Do You See?
It’s lame not to share the good work going on in Telegu poetry, especially Dalit-Bahujan poetry that the Indian elite will not care for unless a big publisher turned to it with much fanfare. Naren Bedide translates from diverse poets in Andhra Pradesh, where I have gone to live recently after moving from the US. Read his English translations on The Shared Mirror.
In fact, we are happy to have published him in The Four Quarters Magazine that I guest-edited recently.
“I am the moonlight
the last breath
in the ruins of the destroyed Babri masjid,
I am the beheaded stalk of grass
*Guja-raatri: a reference to the Gujarat carnage of 2002.
(That word reminds me of Kristallnacht; “raatri” means night)
Read ye below, if you remember not!
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Me-love is comprised of, if you haven’t guessed already … photos, of course. Weekend loitering and mini walks and treks warranted some self-indulgence of the simple kinds.
New canvaswear. Already worn in polite company and approved! Polka dots they are. No, I didn’t match the carpet; it just happened!
Blue jute tote (actually from Pondicherry, India) and summer hat with a pink butterfly ribbon. I was supposed wear the hat today in polite company but forgot to take it along. It’s already done some walking with me in the sun this weekend. Hey, it’s summer in Stirling after all.