந்து கிடந்ததில்
கடந்துபோய்விட்ட காலத்தின் நீள்பரப்பு
சுருக்கென்று தைக்கிறது பிரக்ஞையில்.
சற்றே திரும்பிப் படுத்தபோது
பக்கவாட்டில் புதரொன்று முட்களோடு வளர்ந்திருப்பது
புரிந்தது.
அதிலிருந்து கேட்டுக் கொண்டிருக்கும் சீறலொலி
பிரமையாக இருக்கலாம், அல்லது,
பாம்பினுடையதாக இருக்கலாம்.
பலவீனம் மனம் உடலாக
மெதுவே எழுந்து நின்றது.
தலை படீரென்று இடித்தபோது தான்
குகையின் மேற்புறம் சரிந்திருப்பது தெரிந்தது.
மூச்சடைத்தது.
முன்னோக்கி எடுத்து வைத்த கால் பதிந்த இடம்
ஒரு பெரும்பள்ளத்தில் புதைய
பின்னுக்கிழுத்த வேகத்தில்
முதுகு சாய்ந்த இடத்திலிருந்த பாறை பெயர்ந்து
மோதித் தள்ளியது.
முன்மண்டையும், மூக்கும் நசுங்கி
குருதி பெருகத் தொடங்க
எப்படியாவது வெளியேறி விட வேண்டும் என்ற
விருப்பு ஒரு வன்மமாக
மீண்டும் புலியாகி
ஒரே பாய்ச்சலில் வெளியேறிக் கொண்டிருக்கும்
பெண்புலியின் உடலெங்கும் படரும்
தண்காற்று
இன்னொரு வாழ்வாய்.

IYYAPPA MADHAVAN'S POEMS IN ENGLISH - Translated by Latha Ramakrishnan

Iyyappa Madhavan

(Tamil Poet – 1966)

• a tamil poet Ayyappa Madhavan is endowed with a sensitive and vulnerable mind battered and bruised by the harsh realities of life, which keeps languishing and agonizing in verses and seeks shelter in dreams and fantasies, sharing secrets with the butterflies and building castles in the air. But, all the while the poet is acutely wide-awake to the life – socio-political and economic – around him - the disparities, indifferences, prejudices, power-mongering and what not. As a poet it is but natural on his part to seek refuge in his poems and that of his fellow-poets and his poems reflect the world in all its cruelties and unpredictabilities and also in its myriad moods and shades – positive and negative.

• And, he uses the language in a gripping manner, leaving many things unsaid but at the same time implying them, giving ample scope for the discerning readers to search for and read ‘the lines between lines’ and also the pauses and silences.

• His native place is a village called Naattarasankottai in Tamil Nadu. He had higher education in the faculty of Textiles. Now, he is trying his expertise in directing Documentary and Feature Films.

• So far, 6 poem-collections of Ayyappa Madhavan have been published and they have established his name as a quality poet in the field of Neo-Tamil Poetry. He contributes regularly to all the Literary Magazines of Tamil.

• A poem of Ayyappa Madhavan has been made into a short-film and he has also directed a Documentary Film. Poet Thamizhachi Pandian has made two of his poems into a short-film. A short-story collection of Ayyappa Madhavan is recently released. And, two more poem-collections of him will be published this year.

• A soft-spoken friendly person Poet Ayyappa Madhavan waits for the birth of a new, better world where there are no wars; nor fears; where none poor and no power-mongers. And, the list is endless….

Email id: iyyappan66@gmail.com

1) THE WINGS OF NIGHT

A poem in Tamil by Ayyappa Madhavan titled
ராவின் இறக்கைகள்

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

A butterfly
enticed by the glow of lamp
circled the house, going round and round.
It was its firm belief that
the ‘thumbai’ plants and ‘murugai’ tree
rooted in the glow of the wall.
Its single-minded penance, on the wall’s
Lime.
With time
melting and seeping
with the honey-drunk exhaustion leaving,
It moved over to the
squares of bricks.
In the spring of its fertile imagination
too many plants of different varieties there were;
flowers in fabulous shapes
deliciously sweet drinks…
With the lamp closing its eyes suddenly
darkness pervading everywhere,
It also merging with the thick blackness shrouding.
When the dawn came
the plants of al the flowers upon which it sat
have all turned into terrible vacuum.
Its imprints, turning pale,
remained lifeless; frozen.
Either the ‘wide-awake’ Morn
or the ‘deep in sleep’ Night
had stolen away
that wonderful life; that magnificent dream.



