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| Shaswata Gangopadhyay |
SHASWATA GANGOPADHYAY (INDIA)
FEW POEMS
1.Poetry of third world
I am nobody, nobody at all
Just a cultivator of cotton belonging to third world,
His youngest son
I have grown up by swallowing the froth of sea,
On my burnt skin
There is printed the world-map all over the body
Hunger rises in spiral motion
Around my stomach
If you give me love, I’ll multiply it three times
By sheer magic
And put it under your feet
If you give me hatred, if you offend me
From my top to bottom
I’ll come back not to take revenge
But to my writing papers
And I will throw each of my poems,one after another
Just like daggers
Yes, all the boys of third world are just like this
2. A day of days
A day of days comes such a way
As if a jockey's bending his body on a naughty horse,
Before the blinking of eyes 24 hours are over
A day of days comes even such a way
As if a snail crawls with its tired body
Even a single minute hangs heavy on it
A day of days comes such a way
As if it's the very gape of a gluttonous monster
Whose uvula is visible,deeply red,
Nightmares are pacing up and down
A day of days comes even such a way
Like cooling water-melon in hot summer noon,
While biting,it seems as it were
God's standing just a hand apart
A day of days comes such a way
When words,like the tiny fishes in herds
Glitter in the midst of poems
A day of days comes even such a way
When there's no word in the fingers,
Just like the smoke of burning dry leaves
It vanishes in the ether in circles
3. A ballad on estrangement
You're not easily available ,for me very tough to meet you
On the Nilgiri mountain, Kurinji flowers blooming
in autumn, every twelve years gap,
you resemble the very identical species
You've bloomed once again during this season, all over the valley
those suffering from leprosy, assemble there and believe that
they'll be cured if they paste grinding petals of
a rare species like you, on their wounds
all their old maladies'll be gone for good.
Following the equator, I've also come here
we are belonging to the same planet, but rarely meeting each other
I'll climb to search you, using the worn-out staircase through mist
will lie down tiringly on the notch of a stone, you just cast off upon
my body, open your petals from head to the fingers of your two legs
let the storm dash out, if you put your lips on my lips
You're the sanatorium to me, the secret panacea
First
remove the husks of words,then put them in a ceramic pot
let them wet in tears,say,for around ten minutes
then,when the maizes in salt take the shapes of granules
fire up the oven,and fry them a little in cooking oil
After
this, cutting the vein of your right forefinger,
spill a drop of blood and prepare with flour
make a tasty gravy, add spices as required
In the way the deer dance in heavy monsoon night,
musk-scented,just like that manner mix and blend secretly
the rhythm of their stepping motion,in each and every line
now spread over the surface the roasted words
with fresh coriander and green lemon
while hot,like the roundish petals of lotus,
serve it in white paper,one after one
and
readers will taste it,saying : fantastic
5.
An Egyptian folk tale
Don't throw stones at a fellow who
truly loves you
those stones'll come back to you someday or other
It is an Egyptian folk tale, the
written version in the proverb
but you didn’t obey it, rather as a first lover
you ditched him, leaving him alone
putting chewing gum casually in your mouth
at 8 o'clock past 10 in the morning,
you are crossing the quiet desert,
no mirage is visible, only broken skeletons
of camels lie scattered here and there
sometimes after the sun will look like a ruthless hammer
after pulling out from your rucksack the last bottle of soft drinks
you being exhausted, will roll on the ground senseless
sense when regained, you listen to the wind of the storm :
It's the curse of the God of sands and deserts :
Throughout your life you all
alone will go on searching water
you will earn money, enjoy solvency, but never you will get a beloved
6. During the night
of Insomnia
Sleep is such a mythical creature who before being extinct
has left upon my eye-lids the shadow of its last descendant.
It only lashes its tail restlessly during whole night,
dry dust flies with the strokes of its prickles, fibres fall of
I shut my eyes,try to visualise a silent temple made of white marbles,
situated at far off sea,- whose every bit of tenderness and grace
has polished its floor and walls.
Imaginatively upon those smooth walls I touch my cheek,
lie down on the cold floor of the temple,
turn my body on the other side in fanciful wet wind
Still I can't fold my two eyes
Have the watery vapours of my eyes gone dry?
I' am afraid, is it then called : Dry retina syndrome?
Even now finny fishes play round and round my deep eyes,
the dreams do not bend to search them out
Only night,after finishing its run,
brings the shinning sun back.
As if a Negro athlete after winning the race is returning
with the gold medal in his hands.
Translated from
Bengali to English by Rajdeep Mukherjee
Shaswata Gangopadhyay (India) :
One of the Prominent faces of
Contemporary Bengali Poetry ,who started writing in Mid 90s.
Born ON 11th July, 1972,at Kolkata,
Shaswata’s poems have been published in all major Bengali Poetry journals.
Shaswata has participated in different International poetry festivals of Europe and Both North and Latin America.
His poems have been
published in all six continents in more than 150 International Journals and Anthologies through translations in 7-8 languages.
His book of Poems : Inhabitant of Pluto Planet (2001),
Offspring of Monster (2009), Holes of Red Crabs(2015), Rhododendron Cafe (2021), In the city of myth and mushroom (2023)and Poems of Shaswata Gangopadhyay (2023).
