।। Nabina Das ।।
Book excerpt
Note: Quite a few anthologies have recently been published in celebration of Bangladesh’s 50th anniversary of independence. But a new anthology of poetry stands out. Entitled ‘Arise out of the Lock: 50 Bangladeshi Women Poets’ Voices in Commemoration of Bangladesh’s Golden Jubilee’, it exclusively features 50 women poets from Bangladesh. Being recognised as a woman poet in a male-dominated space is no easy feat in Bangladesh. Therefore, this is a much-needed anthology which, we hope, will fill in many gaps. The poems in the anthology are translated by Nabina Das and curated by Alam Khorshed. The book is forthcoming from Balestier Press, UK, in early 2022.
—Editor, Arts & Letters
Note from the translator
As the translator of this book, I saw my contribution as an enabler of cross-border literary alliances and neighbourly goodwill. In the era of globalization, while a lot remains to be done for our respective nations, it goes without saying that a convergence of ideas across the borders is a solid way of foregrounding our common concerns. Literature for me, as a poet and author, is a sure roadmap for forging ties that poetry alone perhaps can achieve. Here I had to be aware of the fact that in the post-colonial literary plane of the subcontinent, Bangladesh was on a unique trajectory she set for herself. Her history was refracted like sunlight through water – she had gained freedom that was non-linear, and hence, complex and richer than her neighbours.
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The 50 Bangladeshi women poets in this anthology represent a diverse style. The older poets among this group are especially reminiscent of Bangla poetics that is common to both the Bengals – e-paar (this side) and o-paar (that side) mentioned earlier – in terms of geographical and cultural ethos. The poets that come up later, from lyrical to highly realistic ones, represent a Bangladesh in the throes of political, economic, and social upheavals. In the midst of all this there is also the phoenix-like surge in idioms and images in the work of the poets from the periods that saw military rule, sectarian violence, and scuttling of democracy in Bangladesh. Among the younger poets, the poetry blooms in many directions, when the women poets are more aware of their condition, their rights, and of emancipation as part of a radical change in the polity of the country. The latter’s language offers a striking blend of modernity and humanistic ethos. To name the poets selectively would be a lapse on my part, but since the book is chronologically arranged, Sufia Kamal’s voice stands out as strident and radical as we begin to read, a beacon in Bangladeshi poetry. The youngest and the final poet in our list Shweta Shatabdi Esh challenges with her overlapping images and crisp style. Meherun Nesa stands out singularly as the working class poet who reaffirms our faith in beauty and resurrection amid terrible violence unleashed by anti-liberation forces (to which she fell), her work a testimony to the dreams of the toiling masses, especially women.
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I remembered Umberto Eco saying somewhere that “translation is the art of failure”, I became fearless. Poets and poetry and failure? Clearly, there is more to translations than just (even brilliant) men preaching about it! Translation for me is the art of conversation, when poetry and the poet as a translator find that spatial-temporal niche to exchange ideas and notes. Conversations don’t fail, they continue.
Five poems from the volume:
Sufia Kamal (1911-1999)
Arise Out of the Lock
No time to braid that lock, to arise is the order!
Whether or not the sari has a graceful border,
The beauty mark on the forehead, kajal in eyes, time
To redden your lips is up, it’s over. life or death — rings the chime.
No more just smiling teenagers, young women, and wives
Defined chin, mouth and lips firm, to pledge and strive
Forever alert. Just as the bright sharp sabre
Wide eyes raised quick to the moment, not lowered any more.
No longer frightened like the doe, those glances, hark,
Show a mind in search, a falcon looking for its mark.
Their hearts sans mercy, hardened like solid stone
To wield revenge against the invaders of our home.
The woman’s shy soft form has gone for a change
All her dear ones, kin, and comrades she will now avenge.
Slim waist and her bosom full of the lion’s might
The brave-heart holds boundless strength, no love songs in voice bright
Hail Motherland, hail the people! Glory be to Muktisena, hail!
Her aanchal soaked in martyrs’ blood, the woman too is ready to sail.
Meherun Nesa (1942-1971)
To the Flower and the Moon
1.
I don’t have a garden, I hanker for flowers
The sapling in the pot only blooms in ones or twos –
That barely quenches the core of my desire.
Then do not blossom this way, flowers,
Do not make my flower-soul restless
Tell me how do I fulfil this garden-desire
Of mine planting only saplings in pots?
2.
Whatever others say, you be my moon
Atop the bamboo grove, in any such manner
When I sorely miss Kajla Didi, grieve her
How do I say how much I need you?
Not a burnt roti to me, you are not
Even if the earth is harsher than ever–
In speckless metaphors may you thrive
Like the half-veiled face in Bengal’s bridal chamber.
Shelly Naz (b 1969)
Enigma
A gusty river below my waist, blue whales’ song
I’ve pierced with a golden spear kept eternally along
This is all for you, all fireworks, flower-lakes, stealth
Of riptides in my breasts, grapes of wrath
Dig up the ashes of the lampstand and see, a star burns softly
You fill your pockets and depart to a forest of mystery
I have flown away the balloons filled with my breath that sing
I unhooked safety pins to let sari folds tumble out in the spring
Wheat fields that wail aloud at your curved knife of battle
The steam and poison that has poured out of the steaming kettle
They’re all dissatisfied, yet for you I keep aside veins full of wine
If not in mine, then let in your pleasure cruise celebrations begin
I serve you milk, fresh blood, in the finest china bowl
O utmost enigma, my man, even then your indifference, your scowl!
Shanta Maria (b 1970)
What’s a Woman Gotta Do in Heaven
Heaven has no poet
So what’s a woman gotta do in Heaven.
Wide-eyed hoors
Keep dancing nonstop
Along the corridors of Heaven.
No lovers in Heaven
No enchanting flirtations
The ambiance of Heaven? Quite boring
Spic and span, all severely arranged in a neat row.
Where’s forest in Heaven?
Sea or rivers?
Mandakini, Al-Kawthar, Lethe?
If it doesn’t meander wild
Breaking banks in frenzied ecstasy
How is it even a river?
In the Heaven-corridor you see the pious men and women
Praying twice a day
No desire or lust in Heaven
Aspiration or disappointment
Sorrow and all that enticing tamasha
Where are the wild reckless men
In the heart of Heaven?
Neither there’s death written anywhere
What’s a woman gotta do in Heaven anyway.
Shweta Shatabdi Esh (b 1992)
The Chill in Our House
We didn’t have any ice making machine
Yet there was twelve-month long winter in our house –
From warming our hands in fire
The fate line of the palm is singed, now illusory!
Thinking spring will arrive I would sprinkle
Rain every morning in the garden of wind;
All over the body of the red-oleander
Are envelopes of illness filled with leaves!
Growing up this way we thought
Winter was just absolutely natural –
All other seasons being wrong pronouns.
Who knows where all residents left and went far away,
I was the first to find springtime
Here in your company among all.
This isolated breeze riddled with nerves of time
I couldn’t like springtime for too long!
The melody of return to the bosom of mist-shadows
In the depth of our home
Songs are congealed of winter’s chill and cold!
NABINA DAS is a poet and writer based in Hyderabad, India.
ALAM KHORSHED is a writer and arts activist who runs Bistaar-Chittagong Arts Complex, Bangladesh