what can i say sir!
my son yesobu
died in the war
my son who could conquer neerukonda*
lies sacrificed on a slab of ice
he left with a smile
and has returned as a corpse
smiling, he calls 'nAnna'*
he went on foot and has returned a bridegroom
a flowering plant has returned as a fallen banyan
he has returned
what can i say? and how?
people turn up here as at a fair
in throngs and throngs
addressing them, speaking of
my son's 'sacrifices, patriotism'
you, sarpanch babu! sir!
when he stopped
people washing their animals
in the tank*
didn't you, with a whip
lash my son's chest
mark him with stains
in the cinema outside our village
for buying a big ticket*
and sitting alongside you
didn't you scheme
to cut his hands legs
was it your daughter who looked at him
or he who looked at her
i do not know but-
to kill lionlike yesobu
you wove the noose
how can we forget this history!
we know all this
does the rain wash away the wounds, sir!
on the untouchable's eyelids
these truths stand erect
like crowbars driven into our hearts
mothers! sirs!
my son's death
this isn't the first
many times in our village
he died and lived
to live he joined the army
as a corpse, he has returned alive
ayyo!
my mind's not in my mind
my mind's not in my mind
sir! in my eyes
the pyre dances
son! yesoba! yesoba!
yesoba! my father*!
for you
i'll weep like karamchedu*
for you
i'll weep like chunduru*
for you
i'll weep like vempenta*
i'll weep like yesterday's gosayipalem*!
father! as a tear big as the sky
i'll pour like a storm for you!
elders! lords!
salutations!
i wish to curse you
a basketful of curses
i wish to drive a basketful of wild ants
to bite you all over
to see my son's corpse, arriving
like armies of ants
and disappearing like swarms of locusts,
you patriots!
wait a second
if you're made of pus* and blood, shame and honour
if your liver hasn't melted yet
answer this untouchable's questions
not my son
you've come to visit his corpse
do you agree!
my son dead is a veera jawan
alive he's a mala* jawan
what do you say?
answer me!
swear on your manu
as a pigeon and a snake
can't be linked
your upper caste pride
can't go with patriotism
elders! lords!
listen! listen to the untouchable word
between the village and the wada
there's a kargil
from grandfathers' forefathers' age
burning between us
this kargil war
hasn't stopped, it goes on
son! yesoba!
on the third day
if you can't return
find the time
to return some day
and wipe my tears! father!
-my translation of sivasagar's kodukA! yEsobA!, written in 1999.
note: will explain the asterisks and my inadequacies as a translator later.
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- kuffir
- to the as-yet-unborn, to all innocent wisps of undifferentiated nothingness: watch out for life. hi ho.
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17 comments:
Stunning. The pain is palpable. Would love a transliteration as well :)
ludwig,
thank you. those kind words mean a lot.. i was translating from a compilation of his poetry. it's a long poem and it took me quite a few hours despite the fact that i wasn't editing/checking much.. the transliteration would've been more exhausting then. probably in the near future i'd sit down to do that..and possibly also do some editing. but that'd go on because i'm never very sure about these things.
my mind's not in my mind
agree with ludwig. this is stunning. please do more.
space bar,
yes, there are more such poems in the compilation. many were composed in his a kind of 'revolutionary vein' (like the poems in the earlier post) and the more recent ones, like this particular poem, speak of being a dalit, in a way (after he was 'excommunicated' from the movement.
i also remember what you had said on an earlier post. sivasagar was an active part of the underground naxal movement, so he wasn't virasam. but he is considered one of the best voices of the progressive/dalit poetry.
kuffir: ah, that's ok. the request for transliteration was just a hopeful shot in the dark :) thanks much for the translation. as i read it, i was translating some of it as best as i could back into Telugu, which made it all the more gut-wrenching.
i wonder if this has ever been 'performed' anywhere before...
This is beautiful- pierces the soul right through..
Waiting for more..! :)
this one has me speechless. i loved the scathing attack. Patriotism and high caste pride do not go together. So true!
well
it really brings out the pain.
akshaya/ how do we know: thank you. and welcome to this blog. :)
refractor: yes, every time i read the original poem, at some point or the other, it manages to take hold of my emotions.
wow.. that was powerful! would love to read the telugu version.. reminds me of these Gadar songs..
P.S: First time here :-)
priya,
thank you. and welcome. so, you've listened to gaddar?
ludwig,
'i wonder if this has ever been 'performed' anywhere before...'
i sense a dig there..:)
No, no! Absolutely not. It just seems so appropriate for a reading aloud/performance, powerful as it is even on the page.
No dig :)
beautiful stuff. reminds me of that lament of david:
O my son, Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died for you, O Absalom, my son, my son! (2 Samuel 18:33).
of course, absalom fought his father, unlike the folk in this poem.
feanor,
that's an insightful analogy. but the poet here weaves in several deaths into one and one into several- he converts several events/ places that were covered in the news (karamchedu/chunduru etc.,) into tools/weapons for everyday resistance. there's lament, yes, but helplessness? when a dalit says:' i'll weep like karamchedu' it means that he isn't going to give up. a loss shaped into a war cry.
This is so raw and powerful. It carries so much pain and anguish. And a great translation as well, the poem doesn't seem to have lost its power in translation.
I'd love to read it in Telugu. Please excuse my ignorance but where can I find poetry of this kind in Hyderabad?
anil,
yes it is raw. and thanks. i have got this from a book store in chikkadpally (lane beside the raymond shop).. or check any prajasakti/visalaandhra book stores. or the book stores in badi chowdi.
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