His ‘Selected Love Poems’ have been published from Cairo, Egypt. His recent book ‘Altamira’ had been published from Prodigy Publication, USA.
He has also been invited to read his poems in UK, USA, France, Australia,South Africa,Colombia and Portugal Virtual Book Fair.
He has been invited to Paris, Vienna and Frankfurt to read his poems.
Very recently he has received ‘Sparkling Soul Award’ from Chile, Latin America.
This year, He was invited to Prestigious ‘ Gateway Lit Fest’ at Mumbai to read his poems.
FEW POEMS
1.Poetry of third world
Just a cultivator of cotton belonging to third world,
His youngest son
I have grown up by swallowing the froth of sea,
On my burnt skin
There is printed the world-map all over the body
Hunger rises in spiral motion
Around my stomach
If you give me love, I’ll multiply it three times
By sheer magic
And put it under your feet
If you give me hatred, if you offend me
From my top to bottom
I’ll come back not to take revenge
But to my writing papers
And I will throw each of my poems,one after another
Just like daggers
Yes, all the boys of third world are just like this
2. A day of days
As if a jockey's bending his body on a naughty horse,
Before the blinking of eyes 24 hours are over
A day of days comes even such a way
As if a snail crawls with its tired body
Even a single minute hangs heavy on it
As if it's the very gape of a gluttonous monster
Whose uvula is visible,deeply red,
Nightmares are pacing up and down
A day of days comes even such a way
Like cooling water-melon in hot summer noon,
While biting,it seems as it were
God's standing just a hand apart
When words,like the tiny fishes in herds
Glitter in the midst of poems
A day of days comes even such a way
When there's no word in the fingers,
Just like the smoke of burning dry leaves
It vanishes in the ether in circles
On the Nilgiri mountain, Kurinji flowers blooming
in autumn, every twelve years gap,
you resemble the very identical species
those suffering from leprosy, assemble there and believe that
they'll be cured if they paste grinding petals of
a rare species like you, on their wounds
all their old maladies'll be gone for good.
Following the equator, I've also come here
we are belonging to the same planet, but rarely meeting each other
I'll climb to search you, using the worn-out staircase through mist
will lie down tiringly on the notch of a stone, you just cast off upon
my body, open your petals from head to the fingers of your two legs
let the storm dash out, if you put your lips on my lips
let them wet in tears,say,for around ten minutes
then,when the maizes in salt take the shapes of granules
fire up the oven,and fry them a little in cooking oil
spill a drop of blood and prepare with flour
make a tasty gravy, add spices as required
In the way the deer dance in heavy monsoon night,
musk-scented,just like that manner mix and blend secretly
the rhythm of their stepping motion,in each and every line
now spread over the surface the roasted words
with fresh coriander and green lemon
while hot,like the roundish petals of lotus,
serve it in white paper,one after one
those stones'll come back to you someday or other
but you didn’t obey it, rather as a first lover
you ditched him, leaving him alone
putting chewing gum casually in your mouth
at 8 o'clock past 10 in the morning,
you are crossing the quiet desert,
no mirage is visible, only broken skeletons
of camels lie scattered here and there
sometimes after the sun will look like a ruthless hammer
after pulling out from your rucksack the last bottle of soft drinks
you being exhausted, will roll on the ground senseless
sense when regained, you listen to the wind of the storm :
It's the curse of the God of sands and deserts :
you will earn money, enjoy solvency, but never you will get a beloved
has left upon my eye-lids the shadow of its last descendant.
It only lashes its tail restlessly during whole night,
dry dust flies with the strokes of its prickles, fibres fall of
I shut my eyes,try to visualise a silent temple made of white marbles,
situated at far off sea,- whose every bit of tenderness and grace
has polished its floor and walls.
Imaginatively upon those smooth walls I touch my cheek,
lie down on the cold floor of the temple,
turn my body on the other side in fanciful wet wind
Still I can't fold my two eyes
Have the watery vapours of my eyes gone dry?
I' am afraid, is it then called : Dry retina syndrome?
Even now finny fishes play round and round my deep eyes,
the dreams do not bend to search them out
Only night,after finishing its run,
brings the shinning sun back.
As if a Negro athlete after winning the race is returning
with the gold medal in his hands.
Contemporary Bengali Poetry ,who started writing in Mid 90s.
Born ON 11th July, 1972,at Kolkata,
Shaswata’s poems have been published in all major Bengali Poetry journals.
Shaswata has participated in different International poetry festivals of Europe and Both North and Latin America.
His poems have been
published in all six continents in more than 150 International Journals and Anthologies through translations in 7-8 languages.
His book of Poems : Inhabitant of Pluto Planet (2001),
Offspring of Monster (2009), Holes of Red Crabs(2015), Rhododendron Cafe (2021), In the city of myth and mushroom (2023)and Poems of Shaswata Gangopadhyay (2023).
His ‘Selected Love Poems’ have been published from Cairo, Egypt. His recent book ‘Altamira’ had been published from Prodigy Publication, USA.
He has also been invited to read his poems in UK, USA, France, Australia,South Africa,Colombia and Portugal Virtual Book Fair.
He has been invited to Paris, Vienna and Frankfurt to read his poems.
Very recently he has received ‘Sparkling Soul Award’ from Chile, Latin America.
This year, He was invited to Prestigious ‘ Gateway Lit Fest’ at Mumbai to read his poems.