2) THE SANDALWOOD CREMATION

A Poem in Tamil by AYYAPPAN MADHAVAN titled
சந்தனத்தில் சிதை

(Translator: Latha Ramakrishnan

When he was alive he used to travel all over the world
and earned millions
Houses vehicles gold-bars-
even bridegroom for his daughter, he bought
Went on jolly tours.
Gestured ‘no’ to the have-nots
Brought
dolls for his little grand-daughter and gave them
to her
The child smiled. And he felt so happy.
As usual when he ran in his exercise machine
one day he slumped all too suddenly
The doctors who examined him said
that his heart had stopped ticking
The house cried and turned swollen
As the hours went past one by one
they had taken him who had turned rotten and bulging,
to the cremation ground
Amidst the sandalwood smell the rich man burnt to the core
They brought the stone
And he who remained, with all of his turning to nought,
inside the ash-pot
was scattered and dissolved
in the waters of Ganges
In Water’s nature he was a dissolved river.

3) DAMN IT….

A POEM IN TAMIL BY Ayyappa Madhavan
Titled ‘Che’

(Translator: Latha Ramakrishnan)

If only I were to have a tail
I could have been keeping vigil and
barking as a dog…
Leaping on four legs as a stallion
and earning money in the race
I could have made merry the madcap of gambling
and so be’
Or else, being born a goat I could have grazed and grown
and sold as hot meat;
Or else, as an elephant blessing with my trunk
and getting money for the mahout;
Or as a bull, eating off the straw and pulling along the cart;
Or as a monkey performing tricks and gymnastics
and collecting coins.
Having been born a human-being, going insane-
cheating, swindling,
decaying, disintegrating-
Oh damn it _
How I wish to have a tail….

4) PEACE PERSONIFIED

A Poem in Tamil by Ayyappan Madhavan titled

சாந்தரூப கோலம்

(Translator: Latha Ramakrishnan)

Holding one end in a proper grip
I manage to bring the milk-packet.
The White-Liquid
reminding my palms of the pleasant chillness
tried to divert my attention.
With the wicked mind surfacing-
placing it softly upon the wooden plank of the swing
pouring water and swirling it by way of washing
the wickedness of thin water
turning sticky in the hands-
I was about to let slip
the round bowl.
The wooden plank, with its wickedness
jerking away the hand
I managed to hold the packet that was about to fall.
While lifting it and carefully cutting one end with the scissors
and pouring it,
I managed to save those more than three drops
that were about to seep on the sides,
thanks to the wickedness of hands,
and I put them inside the bowl.
But the White Liquid, due to the wickedness of fire,
swelling and overflowing in the next instant,
hurrying with the body turning all tensed up
I blew out the stove.
With all the wickedness ceasing to be
The White Liquid which raged and boiled and overflowed-
In the death of the hot fire-tongues
losing its heat gradually
and going down inside the vessel,
It appeared as the very personification of Peace.


5) WINTRY LIFE

A poem in Tamil by IYYAPPA MADHAVAN

titled கூதிர்கால வாழ்க்கை

In life’s blood-stained canvases
He had painted the sorrows of the past.
Drops of blood scattered on the leaves decayed;
hollow tree, birds with broken wings;
with tears wept and stagnated;
That painting, so pitiable with the chronic pain
of the wintry days;
rarely in a few lines some flowers to be seen;
not fit enough to eat
but with a thin stalk that had gone weak with its longing
for a seedling.
Those ripened in the hues and shades of sorrow
coming apart and languishing
in one half of the Painting
as thick brownish dye
in the blurred stream
along with it
in the land which lay broken apart
with the stir of fish without eyes
beneath the tree that had been uprooted
by the devilish wind-
The ruined personality of the Artist
in red gushing forth.


