Considerthefemalebodyyourmost
Basictextanddontforgetitsslokas |
We have wrung poems from household tasks
Carrying water, child, sorrow, can you do so much?
My worst fear is Sankara had I indeed been you
I might not after all have conceived anything new.
('Genderole'. Rukmini Bhaya Nair)
Distinctly dilterent from the work of most of the other women poets
publishing in India is the poetry of New Delhi—based academician Rukrnini
bhaya Nair, whose poems reflect the influences of cognitive linguistics and
critical theory that are her areas of scholarly expertise. Nair’s poery is hod
hybridized and innovative in its use of words. Nair uses two—line stanzas to
great effect, as seen in “Renoir’s Umbrellas”: “Holds out her hands to you /
Through bars of rain” (Bloodaxe Book 252). In “Convent,” the speaker captures
a moment when young girls in a convent school arc giggling at prayer time:
“And she wonders about prayer I The pity of it, the point” (Bloodaxe Book
254). Innovative and provocative in language and theme, Nair’s poem “Gend
erole challenges the reader to decode the single lines, each of which has
words running together as a single word in an imitation of the lengthy word
combinations of classical Sanskrit. The poem “Genderole” offers a critique of
traditional Hindu treatises on the roles of women as good wives, concluding
with the ironic twist that ilwonicn had been men, their conrihutions would
not have been the same: “Myworstfearisankaratharhadl —, indeedhecnyo
ulmightnorafterallhaveconceivedanythingnewtl” The woman speaker in
Nair’s poem addresses the Hindu philosopher Sankaracharya as an authority
from whom traditional roles of Hindu Women have been derived. Nair even
uses the S.inskrit punctuation ofa straight-line 1” for a period in this cleverly
composed hybrid poem.
Lakshmi Kannan
23
YOU LINGERED
Actually, you had left the place
long ago. With finality.
Now there was no looking back.
None whatever.
I wandered along the rows of houses
on the street where dusk had settled
with the heavy odour of jasmines
the relief of tight buds
unfolding secretly in the dark.
The unclear smog carried the smell
of other flowers,
camphor and your skin.
You hung by the
shingled roof-tops sloping charmingly,
with old-world grace,
you were wrapped around the houses
and yes, you walked the street with me.
Kavya Bharati 2000
24
THE SEA OF MOTHER’S BLOOD
I noticed how mother, of late,
accepted our gifts
kept them for a while, then
returned them politely.
One by one by one
they were returned with that look
we dreaded. Sorry, but I can’t
take them with me, can I? it said.
I saw a sea in her eyes then.
It has since spilled over to the rest of her.
Mother has grown large, very large
her waves arching high, unafraid.
They swept over the gifts, the waves,
they threw them back on the shore --
the sarees, the handbags,
the Chola figurines in bronze
she once shined lovingly
with the juice of tamarind,
the prints of Monet and Van Gogh she treasured
the fragile crystal ware, the books. . .
How very small and trivial they looked
for the sea.
The huge waves washed over them
dashed them back to the sand furiously
along with the molluscs
that stumbled out, staggering with the weight
of their moist shells on top.
The salty froth rushed, tickling our feet.
Mother had the last laugh.
Lakshmi Kannan
25
VISARJAN
He was the formidable
Lord of the ganas
yet he went down easily
in the waters.
Just as early, he dissolved
his earthy form, sending up afloat
a few flowers and kusa grass,
his parting gifts.
I have dived in and out
of the same river,
my body unmelting, unmeltable,
stubbornly solid.
Would I ever learn
from him to dissolve, to mix
the earth of my being
with the waters?
அன்னைக்கு இரண்டு கவிதைகள் - ஜெயமோகன்
உடலுறுஞ்சி உருவான வடிவம்
தனித்திருந்தே இரவுகளில் கண்கசிய
அவள் கண்ட கனவெல்லாம் திரண்டுருண்டு
பருப்பொருளாக உருப்பெற்ற மையம்
மண்ணாகி உப்பாகி மானுடர் போனபின்பும்
வாழ்கின்றன கனவுகள் இந்தப்
பூமியெங்கும் பல கோடி முகங்களாக
கனவு சுழித்தொழுகும் கடைத்தெருவில்
கரையோரம் ஒதுங்கிய ஒரு முகம் நான்.
