Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
During our fair and festivities, leaving your comfort zone you come
to our hamlet. Looking at Dashmi’s walk, the jasmine
flowers in Betikhai’s ear, Baini’s hair clip, Saybani’s bulging breasts,
Surunani and Sulaochana’s arm bracelets, Raibari’s rasarkeli songs
and Bela’s dance, you portray the beauty of our village in your poetry.
Dashmi, who goes to break stones carrying water rice and onions
Raibari, who returns head-carrying a paddy bundle; Bayni, who works
like a machine in the brick kiln, Bela, who goes door to door
collecting the day’s food, Sulochana, who never smiles after returning
as a bonded labourer, Saibani, who always carries a feverish body, Hema,
who can never free herself to come to books from all household cores
Phenak sister, who does all rituals selling out all lands and ornaments
just to see her bedridden father get up. Though you write so much,
only I witness all the tearful episodes including Alinani’s perennial tearful
eyes, whose husband has been picked up by the police for no reason
while kissing Raibari’s hands, I see her hands have broken carrying
firewood, Dilekh’s body has sustained lesions while lifting the cauldron,
Mangulu’s mahua tree has been barren this winter; the land of Betikhai’s
father is with the moneylender which he’d possessed after cutting the
jungle. Despite driving a company, someone’s helicopter is hovering
on our mountain, the flutist Dhana has been excommunicated from
the village who touched the village head’s daughter while
grazing goats and then a lot of things deluge into my poetry:
young men and women, folk songs, love, river, flowers, spring, marriage,
dance and songs, sarhul moon, death, god, life on earth and heaven; and
further there’re many great elements—tribal, Dalits, suffering, company,
battle, politics, blood, sweat, dust, dirt and foul smell. Shame on you, poets,
you argue, the word is divine, poetry is inerrant and is truth,
it’s god and beauty, you deliver a pile of talk on my poetry. We know,
we’re beautiful, but, your saying us beautiful is a beautiful conspiracy.
This site is designed and maintained by GONECASE