*

TWO VISUALLY CHALLENGED POETS

INTRODUCING 

TWO VISUALLY CHALLENGED POETS 

கவிஞர் கோ.கண்ணன்                         கவிஞர் மு.ரமேஷ்

                       

Poems rendered in English
by Latha Ramakrishnan

“All too strong an iron-wall
That cannot be shaken at all.
You are on the other side
Here, we are
As the bridge that connects –
Our autumnal dreams”

_ Poet. G.KANNAN

Is it proper on my part to underline the fact that the four poets, whose select few verses I have translated into English and have published as a thin volume captioned Insight, are visually handicapped..? This query persists…

And, I keep telling myself that such highlighting has to be done for enabling one get an insight into all the additional efforts the visually handicapped have to garner to shape themselves into poets and so acknowledged by the society.

Down the ages we have had several eminent creative-writers who were visually handicapped. As all the sighted persons cannot be avid readers and quality writers, so also, it is but natural for some visually handicapped persons to be discerning readers and distinguished writers. But, the fact remains that lack of aids and accessories, support and assisstance and also awareness on the part of the societyin which they live, prove a veritable block to them, more often than not.

Also, more often than not the sighted, both readers and writers, tend to evaluate the writings of the visually handicapped from a pedastal. This is not proper, nor required, to say the least.

I have given here, in my English Translation, five poems each of two of the visually handicapped poets, Mr.G.Kannan and MU.Ramesh, from the said volume, to enable the readers have a glimpse of, if not an insight into their creativity, literary sensitivity, power of imagination and reactions to various social issues and also to the treatment that they receive at the hands of the society. I personally feel Poet G.Kannan and Poet Mu.Ramesh who keep updating themselves with the current trends of the various branches of Tamil Literature have the salient characteristics of neo-Tamil Poetry in their verses. As I believe that each poem has a ‘writerly text’ and a ‘readerly text’ and there is no one absolute method of translating a text ( all the same, the translator has to be sincere to the text in question, meaning, he or she should not try to convert it into a platoform for their whims and fancies) I can only say in all humility that my translations can at best reflect the ‘readerly texts’ which the poems have offered me. I thank the poets G.Kannan. MU.Ramesh, thayarammal and Ve.Sukumaran.

With thanks and regards

Latha Ramakrishnan


1) L G.KANNAN

Oesaigalin Niramaalai (The Spectrum of Sounds) is the first poem-collection of Mr.G.Kannan who has a Doctorate to his credit. Despite losing his eye-sight very early in life, he, with the help of his parents, acquired an M.A in Tamil and went on to become the first ever visually handicapped person in the whole of Dharmapuri District in Tamil Nadu, to get a Doctorate in Tamil. His P.hd Dissertation was on the theme,The theme of Generation Gap in Contemporary Tamil Novels (Thamizh Novelgalil Thalaimurai Idaiveli). It was published by one of the reputed publishing houses of Tamil Nadu called Kaavya. In the foreword of this book itself Mr.Kannan has highlighted the various problems and hurdles that he had to face in collecting materials for his dissertation. Interested in the contemporary literary trends of Tamil, especially Poetry, whenever he gets a chance Mr.Kannan makes it a point to attend literary seminars and gatherings. He, with the help of his friends read the vrious contemporary poem-collections of Tamil on a regular basis and hence his Poesy reflects and adopts these trends. And, Mr.G.Kannan’s poems too deal with the conflicts, chaos, moments of ecstasy and happiness, solitiude, alienation, anguish, composure of the inner world and the problems that confront them in their day-to-day existence, both as ordinary human beings and as visually handicapped. This year my fellow-writer and the editor of Navina Virutcham, a literary quarterly which is there for two decades, has brought forth the second poem-collection titled ‘Mazhaik-Kudai Naatkal( Rain_Umbrella Days) of Mr.G.Kannan which is receiving good response. 
email id: kannanlect@gmail.com

