topics: |  india | poetry | telugu | translation

Jayaprabha is a leading Telugu poet, translations of whose work has been included earlier in several anthologies of Indian poetry. However, this is the first book translating her poetry alone.

What is even more special about this volume is that the translator is P V Narasimha Rao, who was the Prime Minister of India in the 1990s. Can't really think of any other politician anywhere who wrote poetry books - unless it is also india's Atal Vehari Bajpayee, who had a bit of a reputation as a Hindi poet.

Narasimha Rao spoke Telugu, Marathi, Hindi, English and five other Indian languages, and also was reasonably proficient in French, Arabic, Spanish, German, Greek, Latin and Persian. His love for literature is well-known; as a young man he edited a Telugu literary magazine.

After retiring as Prime Minister, PVNR sought to embark on this translation project. However, the book has received very little publicity from his political connections; partly this may be because he is now shunned by the Nehru-Gandhi family (which also shuns Feroze Gandhi, the patriarch).

Narasimha Rao passed away in Dec 2004, even as the book was in production. However, he had already finished the work, including an introduction which outlines some aspects of Jayaprabha's poetry, from the love poetry on which this volume is focused to the gender poetry (kruddha nArI - angry woman) poetry of her later years.

This is a bilingual edition with the telugu originals and english renderings on opposing faces.

Sexual overtones

The poetry itself uses novel juxtapositions, which often work for me, as in Severed figure of a thousand hoods: "This hour is like the face of a black cat, / with the milky way far away." (p.129). Many of the poems have strongly sexual overtones - either directly, as in Harden and enter the womb. It's there that floral perfumes reside, Unborn poems subsist... - (Again in daytime), or more playfully: "Pressing and rolling on our backs round and round / we turn into a whirlpool." (#jpna|Your nail conches prick])

While I can't speak for the authenticity of the translations, sometimes the English is a bit wooden. However, in many cases, the power of the original idea shines through, and on the whole, the volume is quite readable.

LINKS: Daily Star (Khademul Islam) museindia (Ambika Ananth)

Excerpts

From my poems p.1

Borrowing capital from my poems,
you didn't even pay interest...
I was furious.

Unwilling to give you, with my eyes open,
our garden of delight, our chest of the arts...
the vermilion tint, the flower bouquet --
I tiptoed in when you weren't around
and purloined my own love poems.

Again in daytime p.36

Harden
and enter the womb.
It's there that floral perfumes reside,
Unborn poems subsist...

At every movement by you,
I become an ocean,
a statue of the full moon.
Your sharp gaze penetrates me
and throws the city's gates open.

I am the deep sorrows there;
I am the sweet whispers there;
I am the midsummer night;
I am that cool stable earth.

Forgetting Time and Life,
it's not pleasant for you to become me,
There's no peace in a mad daybreak.

After the cataclysm -
knowing you ... knowing myself
I shall become --
the tranquil breeze,
the eastern sky,
the poetic phrase --
and see a dream
Harden
and enter the womb.

Again in daytime, the world shall flourish
as your ego, as my self-respect --
And we will go astray.

I can entwine the body p.39

Love
meant just to be bashful in childhood.
But now?
I can look straight inyour eyes.
It's vexing to feign shyness.

I'm not lavishing graces, delicate hesitancies
There's no need to be artful
No need to hit lovingly with the plaits of my long hair
No need to send messages through parrots.

I'll come to you myself,
embrace you with overflowing tenderness,
kiss you equally freely
and entwine your body with my arms!

Looking in the mirror of imagination p. 45

Together,
while drinking tender coconut water
running after the waves,
watching the water-splashed flower-faces,
enjoying the sight of
fishermen's nets,
whale-like boats,
ruined cave temples,
intimacies behind the dark --
don't I flash in your memory?
Or do I?

That's why perhaps you're choking on food,  (*)
seeing this in the mirror of imagination
I don't know what to do
from here ... this far.
Scared, I pat my own pate
and hope you are calmed down.


Note: choking on food: thought to happen when someone remebers you.

Your nails' conches prick p.49

Becoming waves
you and I are the ocean.

Pressing and rolling on our backs round and round
we turn into a whirlpool.

You and I form the flow.
Swimming against the current
we meet and part and meet
and get tired.

The rare pearls of sweat
in the oyster-shells of our brows
slip on
to the parched lands of these lips
and spill like honey.

Melting as bits of dreams,
we travel by a new path.
Only the two of us, pressing on the world's edge...

Just then,
you prick me with your nail's conches in my fist.

Why not release me once?
I shall become the sky
and weave these laughter into a garland of stars.

Closing in like a dark cloud p.145

The train hadn's stopped yet
I stood in the open doorway,
hoping you to come to the railway station
to await my arrival...

Like unknown places,
I saw many faces running backwards
Yet I couldn't find
the sea of sweetness personified as your face
among them...
Nor the sunflower fields...
nor any trace of Mahendragiri,
that hallowed hill we knew so well.

Thiking
that you hadn't come to receive me,
or that this wasn't my destination
doubting... nervous,
I began to quietly get out of the way.

Suddenly,
from behind,
two strong hands -- as if with a prankish intent,
entwined me, along with a loud chant
of the mantra of my name 'Jaya!'
and covered me,
closing in on me like an opaque dark cloud
and turned me into a shower of rain.

Along the word-paths p.187

Shall I tell you a truth?
When a word, however noble, gets worn out by overuse,
I find it too narrow to express my thoughts.
And 'love' is one such word.

Like the new day that begins while I think of you,
I want some new dreams.
Some waves in the ocean of language.
They should be, regardless of the beauty of words, like--
young couples' green-chili-hot talk,
birds circling over water in the tank,
lovely green lawns,
like a baby's joyous laughs,
like the sunset in the west.

