
इस स्तम्भ में हेमंत शेष की चुनिन्दा वे पुरानी कवितायें जो हिन्दी की पत्रिकाओं और उनके कविता संग्रहों में प्रकाशित और बहुचर्चित हैं । संचयन : अशोक आत्रेय : अंग्रेजी और अन्य भारतीय भाषाओं में अनुवादक : कलानाथ शास्त्री, ऐ. राजाराम , जयंत गोस्वामी, आई. के. शर्मा , अंजन सेन, रंजना गुंजन, देंनिअल फिलोद, संस्कृति रानी देसाई, भरत नायक, कृष्णा बसु , समीर तांती , हरिकृष्ण गोस्वामी , नीलिम कुमार , मोहन आलोक, और बहुत से अन्य अनुवादक कवि .
Post ScriptEveryday the things are recorded to have gone away.
Barges of moments reach banks and return answered.
Someone somebody ascends the stairs unknown tethered the finger of terror
Everybody the things are recorded to have gone away
Only the leaves and trunks turn pale
The landscapes change color.
The morbid tales are throne up retting shelves of experience.
Doleful stories of life are discarded down from the high opening
That has lost its color.
Like dry and discarded sheaths dates shrink into tropical comers.
And then the boats sink into sands of frivolous shores.
Bewildered insecure eyes in baffled hurry
Shuffle the pages of an old almanac.
Everywhere Every day the things are recorded to have gone away.
Translated by Kalanath Shastry
DiagnosisWhere are the race-course gone?
The man tethered in the stable is crying hoarse.
You shall keep him in check
This time, not by lashes,
But by reins,
(Might does not succeed every time every where
you have learnt it)
Where are the horses gone ?
The man tethered in the stable has started neighing now, tamely,
Say
What are you going to do for him this time ?
Translated by Kalanath Shastry
Salutations to SunCertainly
That broken bridge shall somebody repaired.
We shall remember the lost spring.
Where is everything?
What is the future of things in the darkness ?
You shall see ,
You shall see the curtains of mystery rise
The rains of clarity shall wash away
the dust of time settled on things.
You shall see,
You shall see the mist dissolve
and once again the pilgrim will start descending
in the stream of this holy river
for the salutation to the Sun-god.
Translated by Kalanath Shastry
The Sixth SenseAt the same time this train passes every day.
I remember the dreams I had seen once.
Those cruelties, Those affections,
Those examinations I had passed
Unfold like windows
Opening in the wind.
I return to the past years hopping over the platform of age
And find myself before a ticket-window.
Nobody knows of the unknown journey and the destinations unknown
Everything unwritten and complete -fades into the noises.
A blurred fog slithers down the shoulders,
Past beneath the elbows, like a newspaper that has been read.
A long wait stuck to the chin.
"Gather the luggage, We're home…….."
Which always begins in a dream.
At the same time this train passed every day.
Translated by Jayant Goswamy
Self-ContainedOur present
Playing with the fingers of uncertainty
Weaves the yarn of miseries.
All alone lies in the boat of time the paddle of darkness.
Reluctant are rains and clouds
And the loneliness lies on the table.
Bright curtains of seasons fall in the sorrowful air,
We stand speechless ; Mum
Dangling the badges of questions on our chests.
The rain of constraints is stuck around the windows and
Shrinking sunshine over the frigid firmament breaks the stints of magnanimity.
Over the shoulder cascades a stream of light.
Ah….. Down the steps of intimacies
I kiss you
The hunter of time has set out
For the blue woods of the sky
Lest he hunts the Sun Fishes of age filp about.
The first kiss of love nibbles at the lips.
Dated standed in the wild storm like fallen leaves sand prop.
We sob for you in every season
My own perishing awareness
Come
Let us hang it in the poetry
Once again…………….
Translated by Jayant Goswamy
UntitledNow there is no use feeding milk to your own sleeves.
Snakes have appeared just at a hand shaking distance.
I had said to those aged men
Who had strong belief
In herbal toothpaste and country liquor.
But all of them had forgotten their incantations of sorcery and witch hunting,
Were involved in the hunt of sensational yoga-postures
And there were afloat in the air-
The forecasts of their doom:
And just then
I had seen the Lords of the city
All with old honorifics
In the morning attire ruffled
Caught by Encephalitis.
They were donating their wristwatches:
All baffled and hamstrung.
And I knew that they had all won
Prizes for their exceptional health and punctuality the other day.
Translated by Kalanath Shastry
ForgetfulnessWe shall forget the names of many of our classmates.
The faces of relatives.
We will forget those Railway platforms
Where we once descended during our journeys.
We will forget the smell of arboreal world we experienced in the jungles
We will forget the feel of the
We dipped our hands in.
Perhaps we will forget many more things
And this too that we have forgotten everything.
Yet
We will have many things to remember.
But, surely very little, which we can't forget for ever.
We have more to forget in our lives-either a memory of its smell
And preserve
Only our remembrances which we have forgotten
Translated by A. Rajaram and the poet
The Very Same Dream EverydayWe see the same dream every day
That flower are blooming silently
And the spring is descending from the firmament just like dew-drops.
In its utmost sacredness - the fragrance of March is creeping in the foliage
Making us remember those boats -
Fluttering the waves of a river.
Innumerable colors dissolve in the eyes
And we cross over roads, Ghats and grass-lands.
We find the trees loaded with fruits.
The honey combs on their branches are enlarging day-by-day.
Cheerful women returning home after shopping.
The jungles filled with sun and granaries with corn.
All the roads of the city, ending of magnificent Dancing Hall.
Passing through the scenes one-by-one
We look at them; How charming the world
But even in the dream we pretty well know that the dream is going on.
And that dreams alone can't make the world pleasant and worth living
Friends what have you to say about dreams ?
Translated by the poet
The pretty WomanYou would repent
That you could not kiss her.
Her being utterly beautiful is the first condition for an imaginary kiss.
You are worried that kissing her is not that simple.
Between a kiss and your agony
There exists-
A beautiful woman
Unconcerned to both :
Your despair, and her own majestic chastity!
The ScreamThe world is narrow
And a silence clings around the trees.
What the future shall be like
No one knows…………
Where shall I lay my hands with which I would like to write poetry?
How that child shall recognize her mother in pitch darkness?
We shall stand sober and decorated in a celebration of
White collared guys
But who,
Who shall suppress a scream that would blow out
from the deepest core of some one's heart
against the entirely false decorum……
and shall cross all limits of timid composer.
What should poets do, with a word like 'love'…..?The word called 'love' has been reduced to a very low profile,
And it will continue to be so, The bollywood calls it 'pyaar'.
Our cheap novelists have further degenerated it,
With the result
even lovers these days, avoid being called 'lovers',
But look at the fun-
We often have to use this word
And that too, with all earnest sincerity
And then, we are not bothered about
But with its ironical synonym; at peculiar junctures
Looking just like lovers
Frightening with 'pyaar' and
Remaining poets from inside………
On not remaining, as beforeI do not know you Apoorva
But know you since many many years,
Where the words untold are concealed within the words uttered,
This mute conversation begins
Just now
A tiny flame has flared within us
Unknown is its color, unparallel.
Rest every thing else is quite the same-
City, roads, Wind, Sunshine, Daytime.
Your arrival like a cool shadow in my scorching desert loneliness
And your returning back; silently
After you have left
I am not the same as I was,
And
probably within you
I too may have left
My equally vociferous portion।