1) THE CUP OF FRIENDSHIP

A glass cup this is,
with the juice of ancience brimming…
be careful.
if the stone of discord
touches it slightly _
it would break.
if the hand of camaraderie
loosens its grip a little
it would go splinters


2) IMPRINTS

Our predecessors had
penned Classics and became
immortal.
Our ancestors were
said to have exposed the emptiness
of that arrogant fellow
who treated us with abject indifference.
Our ‘spiritual guru’ fought for our
access to Education and Knowledge
for more than sixty years
in a non-violent manner,
turning victorious and world famous.
Despite having all the three doors shut
our beloved old lady
learnt the length and bradth of the world
with her fingers
proving the wonder of all wonders.
Today our brethren
leaving their imprints atop 

Mount Himalayas
undertake journey
through the Antartic Land.
Though we sit on par with 

our fellow-men
we are still portrayed as
street-singers with begging-bowls.
We are still displayed as exhibits
in the show-rooms of the Society.
While this is going on
where to go seeking and retrieve
our own, real imprints and identity?

3) THE FRAGRANCE OF FATHER

As like the ‘coat-of-mail’ and ‘ear-rings’
of the mythological Karna
it must’ve been born along with
my father.
Which cannot be washed away
even by the waters of Ganges
where we had our sacred dip.
And, my father has never polluted it
with artificial scents and perfumes.
Before the sound of father’s footsteps 

enter the ears
as like the elephant-bells
it would get into the nostrils
and stay on.
That which warms my heart-
the fragrance of my father is something
unique, noble,
having especial significance,
revealing the real meaning of labour
in any Thesaurus whatsoever.
With full of the smell of Earth,
immersed in soil, is the scent of my father.


4) THE SPECTRUM OF OSUNDS

Sounds are so full of illumination,
so they are pregnant with meaning.
Sounds are so full of characteristics,
so they lend flavour to Life
Sounds have their own fragrance,
so they are stylish and refined
Sounds have shades of colour
For Laughter that scatters – Green
For murmurs of love that makes one
quiver in ecstsy – Blue
For beauty that tires one out – 

 dense Yellow
For the blabbering of a child – 

flowery White
For the sweet song of koel – Indigo
For raging roar – blood Red
For the sacred sound of bells – 

magical Violet
Sounds have shades of colours
for the thunder ,
rain-drop,
chirping of birds,
call of animals
There are visions anew
of Tongue incomprehensible.
The Spectrum of Silent Rainbow _
The Sounds.


5) QUERIES THAT DEVOVOUR ANSWERS

To Meera with Love _
Curse your Kannan…
Let me drop dead
at your feet.
You loathe as a jarring sound
the Music of my flute
that softly floats in the air.
Shut your ears tightly.
You try to extinguish the Music
by burning the Flute.
Can you?


2) Poet Mu.RAMESH

The Height of Night That Cannot Be Comprehended In Words) (Vaarthaikkull Sikkaadha Iravin Uyaram) is the first poem-collection of Poet.Mu.Ramesh, though while in college he had brought forth a thin volume comprising 20 poems.

A post-graduate student in Tamil who has completed his M.Phil also, Mr.Ramesh is all set to pursue his P.hd in Delhi. Published in the year 2005, the very title given above and also the poems therein reveal the poet’s firm grasp on the language of Tamil and also the distinct characteristics of neo-Tamil Poetry, being open-ended, metaphorical, ambiguous, having layers of meaning and interpretation that demand the active participation of the reader.

As is the general trend of almost all poets, Mr.Ramesh too writes poems that deal with his inner, personal life and also the life he leads as part of the Society and the interactions and confrontations between his inner and outer selves which ofcourse are inter-related. Against all odds, Mr.Mu.Ramesh makes it a point to acuaint himself with the changing trends of the various branches of Tamil Literature, especially poems.

Sad that more often than not these poem-collections are not given their due by the seeing community. In Chennai BookFair 2008, held in the month of January , heeding to my request Mr.Ravichandran of Pudhupunal Publications brought forth the second poem-collection of Mr.Ramesh titled ;Mazhaiyil Nanaiyum/Karaiyum Iravin Vaasanai( The fragrance of the Night that is getting drenched/dissolved in the Rain).