Like the bunch of flowers blossoming
amongst standing rocks,
like the look of the calf following the mother cow,
like bodies warming in winter days --
What ore word-paths shall I go along
for my passion for you?
And how do I love you except with 'love'?

Contents

Translator's Acknowledgements
Foreword

1. From my Poems 						       1
2. From the Folds of this Indifference 			       3
3. Into this Abandoned Island 				       7
4. I Went into the Room 					       11
5. And Yet the Champaka Blossomed Smilingly 			       17
6. Seems Like I am Not in my Body 				       21
7. Embracing me after Shower 					       25
8. My Desire is Like the Evening Glow 			       29
9. Not the Time for Sleep 					       31
10. Again in Daytime 						       35
11. I can entwine the body 					       38
12. I am Untimely Death's Companion 				       41
13. Looking in the Mirror of Imagination 			       45
14. Not Only the Crescent Moon 				       47
15. Your nails' conches prick 				       49
16. Reigning Imperial Power 					       51
17. Letter in a Khaki Envelope? 				       55
18. Imprints of your Hooves 					       57
19. Taking me as a Boat 					       59
20. Will you Behead me? 					       51
21. I can't Open the Door 					       63
22. Does Love Mean Pain? 					       67
23. That I Want Only you 					       69
24. I can't walk with you 					       71
25. Ecstasy Like Siva's Dance 				       73
26. This Scintillating Banter 				       75
27. Like the Pyramids of Egypt 				       77
28. Riding on the Clouds 					       79
29. Vacating the House 					       81
30. Shattered, Yet Surviving as Pieces 			       83
31. In my Dream-torn Sky 					       85
32. I Lack Weapon Skill 					       87
33. Love is Like a Silk Sari 					       91
34. Blend of Musical Notes 					       93
35. No Logic Works here 					       95
36. With Snaky Memories, Fragrances 				       97
37. All Through Creation 					       99
38. Becoming Bronze Statues 					       103
39. Like a Surprised Black Deer 				       107
40. When you Call Out Like the Crescent Moon 			       109
41. Except my Very Own Signature 				       113
42. That you are the Beloved 					       117
43. In me, in the Dream 					       121
44. What Equals your Love is Only your Love 			       125
45. Severed Figure of a Thousand Hoods 			       129
46. Maybe you don't Know me 					       133
47. In the Woods of Misty Moonlight 				       137
48. Frozen Like a Sea of Snow 				       139
49. Swearing by this Body 					       143
50. Closing in like a dark cloud 				       145
51. I am your Crop-yielding Field 				       147
52. When Fever Gripped me 					       151
53. Embrace of the Seven Seas of Touch 			       153
54. Consoling me, who cannot Call you 			       157
55. Will you Tell the Truth at Least Now? 			       161
56. Between Two who Love Each Other 				       165
57. More than what you Gain 					       167
58. Like a Ruby 						       169
59. Unable to Absorb Any Phrase 				       171
60. Language of Love 						       173
61. We shall Burn Fragrantly 					       175
62. You should be with me without Fail 			       179
63. With your Hand in Chains 					       181
64. I cannot Breathe 						       185
65. Along the word-paths 					       187
66. Our Walk as the Repository of Arts 			       189
67. This Divine Secret 					       183
68. This Night 						       187
69. My Pain does Not Abate 					       201
70. The Tremulous Leaf 					       205
71. I Need your Body 						       209
72. Unforeseen Affection 					       211
73. Don't Know why 						       215
74. On the Shores of your Smiles 				       221

About the Translator

Pamulaparti Venkata Narasimha Rao was born in Hyderabad in June 1921. After
playing an active part in the Independence movement, he served as a Congress
minister in Andhra Pradesh, and became chief minister of the state in
1971. In 1973, he was elected to the Lok Sabha, and went on to hold several
cabinet posts under Indira and Rajiv Gandhi, including those of foreign
minister and home minister. After Rajiv Gandhi's assassination in 1991, Rao
was chosen to lead the Congress party, and became prime minister of
India. His premiership is remembered for the liberalization of the Indian
economy and the move towards free-market reforms. Rao resigned as Congress
president after the party lost the 1996 general elections. He died in
December 2004.

Other reviews

Khademul Islam in The Daily Star

This bilingual volume of poems is somewhat remarkable at first sight in that
an ex-chief minister and prime minister of India, P.V. Narasimha Rao, has
translated them from Telegu into English. Jayaprabha is a well-known,
widely published Telugu poet, and Narasimha Rao's enthusiasm for her is
heartfelt. In an otherwise low-key introduction that blends sensible
sentiments on literary translations and awareness of Telugu literary
traditions, he writes that "Jayaprabha and her poetry are
inseparable... Jayaprabha means intensity--at times the unbearable intensity
of a kruddha naari (angry woman), at others the intensity of unfathomably
deep affection and tenderness."

A number of the poems draw heavily on Hindu mythology and Telugu culture, and
the intermix can make for slow reading. Footnotes help, and the translations
are creditable, but some of them do not attain the absolute "freshness" and
"original imagery" Rao speaks of. One misses an A. K. Ramanujan here, whose
careful delineations of Tamil poetry has made possible the opening up of an
entirely different poetic landscape, and who, as opposed to Sanskrit,
advocated regional languages and, in his inimitable phrase, 'native
woodnotes.' Telugu is heavily Sanskritized, and in translations
those'woodnotes,' which so obviously must account for Jayapradha's power in
her mother tongue, get blanked out.

Still, read it, and explore. ...