•
2. எச்சம்
உன்னை நினைத்து அழ முடிவதில்லை இப்போது
ஆணித்தரமாக ஒரு சொற்றொடர்கூட இல்லை கைவசம்
மவுனமாய் குளிர்ந்தவனாய் நினைவுறுகிறேன்
இருண்ட தாள்களில் காரியமையால் எழுதிய கதையொன்றை
உன் குரல், உன் பேச்சு, உன் பாசம்,
மண்ணின் அலாதியான தவிட்டுநிறம்,
ஒரு அணைப்பு போல
உப்புக் கரிக்குமோ சாம்பல்?
சாம்பலுண்டு வளர்ந்த மரங்களின் கனிகள் இவை,
நிழல்களை வெறுக்கிறேன்.
எரியும் வெயில் வெளியில் நிற்க விரும்புகிறேன்.
தன்னந்தனியாக.
வானிலொரு பருந்துகூட இருக்கலாகாது அப்போது
மண்ணிலொரு நிழல்கூட இல்லாத மதியம்
பார்க்கப்படாதவனாக நிற்பேன்.
எப்படி விரும்புகிறேன் நான்
ஒரு கணம் நானேயாகி நிற்க
எஞ்சுவதென்ன என்று காண.
சிலேட் 1 - ஆகஸ்ட் 1992.
Basictextanddontforgetitsslokas |
We have wrung poems from household tasks
Carrying water, child, sorrow, can you do so much?
My worst fear is Sankara had I indeed been you
I might not after all have conceived anything new.
('Genderole'. Rukmini Bhaya Nair)
Distinctly dilterent from the work of most of the other women poets
publishing in India is the poetry of New Delhi—based academician Rukrnini
bhaya Nair, whose poems reflect the influences of cognitive linguistics and
critical theory that are her areas of scholarly expertise. Nair’s poery is hod
hybridized and innovative in its use of words. Nair uses two—line stanzas to
great effect, as seen in “Renoir’s Umbrellas”: “Holds out her hands to you /
Through bars of rain” (Bloodaxe Book 252). In “Convent,” the speaker captures
a moment when young girls in a convent school arc giggling at prayer time:
“And she wonders about prayer I The pity of it, the point” (Bloodaxe Book
254). Innovative and provocative in language and theme, Nair’s poem “Gend
erole challenges the reader to decode the single lines, each of which has
words running together as a single word in an imitation of the lengthy word
combinations of classical Sanskrit. The poem “Genderole” offers a critique of
traditional Hindu treatises on the roles of women as good wives, concluding
with the ironic twist that ilwonicn had been men, their conrihutions would
not have been the same: “Myworstfearisankaratharhadl —, indeedhecnyo
ulmightnorafterallhaveconceivedanythingnewtl” The woman speaker in
Nair’s poem addresses the Hindu philosopher Sankaracharya as an authority
from whom traditional roles of Hindu Women have been derived. Nair even
uses the S.inskrit punctuation ofa straight-line 1” for a period in this cleverly
composed hybrid poem.
Lakshmi Kannan
23
YOU LINGERED
Actually, you had left the place
long ago. With finality.
Now there was no looking back.
None whatever.
I wandered along the rows of houses
on the street where dusk had settled
with the heavy odour of jasmines
the relief of tight buds
unfolding secretly in the dark.
The unclear smog carried the smell
of other flowers,
camphor and your skin.
You hung by the
shingled roof-tops sloping charmingly,
with old-world grace,
you were wrapped around the houses
and yes, you walked the street with me.
Kavya Bharati 2000
24
THE SEA OF MOTHER’S BLOOD
I noticed how mother, of late,
accepted our gifts
kept them for a while, then
returned them politely.