(1)

In my bedroom
the blanket spread and the pillow
in that glow
a shape that seemed
absolutely hueless
attempting to grasp it
I switched off the light
with all getting displaced
the shrunken sheet
and the pillow lying in
one corner
the all-pervading lightness
now, crumbling down
where I stand
I search for the
Light alone

(2)

The earth would sway
a little
looking above
raising the hand
and touching the drums
fire
the iron doors moulded
a long time ago
would refuse to move
deeming soil to be their
very boundary
lying immersed
the roots
longing for nutrition from the five
primal forces
still.

(3)

The simple lesson
taught by Yama-
the god of Death _
is atonce understood
by
Chitraguptha

E =MC2

(4)

Hail Lord Shiva
my pranams to your
goodself
As my folded hands
stretched
the white cane might
have come into contact
could’ve been that noise
where is the grave-digger?
Where is the grave-digger?
The eerie voice
ever-above
hovering
I probed
my hand could feel the heat
indeed a frozen skeleton
what could’ve been
my response?
I would go tomorrow.

(5)

In my night
you are the light
the night that allows
day never rests
light is just a
guidance
night alone is
the End unending.

ROOMS -Bautha Ayyanaar's poems rendered in English

Some poems from
Rooms(mansion musings)
poems by bautha ayyanaarTranslated from Tamil by latha ramakrishnan

About the poet:-

BOUTHA AYYANAAR (1963) : He was born in a hamlet called Vinayakapuram in Therkkutheru Panchayat, in Mellur Circle, in the district of Madurai. His mother was Azhagupillai. Father – Perumal. He lost his mother at a very early age and he was brought up under the care of his grandfather and grandmother. His was the first generation of his clan to have received the benefits of Education.


His undying thirst for books made him renounce formal education. It was Poet Abi, who has carved a distinct place for himself in the field of neo-Tamil poems, who initiated Mr.Ayyanaar into the world of Neo-Tamil Literature.


Born of a poor family Poet Ayyanaar has enriched his life with the help of guidance and support from noted personalities like veteran writer Sundara Ramasami, Tamil scholars Salaman Pappaiah, Dr.Sethuraman and Dr.Vani Sundarapandian.


Ayyanaar’s poems show him as someone who has the capacity to look beyond the superficial appearances
and find out the real truths of life.


Serving in Vivekanandha Kendra proved to be a turning point in his life. He has also worked in various Institutions such as Meenakshi Mission Hospital, Kalachuvadu Litrary Monthly, Mahashemam Trust.


His works published so far include -
_ VIDUVIPPU (Release) – Poems and Interviews
(1999)
_ ALAI PURALUM VAAZHKAI(The Life of
Swirling Waves) - Articles on Chennai(2003).
_ MANSION KAVIDHAIGAL(Mansion Poems) -
2005, 2nd Edition 2007, December, 3rd Edition,
2009,November.
_ SOLLILIRUNDHU MAUNATHIRKKU(From
Word To Silence) – Interviews.


Poet Ayyanaar has also written book-reviews and also
critical essays on Neo-Cinema and Drama. He has also
several modern paintings to his credit.


Now he is working as Marketing Managern in Jananam
IVF CENTER, in Karur(Tamil Nadu).


He lives in Karur with his beloved wife Muthuppillai
and son Anandhabuthan.


His email id and mobile number are given below:
ayyapillai@gmail.com
09688086641.




Translator’s Note:


“I have a few things to say or rather share, about Neo-Tamil Poetry and Translation in general and the poems of poet Bautha Ayyanaar in particular. Neo_Tamil Literary world is rich with writers and poets having great potentials. It has always been Small Magazines or Alternate Magazines which have contributed significantly to the language and literature of Tamil. And, there are quite a number of ‘unsung heroes’ in the field of Neo-Tamil Poetry. In style and content these poems or poets stand second to none but the reason for poets from other languages, say for instance Malayalam or Bengali, getting instant and wider recognition is that they are getting translated into English on a regular basis and there have been continuous initiatives towards introducing their poetry to a wider circle of readers. Unfortunately, such initiatives are very few and undertaken randomly in Tamil Nadu. And, nowhere else except in Tamil Nadu we have this sad state of affair whereby mostly film-lyricists get the Awards for Poetry while innovative poets like Brammarajan who have done pioneering work in the field of Poetry are steadily being sidelined and ignored. It is a shame on us, to say the least.


