Joy Goswami
Nace en Calcuta, India en 1954, de donde más tarde su familia se traslada a Ranaghat. Su padre, célebre militante político, le hizo descubrir la poesía en su infancia -empezó a escribir a los diez años-. Su talento se confirmó pronto y, en 1977, se impuso en la escena literaria con Christmas o shiter sonnet guicchho (Navidad y un ramillete de sonetos de invierno). Entre las muchas recompensas recibidas, reseñamos el premio Ananda, el premio de la Academia de Bengala-Oeste, el premio de la Academia literaria. En los años ochenta encarnó en Bengala la figura del joven poeta pródigo. Goza, desde entonces, de una inmensa popularidad.
Arde
El agua es esta mano. Mi mano siempre, un día y otro...
Alzo la mano del agua.
El corazón es su color. Se funde en frío. Fin del invierno.
El verano ahora. En lo más alto, a la altura
de una uña. Nadie pertenece a nadie. La ola codiciosa del deseo,
la evitas y prosigues, hablas, ríes...
Arde -hundida en el agua- arde oh país de verano.
One Man
Suspicion comes and sits on his shoulder one morning,
Slowly with long, thin beak, it cleans his ear,
When his eye closed with pleasure--- suspicion--- with a tweet entered
into the hollow of his ear,
and he did not notice.
Since then always the sound of the bird beating its wings in his skull,
When he tried to hear someone instead he heard that sound,
When he looked in someone's eye he always saw the eye of the bird,
Waking up every morning he cut off one friendship,
In the night when he lay beside his sleeping wife, checking his own body
He wants to examine it to be sure that his wife is not sleeping with anybody else.
[Translated from 'Ekjon' (Bengali) by Poet himself]
Poem From Another Land
By deeper water, upon greener rock, I had pitched my tent
And washed away with care the colour of my scream
Your bone and stone ornaments dried on wet rock
And Night would spread its blue-black skin upon the water
Then, it wasn’t in this land I lived!
The animal hides you gave me to wrap around my waist
I laid beneath my head to sleep on the island sand
In the distance a whale released water through its nose, in the early morning sun
One by one all the corals emerged from the sea -
One day a wandering Marco Polo anchored his ship
One day Columbus too -
Who was first, who second, can you remember? - And once
On his way back from his long desolate exile
Crusoe, Robinson; he spent a couple of hours with us
Dined with us on long fish roasted in fire
Not a single bone in them - “excellent” he remarked
in dense creeper-covered forest, I noticed
the way the early morning sun flashed - while speaking
with you from beneath his nutbrown beard there flashed
such a smile -
Then, it wasn’t in this land I lived!
Tonight why do I recall that tent upon a rock
Why do those bone and feather ornaments sparkle in the dark?
Here where the butterflies are lightless and the minerals damp as a cold
From sleeping bodies warm vapour rises constantly
If I try to wash the wound of my scream, then
From the water there will rise a crimson smoke!
But running will not help!
I will fetch the rocks and warm them
Warm them and whet them
Soon their inert tips
Will sharpen and glisten
And then
Do you remember one time in the dark how
A drunken bear pounced on you
And I with just such a sharp rock
Flattened him right there, in the sand?
[Translated from Bengali by Oindrila Mukherjee]
Rain-Drenched Winds In My Sleep
ve came to me'
Rabindranath, Arogya No. 13]
(1)
When did light string me to sleep’s dark branches,
O Tamal,
When did peacocks enter
night's township
go from door to door peddling songs!
You carefree soul,
Let the wayfarer give alms today let her give
all your best wishes to lovers
Gladly let her give to paupers like you---
Only a fistful of grass only a handful
of desolate sand may she offer to the river, enough,
You the destitute
Do not linger any longer thinking
Aid is on the way aid will be here wait no more
Waste no more time
Someone has sent out a call to every village, every hamlet
Beyond my thoughts all forests, groves, trees
have gone crazy in the wind in the wind
like a crazy girl walking down the street
unheeding uncaring shoeless.
And seeing that
from all directions waves swell distant vistas
come flying in
And wondrously, now in Chaitra, what a furore
“Sraban has come, Sraban has come”,
The sky grows eager with dense deep clouds
A fierce gale tears since morning
Its madness knows no bounds
Drunken trees sway their heads now
now they begin to fly
And over the flying forest clang cymbals,
Drums beat again again kohl-black rain clouds
rain clouds mine.
(2)
For me, only the walking
All night
within the cloud-hued black dreams beneath sleep
All night a bewitching snakebite in my head
Never to be forgotten
O seven seas, however did I, a wayward fishing boat
Blithely ride your various heaving billowing waves
Who was it, a coral island, that stopped me midway
made me set up house
My meagre shelter for a few days----------
That too I left behind when in dream one dawn I heard
The command
Left behind family friends and a lap to put my head in
without a word I came away
My fishing boat hurtles from one hill to another
Suddenly my boat sinks
Rises again, and then
Heedless of my protests my reluctance
She takes me on the sandbanks
on the fishing boat
She took me unknown woman.....
(3)
Days die. O dusk trailing the dusty soil
If you have known me
Then come, take me back home
Hold me by the hand and take me
home.
In the steps of a ballad I have come
this far
Now I know not where I am
My eyes were fixed
on its watery footprints
I no more know what comes
Watching the road so long
my eyes are blinded
Today I hesitate,
My own words sound strange
Yet one day in the darkness
Feet had pressed down on my feet, lips
desperately found my lips
Clasped my head to breasts, drowning it,
Two waves, two meagre waves....
And over my newly hatched throbbing youthful words
someone had deliriously rubbed her face
again and again and said, “No peace
no peace not a moment’s respite will this man let me.”
The days died.
O dusk trailing the dusty soil
O dusk shadowy behind trees
I hold your both hands and say---can you
not take me once, just once
back to that long-done kiss
of those faraway days?
I promise you:
I shall begin to write you afresh
Right from scratch
In a brand new tongue…………
(4)
Come death’s simple words
Sleeping waters in wind’s way
On the water, death’s simple words
The divine perches on a branch
Along night’s way with the morning sun
Come death’s simple words
A sparrow perches on his shoulders
He forgets the divine
stares at flowers
A dewdrop on the grass-blade
another a teardrop in his eye
Flowersprig, flowersprig
Touch him gently while he sleeps.
Speak, death’s simple words,
Of the land begun in fire
Of the sowing in that land
This song will outlive death
What river this beneath your feet
Where its bends and meanders
There the women tend the garden
Sprinkle on their hearts in the morning
moist words
He who has never known love
Let him go and lie beside the red river
Burn simple words mine
On that tree where
Every leaf cups fire
A beggar-woman’s lost child
Falls asleep by the roadside
Touch him gently, o flowersprig,
Leave all else aside,
come gently touch.
[Translated from 'Sbapne Paaoyaa Baadal Haaoyaa' (Bangla) by Nandini Gupta]
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