I have not updated this blog for about six months now. I did write a few things in Tamil. Some short stories I did not loathe. Some essays that made sense. There is a lot happening in life as well. Still, there is also a feeling of being in a limbo. Life moves around us, more than it moves through us. When we stand aside and witness that, it delights, scares, overwhelms and empties us.
I tried to hold on to many things. Some helped, some did not. Not every shelter is permanent. I was going through my notes and found this translation. I did this a few months back. I thought it was not perfect, it did not capture the rhythm that was inherent in an Anaar poem. I did not translate this with the intention of sharing (in public). It was supposed to be a message. The translation was an act done to capture a moment that has passed.
While I write this, I hear many voices. Some tell me to post this. Some tell me not to. I am obviously doing the previous if you are reading this. I had to also add these three paragraphs as a bridge to cross over the voices of pride, perfection and shame.
A river called your voice or Wine
a poem by Anar
Today, did you not harness
horses to your voice?
Your words are
rice shimmering
in harvest times.
Cheers of springtime sunbirds.
I have a field full of words in me
For you, always
For you, lush green.
Like admiring
evening twilight from a mountain top,
I admire
goldfishes jumping, leaping out
in the river of your voice
Your voice holds
a magical metropolis of kisses,
and a wide lake
frozen, freezing.
When haunted by hunger
queen of the zenana
eagerly drinks a drink
of all flavours
a wine called your voice.
Edward S. Curtis 1910