As for my translation of friend Ayyanaar’s poems, I am of the firm belief that however efficient and sensitive to the nuances of Poesy a translator is, he or she cannot do hundred percent justice to the original text. Especially, in the case of Neo-Tamil Poems where the poems are rich and complex with the element of obscurity and multiple meaning. Yet, I undertook this job out of my respect for Ayyanaar who is one of those who could never learn the art of ‘blowing one’s own trumpet’ and for the sheer joy of re-reading his poems and empathizing with the emotions expressed in his poetic lines.


While translating I mostly relied on my ‘Readerly Text’, and, as a co-traveller in the field of Neo-Tamil Poetry I know Poet Ayyanaar wouldn’t object to that. On several occasions when I contacted him seeking some clarifications I could see that I was able to reach as close as possible to the inner layer of meaning or the ‘spirit’ of his poem. At the same time if I were to translate these poems again I might not be using the same words; expressions. This doesn’t speak of my deficiency or lack of confidence as a translator. Instead, it highlights the dynamism of Neo-Tamil Poetry and also the Art of Translation. But, I have tried my best to be loyal to the original text, not taking undue liberties with it while translating.


I don’t believe in the contention that there should be a set of rules strictly adhered to while translating a piece of work in English and I firmly believe that the original text, coupled with the skill and sensitivity of the translator, is capable of evolving its own style of rendering in English. I hope that my translation does justice to Ayyanaar’s Poesy and is approved by him and if it does, that would make me feel good as a translator.


Reading the poems of Ayyanar one would immediately identify his or her own self in the lines. The pain and anguish of Life, the uncertainties and unpredictabilities of relationships and caught in the midst of all these, the deep sense of loneliness a sensitive soul is bound to experience , yet, the all-pervading
Love for Life which is the driving force for any genuine poet are all described vividly with the help of minimum words and apt images and similes, without resorting to melodrama or rhetoric.


Each one will have one’s own definition of a good poem. For me, a poem shouldn’t preach from a pedestal. It should treat the reader as a fellow-sufferer and share feelings and emotions. For me, a good poem, midway makes me the one who has penned it, with a miraculous ease. Poet Ayyanaar’s poems have this ability to make us empathize and get into his soul, grieving and languishing, despairing, de-constructing life and undertaking a solitary voyage into the innermost riddles of life.


I sincerely wish, primarily as a discerning reader of Neo-Tamil poems, that many more such initiatives towards rendering the contemporary Tamil poets in English are undertaken in right earnest, in the near future.

*THERE ARE AROUND 50 POEMS IN THIS VOLUME TITLED ROOMS. OF WHICH 10 POEMS IN TRANSLATION ARE GIVEN BELOW - latha ramakrishnan

1)

HORNS

The moment I stepped inside the City
the first thing that came into view
were the horns of men.

Instinctively my hand felt my head.
Nothing pricked

With the heart being fully aware that
the Onida Ad is a figment of imagination
Even in the wildest of my dreams I have never seen
real men sporting horns.
But now, forcing me to believe that
the city-bred would indeed be born
with horns
I come across men with horns
all too often.

Thinking that at least my friend from the village
who has migrated to the town
would be free of horns,
when I knocked at the doors
he opened it
waving his horns gleefully.

I touched the horn.
Indeed it was real.
Once again I felt my head.
And, I could feel something pricking.

Before the Sun could retire for the day
the horns had grown upon my head too.
I became terror-struck.
I began to cut them but
they kept on sprouting.
The horns that I had removed
during day-time,
when I woke up after a night’s sleep
came to occupy their usual place.

And, I too have begun to
roam around with horns,
searching for the Man
minus the malignant growth.

(2002)
2)

THE VISIT
I set foot into this city
where the wind has ceased to be.

