Category: Poezi Tradixion / Translation

Her mother shed a tear or two but wasn’t really
crying. It was the thing to do, so she did it
enjoying every moment. The bride laughed when I
sympathized, and said don’t be silly.

So mama ti larg enn ou de larm, pa kwar li ti pe
Plore. Koutim dir bizen, alors li ti fer seki bizen
Dan lazwa. Doulinn ti riye ler mo ti sey
Konsol li; pa fer kouyon li ti dir mwa.

Her brother had a shoe of mine and made me pay
to get it back. The game delighted all the neighbours’
children, who never stopped staring at me, the reluctant
bridegroom of the day.

So frer ti souk enn mo soulie e ti bizen pey enn fiz
Pou li rande. Bann zanfan vwazen, ki ti pe fixe mwa,
Doula par fors,
Ti gagn li bonn.

There was no dowry because they knew I was ‘modern’
and claimed to be modern too. Her father asked me how
much jewellery I expected him to give away with his daughter.
When I said I did’t know, he laughed it off.

Pa ti ena dahej; zot ti kone mo ‘modern’
E zot’si zot ti modern. So papa ti dimann mwa komie
Bizou li ti bizen done kan li donn so tifi.
Ler mo dir li ‘kajani’, li ti kas enn riye.

Continue reading “Jewish Wedding In Bombay by Nissim Ezekiel”

I don’t know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I am Indian, very brown, born in Malabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.

ENN ENTRODIKSION
Mo pa konpran politik me mo konn bann nom
Seki dan pouvwar e mo kapav resit zot kouma
Zour dan lasemenn, ousa mwa dan lane, koumans ar Nehru.
Mo enn endien, bien nwar, pran nesans dan Malabar,
Koz trwa lang, ekrir
Dan de, rev dan enn.

Don’t write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.

Pa ekrir an Angle, zot ti dir,
Pa to lang maternel sa. Zot pa kapav
Fou mwa lape, zot tou – kritik, konesans,
Kouzen-kouzinn? Les mo koz lang
Ki mo anvi. Lang ki mo koze,
Li pou mwa, so lanver ek so landrwat
Zot pou mwa, zis pou mwa.

It is half English, half Indian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don’t
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.

Continue reading “AN INTRODUCTION by Kamala Das”