ANISUR RAHMAN
Literary Afternoon!
21 November 2010/English Bookshop, Uppsala
Anisur Rahman Fotograf: Fredrik Haglund | |
THE WATER-NYMPH
To walk and escape life,
Topsy-turvy like a river,
The mermaid moves towards deep sea—
Adherence— her dedication to water.
Hi, my water-nymph, yes,
Water embraces land
When you kiss at high tide.
In spite of that, she advances relentlessly
When sea and river speak of ‘love.’
STORY OF WATER AND STONE
I split the heart within my heart,
Build a house from stone.
I see my life inside–
A devastating storm within.
I see the sea in your eyes
Rising above water level.
Water embraces water
Where you see our house.
High tide strikes high tide,
The sun absorbs water,
Clouds suck clouds,
And life strains to breathe.
WHO AM I TO COMPLAIN?
A
As yes they have!
Hope lies in between roses and thorns!
And let’s say: are we also in between?
Oh! do we rejoice or do we complain?
Sometimes thorns offer cheers,
I have blood on my hands.
Sometimes roses offer tears,
I hear a heart shatters.
Thorns are yours…roses are yours!
To me, what matters, shatters or uproars?
Who am I to complain?
Who am I to rejoice?
THE OTHER WOMAN
The nocturnal poet walks on empty roads
Meets a nocturnal woman,
A harlot to the world, but
A human to the poet.
The woman opens up her world for ten or twenty Taka
And the world abruptly shuts its door.
Tell me, how can a poet open the door which civilisations have failed to open?
Opening all implies shutting off the doors to life on Earth
What kind of intrigue is this, what kind of mystery?
This question haunts the poet night and day and takes him to another poem…
And to Another woman!
Translation: Towheed Feroz
MY ALL I
This is not me what you see in all my outlook
Poetry that credits the name-fame in my book
Even that is not me
You will not get my trace in visa-passport
Either I can have refuge or be deported.
You can try to call me over 0700255039
But I am not sure you will get the trace of mine
You will not get me even emailing me on anisbangla@yahoo.com
This is not me what you see in all my outlook
Poetry that credits the name-fame in my book
Even that is not me
You will not get my trace in visa-passport
Either I can have refuge or be deported.
You can try to call me over 0700255039
But I am not sure you will get the trace of mine
You will not get me even emailing me on anisbangla@yahoo.com
Even you can try and ask Uppsala
Do you think as you can manage in a hurry?
Oh, no, that will not be…as you expected it to be
If you really insist on getting me, you will
If the dusts raise their hands
From the way which I have passed by.
Do you think as you can manage in a hurry?
Oh, no, that will not be…as you expected it to be
If you really insist on getting me, you will
If the dusts raise their hands
From the way which I have passed by.
The waters in which I swam, if they open the doors
If my words lying in the winds say hello to you
And invite you for a talk!
Yes, let it make a note
It is hard to imagine and difficult to feel in life
As I am the miner to be called as a tribe
I was in light and dark in my resort in a mine
Look for me there forgetting map or country.
Depending simply on faith where
My breathing play over there…
As an outcome of love, if you really want to know
Oh, poet where is your home? Where can I go?
Poet Tagore knew as ‘water drops, leaves move’
When my reading will be over
I am sure, you will get me
My all ‘I’ play in dark and light in your claps
In the making of those sounds from your hands …
If my words lying in the winds say hello to you
And invite you for a talk!
Yes, let it make a note
It is hard to imagine and difficult to feel in life
As I am the miner to be called as a tribe
I was in light and dark in my resort in a mine
Look for me there forgetting map or country.
Depending simply on faith where
My breathing play over there…
As an outcome of love, if you really want to know
Oh, poet where is your home? Where can I go?
Poet Tagore knew as ‘water drops, leaves move’
When my reading will be over
I am sure, you will get me
My all ‘I’ play in dark and light in your claps
In the making of those sounds from your hands …
PLEASE, OPEN YOUR EYES…
EMPTY GLASS
Here is my empty glass,
Hello, the journeymen,
Have a look, take a drink
And
Be my guest.
Empty glass upholds
The dream and presents
The world utmost.
Empty glass shows the gloom
At least an often
Gloomy world
Welcomes the guest,
The host stands by the
Impending empty glass.
Pour dreams,
Drinks: varieties… wine, spicy juice,
Tasty milk and tasteless water.
Even if one wishes
Be drunk,
Having poured images of
Fairy tales…cocktails
Cheers.
My empty glass presents
This empty world
Symbols
Do you know?
All right, my world
Yes empty.
‘Humpty Dumpty’
Knock it up.
Here is my empty glass
That needs
A change in the empty world.
This world loses reality
Hello, my guest
Be my love and be empty.
As all needs to be empty
As my glass needs.
Take my empty glass
Either be guest
Or host.
And utter cheers!
Empty glass means an offer
As it is symbol of welcome.
I have an empty glass
I miss my love.
My land is waste
That needs rain.
Hello my love, my world
I need you to win.
Hello my guest,
My glass is empty
Keep it up,
Come to my world
And have a revolt
With my empty glass.
As my paper is blank,
My letter is blank.
My dictionary,
that has lost all its words.
All any words need
a brush up.
And my glass needs
to be filled up.
My wasteland needs
You to have rain.
As the throne
Needs a queen.
Hello, dear Queen,
Hello my Dumpty lady
In my Humpty world.
More a plus, world class.
Name the world. ‘Empty Glass’.