I couldn’t utter even a word
to anyone.

To whom I could tell
the hesitance of utter bewilderment the
secret unknown to my heart?

The spies arrived.
Getting hold of my heart’s key
they opened it.
But, not knowing the code-language of the heart
they were taken aback.
And, they interpreted it with
their own language.

The I became You
and the You became I.

My person,
with its Identity forgotten ,
came to life again, thanks
to the magical chant of the spies.

Then-
I too metamorphosed into a spy.

(2002)

3)

(2003)

10)

Pushing me forcefully inside
the room
the Night locks it.

With no air to inhale
my body lies there
like a corpse.

Books,
Drinking water purchased for a price
Half-clad beauty,
Lord Ganapathy of Pillayarpatti
The eye of Buddha
scanning me always,
on the iron-cot
my body lies
heavy and frozen, as iron.

With the body remaining there
my heart would
leave me.

Away, at one night’s distance
my beloved wife.

With the countenances of
familiar females
floating around,
the long night comes to an end.

Inside the cabin
where none remains
to witness
the words
that my heart utters,
as the distance of a long Night
the vacuum of the big city
overflows.

4)

THE WILD-ANIMAL CALLED LONELINESS

Loneliness grips me
like a wild-animal

Night or day
forever
I am in its hold

The earthly life
revolts
The joy of the heart
disappearing
unfolds the wings of
Silence

Though thousand of people
are closeby
Loneliness would shroud me
like a night.

Your face
hidden in the inner layers of my
heart
never am I able to probe
and take out

Just for a moment
show me your face
I would escape from these wild-animals
and flying in the air

would live on earth
at least for a day.

As one in thousand.

5)

LOVE

How are you, My Love?

Do the traces of my remembrance
burn in your Memory?

Every moment
I burn and melt, remembering You.

I keep opening all too often
the shelves within.
But, each night proves bitter,
not enabling me to have a glimpse
of your innocent face.

Not knowing which face you like
and which one I like,
yet, we keep living
in love. Don’t we?

6)

PLEASE LET GO MY HANDS

Please let go of my hands

Please untie the ropes that keep me in shackles.
Also, the cloth that blindfolds me.

Please let go the long rope
tied round my hip
the one end of which you hold.

With the help of the map within
with legs trembling
even with wounds
tumbling and fumbling
I would somehow
return.

To this same spot.

Please let go of my hands.

7)

The room is being filled to the brim
with tears.
As waves
it sways, rises and ebbs and so wanders


Chased by memories
pained by the sorrow of migration
The heart covers its face
in anguish untold.


I lie
as the garbage thrown out
by an alien planet.


My Love
who is sleeping somewhere else
in this same land
of Planet Earth


8)

THE ENTIRE CITY IS REELING
UNDER THE GRIP OF FEAR

Pierce me with the spear
Let my fear gush forth and stream

Once again pierce
me with the spear
Let the ghost of fear get lost.

Yet, every now and then
I swallow along with my food,
fear too.

In the solitary room
the fan
scatters fear
everywhere

I remove one by one
the words that are stuck all over the body
as thorns
But they keep sticking
again and again.

They go deep down
And plant themselves there.

In the great grand City
in a tiny vase
the fan
and
Myself.

9)

INSIDE THE SIX FEET ROOM

With solitude where the silence remains in tact
With the tube-light
and fan too
I keep conversing

The pillow also, that lies there
in loneliness,
comes forward for a dialogue

The door viewing its own countenance
would come leaping
The worn-out mirror
looks on amused.

The dirty clothes lying at one corner-
they too come to talk

Fine

But, this delirium
which keeps raging
which nothing in sight could keep under check-
oh, what am I to do with it?

From nowhere in the world,
never a letter had peeped
into this room.


And no feet
belonging to a person
claiming to be a friend
had ever felt this floor


The cry of the bird
The bark of the dog
The voice of the Sky


Nothing had ever reached here.


Nothing resulted out of waiting endlessly
for the rays of the Sun,
except heart-break.


The wind alone
coming unknown
saves the life.


The room and myself
keep waiting
for a familiar face.


(2003)