One by one by one
they were returned with that look
we dreaded. Sorry, but I can’t
take them with me, can I? it said.
I saw a sea in her eyes then.
It has since spilled over to the rest of her.
Mother has grown large, very large
her waves arching high, unafraid.
They swept over the gifts, the waves,
they threw them back on the shore --
the sarees, the handbags,
the Chola figurines in bronze
she once shined lovingly
with the juice of tamarind,
the prints of Monet and Van Gogh she treasured
the fragile crystal ware, the books. . .
How very small and trivial they looked
for the sea.
The huge waves washed over them
dashed them back to the sand furiously
along with the molluscs
that stumbled out, staggering with the weight
of their moist shells on top.
The salty froth rushed, tickling our feet.
Mother had the last laugh.
Lakshmi Kannan
25
VISARJAN
He was the formidable
Lord of the ganas
yet he went down easily
in the waters.
Just as early, he dissolved
his earthy form, sending up afloat
a few flowers and kusa grass,
his parting gifts.
I have dived in and out
of the same river,
my body unmelting, unmeltable,
stubbornly solid.
Would I ever learn
from him to dissolve, to mix
the earth of my being
with the waters?
அன்னைக்கு இரண்டு கவிதைகள் - ஜெயமோகன்
அன்னைக்கு இரண்டு கவிதைகள் - ஜெயமோகன்
1. என் முகம்
சகல அகங்காரங்களுடன் கூறுகிறேன்
என் முகமே யாவும்
இந்த மலை இந்த வெளி இந்நீல இரவு
எங்கும் தொட்டெழும் பேரொளி
என் முகமே அழகு என் முகமே நிஜம்
துளித்துளியாக என் அன்னை உயிர்உறிஞ்சி
உடலுறுஞ்சி உருவான வடிவம்
தனித்திருந்தே இரவுகளில் கண்கசிய
அவள் கண்ட கனவெல்லாம் திரண்டுருண்டு
துளித்துளியாக என் அன்னை உயிர்உறிஞ்சிஉடலுறுஞ்சி உருவான வடிவம்
தனித்திருந்தே இரவுகளில் கண்கசிய
அவள் கண்ட கனவெல்லாம் திரண்டுருண்டு
பருப்பொருளாக உருப்பெற்ற மையம்
மண்ணாகி உப்பாகி மானுடர் போனபின்பும்
வாழ்கின்றன கனவுகள் இந்தப்
பூமியெங்கும் பல கோடி முகங்களாக
கனவு சுழித்தொழுகும் கடைத்தெருவில்
கரையோரம் ஒதுங்கிய ஒரு முகம் நான்.
•
2. எச்சம்
உன்னை நினைத்து அழ முடிவதில்லை இப்போது
ஆணித்தரமாக ஒரு சொற்றொடர்கூட இல்லை கைவசம்
மவுனமாய் குளிர்ந்தவனாய் நினைவுறுகிறேன்
இருண்ட தாள்களில் காரியமையால் எழுதிய கதையொன்றை
உன் குரல், உன் பேச்சு, உன் பாசம்,
மண்ணின் அலாதியான தவிட்டுநிறம்,
ஒரு அணைப்பு போல
உப்புக் கரிக்குமோ சாம்பல்?
சாம்பலுண்டு வளர்ந்த மரங்களின் கனிகள் இவை,
நிழல்களை வெறுக்கிறேன்.
எரியும் வெயில் வெளியில் நிற்க விரும்புகிறேன்.
தன்னந்தனியாக.
வானிலொரு பருந்துகூட இருக்கலாகாது அப்போது
மண்ணிலொரு நிழல்கூட இல்லாத மதியம்
பார்க்கப்படாதவனாக நிற்பேன்.
எப்படி விரும்புகிறேன் நான்
ஒரு கணம் நானேயாகி நிற்க
எஞ்சுவதென்ன என்று காண.
சிலேட் 1 - ஆகஸ்ட் 1992.