MY NUDE WOMAN
Oh, my ever nude woman,
I have not yet got you as such,
The river-waters have done so.
I have not yet touched as such,
Lux soap has done with you.
How Madeline lipstick has kissed you,
I have not yet got that chance.
How the four walls of your dressing room have seen you,
I have not yet seen you in that way.
Deep dark has so hugged you,
I have not done that yet.
How daylight has taken you away,
I have not yet got that indulgence.
How the basin water catches your hands
Like books in your hands,
Have had places over your breasts, seeing that
I have had feeling of envy indeed in me,
Thus the touch-sensitive poet
Has been sensitive to be envious
And has travelled in dreams,
And moved in the terrible extreme.
How you have entered into your maxi,
You have not come to my hug thus.
How the sky at night has seen you,
How rains have embraced you,
What heat the sun by day has provided you
Over your body, after the earth
I have not got the chance.
How dawn air passes its hand
Through your loose hair
Has this poet yet got that chance?
Foreign perfume has washed your body
Has this poet been able to do that?
GOD STILL SLEEPS…CROW STILL LAUGHS…
God went on... sleeping
Crow went on... laughing:
Who says this…
Ted Hughes, he is
Remember the name please…
Obama-Reinfeildt are on... whispering…
Sarkozy is on... voyeuring…
Who sees this…
Facebook it is…
Make the note please…
‘We don’t need education’
Do we need concentration…?
Wow! How perfect it is!
What a voice…what politics?
Silent land can hear the sounds
In the making of a farce
In the name of ‘welfare’, ‘progress,’ ‘peace’
Crow laughs at God the supreme
Shark cheats at human the dream
Obama lies for what…
Reinfeildt echoes for what…
God still sleeps…
Raven still laughs…
LET’S GO TO CROWS’ DEMOCRACY SCHOOL
Ted Hughes sees a crow is crow without fail
Crow has freedom of expression and freedom
Crows do not know how to misuse it or not
Crows for truths begot or spoiling a bigot
To crows freedom is not any how fashion
Or not politics, diplomacy or provocation
For crows, expression is their passion
Crows to tune, intune it over freedom
Crows are crows all in their kingdom
All equal their voices over their expression
Crows not to know repression or oppression
We the people in human school
All to learn, all to bogus to tution
We do not know what to revoke
What to express or to provoke
We the masters in poetry in art
We do not know what to write
What to draw, what to caricature
We mix culture with agriculture
We do not know to talk over folk
We the people claim us best of luck
…oh… how to differ luck and fuck
We the politicians, poets, artists, journalists
Claim enough is enough, and so scientists
Diplomats, philosopher, teachers, traders
Professors, shoppers or buyers and all others
We the expressionists, we the terrorists
We are all in all, without being what we are
Ted Hughes sees crows are crows without fail
Crows express for crows, make voice kaa…kaa…
Crows rushes for crows, make sounds raa…raa…
Some we have no food, no shelter, hungry we
Some says go find altar other, what angry we
Crows are crows ins and outs, crows above all
In colour, in harmony, having no any protocol
And we? So our names, so our colours, so our classes
So our make-up over faces and so fake up over voices
We are mullah, Brahmin, Priests, we are white, we are black
We are mix, we are remix, we are hotchpotch, ping pong
We are all being nothing, we are bung fang, ding dang
What pride we show up, giving all in human up…
What proud, we the rich address the poor, ‘shut up’
Enough is enough! Over is over! Cover is cover! Ever and ever!
Who we are! When a crow is crow without fail! Who we are!
We are we with all our fails…we are we! That is why, specify
What our pride, what our prejudice…with all our fails! Clever!
All after hypocrisy, monocracy, hierocracy, what we the fool!
Crows are not as we are! Let’s go to Crows’ Democracy School
Welcome Obama, Osama, Jiabau, Reinfeldt, Dinejad! Let’s go…
RABINDRANATH
Swimming in the waters, I come up to island
I am in ruin land where there is no touch of life, no sound either
There is none to say hi or hello to me
I cannot see anyone on this side of the river
I swim towards the other side of the river
I cannot see anyone
I walk across this forest towards the other
They have occupied all birds, all flowers and all beauties in this world
Desert after desert, I see myself a confused passers by in desert storm
I have words, but not language
I have voice but not music
In Summer, I pass by the procession of Greens
In Winter. I walk on the bed sheet of snow and
I go wherever in the garden of beauties
I find an old one and his followers
This is not the end…in this ultimate waste land
The jealous times surrounded me
The pages in my note book are the individual Sahara desert
My pen is an injured bird in the storm in desert
The Rabindras get the greens and touch of life
During my serious danger they laugh at me from my bookshelf.
That is why I have to say
I am jealous at Rabindranath
I have words, but not language
When I have language, my words disappear
Can one win the heart of the beauty with wish and envy?
Can one be a poet with only wish and envy? #
Note: Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), Bengali poet, got Nobel Prize for literature in 1913.
POET IN RESIDENCY
One cannot find poets in residency in schools, libraries and literary seating
They phrase the cheers and long-drawn sigh in life and
They live in prisons, fields, factories, streets, markets and labour colonies
Poets are Meghlin, Columbus where there is life even in nook and corner
If any one of you find Anisur Rahman in Uppsala
You will know, this is Uppsala
I must say: He is not poet at all
Just an image of a bird in the storm
The bird finds its shelter in the palace at stormy night
The bird waits just for dawn, afterwards of the storm…
# # # Anisur Rahman, Uppsalas writer in residency as part of ICORN program 2009-2011
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