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Mar. 6th, 2010 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swatkatMailmen in the Autumn Woods
*
I've seen mailmen in the autumn woods,
Yellow sacks bulging like pregnant sheep' bellies.
Collecting letters both old and new
Like storks spearing fish furtively
These mailmen of the autumn woods
Work assiduously with an impossible mystery.
They are not like our mailmen
In whose hands our love letters are lost.
We are gradually moving apart from each other,
We are gradually moving farther away in the hope
Of receiving love-letters,
We are gradually beginning to receive letters
From distant places,
Tomorrow we shall go away and put our letters
Into the hands of the mailmen.
This is how people like us leave other people
Like us
This is how we show our weakness, stupidity,
Intentions, everything.
We cannot see ourselves anymore when
We stand in front of a looking glass, we
Drift in the afternoon porch's seclusion.
This is how we take off our clothes and float
Alone in the light of the moon.
We have not embraced each other for a long time.
We have not tasted a kiss for a long time.
We have not heard anyone sing for a long time.
We have not seen a child babbling for a long time.
We drift towards a wood older than these woods,
Where the chins of stones are blue with leaves,
We drift towards a country unconnected with
The world.
I've seen mailmen in the autumn woods,
Yellow sacks bulging like pregnant sheep' bellies.
Collecting letters both old and new
And the distance grows between letters
But I have not noticed the gap between trees
Getting greater.
- Shakti Chattopadhyay
Translated from Bengali by Lila Roy, from the poem 'Hemanter aranye ami postman dekhechhi' (a reading here, in case anyone reading understands the language and wishes to hear!). This is a really gorgeous rendering of original—I actually think this translation's rendering of the third stanza, with the incantatory 'We have not… for a long time' works better than the same in the Bengali poem.
Hemanta, incidentally, is late autumn, although I suppose that's not really translatable. Sarat is the first days of autumn, with impossibly blue skies, fluffy white clouds and bright sunshine that caresses and doesn't burn--Hemanta is when the leaves have fallen and sunshine is closer to pale, pathetic winter sun and pale winter sky.
*
I've seen mailmen in the autumn woods,
Yellow sacks bulging like pregnant sheep' bellies.
Collecting letters both old and new
Like storks spearing fish furtively
These mailmen of the autumn woods
Work assiduously with an impossible mystery.
They are not like our mailmen
In whose hands our love letters are lost.
We are gradually moving apart from each other,
We are gradually moving farther away in the hope
Of receiving love-letters,
We are gradually beginning to receive letters
From distant places,
Tomorrow we shall go away and put our letters
Into the hands of the mailmen.
This is how people like us leave other people
Like us
This is how we show our weakness, stupidity,
Intentions, everything.
We cannot see ourselves anymore when
We stand in front of a looking glass, we
Drift in the afternoon porch's seclusion.
This is how we take off our clothes and float
Alone in the light of the moon.
We have not embraced each other for a long time.
We have not tasted a kiss for a long time.
We have not heard anyone sing for a long time.
We have not seen a child babbling for a long time.
We drift towards a wood older than these woods,
Where the chins of stones are blue with leaves,
We drift towards a country unconnected with
The world.
I've seen mailmen in the autumn woods,
Yellow sacks bulging like pregnant sheep' bellies.
Collecting letters both old and new
And the distance grows between letters
But I have not noticed the gap between trees
Getting greater.
- Shakti Chattopadhyay
Translated from Bengali by Lila Roy, from the poem 'Hemanter aranye ami postman dekhechhi' (a reading here, in case anyone reading understands the language and wishes to hear!). This is a really gorgeous rendering of original—I actually think this translation's rendering of the third stanza, with the incantatory 'We have not… for a long time' works better than the same in the Bengali poem.
Hemanta, incidentally, is late autumn, although I suppose that's not really translatable. Sarat is the first days of autumn, with impossibly blue skies, fluffy white clouds and bright sunshine that caresses and doesn't burn--Hemanta is when the leaves have fallen and sunshine is closer to pale, pathetic winter sun and pale winter sky.
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Date: 2010-03-09 04:56 am (UTC)