Tamej khedo chho khetar
Tamej shangaro chho jindagi
Marun shun kahun? Uklatat charu maan
Ek tapkun bhog, ek chaptee bandagi.
(c) Max Babi
Transcreated in English
You yourself plough the field
you yourself adorn a life
What can I say about myself? Inside a boiling cauldron
One drop of carnality, one pinch of worship.
(c) Max Babi
Taari saathe vartalaap maan
javallej marun dhyaan taari vaat
upar taki rahe chhe.
Sambhalaay chhe mane van-pankhiono
kalarav,
anubhavaay chhe adaabeed jungaloni
niravta,
taari kavitao taara hisaabna
chopdao saathe je
jeevlen chedan kare chhe
e punn.
Sambhalaay chhe mane
avismaraniy drashyona
chitr-vrutant,
click clickna bareek
avaaj saathe
taari digital camerani jadugari
jaane ke
camero taara sharirnun avayavaj
na hoy….
Vichitrata aapna
antiseptic sambandhoni e chhe
ke maarun dhyaan nathi
e vaat par taarun dhyaan rehtunj nathi-
tun etli magn rahe chhe
mane tara shabda-bhandol maan
dubaadva khaatar : daghaee jaun chhun hun
kayrek taari dhaardaar tatpartaathi.
(c) Max Babi 030508
Transcreated in English “
I rarely manage to focus on your words
whenever we converse.
I can hear soft cackling of forest birds
I can sense the chaste silence of the forests
even the liberties your poems take with
your accounts books… too.
I can also hear the sounds
of unforgettable landscapes, their images,
along with click click of your digital camera,
the magic of this instrument
as it it were an extension of your own body….
The oddity in our antiseptic relationship
is that you never focus on the fact
that I fail to focus on your talk-
so lost you remain in your attempts
to drown me in the waterfall of your words :
at times I get awed by the sharpness of
your eagerness.
(c) Max Babi 060508
Angurke baghaanki hariyali
ud chali -ek thakaa-sa sannaata
zorotalbi kasé baitha hai.
Ankh milaao toh phati ankhsé
ghoorta hai, aur tavaarikhke bhaddé
ghair-insaafki musalsal jhalkian
dikhlata hai.
Kuchh yunh taktaa hai jaisé mainé hii
apné dimaaghsé baarbaar vaar karké
uski maasoom dunia ujaad di ho.
Khaufsé dil laraz jata hai-
kahin inn sukhi belon-ki sumsaam
bastiko zubaan phoot nikli toh…..
Meri kitaabon mein har labz saabunké
bulbuléki nimat phat jaega.
Chup rahunga mein sadion tak.
(c) Max Babi
Transcreation in English :
Greenery Of Vineyards Has Fled
an almost tired silence sits exercising
an ironclad reign.
If you look at it, well, it stares right back
and flashes myriad instances of ugly
injustice.
It stares as if I only have, with mental strokes,
reduced its innocent world to an arid patch
My world quakes with abject fear
lest this world of dried up vines sprout a tongue
Every word in my books would burst
like a soap-bubble.
I would fall silent for centuries.
(c) Max Babi
Welcome everyone!
This is Max Babi’s weblog dealing with ‘Transcreated Poetry’.
Those of us who know more than one language have often felt saddened to see poor quality ‘translations’ because ‘word for word’ technique does not work. It leads at times to amusing, even eye-sore results.
A transcreated poem is written by a poet who has mastered at least two languages. I do that in four, by the way, and I wish to popularize this concept which has been liked immensely by poetry lovers who may be mono-lingual. I happen to have lots of poets as friends who write exceedingly well in their mother tongues but are hesistant to try their hand at translation, or do not like the whole business of word for word translation.
Here’s a randome example originally written by me in Urdu :
Akelapan ek aag hai,
soz-bhara ek raag hai /
Iss-ki agosh mein aa gaye agar,
Toh zindagi buss khaak hai.
(c) Max Babi
Now lets see a word for word translation :-
Loneliness is a fire,
a sadness-filled melody,
If you fall in its embrace,
Life is just ash.
The brief nature of the translation, lends it an unintentional Haiku sort of flavour…
however to the English language reader with a different set of sensitivity and sensibility, the whole exercise may have no particular attractiveness.
How would I myself transcreate this into English ?
Solitude can blaze as a fire
even a melody stuffed with meloncholy,
when embraced even for a moment
life could turn to a heap of ash.
(c) Max Babi
This exercise can be done differently, and I would encourage all poets who may have got the drift of the idea, to try their hands. Often I have seen extraordinary suggestions flow in from readers.
Do feel encouraged to try…
Till next time,
Cheerz!
Max
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